Chapter VI: Surrender

"Here is my heart."

INSTEAD of passing on, Mr. Earle turned quietly about and walked back with Herbert, chatting upon indifferent matters in his usual entertaining way. Pretty soon he said—

"Why, I thought you boys were all off down the river this morning?"

"Not all of us," answered Herbert. "I'm here."

"I see you are. But I thought the new skates were for this occasion?"

"Well, they were; but I let another boy take the job of scratching the ice. I—well, I changed my mind about going."

"Humph! I should think so."

A minute or two after Mr. Earle said, suddenly—

"Herbert, can I help you any?"

"I don't know. I guess not."

"But you need help."

"Perhaps," answered Herbert, briefly.

"You know I am your friend, and that I shall be glad to help you," said Mr. Earle.

"If you could tell me how to get rid of a promise, without either keeping or breaking it, and how to forget things that I don't want to think of, I'd like it. But I suppose you can't do that," said Herbert, trying to laugh, but not succeeding very well.

"If I could," replied his pastor, "I might be doing you an injury. I think we shall find a better way. Let us hear how the case stands."

Herbert had thought that he would not talk with Mr. Earle for anything in the world, but now he burst out with it all.

"It's about Tom's letter, and your sermon, and our class motto, and a promise I made to Miss Wynn about it, and—I suppose I'm very wicked, and I know God is angry with me."

"No, Herbert, you are angry with God. You are angry because He has sent the Holy Spirit to lead you to the Saviour. He is doubtless angry with your sin and rebellion, but He loves you, and would save you. He wants to make you his friend; He asks your love, and you refuse it; and worse still, you are angry because He asks it. Isn't that the way of it?"

"I suppose so. I suppose it is a dreadful thing to say, but I don't want to be a Christian."

He expected his friend would be shocked at his assertion, and was surprised at the quiet reply.

"Well, in that case, why trouble yourself any more about it?"

"But I know I ought to be."

"Oh, that's it? Well, Herbert, I must say I am a little surprised. I thought you were always ready to do whatever you were sure you ought. Did you want to milk Mrs. Brown's cow every day for a fortnight while she was laid up with a sprained ankle?"

"No; but you know I was partly the means of her getting hurt, and I thought I ought to help her."

"Exactly. And I suppose you don't always want to obey the rules at school, but you know you ought to do so; and judging from the public reports, you do what you ought, not what you want to do. I saw you at the wood-pile last Saturday. I don't imagine that you wanted to do it, for I never saw a boy who liked to saw wood, and I am pretty sure your father did not compel you (you see I know his way), but you knew you ought. Isn't that all true?"

"Yes, but this is different."

"Different? Yes, in a sense." And now Mr. Earle's voice grew deep and solemn. "It is an act for eternity, an act that decides the colour of all your future, an act that ranks you with the sons of God or with the children of wrath! It is different! A priceless gift—life everlasting, a mansion in the beautiful city of our God, a pure heart, a crown of glory, all freely offered! And you turn away, saying, 'I know I ought to accept all these, but I really don't want them.' Suppose you say to your father, 'I know I ought to be very grateful for all you do for me; I ought to be glad to honour you, but I don't want to be called by your name.'"

"But, Mr. Earle," said Herbert, "I've been called by my father's name always. I belong to him, and have always had his care."

"And haven't you always had God's care? Haven't you always belonged to Him, body and soul? Refusing to take the glorious gift of free pardon through Christ doesn't change that at all. Though you grieve Him by rebellion, you belong to Him. And if you are not called by his name, it is because you will not own Him as your God and Saviour. But, Herbert, why not be a Christian?"

"Oh, there are a good many reasons," answered Herbert. "For one thing, I don't like to begin right here where I have always lived. If I were going to a new place, I could take a stand without its seeming queer."

"If somebody should offer you a splendid fortune," said Mr. Earle, "I suppose you would say, 'I don't want this known here where I have always lived. It would seem queer if I should have or do anything different from the old way. I think I had better wait until I go somewhere else before I accept the gift.' Nonsense, Herbert! You are not that sort of a boy. Now I know you pretty well, and I can give the why note about as accurately as you could yourself. You have an idea that to be religious is to be dull.

"Why, some of the most earnest Christians I know are among the most merry-hearted people I meet. To be a Christian is to be at peace—to have joy and gladness in the heart. Then you are looking too far ahead, thinking there is this or that cross that you can never take up, this or that duty that you can never perform. You look up at the mountain and think, 'I cannot scale these heights: there is no use in starting.' You forget, rather, you have never experienced, the love that lightens the burdens, smooths the hard places, and gives strength for every hour. Take up the work that lies before you to-day, and do not worry about what may be required of you to-morrow or next day. I trust that you will find your way to peace, but it will not be by shaking off your serious thoughts.

"But what were you saying about your class motto and a promise to Miss Wynn?" asked the minister, after a moment's pause.

Herbert explained as well as he could the idea embodied in the class motto. Mr. Earle listened attentively, and as he caught the idea, he exclaimed—

"Beautiful! Beautiful! A while line indeed, pure and perfect, and so plain that we need not mistake." Then referring to the promise, he asked, "But, Herbert, what did you think when you promised Miss Wynn? It isn't like you to make a rash promise."

"No," answered Herbert, "I thought I knew what I was about. I'll tell you. I quarrelled with Fred Easton about a seat in the school-room, and I thought of that, and knew that I ought to give in; then father had promised to take Julia and me out for a ride on Monday; I wanted to go to the glass-works, and Julia wanted to take three or four more and go over to Carter's to tea. We had almost quarrelled about it, and when Miss Wynn asked me to promise to refer everything to Christ, I remembered that, and decided to give up, because Julia gave up to me last time father took us out. It was just such little things that I had in mind."

"I see," said Mr. Earle, smiling. "You committed yourself, expecting only a slight skirmishing, not looking for the grand battle, and your ideas of honour will not allow you to break your word, though you had no intention of promising so much. Well, my boy, there is but one way out of it. Make an unconditional surrender. Go to Christ and say, 'I am ready to follow wheresoever thou leadest, even into the thickest of the conflict.' With such a leader you will not faint nor fall."

The two had walked up the street until they reached the church, when Mr. Earle, taking a key from his pocket, turned in at the gate, saying, "Come in, Herbert," and the boy had followed. There was to be an evening service, and the fire was already built in the lecture room. Mr. Earle drew forward one of the two arm-chairs for his companion, and occupied the other himself, and their talk went on for a little while. Very quietly and pleasantly the pastor discoursed of the wonderful theme—the new birth—making clear to the boy's mind the simple truths of Christianity, sweeping away mists of error, piercing clouds of fear, and pointing to the one Source of light.

"I sometimes think," said he, "that it is no wonder so many stumble at the very threshold of the kingdom. We have surrounded the idea of conversion with such mystery, and darkened the entrance way to the new life with theories and doctrines, and a mind unused to solemn thoughts shrinks away from trying to penetrate the mysteries of the change. It is a solemn hour when a life is voluntarily given into God's keeping, the hour of the soul's surrender. And God's work in the heart is a mystery. But our part is so easy and simple, and the change in the life and habits comes about so quietly and naturally, that we are astonished to remember our dread of this life. It is a great and solemn change; I want you to realize that, but I want that you should also remember that your part of the work is very slight, and that your benefits are very incalculable."

This interview, which Herbert dreaded and shrank from, closed with an earnest prayer. Mr. Earle said, "Now, Herbert, what shall I say to Christ for you?"

For a full minute Herbert looked straight into the stove, and Mr. Earle waited. The good man seemed to understand the boy, and know when to speak and when to wait. At length, with tears in his voice and eyes, Herbert said, "You may tell him that I am ready to follow."

They had risen from their seats, and now Mr. Earle threw an arm over the boy's shoulders and exclaimed, "My boy! My boy! My brother in Christ!" And, standing thus, he poured out his heart, not in words of entreaty, as he had thought to do, but in joyful thanksgiving.

As for Herbert, a strange calm had succeeded the tumult of the last few days. It seemed as if he had stepped into a new world. As he was leaving the room, he said, "Well, I have said I was ready to follow Christ, and I am, but I don't know the first step to take."

Mr. Earle had just drawn out his watch. Holding it up, he answered, "Take it toward home, eat your supper and feed your rabbits, and remember that you may as truly and really follow the Master in these every-day affairs us though you proclaimed the gospel from the pulpit. In fact, Herbert, you may sometimes find that it will require more grace to take up the common duties of life in the right spirit than to minister at the altar."

Herbert went home with a light step, and never once thought of the skating party, nor of the surprise his early return would occasion. He met Julia in the hall.

"Why, Bertie!" she began, "back already? I thought you were going to skate home by moonlight." Then anxiously, "Anything happened?"

"Yes," answered Herbert. "But you needn't be scared; nothing has happened to the skaters that I know of. The fact is, I didn't go."

"Didn't go!" echoed Julia. "Then where have you been?"

Herbert hesitated. Should he—could he tell her all about it now. It was so new, he had not got used to the deep peace and the strange happiness. Could he talk about it? How should he tell her? She waited for an answer; but as he looked up before he spoke, she exclaimed—

"What is it? I never saw you look that way before!"

"How? What way?"

"Why, you look so—so—as if the sunshine had got inside, and was pouring out through your eyes, and your mouth, too," she said, laughing.

"I guess you've hit it, Jule. I—I'll tell you about it. I have been talking with Mr. Earle, and I—you know about the motto. Well, it's no use pretending to follow, I'm going to do it in real earnest. I thought to-day was a good time to settle it, and it is done. Christ is now my Leader."

"O Bertie," said Jule, softly, "I am so glad!"

"Why, Julia! Do you love him too?" asked Herbert, wondering.

"Why, I've always loved him, but I didn't know that it was just loving and trusting him, and trying to please him, that gave people the name of Christians, until Mr. Earle explained it to me. Oh, won't Miss Wynn be glad!"

"Where have you been this afternoon?" asked Mr. Bradford as he came in to tea.

"With Mr. Earle, sir," answered the boy, promptly.

"Ah! You were in good company, then," said his father, passing on to the dining room.

As they left the table, Herbert said, "Father, if mother is willing, I would like to take Julia down to church tonight. You know it is lecture night."

"Very well."

As Herbert went up-stairs, he said to himself, "I couldn't tell father right out that I have found Jesus, but maybe he will see. If I follow Him as I ought, he must see."

Mr. Earle telegraphed a quick look to Mabel when Herbert and Julia entered the lecture room before the evening service had begun. Mabel caught the glance; also one from Herbert, and his happy look, and said to herself, "They know something that I don't; I must find out; I can't wait. Oh, if it should be that God has heard me, and answered even before I had expected!"

As they passed out after the meeting closed, a low voice said, "Is it a happy New Year?" and the quick response was "Yes;" brief, but full of meaning, and understood by the happy teacher.

As Mr. Earle had hoped, God came very near to them in the weeks that followed. Many were brought into the kingdom. Five of Miss Joslyn's class of eight girls were led to give their hearts to Jesus. Bright, laughing Lou was a faithful teacher. The girls loved her, and clustered about her so that one could hardly tell which was teacher and which was taught (and, indeed, what Sunday-school teacher is there who does not feel that they themselves are taught many valuable lessons by their class?). She had been their teacher for several years, labouring earnestly for them, and now she had her reward in part.

But Miss Wynn's class, excepting Herbert Bradford and one other, stood aloof. If Mabel was surprised that her prayer for Herbert was answered, much less was she prepared for Henry Trafton's avowal of love for the dear Redeemer. He had appeared the most unpromising boy in the class, and she had found it difficult to make him comprehend her instructions; but he heard the call; he understood the plain command, "Follow me," and straightway he obeyed. The others were diligent and attentive, but closed their hearts against Him who, entering in, would mike their lives complete, their happiness secure.