For this I know, whate'er of earthly good
Fall to the portion of immortal man,
Still unfulfill'd in him is God's great plan,
And Heaven's richest gift misunderstood,
Until the Word of Life-exhaustless store
Of light and truth-be his for evermore.
IN the homes of the poor, where the time of the elder members of the family is precious, they being the breadwinners of the household, the little ones learn to be useful very early. How often we have known girls of six to take the entire charge of a younger brother and sister, while many children of that age run errands, do simple shopping, and make themselves of very real and substantial use.
Such was the case in the family of Jacob Jones. Jacob and Molly were engaged in weaving the woolen cloth, so much of which used to be made in Wales. Thus many of the household duties devolved upon Mary; and at an age when children of richer parents are amusing themselves with their dolls or picture-books, our little maid was sweeping, and dusting, and scrubbing, and digging and weeding.
It was Mary who fed the few hens, and looked for their eggs, so often laid in queer, wrong places, rather than in the nest.
It was Mary who took care of the hive, and who never feared the bees; and it was Mary again, who, when more active duties were done, would draw a low stool towards the hearth in winter or outside the cottage door in summer, and try to make or mend her own little simple garments, singing to herself the while in Welsh, a verse or two of the old-fashioned metrical version of the Psalms, or repeating texts which she had picked up and retained in her quick, eager little brain.
In the long, light summer evenings, it was her delight to sit where she could see the majestic form of Cader Idris with its varying lights and shadows, as the sun sank lower and lower in the horizon. And in her childish imagination, this mountain was made to play many a part, as she recalled the stories which her parents had told her, and the chapters she had heard read at chapel.
Now, Cader Idris was the mountain in the land of Moriah whither the patriarch was sent on his painful mission; and Mary would fix her great dark eyes upon the rocky steeps before her, until she fancied she could see the venerable Abraham and his son toiling up towards the appointed place of sacrifice, the lad bearing the wood for the burnt-offering.
More and more vividly the whole scene would grow upon the child's fancy, until the picture seemed to be almost a reality, and she could imagine that she heard the patriarch's voice borne faintly to her ear by the breeze that fanned her cheek-a voice that replied pathetically to his son's question, in the words, " My son, the Lord will provide Himself a lamb for the burnt-offering."
Then the scene would change; night was drawing near, and Cader Idris assuming softer outlines, was the mountain where the Savior went to pray.
Leaving the thronging multitude who had been dwelling upon His every word-leaving even His disciples whom He so loved, there was Jesus-alone save for the Eternal Father's presence-praying, and refreshing thus His weary spirit, after the work and trials and sorrows of the day.
" If I'd only lived in those days," sighed little Mary, sometimes, " how I should have loved Him! and He'd have taught me, perhaps, as He did those two who walked such a long way with Him, without knowing that it was Jesus; only I think I should have known Him, just through love."
Nor was it only the mountain with which Mary associated scenes from sacred history or Gospel narration. The long, narrow valley in the upper end of which Llanfihangel was situated, -ran down to the sea at no great distance by a place called Towyn. And when the child happened to be near, she would steal a few moments to sit down on the shore, and gaze across the blue-green waters of Cardigan Bay, and dream of the Sea of Galilee, and of the Savior who walked upon its waters-who stilled their raging with a word, and who even sometimes chose to make His pulpit of a boat, and preach thus to the congregation that stood upon the shore and clustered to the very edge of the water, so that they might not lose a word of the precious things that He spoke. It will be seen, therefore, that upon Mary's mind a deep and lasting impression was made by all that she had heard; and child though she might be in years, there were not wanting in her evidences of an earnest, energetic nature, an intelligent brain, and a warm, loving heart.
It is by the first leaves put forth by the seedling that we discern the nature, and know the name of the plant; and so in childhood, the character and talents can often be detected in the early beauty of their first unfolding and development.
One afternoon, when Jacob and his wife were seated at their looms, and Mary was sewing a patch into an almost worn-out garment of her own, a little tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Evans, the good farmer's wife, a kind, motherly, and in some respects superior woman, who was looked up to and beloved by many of the Llanfihangel villagers.
" Good day to you, neighbors!" she said, cheerily, her comely face all aglow. " Jacob, how is your chest feeling? Bad, I'm afraid, as I haven't seen you out of late. Molly, you're looking hearty as usual, and my little Mary, too-Toddles, as I used to call you when you were not much more than a baby, and running round on your sturdy pins as fast as many a bigger child. Don't I remember you then! A mere baby as I said, and yet you'd keep a deal stiller than any mouse if your father there would make up a story you could understand, more particular if it was out of the Bible. Daniel and the Lions, or David and the Giant, or Peter in the Prison-these were the favorites then. Yes, and the history of Joseph and his brethren; only you used to cry when the naughty brothers put Joseph in the pit, and went home and told Jacob that wicked lie that almost broke the old man's heart."
" She's as fond of anything of that sort now as she was then," said Jacob Jones, pausing in his work; " or rather she's fonder than ever, ma'am. I only wish we were able to give her a bit of schooling. It seems hard, for the child is willing enough, and it's high time she was learning something. Why, Mrs. Evans, she can't read yet, and she's eight years old! "
Mary looked up, her face flushing, her eyes filled with tears.
" Oh! If I only could learn!" she cried, eagerly. " I'm such a big girl, and it's so dreadful not to know how to read. If I could, I would read all the lovely stories myself, and not trouble any one to tell them."
" You forget, Mary, we've no Bible," said Molly Jones, " and we can't afford to buy one either, so dear and scarce they are."
" Yes," replied Mrs. Evans, " it's a great want in our country; my husband was telling me only the other day that the scarcity of Welsh Bibles is getting to be spoken of everywhere. Even those who can afford to pay for them get them with difficulty, and only by bespeaking them; and poor people Can't get them at all. But we hope the Society for Christian Knowledge in London may print some more soon; it won't be before they're wanted."
" But with all this talk, Mrs. Jones," continued the farmer's wife, " I am forgetting my errand in coming here, and that was to ask if you'd any new-laid eggs. I've a large order sent me, and our hens are laying badly, so that I can't make up the number. I've been collecting a few here and there, but I haven't enough yet."
" Mary knows more about the hens and eggs than I do," said Molly, looking at her little daughter, who had not put a stitch into her patch while the talk about Bibles had been going on, and whose cheeks and eyes showed in their deepened color and light how much interested she had been in what had been said.
But now the child started half guiltily from her low seat, saying, " I'll get what we have to show you, Mrs. Evans."
Presently she came in with a little basket containing about a dozen eggs. The farmer's wife put them into her bag, then patting Mary's pink cheeks rose to take her leave, after paying for the eggs.
" And remember this, little maid," she said kindly, when after saying good-bye to Jacob and Molly, she was taking leave of Mary at the door. " Remember this, my dear little girl; as soon as you know how to read (if by that time you still have no Bible) you shall come to the farm when you like, and read and study ours—-that is, if you can manage to get so far."
"It's only two miles, that's nothing!" said sturdy Mary, with a glance down at her strong little bare feet. " I'd walk further than that for such a pleasure, ma'am." Then she added with a less joyful ring in her voice, " At least I would, if ever I did learn to read."
" Never mind, little woman! The likes of you wasn't made to sit in the dark always," replied Mrs. Evans in her cheery, comfortable tones. " The Lord made the want, and He'll satisfy it; be very sure of that. Remember, Mary, when the multitude that waited on the Savior were hungry, the Lord did not send them away empty, though no one saw how they were to be fed; and He'll take care you get the bread of life too, for all it seems so unlikely now. Good-bye, and God bless you, my child! " and good Mrs. Evans, with a parting nod to the weaver and his wife, and another to Mary, went out, and got into her little pony-cart, which was waiting for her in the road, under the care of one of the farm-boys.
Mary stood at the door and watched their visitor till she was out of sight. Then, before she closed it, she clasped her small brown hands against her breast, and her thoughts formed themselves into a prayer something like this: " Dear Lord, who gavest bread to the hungry folk in the old time, and didst teach and bless even the poorest, please let me learn, and not grow up in darkness."
Then she shut the door and came and sat down, resolving in her childish heart that if God heard and answered her prayer, and she learned to read His Word, she would do what she could, all her life long, to help others as she herself had been helped.
How our little Mary kept her resolution will be seen in the remaining chapters of this simple narrative.