Friends in Need.
Through whatsoever ills betide
For you I will be spent and spend:
I'll stand for ever by your side,
And naught shall you and me divide,
Because you are my friend.
Perhaps one of the most noteworthy characteristics of "the people
called Methodists" is the _esprit de corps_--the spirit of
clannishness--which runs through the whole body. Is any sick, the
rest are eager to pray; is any merry, the rest are delighted to sing
psalms; and they will not only pray and sing in sympathy, which is
comparatively easy, but they are ready to spend and to be spent for
the brethren to any extent. Men may know that they are Methodists
from the love they have one to another. And this love does not
confine itself to the actual members of the Church, but extends to
their descendants, to the third and fourth generation, even though
these descendants may have forsaken the faith of their fathers, and
embraced other forms of worship. This clannishness is not so much
the spiritual bond of a common creed, as a more human--and so more
indissoluble--bond, like the tie of country or of kinship; and
therefore no variations in belief can break it.
If the children of Methodism, as they grow up and see the various
phases of modern life, incline to a broader faith or a more ornate
ritual than those which satisfied their fathers, their Mother-Church
does not blame them as perverts nor brand them as apostates; they are
still her children and she will be interested in them to the end.
Though the daughter may forget her own people and her father's house,
she herself is ever remembered in the old home, where there is no
bitterness on account of her forgetfulness, such forgetfulness being
but the fulfilment of a law of natural growth.
It is this spirit of kinship that accounts for the wonderful
freemasonry among all Wesleyan Methodists; and their masonic
sign--their Shibboleth, so to speak--is their pronunciation of their
denominational name. If a man pronounces the word Wesleyan as if the
_s_ were a _z_, and puts the accent upon the second syllable, one may
safely conclude that that man has never been inside this particular
fold; but if he sounds the _s_ sharply as if it were double s, and
accentuates the first syllable of the word, all Wesleyans know that
he is, or his father was before him, one of themselves, for his
speech bewrayeth him.
When Paul had been at Oxford for upwards of two years, and seemed on
the high road to success in all his undertakings, a sudden change
came o'er the spirit of his dream. The bank in which Mrs. Seaton's
fortune was invested stopped payment, and the heavy calls which her
husband was obliged to pay left him with but a very small addition to
his income as a "supernumerary". To many men of his age this would
have been a crushing blow; but Mark Seaton's mind was so uniformly
set upon things above, and so indifferent to all earthly
considerations, that worldly misfortunes had little power to hurt
him. But the stroke, nevertheless, fell heavily upon his wife; not
that she was more worldly-minded than her husband, but because
poverty always presses harder upon a woman than upon a man. Poverty
meets a man face to face upon the battle-field of life, and he then
and there either conquers or is conquered by it; but it waylays a
woman in her home, lurking for her in the recesses of her wardrobe
and jumping out upon her from her kitchen and her storeroom; and a
secret foe is always worse than an open enemy.
The blow fell when Paul was down for the Long Vacation, and he saw
far more clearly than his father did what it would mean to his mother
and sister. With an intuition which was rare in so young a man, he
realized how the daily struggle to make both ends meet--which hardly
penetrated into the minister's study--would embitter Joanna's youth
and render Mrs. Seaton's declining years but labour and sorrow to
her; and with his accustomed decision he made up his mind that this
burden must be lightened at all costs, even though the lightening
taxed him to his uttermost farthing.
"Joanna," he said one day, when he and his sister were alone
together, "I am not going back to Oxford."
"Not going back to Oxford, Paul? What do you mean?"
"Simply what I say. Instead of finishing my time there, I have
decided to set about earning something at once, so as to make life a
little less hard for you and mother."
"But there is no need for that," said Joanna. "Mother and I were
saying only yesterday what a good thing it was that you had your
scholarship and so were independent of us."
"That's all rot!" said Paul. "A fellow can't be independent of his
own people in that sense; and I'm not going to have mother fagged to
death over things if I can stop it."
"But, Paul, it would spoil your career if you left Oxford without
taking your degree."
"Don't bother about that! And besides--career or no career--my mind
is made up."
"Don't you know," urged Joanna, "that father and mother and I would
gladly give up everything we have for the sake of you and your
future?"
"Of course I do. And do you suppose I haven't the same consideration
for you?"
"But, Paul, it seems such a shame!"
"It's no use arguing with me. I've made up my mind, I tell you. Of
course I'm sorry to leave Oxford and throw up my chance of a First
and all that that means; but, you know, there are some things a
fellow can pay too dearly for, and that is one of them."
Joanna's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Paul! are you sure it is
necessary?"
"Look here! I think it is necessary that I should set about earning
some money as soon as possible."
"It is awfully good of you, dear!"
"Oh! I don't know much about the goodness of it; but I do know that
a man couldn't very well act differently under the circumstances."
"But, Paul, think of your boating, and how you would miss that!"
For the first time in the conversation Paul's lip quivered. "Please
don't let's talk about that! Besides, boating isn't everything."
After a few moments Joanna asked: "Then what shall you do instead of
going back to Oxford?"
"I shall go and teach 'small Latin and less Greek' to Sir Richard
Esdaile's son. I wrote to my tutor, telling him how matters stood,
and asking him if he could put me in the way of getting a job. And
he wrote back saying that old Esdaile--who is a chum of his--wanted
somebody to teach his small boy and prepare him for Eton."
"And so he recommended you?"
"He said he should be pleased to recommend me to anybody, as I took a
First in Mods, and was pretty sure to do the same in Greats if I'd
stayed up. So I shall go to Esdaile Court after the summer holidays
are over."
"I see."
"The pay is two hundred a year," continued Paul; "and I can send most
of it home, as I shall have only my clothes to pay for."
"Oh, Paul, how good you are!"
"You see, even if I stayed on at Oxford and took my degree and went
to the Bar, it would be ages before I could earn anything; and I feel
I mustn't waste any more time. But I shall write articles and things
for magazines in the intervals of teaching young Esdaile his A,B,C,
and I hope in time to make a good thing out of my pen."
"But do you think you will like teaching?" asked Joanna.
"I can't say anything about that at present. Just now my idea of
teaching anybody anything is to say it over and over again in the
same words, but louder and louder each time, with the addition of a
few epithets hurled at the stupidity of the pupil. But I daresay I
shall warm to the work in time; and as what must be must be, there is
no good talking any more about it."
So Paul Seaton renounced his heart's desire, and gave up his youthful
dreams. It was no light matter to him thus to forego all the things
that he had longed for from his youth up; but he was hopeful enough
to believe that if a man can succeed in anything he can succeed in
everything, and that success is a matter of character rather than a
question of circumstance. Therefore Paul made up his mind that if he
could not distinguish himself in law, he would distinguish himself in
letters, and would be a great author as he might not be a great
advocate; and in the meantime he worked and waited, and did all in
his power to lighten the cloud which had fallen upon the little home
at Chayford.
And things pressed heavily there at first, before Paul's salary had
begun to come in, and before the necessary retrenchments had been put
into practice: for one cannot reconstruct the management of a
household in a day. But it was better for the Seatons than it might
otherwise have been, because of that wonderful Methodist freemasonry.
"My husband and I want to know," said Mrs. Ford to the minister one
day, "if--instead of renting another house, as you intend--you will
do us the favour of living in our little cottage. We do not need it,
as long as our son remains unmarried; and we should not like to let
it, as Chayford Cottage has never been let. So it really will be a
kindness to us if you and Mrs. Seaton will keep it warm for us till
such time as we want it for Edgar and his wife."
The minister grasped her hand. "You are very good to us," he said,
and his voice shook, "but I hardly like to take advantage of such
generosity."
"Let me assure you that such a feeling is quite beside the mark. It
is really far better for a house to be inhabited by gentlepeople than
by caretakers; and yet I should not like to have any one living there
with whom I was not on terms of the most intimate friendship. So you
are really conferring the favour on us."
Mr. Seaton smiled. "There was once another great woman who builded a
little chamber in the wall that a prophet might abide there, and who
was careful for him with all care. And we do not read that the
prophet's pride rebelled against the sense of obligation, nor that he
hesitated to take a favour at the great woman's hands because she
happened to be rich and he was poor."
"Because when one gets to the heart of life, and understands that
nothing is one's own but that all things are God's, there is no such
thing as a sense of obligation; such a sense is a mere vulgar
superficiality," said Mrs. Ford.
"Precisely; therefore, dear Mrs. Ford, I accept your kind offer with
more gratitude than I can express. I can never repay you and your
husband for what you have done for me and mine; but, like the prophet
of old, I can speak for you to the King and the Captain of the Host;
and, believe me, I shall do that every time I am on my knees. And
may God grant more abundantly than I can desire or conceive, all the
prayers that I shall offer up on your behalf!"
So it was arranged that the Seatons should take up their abode at
Chayford Cottage. Thus they were saved from paying rent--a heavy
item in small homes; but, nevertheless, the incidental expenses of
moving and so forth were so great that Mr. Seaton decided, with much
sorrow, that he should be obliged to part with his library in order
to meet them. On hearing of this decision, Miss Dallicot called at
the minister's.
"Is it true, dear Mr. Seaton," she began, "that you are contemplating
the sale of your interesting and valuable library? Mrs. Ford
informed me that she believed such was the case, though she had no
authority for making the statement beyond the sanction of rumour."
"It is true, I am grieved to say," replied the minister. "I have
always made it my rule in life to pay ready money for all things, and
never to run into debt even for a shilling's worth; therefore I am in
need of some cash in hand to pay the expenses of our move into the
cottage. My conscience would not allow me to borrow the necessary
sum, so I see no alternative but to dispose of my books."
"Still you possess so many friends who would feel it a privilege to
advance the sum you require, that it seems a matter of regret that
you will not avail yourself of the loan."
"Do not tempt me, dear Miss Dallicot, to act against my principles.
I have made a vow to owe no man anything, even for an hour; and I
should not feel it consistent with my profession as a minister of
Christ to run into debt on any pretext whatsoever."
"Then that being the case," said Miss Drusilla, "you will not deem it
unseemly or commercial on my part to inform you that I have long
viewed with feelings of envy your admirably selected collection of
old books. I have come here to-day with the intention of making you
a reasonable offer for the same; but I felt that such an offer would
savour of impertinence if your mind were not as yet finally made up
in favour of disposing of your valuable library."
Mr. Seaton looked pleased. "I am very glad to hear you say this. I
confess it is a wrench to me to part with my books, and I cannot
disguise from myself that I shall miss them sorely. Yet it is a
great comfort to me to think that my carefully selected library will
not be broken up, but will be in the possession of a cultured person
capable of appreciating it."
"Then," said Miss Dallicot blushing, "may I be so mercenary as to
mention the sum I should offer in exchange for your admirable
collection of volumes?"
"Certainly, dear Miss Dallicot. I am, as you know, a child in these
matters, and have no idea what my library is worth."
"The sum I should suggest is five hundred pounds; but if you think
that insufficient, pray tell me so, and I will increase it at once."
"Nay, Miss Drusilla; that seems to me far too much. I could not take
such a large sum as that for my little library."
"Believe me, dear Mr. Seaton, it is none too much," said Miss
Dallicot, with more charity than veracity. "In fact I believe at a
sale your books would command a far larger sum; but, as you remark,
it would be a source of regret to see so carefully selected a
collection ruthlessly resolved again into its integral parts."
The minister looked doubtful. "I am a poor hand at business, but I
think you are too generous, dear friend."
"Quite the reverse. Take my word for it, Mr. Seaton, I am making
what is vulgarly termed a bargain. To obtain a valuable library,
which I have long coveted, for the comparatively trifling sum of five
hundred pounds, is a stroke of good fortune such as does not
generally fall to my portion."
Mark Seaton shook his head. "I trust that we are not deceiving
ourselves, and letting your kindness of heart run away with us."
"Certainly not; have no doubts on that score, I entreat you. And now
I have a favour to ask of you, if you will not think me importunate
in so doing."
"By no means, dear Miss Drusilla. It will be the greatest pleasure
to me to do anything in my power for so faithful a friend as you have
proved yourself to be."
"The request I have to make is that you will grant me permission to
keep my library under your roof for a time. As you will perceive, I
have no space at present for any increase in my shelf-room. I may
possibly add a small octagonal room to my present study, like the one
at Chayford House; but until this arrangement is carried out, I must
trespass on your kindness so far as to leave the library I have
purchased from you in your keeping."
The minister's face glowed with innocent pleasure. He had no
suspicion of any guile on the good spinster's part, and it rejoiced
his heart to know that he and his beloved books would not be parted
just yet.
"I shall be only too delighted to oblige you in this matter, Miss
Dallicot; in fact," added he, with the air of one imparting a new
view of the question, "I myself shall profit by the arrangement; for
I am sure you will not have any objection to my using the books as
long as they are in my charge."
"Of course not, dear Mr. Seaton; I trust you will avail yourself of
the library just the same whether it is nominally in my possession or
in yours. And it will be a source of unbounded satisfaction to me to
feel that my treasured books are under such safe jurisdiction."
"I hope that I have not acted in a deceitful manner," said Miss
Dallicot to herself on her way home, "but the worthy man would not
have accepted help more openly bestowed, I fear; wherefore my little
ruse was perhaps excusable. And I was not actually guilty of any
untruth--at least I trust I was not. Surely the value of anything is
what it happens to be worth to us; and the minister's library is
worth far more than five hundred pounds to me, for it represents the
earthly happiness of my dear friend and pastor. And it is
undoubtedly true that I have no more book-room in my little home: my
shelves are already so overcrowded that a new hymn-book would prove a
superfluity to me at present. But I fear I overstepped the mark a
little in my speech anent the octagonal enlargement; I have no actual
intention of ever enlarging my borders, and I am sorely afraid I
conveyed the impression that such an intention formed part of my
immediate programme. I trust that I have not sinned in this, and
done evil that good may come!" And the good lady sighed in much
contrition of spirit, never having read how the recording angel blots
out with a tear some entries even as he makes them.
But the entry against Miss Drusilla was not the only erasure that the
recording angel had to make that day.
"Martha," said Mrs. Seaton to her faithful handmaiden, "it goes to my
heart to say it, but I fear we cannot keep you with us any longer."
"Well to be sure, ma'am!" exclaimed Martha, in unfeigned surprise.
"And what may have put such a notion as that into your head? You'll
be talking about giving the minister notice next."
"The fact is, Martha, that we can no longer afford so valuable a maid
as yourself. Now that our circumstances are changed, we can only
keep one servant for the very rough work, and Miss Joanna and I must
do the rest ourselves."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that it is the money-question that has put
you thus beside yourself, ma'am, and not any dissatisfaction with me.
Not that I should have left, even if such had been the case; I should
have stayed with you for your own good, even though you had given me
notice twenty times a day. Bless you, ma'am, if I wasn't here to
look after you all, the whole place would go to rack and ruin."
"You are right, Martha. Home would not be home without you!"
"Then don't multiply words any more, ma'am, or talk nonsense about my
going away. I have made up my mind to stay on with you all, and not
to take any wages whatsoever: and when Martha Prosser puts her foot
down, all the king's horses and all the king's men can't pick it up
again."
"But, dear Martha, we can't let you go on serving us without wages."
"And why not, I should like to know? What do I want with wages? My
face is too plain for me to care to spend money on my back--which is
no secret, being there for all the world to see. And I don't hold
with saving, ma'am. Money is like the manna, to my thinking; it is
all very well to supply the needs of the passing day, but when you
begin to save it up it doesn't improve with keeping."
"Yet we should all of us lay by what we can for our old age,"
suggested Mrs. Seaton.
"I don't hold with that, neither. It is a poor compliment, to my
mind, to say, 'The Lord will provide'; and then to bolster Him up
with a bank-book, as if He couldn't do His part of the business
without our assistance. My conscience alive! If we'll only do our
part properly, He'll do His, never fear!"
The minister's wife did not reply in words; but she threw her arms
round Martha's neck, and sobbed out her griefs and her gratitude on
that faithful breast.
As for Martha, when she had soothed and comforted her mistress, she
armed herself with the wisdom of the serpent, and knocked at the door
of the minister's study.
"If you please, sir," she said in a sepulchral tone, "I want to
consult you about a spiritual difficulty."
"Certainly, Martha, certainly," replied Mr. Seaton with much warmth,
feeling far more at home on eternal than on temporal ground. "Sit
down and tell me all about it, and I will see how I can help you."
Thus adjured, Martha took a seat. "I used to think," she began,
"that when one had got to a sensible age, one would have outgrown the
snares and wiles of the devil; but, bless my soul! he has got them
suited to fit all ages and sizes, as they say of ready-made clothes."
"He has indeed, my poor Martha; and it is when we think he has no
longer the power to harm us that he is most to be dreaded. But tell
me, what is the temptation that has been assailing you now?"
Martha's face was the picture of gloom as she replied: "I feel that
covetousness and the love of money are creeping upon me in my old
age; and we all know that the Lord hateth the covetous man, and that
the love of money is the root of all evil."
Mr. Seaton's face was very tender as he answered: "I fancy that you
are unduly distressing yourself. Surely I, who know you so well and
with whom you have met in class all these years, should have
perceived this fault in your character had it ever existed. Believe
me, your conscience is over-sensitive, and now falsely accuses you."
But Martha shook her head. "The heart knoweth its own bitterness,"
she replied, "and I want you to help me to conquer the devil, and not
explain him away. As my Aunt Matilda Jane said, when the doctor told
her she had nasal catarrh: 'It is a common cold in the head, and I
haven't sent for you to christen it but to cure it'. That is what
Aunt Matilda Jane said, and she had right on her side, to my
thinking."
"Well, Martha, if, as you say, the sin of covetousness is lying in
wait for your soul, I can only pray for you, and entreat you to watch
as well as pray that you enter not into this temptation."
"That is not enough. There is more than prayer wanted in my case.
Not that prayer is not sufficient for some, and I should be the last
to say a word against it; but I want something more myself," replied
the penitent.
"Then tell me what that more is," demanded Martha's spiritual
adviser, in some perplexity.
"I want you to remove the temptation far from me, so that I can no
longer behold the accursed thing. In fact I want you to take all my
savings, and spend them, and never let me hear of them again, they
being but filthy lucre at best, and amounting to one hundred and
eleven pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence in all," added the
excited Martha, thrusting her bank-book into her master's hand. "If
I keep them, they may draw my soul into perdition, and make me as
them that have their portion in this life; while if you'll only take
and spend them, you'll save my soul alive, and be able to have a fire
in your bedroom all the winter, which the mistress ought never to be
without, her being so rheumatic, bless her dear heart!"
Then at last the minister understood; and he also understood that
when any pilgrim's face is set as though to go to Jerusalem, it is no
sign of true apostleship to try to turn that pilgrim back. So he
took Martha's bank-book into his keeping, until such time as he saw
fit to return it to her.
"Thank you, Martha," he said, and his eyes were full of tears. "I
will do as you bid me, and shall be able to see that your dear
mistress lacks nothing during the coming winter, owing to your
generosity. And you in your turn will always remember that in this
household, as in the early Church, we have all things in common; and
that whatever is ours is also yours."
"Then that's settled," replied Martha cheerfully; "and now I must go
back to the kitchen to see the oven, which is apt to burn the
pie-crust without baking it, unless duly warned and admonished by
them that have authority. You'd wonder how an oven could burn
without baking; but human nature is deceitful above all things and
desperately wicked, and our kitchen oven is one of the worst."
"Yet, Martha, God is very good, and therefore human nature is
sometimes very good likewise; I have certainly proved it of late."
"Well, you see, sir, it is in this way," expounded Martha. "God made
man in His own image; and though man spoils himself in the making,
and loses his proper pattern, and falls out of shape, the original
mould is not broken yet--nor never will be, trust the Lord for that!"