stared with great eyes at the stranger, but did not recognise him, for
she had never been in church, or only by accident for a few hasty
moments. She returned laconically the hearty greeting, fell back again
into the train of her meditations, and continued to proceed silently
along the street.
The man, however, did not leave her, but entered into conversation,
asking from what place she came so late, who her parents were, and in
what state matters were at home; and as he spoke so affectionately and
paternally, the child gradually opened her whole heart, and went on to
tell of their great poverty, and how her mother was so sick, and her
little brother and sisters hungered, and her father--but, as she
mentioned her father, the tears started to her eyes, and she could not
utter one word more for sobbing.
Then the pastor told her--for we already know that it was he--to keep up
her spirits, and be of good cheer, better times might come round again.
"For," said he, "there lives one, a good, rich, powerful Lord; they only
required to apply to Him, and complain to Him of their want, and He
would certainly help them; He had already assisted many thousands of
poor people."
When the maiden heard these words, she suddenly stood still in the
middle of the street, and the look with which she regarded the pastor
distinctly asked, "Who is the Great Helper? Mention His name!" And the
latter continued his discourse thus: "Do you not know the dear Lord who
feeds the birds in the air, which sow not neither reap, and who clothes
the lilies of the field, which toil not, neither spin, and yet are more
beautifully arrayed than Solomon in all his glory? You surely know Him;
or did you never hear of Jesus, the merciful Saviour?"
At these words Mary knew not what to make of it. Ah, thought she,
transported with joy, now I have it! Yes! yes! so sounded the name
which the birds in the wood praised in my dream!
She thought, but kept close all that had happened to her, and what she
had met with, and said, in a touchingly suppliant voice, "Dear sir, tell
me more of this Jesus;" and how willingly her friendly companion
complied with her request!
He commenced and explained how all the children of men must have
perished on account of their sins, had the great and holy God strictly
and righteously dealt with them. He next told her of the merciful love
of the Almighty--that it was so great that He rather gave for them His
most beloved and eternal Son, than leave them to the destruction which
they had deserved. This Son, though beyond all measure rich, yet for our
sakes became a poor man and our brother, and is rightly named Jesus the
Saviour. He staked His all to deliver us and redeem our lost
inheritance; and He is now the helping friend of poor sinners, who
still, though unseen, goes about over the land, and blessing, and
dispensing kindness and comforts wherever He is but desired.
This was the substance of the discourse which the pastor held with the
little wood-gatherer, in a way which children could understand.
Meanwhile, to the no small disappointment of the latter, they had
reached the town. The pastor made the girl show him the dwelling of her
parents, and, after again pressing her not to forget what she had heard,
shook hands with her, and, with a hearty "Good night, my dear," took his
departure. The girl returned the greeting from the bottom of her heart,
thanked him for his words, and went on her way with the bundle of
sticks. She had never gone there so light, so free, so happy as at this
hour.
When she came home, her father was sitting behind the empty table,
gloomy and silent, with his head resting on both hands. The mother was
lying in her sick-bed, with immeasurable sorrow imprinted on every
feature.
"What have you brought?" shouted the father, with a rigid face, as she
entered.
"This wood, father," replied Mary; "and," added she, her countenance
lighted up with joy, "a dear, dear friend, who has everything in
abundance."
"A friend!" muttered the father; "what sort of friend is it, Mary?"
"One so powerful and rich, that it is an easy thing for him, dear
mother, to restore you to health with a word, and no less quickly to
bring you work, dear father, and all that we need."
"And this friend may be?"
"He is called Jesus, and"----
She would have said more, but scarcely had she pronounced the name Jesus
than her father, with wild blasphemy and cursing, commanded instant
silence, and threatened her with blows should she ever again think of
coming to him with such fooleries and pronouncing that name.
And, alas! the sick mother was of the same opinion, and manifested as
much anger as her husband, and said: "Had you brought us home a few
pence for bread, that would have been better."
It is scarcely in the power of words to express what Mary felt at this
reception. The weight upon her breast prevented her from uttering a
single word more. She stole softly into the dark closet which was the
common sleeping apartment of herself, her father, and two sisters.
Overcome with grief, she sank down on the hard straw mattress; and who
knows whether she had ever again risen from it, had her oppressed heart
not found relief in giving vent to a flood of clear tears, and had she
not, at the same time, recalled to memory the kind, comforting form
which had appeared to her in the dream.
"Oh, Lord Jesus," sighed Mary, "thou dear friend of poor sinners, see,
see, how I also am a poor, poor, little bird; and my sisters, and we
all, all! Oh, help us also! Restore my mother to health, and make my
father cheerful and good! Give us bread, and peace; give us peace, and
make us love Thee, and be obedient to Thee!"
Sobbing, she sighed it up, and sighed and whispered much more besides.
Then she became still, and wept no more, for it was with her as if one
sweet yes after another sounded in her ear. Full of blessed peace, she
fell asleep. Hope was the good angel that closed her eyes.
Next morning she was the first out of bed, and cheerfully and actively
busied herself in sweeping the room, and, as far as possible, putting
everything in its place.
She then sat down by the bedside of her mother, and said, "Mother,
certainly the Saviour helps!"
To her mother's question how she had fallen into this strange way of
speaking, Mary began to relate all the occurrences of the day
before,--how she had fallen asleep in the wood, what a dream she had
had, how a well-disposed man had made up to her on the way, and this and
that which he had spoken.
And she told it so lively, and with such simple and childlike gladness,
that the mother could not be satisfied with hearing; and at length tears
stood in her eyes, and she seized Mary's hand, and said, "Oh, Mary, that
you would but dream once more!"
Meanwhile, the father also had entered the room; but when he heard the
words, "Jesus," and "prayer," and remarked the solemn and impressed air
of both mother and daughter, he broke into a fury, and said, "Mary,
bring once more that absurd stuff to light, and you may look about for
where to live; I tolerate you no longer here! Go and get bread. If
matters do not soon take a different turn in my family, I am resolute,
and there is nothing of which I will not be capable. The criminals in
the penitentiary may be called happy compared with us, and death is to
be preferred to this life of starvation and distress!"
He said this with a countenance of deep despair and a horrible aspect.
Mary sprang towards him, clung tenderly to his knee, and said with a
voice which might have moved a stone--
"Oh, father, do not be so sad, do not be so angry. You will see that we
will certainly be helped!"
The father put her away from him, though with a gentle push; and,
whether his heart was touched I know not, went in silence out of the
room, shut the door behind him, and was soon lost in the streets of the
town.
When he returned towards noon, sulky and out of humour, he found Mary
busy, spreading a tattered napkin on the table, and laying earthenware
dishes. At the same time she set as many knives and forks as could be
found; and did it all with such a cheerfulness of her own, as if she was
preparing for a feast anticipated by no one else.
"Have we anything to eat?" asked he.
"I do not understand either," chimed in the mother, "what the foolish
child means."
Mary, however, rejoined, "I think some one will indeed provide something
for us."
"Don't begin again to be absurd," shouted the father, and held his
clenched fist close to the child's face.
Mary bent her head and was silent. Did she perhaps know some secret?
She knew none; only her heart said, "The friend that feeds the birds
cannot and will not forsake us!"
Just as it struck mid-day in the clock on the tower, the room-door,
opened, and a neat, well-clad maid entered, with a great, and to
appearance heavily-laden basket on her arm.
"My master's compliments," began she, "and you would perhaps accept this
from him if you can use it. Mr. B. bids me say that you were so much in
his mind last night, that he could scarcely sleep on your account. He
then thought that you might possibly be in present difficulties; and
should it be the case, you would perhaps excuse his sending this small
contribution to your household. He will himself, in the course of a few
days, come and see how matters stand with you."
Saying this, she emptied the basket, laid several beautiful loaves upon
the table, handed forth a pot of butter, and a large piece of meat.
There also lay at the bottom of the basket a cloth dress already worn,
but still in good condition, and a piece of linen lay beside it. The
maid said, "For shifts for the children."
When the shoemaker B. saw the one unpacked after the other, he stood
like a pillar, and strove to utter a word of thanks, but was wholly
unable. His wife made no less effort to stammer out from her sick-bed
some expression of gratitude; but, as she would speak, she broke into
loud sobbing, and instead of words, poured forth a stream of tears.
Nothing remained but that little Mary should be the mouth of her
parents.
"Give your good master," said the girl, "thousand, thousand thanks. The
Lord Jesus will recompense what he has done for us in His name!" She
then turned to her father and mother with joy beaming from her eyes, and
said, "Do you see? there is indeed the dear, powerful Friend! Come let
us eat what he has provided, and let us be happy!"
But hunger and thirst had left the parents. The father wept, standing
speechless and as if thunderstruck in the middle of the room; then all
at once he took up his little daughter, pressed her to his heart, and
turned up his eyes as if he would direct them to heaven; and how further
the hardened man began to weep and sob is scarcely to be told.
The mother called from her bed one time after another, "It is the Lord!
it is the Lord!" but more than this her excessive agitation prevented
her from saying.
The scene of tears was still continuing when the door opened afresh, and
introduced the gentleman himself who had just sent the provisions and
clothing, a substantial merchant of that place.
At the sight of the weeping faces he started, and stopped at the
threshold, saying "Children, what is the matter with you?" No answer.
"But I entreat you," continued he with increasing interest, "what has
happened to you?"
Again no answer, but only a smile and a sigh through tears.
Then Mary took up the word once more, and said, "Dear, noble sir, it is
from joy and gratitude that we are all weeping."
"Indeed," rejoined the benefactor, "that is well worth such a trifle.
You see, Mr. B., I had to leave you two years ago, and give the work for
my family to others, for, to tell you candidly, it was impossible to be
any longer satisfied with you. I learned, besides, that you had entered
upon an irregular life. I confess that since then I thought no more of
you, until in the past night, as I could not sleep, all at once the
thought of you entered my mind, and whether I would or not, I felt
anxious for you. I should have hastened to you myself this morning had
not an unforseen engagement thwarted my design; and in the meantime I
forwarded the few refreshments. But now tell me how matters stand with
you. That you were very poor I learned from those in my service, of
whom I enquired this morning. Have you again bethought yourself of the
duties which you owe wife and child? Just open up your heart to me, and
explain all."
The master of the house stood a few seconds opposite his benevolent
guest, with eyes fixed on the ground, and dumb; he then covered his face
with his hands, and cried in a loud and truly heart-rending voice, "No,
no! I am a godless man; but, with God's help"----
He would have said more, but tears choked his utterance.
His friendly visitor then grasped him by the right hand, and said, with
winning kindness and gentleness, "Compose yourself, compose yourself;
all may, all will take a turn for the better. Listen! Because I expect
that you will henceforth lead a regular life, and keep steadily at your
work, I will make an advance for the purchase of as much leather as you
require, and not only will I give you the work from my house, but I hope
to be able to procure other friends to do the same. Now, is that
agreeable to you? Say what you think."
These words were scarcely pronounced, when the tradesman, deeply moved,
suddenly fell upon his knees, and cried, "God be merciful to me a
sinner! Mary, I now see it with my own eyes. Your Saviour lives!"
The mother, from her couch, made similar exclamations, and the generous
guest kept ever and anon wiping his eyes.
At last he said, "Children, I pray you be still. You break my heart.
Eat now; be cheerful. For to-day, farewell; I will return to-morrow."
With this he left, moved to the very heart.
It would be tedious to relate in detail what further took place. From
that time, in the cottage of the shoemaker, all old things passed away
and all things became new. Those who had formerly been acquainted with
the family no longer recognised it. Husband and wife walked hand and
hand in the countenance of the Lord. Their union was of the happiest,
their house a bright example to the whole neighbourhood. The children
were trained up in the fear and admonition of the Lord, and, neatly
clad, regularly attended the school of a pious teacher.
Mary bloomed in the society of the powerful and loving Friend who feeds
the birds and clothes the lilies, happy and lovely as a flower of
paradise in the dark valley of the earth. The father by and bye kept,
sometimes three, sometimes even four journeymen, and his family had
their daily bread in abundance.
He did not remain one farthing in the debt of his benefactor, who
afterwards learnt, of course, all that had transpired previously to his
first visit. He was even able to give something of his own to the
treasury of love, and many a contribution for missionary, Bible, and
other Christian associations, were received from him by the pastor, who
kept the promise he had made to Mary of visiting them, and in no family
of his parish passed his time oftener, or with greater pleasure, than in
that of the shoemaker. The peace of God was enthroned beneath the richly
blessed roof, for the Prince of Peace Himself had in mercy taken up His
abode there.
The parents, afterwards, following close on each other, died in a joyful
faith in Him who, in a twofold sense, had been to them resurrection and
life.
Mary had been shortly before married to a cabinetmaker, an upright man,
who was well aware what a pearl the Lord had presented him with in his
wife. On the marriage day, the bridegroom made his bride a present of a
beautiful family Bible, with gilt edges and silver clasps. The bride,
in return, gave him a piece of embroidery, wrought by her own hand, and
set in a gilt frame. There were on it full-topped trees, and branches
decorated with all kinds of little birds. A kind form wandered beneath
the shade of the trees, and strewed corn right and left for the happy
songsters. At the foot of the piece, composed of particles of gold,
might be read the words:--"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow
not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly
Father feedeth them. _Are ye not much better than they?_"
* * * * * * * *
*THE CLAREMONT SERIES, 1/.*
_*Handsomely bound in Cloth. Illustrated.*_
1. THE CLAREMONT TALES
A story for Boy and Girls. By A.L.O.E.
2. A WREATH OF SMOKE
Or A Wedding in a London Fog. By A.L.O.E.
3. GRACE VERNON.
Or Christian Lore and Loyalty. By A.L.O.E.
4. CHRISTIAN CONQUESTS
A Collection of Stories, by A.L.O.E.
5. POMEGRANATES FROM THE PUNJAB
A Series of Stories, by A.L.O.E.
6. THE LAKE OF THE WOODS
A tale of the Backwoods. By A.L.O.E.
7. TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PARABLES
A Collection of Stories, by A.L.O.E.
8. LITTLE BULLETS FROM BATALA
Or Indian Stories, by A.L.O.E.
9. SEVEN PERILS PASSED
A Series of Stories, by A.L.O.E.
10. THE BATTLE OF LIFE
Or What is a Christian? Stories by A.L.O.E.
11. THE WONDROUS SICKLE
Stories by A.L.O.E.
12. THE KING'S HIGHWAY
Stories on the Commandments. By Rev. Dr. Newton.
13. THE SAFE COMPASS
And How it Points. By Rev. Dr. Newton.
14. THE GIANTS, AND HOW TO FIGHT THEM
And other Stories. By Rev. Dr. Newton.
15. BURTIE COREY
The Fisher Boy. A Temperance Story.
16. OLD CARROLL'S WILL
Or "Take Care of 'Number One.'" By S. G. Goodrich.
17. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
By John Bunyan. Illustrated.