RE-UNITED YET SEPARATE.
"THAT'S a clever young woman," said Mrs. Livesey, when the door had
closed behind Sarah Evans.
"Aye, and a good one, too. She's shown what sort a stuff she's made
of, this last month. Coming all on a sudden into a strange house and
amongst five children, and expecting only to stop two or three days.
It's just wonderful how she's managed with the money too, and made
things so comfortable," replied Adam.
He wanted to say more, and to tell what lessons the little ones had
learned from the lips of the young housekeeper. Most of all, he longed
to tell of that new life, born within himself, which had given him an
abiding sense of peace, and made him feel rich, in comparison with
which Margaret's sense of wealth in her unexpected legacy, was as
nothing.
She had found it very easy to tell of what had come to her through her
earthly parent's will, but Adam found it very difficult to speak about
the heavenly inheritance to which he could now lay claim through the
loving will of his God and Father in Christ Jesus.
Anybody could understand Margaret's good news, and what the dead
mother had left to her daughter. But only one who had been taught by
the Holy Spirit could enter into the present happiness, or comprehend
the eternal riches of another who has been born again, who, by virtue
of this new birth, has learned to cry, "Abba Father!" and to say with
heartfelt joy, "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance, and of my
cup"; "I have a goodly heritage."
When the children went to rest, the young ones under Sarah Evans'
guidance, the elder a little later, the father had bidden them in a
whisper not to forget their prayers. Another night, mother would be
settled and able to attend to them.
Adam was not cowardly in refraining from speech about these new and
better ways before his wife. He wanted her to know of everything that
had taken place during her absence. But he felt that in speaking of
what God had done for his soul, and of the new habits he had striven to
bring into the little household, he must use great caution and patience.
Margaret had always set herself determinedly against religious
ordinances and people who professed to be religious. The practices
and conversation of such she usually styled "cant," the individuals,
"hypocrites," with a very great stress on the last syllable. She had
ever persisted in turning her eyes upon two or three unmistakable
"shams," and talking of them as if they were a fair sample of those who
profess and call themselves Christians, and she rejoiced that she was
not one of that sort.
Poor Adam was brimful of anxiety to speak on the subject nearest to his
heart, but dreadfully afraid that at the first mention of it, Margaret
might "fly up," as she had so often done before. He listened very
patiently to all that she had to tell, and answered her many questions,
which, indeed, seemed almost endless.
Margaret was specially full of Ann's disappointment on hearing the will
read, and of the reasonableness of sisters Eliza and Martha.
"I wish you could ha' seen Ann," she said. "She was that vexed she
looked as if she could have eaten me with a grain o' salt. But she
always was that mean and having, there was no doing with her. She
thought when she got poor mother beside her, she would persuade her
into leaving her all she had. Ann always thought her share ought to be
elevenpence ha'penny out of every shilling. But mother saw through her,
and served her out at last."
Margaret's exultant tone jarred on Adam's ear. The thought of that
scene after the funeral was to him almost too painful to dwell upon,
and he said, "Well, Margaret, I'm glad for some things I wasn't there
with you. I should ha' liked to hear your mother's kind words about
me and to you, and it's a great comfort to know she said them. But I
shouldn't have enjoyed any quarrelling over what had been hers that was
but just gone. As it is, I feel sorry about it, for I hate quarrelling
among relations."
"So do I," replied Margaret briskly; "but I hate being put upon, too,
and I know, if Ann could have had her way, nothing belonging to mother
would have become ours. I did keep in on the funeral day, though it was
hard work. But I thought about poor mother, and that helped me, for it
isn't nice for people's mouths to be filled with a tale of two sisters
quarrelling over anybody's things directly they've done with them. Mr.
Collinge took my part, and gave it Ann pretty plain, because he knew
more than I did. And then you know, Adam, there was another thing that
helped me to keep my temper. I'd got a deal the best o' the bargain."
What could Adam say that would not be out of harmony with his wife's
train of thought? Indeed, before he had time to think of an answer, she
was off again, telling him of all the lesser items that made up her
legacy.
"There's a lot of clothes that will serve me for years and years, with
a bit of altering, for mother was taller and stouter than I am. She
kept to black after father died, and always bought it good; so some of
her worst things will make up nicely for the children. Fancy, Adam,
there's two nice dark-coloured silk gowns, that have been laid by, oh
such years, and haven't a spot on them. Then there's a black one, quite
a beauty. You remember mother went out nursing sometimes in very good
houses, and had a many presents. I believe there are things to last a
lifetime, and I shan't need to be frightened of wearing my one decent
gown and shawl, like I used to be, thinking I should never be able to
get another."
Thus Margaret ran on, and how could Adam help sympathizing with her
delight in her new possessions? She could add, and he knew with truth,
"I never expected or looked for them, Adam, but I'm glad mother has
done the right thing by me."
Had he not grieved for years that his scanty means prevented his wife
and children from turning out as nicely dressed as their neighbours?
Had he not cast many a wistful glance into the shop windows, and
wished he could buy a pretty bonnet or a length of stuff so temptingly
displayed there, for the use of his Margaret?
He would not need to look and long and turn away with a sigh of regret
from such objects now. Margaret would have enough and to spare, thank
God! Here was another desire of his heart granted. A worldly wish in
one sense, but a very natural desire, and neither selfish nor wrong.
So the man smiled, while his heart was full or thankfulness, and he
told Margaret that she would be so smart there would be no walking
beside her, and he should have to take the other side of the street.
"As if I could be content to dress myself up and leave you with only
your old things! Nay, Adam, I hope I'm not o' that sort. You must have
a new suit, and we shall be able to have a walk out on a Sunday without
being ashamed of a neighbour seeing what we've got on."
"Eh, my lass, I was only joking. Don't I know that you would ha' no
pleasure in your things if the rest of us were not as well off? And we
can go to church too, can't we, Margaret?"
This was the thin edge of the wedge in Adam's hand, and he felt a
little doubtful of introducing it. But Margaret was in too good a
temper to be easily put out. Moreover, she reflected that when, as a
girl, she got a new thing, she made a point of going to church in it,
as a favourable place for its immediate display to a goodly number of
people.
So she answered, "I daresay we may, sometimes. I should like Mrs.
Mitchell to see that we can all go out nice and neat, when our things
are ready. Beside, in church one is always sure of a good hour and a
half's quiet, and that would be something. I'm mostly too tired to take
as long walks as we did when I was young, and we were first married.
"Adam," she continued, returning to a list of her new treasures, "there
is the beautifullest Bible you ever saw, with gold on the back and
covers, and such lots of pictures. I remember mother taking it in, a
part every month, and getting it bound when it had all come. It cost
pounds, and when we were at home we used often to quarrel about who was
to have it at last. Ann always made sure of that, but mother left it
among the special things to me. I know you like books, so I kept what
there was; but they're heavy carrying, so they will come with the other
things I told you about, by goods train."
The mention of books gave Adam another opportunity. "I've been reading
a good deal out of the big Bible since you've been away, Margaret. It
was very lonely without you, for Sarah went to bed mostly when Maggie
did, and I was by myself, maybe for an hour. I've got quite in the way
of reading a chapter last thing, and, Margaret, I went to the Mission
Room in Aqueduct Street, where the men invited us to go, and Mr.
Drummond too. You'll remember the men calling, don't you?"
Margaret assented, but in an absent sort of way. Indeed, she was hardly
taking in the sense of Adam's words, though she caught the sound of
them, for her thoughts were pre-occupied. Her mind was at that moment
full of the question, "What shall I do, because I have no room where to
bestow my goods?" The last word being substituted for the fruits, the
very abundance of which embarrassed the rich fool of the parable.
Margaret's abundance was much less difficult to dispose of, but the
cottage was small, and even the handful of things that were coming
would require very judicious arrangement, so as not to be in the way of
every movement. And so it was little wonder that, instead of answering
her husband, she said, after a moment's thought, "I think we will put
the new table where that little one stands, and it may go upstairs.
The corner cupboard will be very handy, and take up hardly any room.
I've always thought I should like one, but we had nothing much to show
through the glass doors. Now there'll be mother's best china tea-set,
all complete, and her teapot, as bright as silver itself. I hope none
of 'em will get broken on the road, for there wasn't a crack in one
when I packed them. We can do with the chest of drawers upstairs, and
fill them, too, with the clothes and bed linen."
Adam sighed, poor fellow! With his full heart, he wanted to say
something, but he was dimly conscious that this would be the wrong time
to persist, whilst he was afraid to be silent.
He had made a start on the new and better way. He had begun new
practices of prayer and Bible reading, and he dreaded the thought of
these being interrupted. Unlike many who think that the race is won
when a start is made, Adam was almost painfully anxious not to be
turned off the course, having once entered upon it. Yet he could not
help feeling that difficulties might arise when Margaret returned,
which would be hard to overcome.
It was something that as yet she had neither answered him sharply, nor
ridiculed his new love for Bible reading; but this might arise from her
not having heeded his words, though she answered them after a fashion.
So, finding that Margaret was not likely to enter into his feelings,
Adam tried to enter into hers, and even gave his opinion about the
placing of the furniture, though he well knew it would not be acted
upon, unless it agreed with her own. But what matter? Does not the
great Apostle of the Gentiles tell us that it is the woman's business
to "guide the house"? And is it not good for the husband when she
attends well to this plain duty, and exercises a wholesome influence in
her proper sphere?
Margaret's unpacking, straightening and plans for the morrow came to an
end at last, and owning herself "right down tired," she announced her
intention of going to rest.
"Won't you let me read a few verses, while you sit down for a minute
or two, Margaret?" asked Adam, determined not to lose this first
opportunity.
"Read! To-night! What is the man thinking about? I'm that tired I can
hardly lift one foot after another to get upstairs. If I sit up any
longer, how am I to turn out in the morning? Whatever has come to you?"
Adam was going to try and tell his wife what had come to him. But she
did not want an answer.
Before he could shape his words, she quietly lifted the large Bible
from the table before him, restored it to its usual resting-place, and
deposited the tea-caddy on the top of it.
"It's no good beginning at this time o' night," she said. "If you
started to read I should be sure to go to sleep, and then I should be
like baby, as cross as two sticks at being waked up. Maybe you'd have
to carry me upstairs."
Margaret's tone was good-tempered and her face smiling, but her actions
were decided enough. She followed up the removal of the Bible by
fastening the outer doors and putting out the gas. Then calling, "Come
along, Adam," she went straight upstairs.
He could only follow, for there was plainly no chance of five minutes
with the Book he loved, and he felt that if he were to persist, he
might do more harm than good.
"I'll not vex her. I mustn't wonder that she sees no need of Bible
reading, when I remember that I have only just begun to care about it,
I, that am forty years old. I must do what I can, and be patient and
wait God's time."
Thus thought Adam, and he was comforted to some extent. He had learned
several sweet passages of Scripture off by heart, and he could go over
these if he could not add to them. Then Mr. Drummond, who understood
something of the difficulties which beset a beginner at Bible study,
had given him a little book as a help. It was quite a tiny volume,
which Adam could slip into his waistcoat pocket, and on each page there
was a text in good large print for the morning, and another for evening.
"It is not always easy, Adam," the manager told him, "to find time
and opportunity for reading a whole chapter, or even a Psalm. But if
you can just get a verse into your mind, a precious word of comfort,
a sweet promise, or a something to make the way plain before you, as
you go about your work, it often proves of more lasting benefit than a
longer portion rapidly read over. You can make it your own, and think
about it many a time whilst your hands are busy."
Adam had already derived much comfort from following this advice. He
looked for his morning and evening messages as portions of bread on
which his soul could feed during his hours of toil, or wakeful seasons
during the night-watches.
One day there came the words, "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and
weep with them that weep."
Adam had always been one to feel for and with others, but he was too
shy and silent to express his sympathy. But these words gave him
courage, and he tried to comfort a fellow workman who was in great
trouble at the time. Thus, between two who had been as strangers,
through seeing each other daily, sprang up a feeling of brotherly
kindness and mutual good-will, which time only tended to strengthen.
On another occasion, Adam was taunted about his "new-fangled notions,"
and accused of "setting up for a saint." This was a tender point
with the man. He was not ashamed of his profession, and he felt "joy
unspeakable" as his mind dwelt on the love and grace of his Divine
Lord. But these were holy things, and he could ill endure for them to
be rudely spoken of.
He was tempted to answer sharply, but he found strength to resist
through the sweet message: "If ye suffer for righteousness sake, happy
are ye."
"Trust in the Lord, and do good."
As Adam followed Margaret up the narrow stairs, he felt glad, in spite
of his partial disappointment, for he had previously read the sweet
message:
"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him."
"Surely I may wait and be patient," he thought, "when God waited forty
years to be gracious to me."
Adam thought Margaret was asleep, when he knelt by the bedside in
earnest prayer. But she was not. She was only "making believe, to
see what her husband was after," and she heard whispered words of
thanksgiving for her safe return and a prayer that God would bless her.