ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON
The next morning, as soon as they had started on their journey, Rosalie
begged her mother to continue her story. So, after satisfying herself that
her husband did not intend to favour them with his company, the poor woman
took up the thread of her story at the place at which she had left it when
they were interrupted the day before.
'I was telling you, dear, about my life in that quiet country manor-house.
I think I can remember nothing worth mentioning, until an event happened
which altered the whole course of our lives.
'Lucy and I had been out riding in the park on the beautiful new horses
which our father had given us a few months before, and we had had a very
pleasant afternoon. I can see Lucy now in her riding-habit--her fair hair
hanging down her back, and her cheeks glowing with the air and exercise.
She was very pretty, was my sister Lucy. People said I was handsomer than
she was, and had a better figure and brighter eyes; but Lucy was a
sweet-looking little thing, and no one could look at her without loving
her.
'We got down from our horses, leaving them with the groom who had been
riding out with us, and ran into the house. But we were met by one of the
servants, with a face white with alarm, who begged us to go quietly
upstairs, as our father was very ill, and the doctor said he was to be
perfectly quiet. We asked her what was the matter with him, and she told us
that as he had been riding home from the railway station, his horse, which
was a young one he had just bought, had thrown him, and that he had been
brought home insensible. More than this she could not tell us, but our
mother came into our bedroom, and told us, with more feeling than I had
ever seen in her face before, that our father could not live through the
night.
'I shall never forget that night. It was the first time that I had been
brought close to death, and it frightened me. I lay awake, listening to the
hall clock as it struck one hour after another. Then I crept out of bed,
and put my head out of the window. It was a close, oppressive night,--not a
breath seemed to be stirring. I wondered what was going on in the next
room, and whether I should ever see my father again. Then I thought I heard
a sound, but it was only Lucy sobbing beneath the bedclothes.
'"Lucy," I said, glad to find she was awake, "isn't it a long night?"
'"Yes, Norah," she answered. "I'm so frightened; shall we have a light?"
'I found the matches and lighted a candle; but three or four large moths
darted into the room, so that I had to close the window.
'We lay awake in our little beds watching the moths darting in and out of
the candle, and straining our ears for any sound from our father's room.
Each time a door shut we started, and sat up in bed listening.
'"Wouldn't you be frightened if you were dying, Norah?" said Lucy, under
her breath.
'"Yes," I said, "I'm sure I should."
'Then there was silence again for a long time; and I thought Lucy had
fallen asleep, when she got up in bed and spoke again--
'"Norah, do you think you would go to heaven if you were to die?"
'"Yes, of course," I said quickly; "why do you ask me?"
'"I don't think _I_ should," said Lucy; "I'm almost sure I shouldn't."
'We lay still for about another hour, and then the door opened, and our
mother came in. She was crying very much, and had a handkerchief to her
eyes.
"'Your father wants to see you," she said; "come at once."
'We crept very quietly into the room of death, and stood beside our
father's bed. His face was so altered that it frightened us, and we
trembled from head to foot. But he held out his hand to us, Rosalie, and we
drew closer to him. Then he whispered--
'"Good-bye! don't forget your father; and don't wait till you come to die
to get ready for another world."
'Then we kissed him, and our mother told us to go back to bed. I never
forgot my father's last words to us; and I often wondered what made him say
them.
'The next morning we heard that our father was dead. Gerald arrived too
late to see him; he was at college then, and was just preparing for his
last examination.
'My mother seemed at first very much distressed by my father's death; she
shut herself up in her room, and would see no one. The funeral was a very
grand one; all the people of the neighbourhood came to it, and Lucy and I
peeped out of one of the top windows to see it start. After it was over,
Gerald went back to college, and my mother returned to her novels. I think
she thought, Rosalie, that she would be able to return to her old life much
as before. But no sooner had Gerald passed his last examination than she
received a letter from him to say that he intended to be married in a few
months, and to bring his bride to the Hall. Then for the first time the
truth flashed upon my mother's mind, that she would soon be no longer the
mistress of the manor-house, but would have to seek a home elsewhere. She
seemed at first very angry with Gerald for marrying so early; but she could
say nothing against his choice, for she was a young lady of title, and one
in every way suited to the position she was to occupy.
'My mother at length decided to remove to a town in the midland counties,
where she would have some good society and plenty of gaiety, so soon as her
mourning for my father was ended.
'It was a great trial to us, leaving the old home. Lucy and I went round
the park the day before we left, gathering leaves from our favourite trees,
and taking a last look at the home of our childhood. Then we walked through
the house, and looked out of the windows on the lovely wooded hills with
eyes which were full of tears. I have never seen it since, and I shall
never see it again. Sometimes, when we are coming through the country, it
brings it back to my mind, and I could almost fancy I was walking down one
of the long grassy terraces, or wandering in the quiet shade of the trees
in the park. Hush! what was that, Rosalie?' said her mother, leaning
forward to listen; 'was it music?'
At first Rosalie could hear nothing except Toby whistling to his horse, and
the rumbling of the wheels of the caravan. She went to the door and leaned
out, and listened once more. The sun was beginning to set, for Rosalie's
mother had only been able to talk at intervals during the day, from her
frequent fits of coughing, and from numerous other interruptions, such as
the preparations for dinner, the halting to give the horses rest, and the
occasional visits of Augustus.
The rosy clouds were gathering in the west, as the pure evening breeze
wafted to the little girl's ears the distant sound of bells.
'It's bells, mammie,' she said, turning round, 'church bells; can't you
hear them? Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell.'
'Yes,' said her mother, 'I can hear them clearly now; our old nurse used to
tell us they were saying, "Come and pray, come and pray." Oh, Rosalie, it
is such a comfort to be able to speak of those days to some one! I've kept
it all hidden up in my heart till sometimes I have felt as if it would
burst.'
'I can see the church now, mammie,' said Rosalie; 'it's a pretty little
grey church with a tower, and we're going through the village; aren't we,
Toby?'
'Yes, Miss Rosie,' said Toby; 'we're going to stop there all night; the
horses are tired out, and it's so fair to see, that even master can see it
now. We shall get on all the quicker for giving them a bit of rest.'
'Can't you hear the bells nicely now, mammie?' said Rosalie, turning round.
'Yes,' said the poor woman; 'they sound just like the bells of our little
church at home; I could almost cry when I hear them.'
By this time they had reached the village. It was growing dark, and the
country people were lighting their candles, and gathering round their small
fires. Rosalie could see inside many a cheerful little home, where the
firelight was shining on the faces of the father, the mother, and the
children. How she wished they had a little home!
Ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell; still the chimes went on, and one and
another came out of the small cottages, and took the road leading to the
church, with their books under their arms.
Toby drove on; nearer and nearer the chimes sounded, until at last, just as
the caravan reached a wide open common in front of the church, they ceased,
and Rosalie saw the last old woman entering the church door before the
service began. The waggons and caravans were drawn up on this open space
for the night. Toby and the other men led the horses away to the stables of
the inn; Augustus followed them, to enjoy himself amongst the lively
company assembled in the little coffee-room, and Rosalie and her mother
were left alone.
'Mammie dear,' said Rosalie, as soon as the men had turned the corner, 'may
I go and peep at the church?'
'Yes, child,' said her mother; 'only don't make a noise if the people are
inside.'
Rosalie did not wait for a second permission, but darted across the common,
and opened the church gate. It was getting dark now, and the gravestones
looked very solemn in the twilight. She went quickly past them, and crept
along the side of the church to one of the windows. She could see inside
the church quite well, because it was lighted up; but no one could see her
as she was standing in the dark churchyard. Her bright quick eyes soon took
in all that was to be seen. The minister was kneeling down, and so were all
the people. There were a good many there, though the church was not full,
as it was the week-evening service.
Rosalie watched at the window until all the people got up from their knees,
when the clergyman gave out a hymn, and they began to sing. Rosalie then
looked for the door, that she might hear the music better. It was a warm
evening, and the door was open, and before she knew what she was about, she
had crept inside, and was sitting on a low seat just within. No one noticed
her, for they were all looking in the opposite direction. Rosalie enjoyed
the singing very much, and when it was over the clergyman began to speak.
He had a clear, distinct voice, and he spoke in simple language which every
one could understand.
Rosalie listened with all her might; it was the first sermon she had ever
heard. 'The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost.'
That was the text of Rosalie's first sermon.
As soon as the service was over, she stole out of the church, and crept
down the dark churchyard. She had passed through the little gate and was
crossing the common to the caravan before the first person had left the
church. To Rosalie's joy, her father had not returned; for he had found the
society in the village inn extremely attractive. Rosalie's mother looked up
as the child came in.
'Where have you been all this time, Rosalie?'
Rosalie gave an account of all she had seen, and told her how she had crept
in at the open door of the church.
'And what did the clergyman say, child?' asked her mother.
'He said your text, mammie--the text that was on your picture: "The Son of
Man is come to seek and to save that which is lost."'
'And what did he tell you about it?'
'He said Jesus went up and down all over to look for lost sheep, mammie;
and he said we were all the sheep, and Jesus was looking for us. Do you
think He is looking for you and me, mammie dear?'
'I don't know, child; I suppose so,' said her mother. '_I_ shall take
a good deal of looking for, I'm afraid.'
'But he said, mammie, that if only we would _let_ Him find us, He
would be sure to do it; He doesn't mind how much trouble He takes about
it.'
Rosalie's mother was quite still for some time after this. Rosalie stood at
the caravan door, watching the bright stars coming out one by one in the
still sky.
'Mammie dear,' she said, 'is _He_ up there?'
'Who, Rosalie, child?' said her mother.
'The Saviour; is He up in one of the stars?'
'Yes; heaven's somewhere there, Rosalie; up above the sky somewhere.'
'Would it be any good telling Him, mammie?'
'Telling Him what, my dear?'
'Just telling Him that you and me want seeking and finding.'
'I don't know, Rosalie; you can try,' said her mother sadly.
'Please, Good Shepherd,' said Rosalie, looking up at the stars, 'come and
seek me and mammie, and find us very quick, and carry us very safe, like
the lamb in the picture.'
'Will that do, mammie?' said Rosalie.
'Yes,' said her mother, 'I suppose so.'
Then Rosalie was still again, looking at the stars; but a sudden thought
seized her.
'Mammie, ought I to have said amen?'
'Why, Rosalie?'
'I heard the people at church say it. Will it do any good without amen?'
'Oh, I don't think it matters much,' said her mother; 'you can say it now,
if you like.'
'Amen, amen,' said Rosalie, looking at the stars again.
But just then voices were heard in the distance, and Rosalie saw her father
and the men crossing the dark common, and coming in the direction of the
caravan.