THE doctor came the next day, just as Bacha Filina had expected him. He came in his coach as far as the sheepcotes, and before Ondrejko realized it, he carried away his mother, and also Bacha Filina. Before they went they arranged for Ondrejko to remain longer with Bacha, and he would go to his mother only for visits.
"Palko, take the boys," commanded Bacha, "and go with them somewhere in the woods where nobody will interfere, and pray that the Lord God may help us to successfully arrange for what we have before us."
So they prayed, and believed that the Lord Jesus heard them.
Late in the evening, Bacha returned. The boys were already asleep. In the morning he told them that everything that could be done yesterday was carried out successfully, but that there was another matter which would take about a week before they could know how it would turn out, so they must keep on praying.
And what a week it was! The boys never lived through another like it. Sometimes they were with Ondrejko at his mother's. Again she came to the sheepcotes, and when she remained till the evening she loved to spend the night in the wooden hut. Aunty used to return before the evening in the company of Petrik. He loved to do this, because he always got a very good supper there. Then Ondrejko slept with his mother. How beautiful that was! She sat on his bed, told him many good things, petted, and kissed him till he fell asleep. In the morning again, he woke her up early. He jumped from his bed, threw his arms around her neck and timidly kissed her beautiful lips. What beautiful moments these were! Ondrejko was allowed to accompany his mother even when Bacha Filina took her to show her all three sheepfolds. They walked together over the clearings, looked at the herds of sheep, and spoke with the herdsmen. She was so friendly and kind to them. On the other hand, this helped to improve her health. After such a walk she ate and slept very well. Ondrejko was glad that she liked Bacha Filina. He treated her very nicely, just like a lady, as if she were his own daughter. On Saturday Ondrejko went with his mother to the cottage. There he was to have dinner with her. Both of his comrades were invited for the afternoon, and with them, of course, came Dunaj and Fido, but the cat was not afraid of them, and when they saw this they let her alone.
The boy ran joyfully into the room, but on the doorstep he halted, because his beautiful mother sat at a table. In her hand she held a long letter ready for the mail, and she cried. Oh, how bitterly she cried! She was cheered up when he ran to her and began to hug and kiss her; she returned his kisses but did not stop crying. "Why do you cry so much, my mother?" he said sadly. "What is it about?"
"About myself, my loved one, because I am very bad."
Ondrejko would not admit that. To him, a mother seemed like an angel, but Palko had read only yesterday the saying: "THEY ALL HAVE SINNED AND COME SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD," and added that so long as one does not realize this and thinks himself good enough, the Lord Jesus cannot save him, because only sick ones need a doctor; and Bacha Filina had added that only the Holy Spirit can bring a soul to such conviction. It must be then, that the Holy Spirit had begun to teach his mother also. Surely the Lord Jesus would soon find her!
"Why do you think, mother, that you are bad?" the boy timidly asked.
"Because I have a very good father, and have grieved him very much. Look, Ondrejko; I have written now for the first time in many years."
"And surely you have asked his forgiveness? Have you not?"
"Yes, I did; but is it possible to forgive such a sinner?"
"The father forgave his prodigal son because he loved him," the boy said seriously. "Did your father love you also, my mother?"
The lady sighed sadly, but did not cry any more.
"He would surely receive you if you would return home."
"I will see if he will answer me, and what he will say."
"Mother, was not your father my grandfather?"
"Yes, my darling; and if the good Lord grant that I may be able to count you all my own, and you will be only mine, then we will go together, and you will help me to ask him. He will surely not refuse you; you will understand one another better, because you both love the Lord Jesus and you are His sheep."
The boy rejoiced. The grandfather loved the Lord Jesus! "How glad I am! Oh, then he will surely forgive you."
They could not continue their talk because Aunty Moravec called them to dinner, which was very good. Joe came after dinner; he was carrying cheese to town and stopped to ask if there was anything to be mailed. The lady gave him her letter, and Aunty a slip and money to buy various things at the stores, with a big piece of cake to eat on the way. From the lady he received money to buy cherries for himself and the boys, if there were any good ones.
That afternoon it was quite jolly in and about the cottage when the comrades came. Ondrejko was glad that his mother was so joyful. She taught them all kinds of nice games. She even went with them on the "Old Hag's Rock," and there Palko had to tell her also how he found his Sunshine Country. That interested her very much. He recalled twice, how he was lost as a small child and grew up with strange people, and how the Lord Jesus took care that he came again to his parents. A whole book could be written about how he fared in the world. Madame Slavkovsky was very much interested in that. When they later walked to the sheepcotes, all along the way she asked about Palko's mother, who in her sorrow for the lost boy also lost her reason till she finally found him and the Lord Jesus returned her son to her. They did not realize how quickly they came to the huts.
It was a beautiful evening; the sunset covered the sky with its rosy curtains. The sun sank behind the mountains, and as if in parting kissed the valleys and the people, and especially seemed to kiss the beautiful lady who sat by the open fire in deep thought.
"If you can sing so beautifully," begged Palko, "and many people went to hear you, we also would like you to do so. Sing for us, if you please."
"Oh, Palko." The lady shook her head. "You wouldn't like my song. Besides you wouldn't understand me. I sang mostly in English, Italian, but also in Czech, but the text of these songs would not fit in with this sacmd evening closing around us. But because I would like to reward you, Palko, for so beautifully relating your experiences, let me just think a moment."
They waited; and it was so quiet around them that they could almost hear one another breathe;
and in the distance the bells of the flocks tinkled.
Finally, she lifted her head. "After all, I remember something, and it is in the Slovak language. Once I learned this song about the sea, and when I sang it, thousands of people wept. It is a ballad about a shipwrecked vessel. Would you like to have me sing it?"
"Yes, yes," they all cried. Bacha had just arrived and sat among them. What a beautiful thing it is when the Creator puts such a voice in the human throat that no bird or instrument can equal it! You can hear everything in such a voice: the ringing of gold and silver, the moaning in the tops of the pines when they move in the wind; the babbling of the brooks as well as the roar of a great cataract—yes, everything!
"Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
"Carest Thou not that we perish?
How canst Thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threat'ning
A grave in the angry deep?"
Sweetly, yet mysteriously and sadly, the notes of the song floated on the evening breeze down to the valley. Once, when the lady tried the song for the first time, thousands of people cried. Today only a small company of listeners cried, but I think that even the woods and the brooks and everything round wept also. Above all of them wept Bacha Filina. Palko who sat next to him laid his arm around his neck and cried with him. He understood him. Thus perished once the ship that carried Stephen. It sank in the terrible depths with him. In vain they waited, in vain they called. Uncle Filina would never see him again.
The boys did not dream, nor the helpers of Bacha, that anything existed as beautiful as that which was hidden in the lady's throat. You could almost hear the crashings of the breaking ship, and feel the hopelessness of the situation. It ended like sad, soft wailings of the perishing ones. The lady noticed the weeping her song had awakened. She realized that it would not be easy to stop it. Then she did something which that very morning she would have been in doubt that she would be able to do. She sang a song hidden in her memory from her old home, and which she had hated with her whole heart, because she could not forget it.
"My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary, Saviour Divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
Oh, let me from this day
Be wholly Thine!
"May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire!
As Thou hast died for me,
Oh, may my love to Thee,
Pure, warm, and changeless be,
A living fire!
"While life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread,
Be Thou my guide;
Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray
From Thee aside.
"When ends life's transient dream,
When death's cold, sullen stream
Shall o'er me roll;
Blest Saviour, then, in love,
Fear and distrust remove;
Oh, bear me safe above,
A ransomed soul!"
Perhaps nowhere and never before, were those beautiful lines sung so impressively. When she stopped, Bacha Filina stood near her and very seriously said, "Thank you, Madame Slavkovsky, for that precious song. You have shown me great kindness thereby. Your beautiful ballad opened a deep wound in my heart which was not quite healed. It almost seemed that 1 must die because of it, but this holy song healed it again. God bless you for it! But one thing I must ask you: let us write this song down, and you must teach us the melody that we may cheer ourselves with it in life and death."
The lady promised, but asked that they might now read the Word of God, as she felt tired. They did this very gladly, and in a little while a wonderful quietness reigned.
"Listen, Steve," said Joe to his comrade; "In the castle they said that when the lady went home after singing in the theatre that gentlemen unhitched the horses from her carriage, and hitched themselves to it and thus drew her along. I am not surprised. Really, when she sings, she can do anything with a person."