VERY lovingly had Harry always cared for his little fatherless nephew, and now more so than ever, for his heart was sad about the boy, He could not hide from himself that the young feet moved less quickly and lightly than they were wont to do, as together the two lads tramped daily to and from the great mill at which they worked. There were but four years between the ages of the boys, and Harry being small and slight made the difference appear still less, yet he was almost fatherly in his protecting watchfulness over the handsome, bright-eyed Charlie, whose widowed mother had sent him to the home of her girlhood.
The summer had been one of unusual heat, and the autumn days that followed were cold, raw, and foggy, making poor Charlie’s breath come short and quickly, and the cough that had been hanging about him since a chill he took from bathing when overheated, one sultry summer’s day, troubled him much more, and broke his rest at night. Harry, who shared his bed, knew this better than his mother did, and noted, too, how bravely the boy pushed on, determined to get to work in spite of failing strength, lest he should become a burden to his grandparents.
“Mother, do make Charlie lie abed tomorrow; he’s not it to go to the mill. I’d rather work day and night than have him working in the state he’s in.”
“Very well, my lad; it shall be as you say. I’m sure he’s welcome at home. You know I never want any of you to go to work when you aint fit for it.”
So the next day Charlie stayed at home with his grandmother, and Harry trudged off in the cold of the early morning without him.
It was certainly no trial to Charlie to spend the day at home, for no grandmother was ever more indulgent than his, and she had a very special love for him. There, was one very strong link between the two, and that was love for the Lord Jesus Christ. They had many a little talk about Him, as the energetic grandmother bustled about the house at her many and varied duties, while the weary boy sat by the blazing, crackling fire.
“Grandmother lass,” said Charlie, “I do love you, better than anyone else in all the world;” and then, after a pause, “but I love the Lord Jesus ten times better than I love you, granny. You don’t mind my loving Him best, do you?”
“Nay, lad, we must all love Him best, for He loved us enough to lay down His life for us. He has done great things for us.”
Charlie stayed at home day after day, but the strength did not come back to the feeble limb and the cough was no less troublesome. His grandmother was a great reader, and had some good and interesting books on the shelves which hung behind the door; these Charlie now looked over, and, having found one to suit him, sat down by the small round table near the fire, and pored over its pages.
“What’s that book you’ve got, Charlie? It seems to please you.”
“So it does, grandmother; it’s a fine book; it’s called ‘The Saints’ Rest,’”
“Rather dull and old for you, my boy, aint it? Let me reach you Robinson Crusoe; I think you’d like it better.”
“Nay, grandmother lass, there’s naught of Christ in Robinson Crusoe’; leave me this one — it’s a grand book.”
And so Charlie sat on, poring over “The Saints’ Rest”; and, though the small, close print tired even his young eyes, yet his soul was comforted by the Christ of God, of whom the old book spoke.
Harry was grieved to find that his companion did not recover by having given up work, but he hoped he would yet “take a turn” when the damp, autumn fogs gave way to brighter wintry days. It was not to be, however. One dark November afternoon Charlie’s cough got so much worse that his grandmother took him up to bed, and tried, with poultices and hot drinks, to give some relief. Sorrowfully and anxiously she sat and watched by the bed of the restless, panting boy.
On Harry’s return from work that evening he was much troubled to find Charlie so suffering and feeble, but when bed-time came he lay down at his side as usual, and was soon in that dreamless, heavy slumber that fatigue and youth can only claim. Charlie still wearily moved on his pillow, begging to be raised a little higher, as the laboring breath came shorter, or asking for more bedclothes, which failed to bring warmth to the chilled limbs.
“You don’t know how queer I feel, grandmother; I’m very ill tonight; I feel so bad.”
“You do, my lad, I know you do, and I’m real sorry for you; but you must try to be patient. Think how much the Lord Jesus suffered for us, and how patient He was in it all. He bore a deal of weariness and pain for love of thee, Charlie.”
“Aye, He did, grandmother,” answered Charlie, slowly and emphatically.
When Harry awoke that dark winter’s morning it was to find himself alone, for his companion had been taken from his side. The weariness, and restlessness, and pain were over for little Charlie: he had entered that rest of the saints above of which he once delighted to read; he had gone to Him whom He loved ten times better than anyone else. It was a terrible blow to Harry when he was told that his dear nephew was really dead. Many bitter tears he shed, and very sad and white he looked as he went about with a most unwonted gravity upon his face.
On the day of Charlie’s funeral the Bible-class teacher of both lads happened to meet Harry in the street. His pale face touched her very deeply, all the more that she knew he was bearing the burden of sorrow alone, and did not know the love of God as Charlie had done. Putting her hand kindly on his shoulder, she said, “Oh, Harry, I am so sorry for you! I know how you loved dear Charlie, and how lost you must feel without him. But, Harry, Charlie is now safe, beyond all care and pain, with Jesus, who washed him from his sins in His own blood. Will you not seek the same precious Saviour, that you may be together, by-and-by, forever? Do let Charlie’s death be as the very voice of God to your soul, calling you to Christ. Don’t put it off any longer.”
The tears that had gathered in Harry’s eyes ran quickly down his cheeks; he tried to speak, but words failed him, and, with a sob, he hurried away.
A few weeks rolled by, and, though there certainly was more quiet attention than usual from the lads in the Bible-class, Charlie’s death did not seem to have led any of them to decision for Christ. Harry’s usually buoyant spirits were recovering their tone, and rose higher at the prospect of a few days’ holiday, as Christmas drew near. Just at this time the Lord, who had His own tender purpose of richest blessing for many of the young people of that village, put it into the heart of one of His servants to go down there to preach Christ. It was his first visit to the place, but the news spread quickly that a preacher, who could especially interest the young, was speaking each evening that week in a large upper room well-known to many of them.
Harry’s teacher had begged her lads not to miss the Tuesday evening meeting, which was to be particularly for young people and children; but Harry, half afraid of being again awakened to the sense of his lost condition, which he had felt keenly on the occasion of Charlie’s death, made up his mind he would miss as much as he could of that meeting, even while he promised to attend.
Some little gifts in money were dispensed at the mill that Tuesday, and Harry, who had received eightpence for his share, returned home in high spirits, jingling the pence in his pocket as he came in.
“How much have you got for your bonus, Harry?” asked his mother.
“Eightpence,” answered the lad, giving the coppers another shake.
“That’s well,” said his mother; “I want a trifle badly this evening, and it will just come in handy.”
“Oh! I daresay,” replied Harry, roughly, “but you’re not going to have ‘em; they’re mine, and I mean to keep ‘em,” And, disregarding the pained look on his mother’s face, he hastily swallowed his tea, and banged out of the house.
Never before had Harry refused to give her anything he had either earned or received, and more than the want of the eightpence did the mother now feel her boy’s rough refusal. She sighed very heavily as she turned to her needlework. Harry, the youngest of her large family, had ever been peculiarly dear to her, and now, as he was growing up, was his heart getting cold towards her? Perhaps the sigh turned into a prayer, for many a prayer had gone up from that loving mother for her son. She well knew that nothing but the grace of God could make him all she longed to see him.
When Harry got outside he remembered the meeting and his promise to his teacher, but, determined not to get there in too good time, he loitered about the village street, and it was not until the clock was nearing eight that he found himself at the door of the room where the preaching was going on. He pushed his way in, feeling more eager to do so when he saw what a very crowded meeting it was. Dropping into the only empty place he could see, Harry found himself side by side with his teacher. She gave him a very glad smile of welcome, and showed him, in her Bible, the Scripture being spoken on. In a very few minutes Harry’s attention was fully gained, and he listened most intently as the evangelist earnestly pleaded with the young ones before him to decide that night for Christ — to accept Him as their Saviour, and own Him as their Lord. With many sweet anecdotes of His love and grace did he press the claims of Jesus on their young hearts, and Harry’s face grew very grave, and the tears slowly gathered in his eyes, while a great longing came over him to belong to Jesus, and to know himself truly His.
At the close of the address the preacher entreated any who really wished to find the Saviour to remain for further conversation and prayer. Many hurried out, and Harry would have done the same, along with some of his companions, had not his teacher laid a detaining hand on his arm, earnestly saying, “Oh! Harry, don’t go; do stop and decide for Christ to-night; you know you want to be saved.” Half reluctantly, he sat down among those who were not ashamed to confess they were seeking the Saviour. And many an one found Him that night, as the evangelist again simply told the story of the saving grace there is in Christ, and read, slowly and impressively, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” (Isa. 53:66All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:6).)
Before Harry left that room he made his teacher’s heart leap for joy, by saying, as he turned to her with a face beaming with peace and heavenly gladness, while tears of very happiness filled his eyes, “Oh! I see it now, I see it now — and I love Him, because He first loved me.” The Good Shepherd, who had been long seeking the poor lost sheep, had found him that night, and had laid him on His shoulders rejoicing.
Harry hurried home, for it was getting late. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, as he entered the cottage, he came upon the eight pennies, that had lain there forgotten through that eventful evening. With the new found joy in his soul, and the instinct of a new life filling his heart, he gathered up the coppers, and throwing them into his mother’s lap, as she sat at her work by the fireside, he exclaimed, “There, mother I’ve got Christ, and you may have the eight-pence!”
Then, in answer to her start of surprise, he told her the Saviour had found him that evening, and had fully satisfied his heart, and had made him so very happy, ending again with “and now I’ve got Christ, mother, you may have the coppers.”
The mother cried for joy, and his father and sister joined in from sympathy, though hardly understanding what had happened, and Harry cried too for very gladness of heart.
Perhaps you think, dear young readers, like some boys to whom I was lately telling this story, that Harry was going to die now, as Charlie had done. No, he was not; he is living still, and grown up to be a young man, and is trying to live for Christ, who loved him and gave Himself for him. It is indeed a blessed thing to know the Saviour, if, like Charlie, you are dying; for there is nothing but blackness of darkness forever for the one who dies out of Christ. But it is most blessed, too, to know Christ for living hours, and days, and years, in this poor world, that is all so sad for the one who knows Him not.
When Harry went back to the mill, after the holidays, his companions asked him what Christmas gifts he had got. “Ah!” he answered, “I’ve got a present worth having, and you may each have the same, if you’ll but take it.” And, as they gathered eagerly round to hear what it was, he added with a bright smile, “I’ve got my soul’s salvation from Christ’s hand, — won’t you come to Him and get yours?”
D. & A. C.