A BOND OF UNION
In spite of weariness, human frailty, and, sometimes, lack of faith,
Margaret's ministry for the King Whom she loved was a real one. She
was conscious of unworthiness, and had a sensitive dread of being
considered one who talked religion, and posed as a religious person.
She knew only too well that she herself was among the sinners who
have all fallen short of the glory of God; but she believed in the
greatness of the Saviour's redeeming power, and His willingness to
accept as His servants all who turn in repentance to Him. Frances
Ridley Havergal's lines just expressed her need, and the faith He
asks of all of us:
"Jesus, I will trust Thee,
Trust without a doubt,
Whosoever cometh
Thou wilt not cast out."
She could never have quite said when she first believed that.
Gradually the knowledge of God's love had come to her; from His own
Word rather than from any other source she had found the truth as it
is in Jesus. He Who had stood before the great Galilean crowds of
men, boys, women, and young girls, and cried, "Come unto Me all ye
that are weary and are heavy laden," so calling all the world to find
their happiness in Him--had called _her_--and as a young schoolgirl
she had responded to that call, giving Him back the answer He asked:
"Jesus, I will trust Thee, help me by Thy Holy Spirit to be Thy
faithful servant."
She needed no priest to intervene, but, like the woman who met the
Lord by the well of Samaria, she found her Saviour alone, and He
spoke through His Word to her heart. The natural and only outcome of
that meeting of sinner and Saviour was a desire to henceforth live to
His honour, and again, like the Samaritan, she felt the desire to
tell others of the God Who had won her love by His own.
Someone had asked her once to explain what was the difference between
the professing Christian and the kind, good-living man or woman who
did not profess faith in Christ.
"To me it is like this," she had answered. "Before I became His
servant, when I did wrong I did not particularly care unless it
brought trouble to me personally, but after, when I consciously
sinned, I was miserable, because I felt and knew I had dishonoured
Christ. As we read of Peter, after his denial of his Master, he went
out and wept bitterly--that last word 'bitterly' shows the meaning, I
think; his tears were not for his own trouble, but they were
tears--bitter tears of shame and regret that he had failed towards
the One Who had loved and trusted him."
Margaret's explanation had silenced the critic. The true followers
of Christ repent their failures, while their grief is often hidden
from the eyes of man. But the Lord lifts up the fallen and gives
strength for the needs of the battle, not only for to-day, but until
the warfare is over, and then the servant of God enters into the
presence of his King, and in _His righteousness_ is presented
_faultless_ before His Father's Throne.
It is just a wonderful religion--glorious, all-satisfying to the
inner cravings of every restless heart--so Margaret Woodford had
found it, and her little work of gratitude and returned love just
went on day by day, like the stone which is cast into still waters,
and causes the ripples to extend and overlap until they come to the
edge of the surface, and touch the land. Thus the little words,
little actions, done for Christ's sake will pass on and on until they
find their consummation in eternity, in that country from which comes
the promise, "I will not forget your work and labour of love which ye
have showed for My Name's sake."
And this message of love and mercy Margaret carried in different ways
to all the inmates of Oaklands, even into the seclusion of Mrs.
Medhurst's life.
It was not an easy matter to approach the latter, but, finding her
one day in an abandonment of grief, Margaret knelt down by her side,
and with real sympathy just drew her towards the secret of eternal
rest.
Mrs. Medhurst had listened to all she said and had not been offended,
and from that day onwards it became a little added work to spend half
an hour, or sometimes an hour, in reading and talking to her employer
of the things she loved.
"And you can forgive me? Forgive what I did, and come to me like
this!" had been Lucille Medhurst's astonished cry. "Miss Woodford,
if ever I can believe as you do, it will be because I see your
religion is a _reality_," she had said.
"It will be by the power of the Holy Spirit, Mrs. Medhurst," was
Margaret's answer, "for we cannot come unto God except by Him, and He
draws all who are willing."
So the little work of a daily ministry went on at Oaklands.
* * * * *
"Miss Woodford, may I show you something?" said Bob, as he entered
the schoolroom one day at the close of a cold winter's afternoon and
found Margaret and Ellice busy working, sitting by a lovely log fire
which spluttered and sent out lively sparks as the flame travelled up
the chimney.
"Oh, I say, it is jolly warm here!" exclaimed the boy, as he flung
himself down by the hearth. "I am tired, I can tell you. It's a big
trudge up the hill after the train gets in."
"Oh, yes--don't I know? I remember my first drive here. Shall I
ever forget it?" laughed Margaret. "I wondered whenever I was coming
to the end; it seemed a tremendous distance in the dark. But never
mind that, you said you had something to show us----"
"Yes, what is it?" broke in Ellice eagerly.
"This," answered Bob, drawing from his pocket a triangle design
worked in silks within which a unicorn ramped, a Latin motto pressing
its feet.
"Oh, Bob, your colours! How splendid! I am glad--and First Eleven
too! Won't your father be proud of you?"
"Don't mention it to him, please," said the boy, colouring. "He
thinks me such a rotter at work, and he may be vexed--and think I
waste my time at games----"
A bright smile lit Margaret's face as she replied.
"You have no eyes, old boy, or you wouldn't say that. Didn't you
ever notice your father reading the cricket news in the summer?
Don't make any mistake, I'm nearly sure he's a sportsman, and don't
you doubt for a moment but he'll appreciate your success. A boy
doesn't get his first 'eleven' colours without some trouble,
perseverance, and grit. Just show this to Mr. Medhurst, and see if I
am not right?"
"Shall I go and tell him about it?" said Ellice, springing to her
feet.
"No--no, child, it's your brother's news; let him have that pleasure."
At that moment there was a tread of footsteps outside the room, and
then a knock, followed by the opening of the door.
"May I come in, Miss Woodford?" said Mr. Medhurst, as he entered.
"You sound lively in here."
"Oh, yes--daddy, come--Bob's got----"
"Hush!" interposed Margaret, shaking her head at the eager child, who
immediately stopped short in her sentence with, "Oh, I am not to
tell."
"Bob's got, what?" asked Mr. Medhurst, turning to his son, with
interested face, from which the thunder-clouds of old days were
absent.
Bob coloured furiously, then rather shyly drew out his trophy.
"Only this, father," he said awkwardly, placing it in Mr. Medhurst's
outstretched hand.
"What--colours! Yours? First Eleven? Well done, Bob! I _am_
pleased! I congratulate you; it's something worth having--reminds
me, too, of old days," he finished, with a laugh.
"Why, did you play cricket, daddy?" asked Ellice.
"Well, little lady, I suppose I did; was School Captain one season;
if I remember rightly, just missed my blue at the 'Varsity by a bit
of bad luck."
"_Father!_" exclaimed Bob, his eyes shining, "do tell us about it?"
The two, father and son, in many ways so much alike, forgot all their
old reticence towards each other, and were soon deep in the stories
of old triumphs of the field, henceforth bound together by a great
sympathetic bond never to be broken.
Margaret sat and listened with a double interest, watching
life-barriers broken down, barriers which had so nearly wrecked the
happiness of a home.