Chapter XI: Many Blessings

THERE could scarcely be a greater contrast in two characters among Miss Howard's associates than Mr. Lambert and Esther Sims, or Esther Cole, as she asked Hepsey to call her for the present. Poor to the extent that, when she left the home in the stable loft, she had not a penny in the world and not a garment fit to wear to her new service, unlearned and ignorant in worldly wisdom, she yet seemed to absorb into her heart as governing motives to her life such sweet and restful views of God as her Father and Jesus as her Saviour as caused her young mistress to exclaim, "Thou and hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes."

With a childlike frankness so peculiar to her, she confided to Miss Howard her increasing trust that God would answer her prayers for her husband's conversion.

"In that case you would return to him, I suppose." Marion wished to test her feelings as a wife.

A pretty pink flush flew all over Esther's face as she lifted her eyes wistfully to the lady's.

"God will take care of me," she said. "I am sure He will. It is of him I'm thinking. Now that he is away from bad people and can't get rum, it is such a nice time for him to become good. When he comes out of prison, if God wants me to go back to him, He will let me know it. Sometimes," she added, in a timid voice, "I think He will, because I promised for better, for worse, you know."

"Would you live with him if he were to beat you and abuse you as he did before?"

"Yes, ma'am, if I were sure God meant it so. I can never be as miserable again as I was before."

"Why can't you?"

"Because I have a friend now who would be close by me always."

"You mean Jesus Christ."

"Yes, ma'am. Even if he did get—get out of his mind with drink, and treat me unkindly, I would tell Jesus, and He would help me to forgive. If I never answered back and always tried to have a smile and the best home I could make for him, perhaps he might try to be better. Oh, I should be too happy!"

She clasped her hands to her breast, and looked so like an innocent child in her perfect trust that Marion shed tears of delight.

During the first week in September, Marion went to the Home for the Sick, to see Mary Falkner, who, with the aid of a cane, was able to walk the length of the ward.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she exclaimed. "The doctors say, with the exception of a limp in my gait, I shall be as well able to walk as any one. They are all so kind to me. Who knows but I shall be able to do some church work in your parish?"

"If you are able we will give you enough to do," answered Marion, blushing.

On her way out the superintendent met her and asked her to step to the parlor for a moment. He took from his pocket a letter recently received, and handed it to her with an arch smile. Though he did not know, he suspected the truth of a rumor he had heard concerning her.

The letter read as follows:—

Dear Sir,—

In memory of God's goodness to my deceased sister and to myself, while we were within the walls of the Home for the Sick, and in gratitude for the faithful care to our bodies and our souls, by pastor, chaplain, and nurses, I send you the enclosed check, which I think you once told me was the sum necessary to found a permanent bed in your blessed institution. That your labors may be as useful in the future as they have been in the past is the sincere prayer of a fellow-laborer in Christ's vineyard.

HAROLD ANGUS.

"The check was for five thousand dollars," added the gentleman. "It was an unexpected thank-offering, and we are very grateful for it."

Marion expressed her pleasure, adding that Mr. Angus had told her how much he owed to the faithful teachings he received while in the Home.

This seemed to our young friend to be a day to mark with a white stone, it was so full of blessings. When she reached home she found a letter from Mr. Lambert which overwhelmed her and sent her to her knees to thank God for answering her humble prayers.

It was characteristic of himself in its brevity.

"Kind and faithful Friend,—

"The prodigal has returned. The Father met and embraced him. He has put off his tattered garments. He has a new robe on him. His voice rings with a new song. In the better words of another, this is the language of his heart,—

"'I cannot love thee as I would, Yet pardon me, O Highest Good! My life and all I call mine own I lay before Thy mercy throne. And if a thousand lives were mine, O sweetest Lord, they should be Thine! And scanty would the offering be, So richly Thou hast loved me.'"

A few days later Marion went to Grantbury in answer to a summons from her uncle. The outside walls of the church were finished, with the exception of the spire. The men were at work on the dizzy height, and expected to finish it by the middle of September.

The frame to the new house was raised and nearly boarded in. Mrs. Asbury said people were beginning to take quite an interest in it. One lady asked her point-blank if the clergyman intended to bring home a wife from England, to which she returned a decided "No."

During her stay Marion made a hasty call at the thread and needle store to see the Widow Falkner. Mary had kept her mother informed of her condition, and also of the great kindness all the patients received, but she was delighted to see Miss Howard and learn particulars about her daughter.

Then Marion drove half a mile in another direction for a call on Farmer Rand's wife, who was still an invalid.

Seldom had her appearance created such an excitement. It was evident something pleasant had happened.

"Talk of an angel, etc.," said the farmer, with a grand flourish of his hand. "Sit down, miss. You're as welcome as roses in June. How are ye?"

"We've been thinking a sight about ye," added the gudewife. "We've had a letter. Maybe ye know it."

"S-sh-sh, wife," making a sound like what he would make to quiet his oxen; "wait a bit, I’ve something to say. Now, miss, did ye ever hear about our church meetin'?"

"Yes, indeed, I heard all the items in detail."

"Wall, then, 't won't be breaking no Scripter rule if I do tell that I was moved to draw a few hundreds out of the bank and gin 'em to the Lord. 'T isn't that I'm a speakin' of. That 'ere's only the text to my sarmon, you see. The good book says, The Lord loveth a cheerful giver,' and I will say for myself and my good woman that the Lord He helped us to give that 'ere money with as good a will as though we were spendin' on 't to build a new bedroom out on our south side, as we've been a plannin' to do for a score o' years. Speak for yourself, Lucy. Am I stating your opinions correct?"

"Yes, I was very glad you did it."

"Well, then," said the farmer, laughing as he flourished his hands again, "the first part o' my sermon is 'stablished, and I'll go on. Wife, give me that 'ere Bible, will ye? Now I stan' to it that God holds to His promises even when men aren't looking for Him to do it. Here it is, He that watereth shall be watered himself'; and here's another, The liberal soul shall be made fat.' Now look here. Out there on the very edge of my farm there's a piece o' ground o' no airthly value to me. There's nothin' but sorrel'll grow on 't. I'd ha' given it to any friend for the askin'. Wall, one day in come that prince of a man, 'Squire Asbury. I knew by the look o' his eye he meant business. 'Mr. Rand,' says he, 'I ain't no hand to circumvent' round matters; I go straight to the p'int.'"

"'Go ahead,' says I. 'I ain't no hand for circumventing, neither.'"

"'Mr. Rand,' says he, 'what will you take for that 'ere corner lot o' yourn that runs out towards the railroad track?'"

"''Squire Asbury,' says I, 'if you're in want o' that 'ere lot you're as welcome to it as the flowers in May. 'T ain't no vally to me at all.'"

"'No, no,' says he, laughin'. 'I'm a bargaining for the railroad, and they want to put up a freight depot there. The lot almost touches the rails. Set your price.'"

"'Oho!' says I, 'if that's the talk I calkerlate they're able to pay a little suthing. I'll agree to any price you'll name. Don't you say so, wife?'"

"'Yes, I will,' Lucy answered up, loud and prompt."

"'Squire Asbury kind o' laughed and repeated it over again. 'You both agree,' says he, 'to stick to the price I name, be it more or less?'"

"'Yes, we do.'"

"'Well, then, I want the lot just as it lies, sand and all, coming down to a p'int near the railroad, and a runnin' back one hundred feet to the rail fence put across where the land lies even, and I'll give you five hundred dollars for it.'"

"'Good land, 'Squire' says I, ''t ain't wuth it.'"

"'It's wuth every dollar of five hundred to the road,' says he; 'if they have to go a mile farther either way, they'll have to give six or eight. I'll have the deed drawn up ready for you and your wife to sign.'"

"'Squire Asbury,' says I as soon as I could catch my breath, 'I believe the Lord sent you here. When I give that five hundred to the Lord I never thought o' getting it back again, but you see here 't is, dollar for dollar, and more, too, for the pleasure o' giving my mite towards the Lord's new meeting-house was wuth the whole sum. Sure as you live, Lucy and I, we give thanks to God for lettin' of us have the privilege.'"

"'Yes, yes, I know that,' says he, and so he does. If ever a man was blessed in his basket and store it's that same 'Squire Asbury. His hand, as the Scripter says, 'is open to the wants o' the poor.'" He ended with one grand flourish.

Marion laughed heartily as she said, "I wish you'd preach that sermon to some of our rich men on Fifth Avenue who don't know the pleasure of giving. It is as practical a sermon as I ever heard."

"Now, wife, speak up, if you've anything to say."

"Husband and I have had a letter," Mrs. Rand said, opening the large family Bible and taking an envelope from between the leaves. "It has made us real cheery coming so far, and it has good news in it, too. The pastor is real friendly to think of us."

"The pastor," exclaimed Marion, in surprise. "Have you had a letter from Mr. Angus?"

The farmer evidently understood that he had had his turn, and that his wife now had the floor.

He did not speak, but he nodded his head and performed other pantomime in such a remarkable manner that Marion was made aware what news the letter contained before the wife gave it to her to read.

Yes, there it was in plain black and white. He told this aged pair that he was going to be married and settle down among them for life, he hoped. He quoted the words of Solomon, "A prudent wife is from the Lord," and he said, "I'm sure mine is a prudent one, a priceless treasure. That she is from the hands of my Father in heaven I am equally sure. You will agree with me when I tell you Miss Marion Howard, your particular friend, has agreed to cast in her lot with me."

Marion kept her eyes fastened on the letter long after she had finished it. She did not like her good friends to see how much these manly words had affected her. She folded the sheet carefully and passed it back, saying, "I am glad he has told you."

"I guess we shall be able to hold on to him now," rejoined Mr. Rand, trying to laugh. But as Marion rose to go his voice changed to the tenderness of a father. He raised his hand over her head and pronounced a blessing on her and on her chosen friend; then sat down suddenly, and blew his nose like a trumpet to conceal how much he was affected.