Chapter XXI: Decisions

"All to leave end follow Thee."

THERE were many changed households in Westville. Perhaps nowhere was the change more marked than in the homes of the Lorings and the Knapps.

"How much they need Christ," was Mabel's thought months ago; but now He is with them an ever-present Friend and Helper.

At the Lorings's, the proud and haughty father has become a humble learner at the feet of the Great Teacher, led there through sorrow and bereavement. Willy's short life had not been fruitless. He brought a blessing to the home he left so early, and where his were the only prayers ever offered. The family altar has been established, the lonely mother is comforted, and Louise rejoices in her Saviour's love.

At the Knapps's, there is peace and harmony. The children are obedient and respectful, the tried mother has found a rest, and the stern father, remembering God's patience and long-suffering as exercised toward him, has grown more gentle and forbearing toward his children.

Mr. Earle's request that Willy and Helen should remain at home with the little ones while their parents came to church gave Helen much trouble. What! Stay at home from those precious meetings! How could she get on without the help and instruction which she found there? Mr. Earle could not have thought how much she loved to be there, nor how much she needed to hear him talk. She carried a very sober face to school the next morning, and brought it home with her at night—at least she started with it. She stopped a few minutes at Mr. Trafton's, and while Alice went to get a book for her, she sat in Henry's room.

"You find the meetings very pleasant, do you not?" he said.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I wouldn't miss them for anything."

"Ah!" returned Henry, smiling, "I've missed a great many; but I have had some meetings here a great deal more precious than any I ever attended anywhere else."

"Why, do you ever have a meeting here?" asked Helen.

"Yes," he replied, still smiling. "When the rest are away, my Saviour meets me here, and teaches and comforts me. If one can go to church, of course he can't look for a blessing by staying at home; but if kept at home by sickness or duty to others, Christ will not forget, especially if the sacrifice be a willing one. Alice is calling you."

"What a patient boy Henry Trafton is," thought Helen; "and how perfectly happy he looked when he talked about the visits of his Saviour. I wonder—I will!"

"Mother," she said, on reaching home, "I'll stay at home tonight, and you can go to church."

"And if father will go with you, I'll stay, too," added Willy.

Mr. Earle had not forgotten to send a special reminder to Mr. Knapp's shop that afternoon, and God blessing the efforts put forth in his name, both parents were ere long rejoicing in sins forgiven, and Helen felt that she had gained by her sacrifice.

And where was the son and brother while these at home were coming within the fold? To show that he was not forgotten, I copy a part of a letter written about this time.

"WESTVILLE.

"MY DEAR ARTHUR:—I have in my possession a little note which you wrote to me two years ago. In it you say, 'I think I love Jesus. I am trying to follow the White Line.'

"My dear boy, are you still following on? I have feared much for you. I know very little of your associations and habits; but, oh, I do know that temptation must come to every one, and that we all need to be faithful and on our guard. Sometimes the tempter creeps in under disguises, and we fail to recognise him until we have fallen. My dear Arthur, I want you for Christ, I want you to be a comfort to your parents, a help to your brothers and sisters, an example to your companions, a blessing to the world. Are you? Are you doing God's work? You remember what I used to tell you about honouring Christ everywhere, at home, in the street, in places of business, as well as in the sanctuary. If we love Him we shall delight to do Him honour.

"If you have drawn back, if you are not following Christ, let me entreat you to no longer tamper with your salvation. It would be a terrible thing to slide back a little too far, to be a little too late. Don't risk your soul in that way. I have wished that you were here while so many are coming to Christ; but He is just as near to you where you are, if you will only reach out and take hold of his outstretched hand. Will you?

"I do not know just how to advise you because I know so little of your life at present. It may be that you do not always find your associates pleasant. It may be that they are not always safe companions. Shun their evil ways, seek opportunities to do them good, but beware of following their examples. It may be that your employers sometimes seem hard or unjust. Let me say that the world is full of just such little fretting things, and if we allow them to fret and annoy us, we shall never have a moment's peace. We are never going to find a place here that will be free from annoying circumstance. And it is just in this way that we prove that we are one with Christ. If we bear our trials, do our work, taking the good and ill together, as coming from our Father's hand, accepting with a spirit of obedience and consecration whatever comes to us, we shall find our hearts growing restful. Then shall our lives be peaceful and full of good works.

"Your friend,

"MABEL MCNAIR."

To this letter Arthur made answer:—

"DEAR TEACHER:— . . . I do not dare to call myself a disciple, though I think I do love the Saviour. But I wander so often and so far. It seems that I have no strength to resist temptation, and yet if it were not for Christ's love drawing me back, I must have gone to ruin long ago. I wish I could cut loose from my sins, but it does seem sometimes as though Satan was determined to have possession. I have no time to grow in grace, for I am continually wandering and then repenting. I should like to make a public profession of my love for Jesus, but I dare not, I should so soon dishonour the name. I am not worthy to take the Christian name. I belong to a Bible class here, but it is not like the dear little class in Westville. I miss the Saturday evening talks.

"Do you think that Christ will accept me? Dare I come to his Supper? I should like to come home in the spring, and join the church with the rest, if I was only fit. I know you pray for all of us boys. I wish we were all following. Will you pray especially for me, that I may be strengthened to resist temptation?

"Your loving pupil,

"ARTHUR KNAPP."

A long letter was written in response to this, but I will quote only a sentence or two:—

"My dear boy, the only fitness required for the step you desire to take is a humble, childlike trust in Christ. If you feel your own weakness, remember in Him is strength; if you realise that you are sinful, remember that it was to save a lost and sinful race that He came; if you feel that you really love the Saviour, and that He is your only hope, you need not fear to come."

With great hesitation, with many doubts and fears, Arthur came. Mabel rejoiced, though her joy was dimmed by the thought of the two who would not come, and she prayed as she had often before—

"My whole dear class for Jesus!
Oh, let not one be lost."

Tom and Herbert had many long talks during the visit of the former. Very soon after his conversion, Tom had asked, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" And the answer had come to him as it comes to all who ask in sincerity. By his providence and by his spirit God had said, "Go, proclaim the gospel of my Son, Jesus Christ."

In the experience of the last few months, and, indeed, in his whole Christian life, Herbert began now to see a hand pointing him to the same course; and his talks with Tom, their comparison of experience and feelings, had strengthened his growing conviction that his early choice of a life-work had been a mistake.

Tom had gone. Mr. Bradford and Herbert were busy at the office, Herbert writing in the private office, his father talking with clients in the outer room. Presently a low, soft voice attracted the attention of the copyist.

"I am looking for work," said the lady to whom the voice belonged, and whom Mr. Bradford recognised as the daughter of a once wealthy, but lately insolvent manufacturer. "My penmanship has always been considered as something remarkable for an unprofessional; and my choice of work would be something which would call this one talent into use. I have called to ask you if you do not need a copyist."

Mr. Bradford began a reply to the effect that he was sorry, but for the present his son was acting in that capacity; but was interrupted by a call from the inner office.

"Father! Excuse the interruption, but will you step here? I am quite ready," he continued, in a low voice, "to resign in favour of Miss Dean. I—in short, I have decided to accept your offer of a college course."

"And give up a business life?"

"Yes; that is—I think I must be about my Master's business."

"Ah! The ministry?" questioned Mr. Bradford.

"Yes, sir. I think I ought. You do not object?"

"No," a little doubtfully. "I knew Mr. Earle had his eye upon you."

"Mr. Earle! He has never spoken a word to me about it. I was going to consult him this afternoon; but I should have spoken to you first, if Miss Dean had not called."

Mr. Bradford had been sincerely sorry; and now he was sincerely glad, because of the answer he had to give the waiting lady, and as Miss Dean herself was very glad to hear the favourable decision, there were several persons in that very desirable state of mind.

To tell the truth, Herbert had anticipated some little opposition upon his father's part. He had been bent upon a mercantile life, and had with some difficulty won his parents' consent, and he expected to be accused of fickleness. Then he fancied that he had foreseen several arguments which his father would use to prove that he should study law, in case he made a change, and he had prepared himself to answer these; but to his surprise, he had no use for his counter arguments. As Mr. Bradford hinted, he was not unprepared for this announcement, and he was not so worldly as to wish to keep Herbert from the path of duty.

"It seems strange," said Herbert, in the course of his talk with Mr. Earle, "that, if you had this in mind, you should never have spoken of it to me."

Mr. Earle smiled.

"I knew the matter was in safe hands. I might be mistaken, and I was sure that if the Lord really wanted you for this work, he would make it known to you in his own good time."

As I am writing of decisions, I will record one more. I have somewhere said that Nick Turner was an out-and-out loafer. He worked when obliged to, and the rest of the time, he smoked, drank, and gambled. His father was a well-to-do farmer, living half a mile from the village. Kindly old Mr. Turner and his sweet-faced wife were growing old and sad faster than their years warranted. Years do not bow one down to the earth like the carrying of a heavy heart; and what burden can weigh heavier upon a parent's heart than the living death of the first-born?

Nick's help upon the farm counted for very little; consequently his father was astonished at a remark he made one morning.

"Father, if Gibbs wants Jonas, you may as well let him go. I'll take his place for the summer. I would like to go West next year, if you will help me off; but for the present, you may depend upon me."

"Can I depend upon you?" asked the father gently, but meaningly.

"Yes, sir. I think so. You know that I am not just the boy I was a few weeks ago. At least I hope so."

"Yes; I know. I know, Nicholas, that you are not the same. Thank God for it. I only meant—Well, I am afraid you will get tired of work; and it will be bad for me to lose the chance of keeping a steady hand. But if you say you'll stick to it, I'll trust you. Thank God, I have my boy back again."

It was a simple affair that took Herbert Bradford out to the farmhouse one afternoon two months previous to this conversation. The apples from the Turner orchard were famous, and Mr. Bradford had sent Herbert out to engage a few bushels, to be brought in when convenient. Yes, they could spare a few, the old man said, and Nicholas might as well drive down then, and Herbert could ride with him. That was the young Christian's opportunity, and out of the few earnest words spoken during that drive grew the little talk that ended with, "Thank God, I have my boy back again!"