Chapter IV: The Loud Knock in Pleasant Place

"MOTHER! mother!" said little Angel, in the middle of the night, creeping over to the bed where her father and mother were asleep. "Mother, mother, there's a loud knock at our door!"

"Bless you, child," said the mother, "you're dreaming. Your father's been in long since. Go to bed again."

"No, mother, listen; there it is again."

This time Mrs. Blyth heard it, and even Mr. Blyth opened his eyes, and said, "What's that?"

Some one was knocking at the door as loudly as he could. Mrs. Blyth put on some clothes, lighted a candle, and went down stairs to see what it was.

When she came back her face was very white indeed. "Oh, Angel," she said, "it's Tim; his mother's dead! She went to bed quite well, and then Mr. Carter woke and heard her groaning, and she was dead in two minutes—before he could call anybody."

"Oh, mother," said little Angel, trembling, "how dreadful! She was washing all day yesterday, and I saw her put the shutters up just before I came to bed."

"Yes," said Mrs. Blyth; "I'm sure it's made me feel quite sick. I must go over and help them a bit, poor things."

Angel could not sleep any more that night. She lay awake thinking of poor Tim, who had no mother, and wondering if Mrs. Carter were in heaven with the angels. When her mother came back it was time to get up. Mrs. Blyth had been crying very much, and she went about her work almost without uttering a word.

But when she and Angel were turning the mangle, she said—

"Angel, do you remember what you said when you waked me last night? You said, 'Mother, there's a loud knock at our door.' I've never got those words out of my head since. All the time I was laying out poor Mrs. Carter I heard you, saying, 'There's a loud knock at our door, mother.' And when Mr. Carter told the doctor how well she had been all yesterday, and the doctor said, 'Yes, it's very sudden, very sudden indeed,' I heard you saying again, 'There's a loud knock at our door, mother.' And now, even when I'm turning the mangle, it seems to be saying those same words over and over again."

"Yes," she said, after a minute or two, "it's of no use me saying, 'I'm too busy, I can't let Him in just yet.' Death won't take that excuse when he knocks at the door."

That was a very dull day. Angel peeped out of the window, and saw the closed house opposite, and the darkened room upstairs where poor Mrs. Carter was lying. And then the man came to measure her for her coffin, and then Mr. Carter and his poor little motherless children came into Mrs. Blyth's house to get their dinner, and Mr. Carter cried all the time, and would hardly eat anything.

It was a very dismal day.

But after tea, as Angel was washing up the tea things, and her mother was folding the clothes for the mangle, an unusual sound was heard in the narrow court where they lived. It was the sound of singing—several voices singing.

In a moment, all in Pleasant Place had opened their doors or their windows and were looking out. They saw a young man standing in the middle of the court, and a little knot of people round him, with open books in their hands.

"What is it, mother?" asked little Angel, as Mrs. Blyth came into the room.

"That's young Mr. Douglas, Miss Douglas's brother," said her mother, in a whisper. "I've often seen him there when I've been to take the clothes home; he's one of the ministers here."

"Why, mother," said the child, as she listened to the singing, "they are singing your hymn—the hymn you learnt in the Sunday School."

"No," said her mother, "it isn't my hymn, but it's very like it."

"Knocking, knocking! Who is there?
Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair!
'Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly,
Never such was seen before;
Oh! My soul, for such a wonder,
Wilt thou not undo the door?"

"Eighteen doors in this court," said the young minister, looking round on the people, who were all peeping out at him. "Eighteen doors, and every one of them open!"

"Listen to-night to the story of a door—a closed door!"

"Here is a closed door, and some one standing outside it. He knocks at the door; He calls out to the one inside; then He waits, He listens. There is no sound within; no one comes to open the door."

"He knocks again; He calls again; He listens again. No one comes."

"Will He walk again? No, He waits still; He knocks once more; He calls again; He listens again. No answer."

"Surely the door must be bolted and barred so fast inside that it cannot be opened, or perhaps the owner of the house is out, or asleep, or deaf, and does not hear the knocking."

"But look a little longer. Some more people come up to the door and knock, and as soon as ever they knock they are admitted. They are let in, and the door is shut in the face of Him who has waited so long."

"Many times in the day that door is opened to all kinds of people; but it is always closed in the face of the One who still stands outside."

"Does He weary of standing there? No; night comes, but He goes on knocking, goes on calling, goes on listening for any answer from within."

"Who is He? Is He a beggar come to ask for money?"

"No, He is no beggar; for if you look you will see that His hands are full of presents for the one inside the house."

"Is He a rent collector come to demand that which is due to Him? No; for although the house really belongs to Him, He demands nothing, He only pleads for an entrance."

"Is He an enemy to the one inside? No; He is, on the contrary, his best friend, the One to whom he owes everything."

"What a strange thing that He is kept outside!"

"Is it a strange thing?" said the minister, looking earnestly at all the people. "Is it a strange thing? Then get up at once and let Him in, for it is at your door He is knocking."

"My door!" you say. "My door! What do you mean? No one is knocking at my door."

"No one? Oh, my friends! Did you hear no knock this morning at your door—your heart's door. When the neighbours came in and told you that one in that house, whom you had seen well and strong a few hours before, was now in eternity—oh, my friends! Was it not a knock?"

"Did not the Lord Jesus, your best Friend, knock then? Did He not call as well as knock? Did you not hear Him saying, 'Are you ready to die? Oh, let Me in before it is too late!'"

"That was a very loud knock, my friends; but it is not the only time He has knocked. Day after day, week after week, year after year, ever since you were little children, He has been knocking and waiting, and knocking and waiting for you to let Him in. That night when you were so ill, and the doctor told you that you might never get better, was He not knocking then?"

"And when your child died, and you stood by its open grave, was He not knocking then?"

"And these are only the great, startling knocks; there are many others which you do not hear—there is too much noise and bustle inside the house for their sound to reach you. Yet never a day passes that He does not knock in some way or other."

"But oh! Take care, for the day is coming—who can say how soon? When there will be a last knock, a last call; and then He will turn and walk away from the door, never to return."

"Oh, my friends! Why do you keep Him waiting outside? You let all others in. Your pleasures, your companions, your work,—all these knock at the door, and are let in at once. But you have no room for Christ."

"But oh! Remember, if there is no room for Christ in your heart, there will be no room for you in Christ's heaven."

"My friend, He is knocking now; it may be His last knock. He is calling now; it may be His last call."

"'Oh, let Me in.'" He cries, "'and I will make you happy; I am bringing you forgiveness, and peace, and joy, and rest, and all that you need. Oh, let Me in before it is too late! I have waited so patiently and so long, and still I wait. Will you not, even this night, undo the door?'"

When the little service was over the people went back into their houses, and Angel and her mother went on with their work. And as Angel wiped the cups and saucers, she sang softly to herself the chorus of the hymn—

"Oh! My soul, for such a wonder,
Wilt thou not undo the door?"

"Yes, I will!" said her mother suddenly, bursting into tears; "I will undo the door; I will keep Him waiting no longer."