Chapter II: Looking Back

FAR away from the sea front, with its fashionable crowd of visitors and pleasure-seekers, and its splendid terraces, where the wealthy and the worldly lived, there stood an old "gone-down" street (perhaps the oldest in Helmstone), with high, narrow houses on both sides, that so shaded each other as to allow very little sunshine to find its way in. But half-way down on the right-hand side there was a break in the regular row, and a new, attractive building stood out in striking contrast to its dismal surroundings. The John Street Mission Hall was indeed as bright a place as it looked, and ever since its erection, some six years before, it had been a centre of life and love and blessing. Indeed, it quite woke up the old sleepy street, for there was always something going on in one or another of its cheery rooms—mothers' meetings and men's classes, night schools, temperance gatherings, or mission services. The doors were nearly always open, and not only so, but inside the doors there was a welcome for every one who came.

As Phil expressed it one day, "At most places they'll put up with you; but at John Street they seem to want you."

Yes; Phil was right. The sinful, the weary, the wandering, the lost, were "wanted" at John Street, and every one who set foot inside the building found himself surrounded with an atmosphere of love that was difficult to resist; for the workers were men and women whose hearts God had touched, and who, through the love of Jesus to their own souls, were, like Him, full of love for sinners.

Perhaps it was a wise move to make Forbes the policeman caretaker of the premises; for although underneath the coat of blue there beat as warm and tender a heart as could be found, yet his tall, commanding presence and somewhat stern appearance had a beneficial effect; and dire mischievous or riotous, bent on disturbance, were oftentimes restrained when they remembered that the hall-keeper was a "bobby."

One great feature of the work carried on there was a free breakfast, given every Sunday morning to a certain number of destitute people, who were expected, and indeed almost obliged, to remain for a short gospel meeting afterwards. It was Forbes who first told the Mellor boys about it. Finding them asleep in an entry one Sunday morning, as he was going home from "night duty," he roused them, and soon heard from Phil how father and mother had "gone away yesterday, and locked the door," so that the poor lads were obliged to sleep where they could. "But we've been quite comfortable, sir; because, you see, we found an old sack, and it kept us so warm."

Rob looked rather frightened at the tall policeman who thus invaded their solitude; but Phil, who never seemed afraid of anybody, not even his father, met the constable's searching gaze with an unwavering look in those clear, truthful eyes, that were such a wonderful feature of his face.

"Humph! I should think you wouldn't mind some breakfast?"

"Indeed, sir, we should be very glad; for I'm afraid father won't be back just yet; he generally comes home after dark."

Forbes laughed at the boy's innocence, and murmured to himself, "Dark, eh? one of your night birds, I reckon;" but bidding the lads follow him, he led them, not to the police station, as Rob feared, but to the Mission Hall, where, although it was still early, some four or five people were busily engaged preparing breakfast.

With just a word to one of them, Forbes left the boys, and soon they found themselves seated by the stove, eating thick slices of bread and butter, drinking hot coffee, and supremely happy in the good fortune that had brought them there.

It was a wonderful Sunday for Phil and Rob; they stayed there nearly all day, for the "after-breakfast" service was followed by Sunday School, both morning and afternoon, and this again by an evening mission service, to all of which they remained, hearing, almost for the first time in their lives, the old, old story, of Jesus and His love. Their teacher too, how kind he was! and how interested to know all about them, and where they lived!

"And now, boys, you can come up here every evening; there will always be something going on, and you will generally find me here; I'm Mr. Armstrong, so good-bye! I shall look out for you to-morrow; and then we'll have some singing, and a talk all round."

Hand in hand they went away when the last meeting was over—away from the warmth, and the cheeriness and the love of the Mission Hall, into the coldness and dreariness and poverty of that attic room in Preece's Place. But a very real happiness was in their hearts that night, for they had heard of a Father who loved them dearly, of a Saviour who cared for them always, of a Friend who would never leave them; and in simple childlike trust they believed it all, and that night lisped their first prayer to their Father in heaven.

All this had happened two years ago now, and the long summer wanderings took the boys away from Helmstone for months together; but no sooner did winter put an end to their journeys, and bring them back, than Phil and Rob would be found at the Mission Hall the very first night of their return.

Sharp beyond their years, they had learned a great deal when there. God was to them so very real. But this had come home to the boys in different ways. The absorbing thought in Phil's mind was God's intense hatred of and detection of sin, in every shape and form; while to Rob, God in His wonderful constant personal love was his constant joy. So they helped each other, and Phil's tender conscience was often a safeguard to Rob, while his simple confidence in the love of Jesus was a comfort to his elder brother.

But there was one great and mutual trouble: never yet had they succeeded in persuading Jonas Jasper to go with them to John Street.

"Not yet, boys, not yet; maybe I'll go one day, but it isn't much in my line."

This was always his answer, and the lads were discouraged.

But they had told Mr. Armstrong about it, and he was going to pray that God would bring him, and they were to pray about it too; and so it was quite certain Jasper would come before long.

As to their father, it was no use to ask him; he only swore if they mentioned it. But there was one comfort; he didn't hinder their going, only they weren't to bother him about it. Mother had been once or twice, and said it was all very nice; but somehow nothing seemed to give her pleasure or pain. There was a settled, cold, hopeless, indifferent air about her, that seemed to tell of a life out of which had been crushed all joy and hope and even feeling.

Amid these cheerless surroundings, and in this loveless home, Phil and Rob had been brought up, chilled, cursed, uncared for—nay, not that, for a Father in heaven was watching over them in infinite love, and their young lives were precious in His sight, for they were His children, and "of such is the kingdom of heaven."