IS IT TRUE?
SANDY was off again by daybreak, before Mrs. Shafto could get down. But
he had promised John the night before to return every evening until Gip
was found. He had done his utmost to describe her to him, though he had
not been very successful; except in giving him to understand that she
had black eyes and black hair, curling all over her head. But the vague
idea he had gained of another Person, who knew Gip as well as he did,
and who was looking for her, had lifted the heaviest part of the burden
from him. He had listened eagerly to all John Shafto and his mother
had been able to tell him about the Lord Jesus Christ, who had lived a
sorrowful life, and died a painful death for the sake of a lost world;
and though there was very much that he could not understand, he began
to feel that he was not left alone. The true and tender Friend, whom
John Shafto knew to be always near to him, would surely take a little
notice of the poor boy John Shafto was befriending!
It was rather earlier than it had been the night before when Sandy
turned out of the street into the quiet grave-yard that evening. It was
quite light enough for him to see at the first glance the tall lanky
figure of Mr. Shafto, loitering along the smooth path of gravestones,
in slipshod shoes trodden down at the heels. He called to Sandy, and
pointed out to him an old smoke-stained tablet fixed against the wall
of the chapel.
"Can you read, boy?" he enquired.
"No, sir, never a word," replied Sandy, putting his head on one side,
and staring at the blackened stone, as if he could by staring make out
the inscription upon it.
"That," said Mr. Shafto, "is my grandfather's tombstone, John Shafto,
minister of this chapel. He was a very learned man; and large numbers
of people flocked to hear him preach—rich people and grand people.
He ought to have been rich himself; but he left nothing more to his
children than yonder poor tumble-down hovel. He never thought that his
great-grandson would make a friend of a boy out of the streets."
"I'm very sorry, sir," remarked Sandy, as Mr. Shafto paused in his
speech. "I s'pose, sir, you took to buryin' folks because it were so
handy bein' near the buryin' ground?"
"There was nothing else to take to," said Mr. Shafto, in a slow, dreamy
manner, as if he forgot he was speaking to Sandy; "I had the hatchment
on hand, and every one told me I had such a solemn manner at a funeral.
But the city grave-yards were closed immediately after, and now the
family vaults even are not opened. Nothing has come of it. But boy,"
he continued, in a voice less languid, "I don't consider you a fit
companion for my son; and I can't allow it. You must not get into the
habit of coming here every night, as if it was your home."
Mr. Shafto had come to this conclusion during the day, and had resolved
to put a stop to the thing. A boy picked up out of the scum of the
street to be the chosen friend of Johnny Shafto! That could not be.
Sandy listened in dismay, but he had no idea of rebelling against Mr.
Shafto's orders. He knew himself to be quite unfit for such a place,
and such friends; and he was not in the least surprised to hear that he
must not think of it as his home. There were disappointment and regret
in his heart, but no bitterness, as he heard Mr. Shafto's speech. But
here was a chance of asking a question or two that had puzzled him
during the day, whenever he thought of what John and his mother had
tried to teach him. He drew a little nearer to Mr. Shafto, and spoke in
a low, mysterious voice.
"You don't b'lieve the same as them others?" he said, pointing over his
shoulder to the house.
"Believe what?" asked Mr. Shafto.
"As He's everywhere, hearkenin' to us, and watchin' of us," whispered
Sandy: "God, you know? I didn't think as it were true, only Mr. Johnny
were so sure of it."
"Of course it's true," answered Mr. Shafto; "I believe it as surely as
my son does."
"I didn't think as you did," pursued Sandy. "If I b'lieved of it, it
'ud make a difference to me, it would. I couldn't go on doin' as I'm
used to do. I don't see how folks can b'lieve in it; they goes on doin'
jest the same as if it weren't true. Does God know as you don't like me
to have a bite of bread, and sleepin' on your floor?"
Mr. Shafto was not ready with an answer. He looked at his grandfather's
tablet, and from that to Sandy's brown, weather-beaten face, alive with
earnest feeling; but neither of them helped him to any words.
"You don't think, do you," went on Sandy, "as Lord Jesus Christ 'ud do
all they say He'll do for a poor boy in the streets, without shoes to
his feet or a cap to his head? Or as He'll look for a ragged little gel
like Gip, and take care on her for me? Oh! no. You don't b'lieve that;
and maybe it's not true. You know lots more than they do; I heard Mr.
Johnny's mother say so."
Still Mr. Shafto was tongue-tied.
Sandy spoke earnestly and sadly, with no look or tone as if he
intended to give him any offence; he was only putting into words the
difficulties that had come to his mind during the day.
A strange, new sense of shame smote the conscience of Mr. Shafto. All
his life long he had professed to believe that God was everywhere,
taking note of all that was said and done by every human being. He had
professed also to believe that the Lord Jesus Christ had died for all,
making no difference between rich and poor, learned and ignorant. Yet
now, when this poor, untaught boy stood before his face, demanding of
him if he really believed these things, he dared not say that he did.
"If it ain't true," continued Sandy, very sorrowfully, "there's nobody
taking care of little Gip. I could get along somehow for myself, but I
don't see what's to become of her. I were beginnin' to be glad again,
I were; but now, if it's not true, Gip's lost, and mother's lost, and
there's nobody to care a straw about it. I wish I'd never heard tell of
such a thing!"
No answer yet from Mr. Shafto. If it was true that God was beside
him, what a miserable fool he had been all his life! If God had been
hearing, day after day, his fretful murmurings and his conceited
boasting about his grandfather; if He had been watching all his
idleness and selfishness, what a wretched, sinful man he had been! If
Jesus Christ, the Saviour, who had laid down His life for him, knew how
he had spent his own life, wasting it, and casting away all the golden
opportunities of being good and doing good, why, then he was as much
lost as poor little Gip or Sandy's drunken mother. There was as much
need for the Lord to come seeking him, in long-suffering patience, as
ever there had been for Him of old to seek and save the publican and
sinner.
As for Sandy, his heart was very heavy again. The strange good news
told to him by John and Mrs. Shafto had all turned out untrue. Nobody
else believed these things. Even Mr. Shafto, living in the same house,
and hearing all about it, did not believe it; that was very plain.
Yet to turn away from this new hope and this new love, just dawning
before him, would make the old life he must go back to a hundred-fold
darker and sadder than it had seemed before. There was no unseen Friend
seeking him and little Gip; no home for them to go to after death. The
grave was the end of all; and even those who were rich or learned had
nothing left to them when they died, but gravestones, growing black
with time and the smoke of the busy city.
Sandy stole away silently, and without speaking again to Mr. Shafto,
whose head had dropped down, and whose eyes had closed, not now in
sheer laziness, but in something like shame and repentance.
The boy was at no loss for a shelter to-night; for one of his comrades
had urged him to share an empty sugar-cask he knew of, where, lying
close together, they might keep one another tolerably warm. It was not
that he cared about; but it was the thought of little Gip, with no one
now to care for her, except himself, and the loss of his new friend,
John Shafto.
When Mr. Shafto roused himself from his reverie, and found that Sandy
had disappeared, his first feeling was one of relief. The boy's
questions had stung him too keenly for him not to be almost glad to be
rid of him. But as the evening passed away, and he did not return to
the house, and John Shafto wondered what had prevented his keeping his
promise, Mr. Shafto began to listen eagerly for a low tap at the door,
and was ready to fetch the boy in and make him welcome to his fireside.
But no Sandy came; and at a late hour the shop door was locked, and
John went upstairs to his little room, with a sad face and a sadder
heart.
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