Chapter XVI: Stepping Heavenward

WE will not follow step by step what Adam Livesey did during his wife's absence. He had tasted of the heavenly gift, he had yielded to the blessed influence of the Holy Spirit, he was rejoicing in the "grace of our Lord Jesus Christ." He felt himself to be indeed a very babe in spiritual knowledge, but he was possessed with an intense desire to increase it.

He desired the sincere milk of the word, that he might grow thereby. Without neglecting the claims of work in the smithy, or of his children at home, he used every means in his power to learn more of that "love of God which passeth knowledge."

His hammer was still the last to sound at the works, his children received perhaps more attention and caresses than even before, for his heart was full of joy and thankfulness, and this inner gladness was reflected in the outer man, and made him brighter in his looks and more cheerful in his ways. But whenever he could go there, he was to be seen listening with eager face to the speakers at the Mission Room, and joining as best he could in the prayers and hymns of praise.

At home, during the silent hour when the young housekeeper and her little charges had gone to rest, Adam would sit poring over the great Bible, and realizing the scenes and doings it described, as only one of such a thoughtful nature could do.

Any one might have been touched to see the changes in that rugged face, as the man took in, bit by bit, the precious gospel story, the narrative of the life and death of Jesus. Thus, in thought, he followed the footsteps of the great Teacher, and drank in the words of that wondrous Sermon on the Mount!

How he tried to picture Him sending the message of healing to the sick servant by the centurion, and the joy of this man on returning to his home and finding that his faith had not been in vain!

He seemed to see Him tenderly lifting the beloved little daughter of Jairus from her couch of death, and giving her back, with the flush of health replacing the pallor of the grave, to her rejoicing parents.

The tears ran down Adam's cheeks as he read of Jesus first weeping as man at the tomb of Lazarus, then putting forth His power as God, and snatching its victim from death.

Never in all his life had the striker seen the wide ocean. Never once had it been his lot to stand and see the tide roll in, and the waves break, either with a rustling murmur on a calm day, or with a roar like thunder, when, storm-tossed and angry, they flung the white foam on rock or sand.

But he could picture many things, though not the Saviour's doings on sea or shore. He could see Him sitting faint and weary by the well side, and waiting the return of His disciples with the food of which they had gone in search. Weary, faint, thirsty, and asking for the draught of water, which we are not told that He got, and then, putting self aside and heeding not the cravings of hunger, feeding the famished soul of the Samaritan woman with heavenly bread and living water.

Adam caught himself talking aloud over this picture and saying, "Aye, that were just like Him to do. He would make bread enough, and more than enough, for those thousands of men and women and little children that had followed Him right away so far from home. But He'd make no bread for Himself. The devil couldn't taunt Jesus into that, and He bore the hunger, put it o' one side, so as He might teach that poor woman. Eh dear!

"How different things are wherever one looks! It's mostly everybody for himself. Anyway it is, unless they've learned of Him. I can see every day more how it was that Jesus made Himself of no account.

"And if there's here and there one that thinks much of his neighbours and very little of himself, it's because he's been to that school and learned from that Teacher."

Thus Adam practically learned the meaning of the words:

"'Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me; for I am meek and lowly of
heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls.'

"'By this shall all men know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love
one to another.'

"'Every tree is known by his own fruit.'"

There were notes to the great Bible that Adam used, and pictures—not grand works of art, by any means, but precious to the one who knew so little.

At any rate, being representations of scenes and places in the country where Jesus lived, taught, and ministered in his manhood, they were helpful in a certain way to this new student of the Word of God. The notes described what would be the bodily sufferings of Jesus on the cross. The story of these, following on that of the agony in the garden and the sleeping disciples, the loneliness of the Master, forsaken by every one—even by the boastful Peter—made Adam's heart swell within him, sorrow and indignation mastering him by turns.

"To think of them going to sleep, and then running away! It were too bad. If I'd been there—"

But the words died away. Adam had been going to say that he would have done differently, but instead of these, he finished with a sigh and the words, "I reckon I shouldn't ha' been a bit better. He's cared for me and loved me always, and I never troubled till lately to think whether there was a God at all. And He forgave them. Peter, too—and everybody that had made game of Him, and been so hard. 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' He said it as He was going to die for them, and for me, too. Yes, dear Lord Jesus, I've been just like them all these years. I didn't know what I was doing. And all the while you'd loved me and died for me."

Down on his knees, with clasped hands, the poor striker poured out his thankfulness for the new light which had dawned on his soul, and his heartfelt prayers that it might also shine on his dear ones, and that they might all become like Jesus.

These were Adam's home experiences, and he had other happy ones beside; for the influence of Sarah Evans was making itself felt amongst the children. These no longer went prayerless to bed, and the girl taught them to lift their young voices in simple hymns of praise.

Adam really saw very little of his young housekeeper, for his working hours were long, and, tea excepted, his meals were eaten at the works. Sometimes he would take the elder children out, whilst she put the younger ones to bed, and Sarah was seldom out of her room long after little Maggie went to it. It was "early to bed, early to rise," in Adam Livesey's cottage. Beside, while the mission services lasted, they took it in turns to attend them.

Before they came to an end, Adam found that he, too, could join, heart and soul, in singing the sweet words:—

"I heard the voice of Jesus say,
'Come unto Me, and rest;
Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon My breast.'
I came to Jesus as I was—
Weary, and worn, and sad;
I found in Him a resting-place,
And He has made me glad.

"I heard the voice of Jesus say,
'Behold, I freely give
The living water: thirsty one,
Stoop down, and drink, and live.'
I came to Jesus, and I drank
Of that life-giving stream;
My thirst was quenched, my soul revived,
And now I live in Him.

"I heard the voice of Jesus say,
'I am this dark world's Light;
Look unto Me! Thy morn shall rise,
And all thy day be bright.'
I looked to Jesus, and I found
In Him, my Star, my Sun,
And in that Light of life I'll walk
Till travelling days are done."

Yes, rest, life, light had come to Adam Livesey, and the yearning cry of his soul was, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Lord, teach me what is right and give me strength to do and to love it."

It would be needless to tell how rejoiced Mr. Drummond was at this happy change in the man who had from the first interested him so deeply. He was determined not to lose sight of Adam, and already the striker felt a deep affection and gratitude for the gentleman who had stooped to him as no other had ever done.

The manager was too busy a man to be able to spare much time, but he did spare a few minutes now and then to say an encouraging word, whilst the mere sight of his kind true face cheered Adam on the new way upon which he had started.

The striker had something to bear, when at the works, from the jeers of a few of his companions. One who had only just escaped dismissal for drunkenness flouted Adam with "canting, just to please the new man, and to get his wages raised."

But though the striker was slow to defend himself, there were others who spoke on his behalf.

"It'll be well if you don't ha' to go without any wages before long, Sam," said Richard Evans. "Nay, I'm forgetting. There's one sort of pay that you're always working hard for. Did you ever hear those words, 'the wages of sin is death'?"

"I reckon you mean to live for ever, then," returned Sam with a sneer. "You talk about it, but I don't see as you can carry out that notion—you canting folks—any more than the rest of us. You have to be put to bed with a spade when your time comes, for all your cant;" and Sam looked round with a smile of triumph, as if expecting to be applauded.

But even amongst the careless and indifferent about religion, there are not so many who like to ridicule it openly, or to range themselves on the side of those who do. Sam's words did not produce the effect he intended, for some looked pityingly, others with contempt on the miserable man who had been allowed to return to his work, out of pity for his half-starved wife and children.

So the feeling was all on the side of Richard Evans, as he answered, "I know that as well as you do, Sam, for the same Book that says, 'the wages of sin is death,' tells that 'one event happeneth to them all.' The wise man and the fool have to come to their six feet of earth at last. But it's no use coming to it before one's time, for God gives us our bodies to take care of, as well as our souls, and we've got to account for both. It isn't in the dying that finishes these few years of life that there is so much difference, though there are death-beds that are dark and terrible to stand by, and others that are so full of light and glory that they seem to give us a peep at heaven.

"But it's what comes after. There's eternal life, the free gift of God, to those that have sought and found a Saviour in Jesus. Without Him what is there? 'After death the judgment,' when God 'will render to every man according to his deeds.' You can't get over this, Sam, say what you will, and I can tell you, for I've seen that the greatest cowards, when Death stares them in the face, are those who have pretended to be so bold, and have laughed and made game when they thought him a long way off."

Richard Evans resumed his work, and Sam slunk away, muttering something which no one heard or heeded, whilst those around, whether they realized the truth of what they had listened to or not, honoured this servant of Christ, who was ever bold on the side of his Heavenly Master.

How Adam Livesey wished that he could find words to speak as his friend did! But he thought to himself, "I never could talk much about the things I understood best. Still, I feel that I am under a new Master, that He loves me, and I do so want to love Him. As to wages! Why, I'm getting better pay every day, for I never was so happy in my life as I am now. I only want Margaret back, and to feel as I do, then—"

But Adam could not picture what would be beyond such a beginning. He could only pray and wait, and hope for this much—that his wife and he might become like-minded. He wondered, now and then, how it was with Mrs. Allison; whether, now she was coming towards the end of life, she was trusting in the blood of Jesus for pardon, and looking forward with joy to meeting Him as her Saviour. He wondered how Margaret felt, as she ministered, day by day, to the wants of one who was on the edge of the grave. He knew that she could remember her father's death, but he did not believe it had impressed her in a solemn way, though from all he had heard Mr. Allison's life had not been such as would bear looking back upon with satisfaction.

Had it been otherwise with him when he lost his own mother? No. Adam was forced to own that while he had thought much of providing her with earthly comforts whilst she lived, he had felt no anxiety as to what must follow.

We must know what it is to stand guilty before God, and then, through believing in His name, to receive pardon and remission of sins, before we can understand the danger and the need of others.

Mrs. Livesey's experience during her mother's illness brought no anxiety for Mrs. Allison, or teaching to herself. So far as the sick woman was concerned, she seemed to have no particular fears about the future; indeed, her opinion of herself very much resembled that of Adam when he first began to think over his past life. She derived satisfaction from comparing it with lives of others, and her youngest daughter, willing to cheer her as well as she knew how, said, "Don't you fret, mother. You've no call to worrit. You've been a good-living woman if ever there was one."

Mrs. Allison had become very weak when these words were spoken, and past making any effort after a clearer light and self-knowledge, even had she felt it needful. She kissed her laughing grandchild with quivering lips, and putting one thin arm round Margaret's neck, she did the same by her. Then she said faintly, "I—was—not—always—kind—to—you—but—I've made amends"; then quietly passed away.

What these last words meant was made plain by Mr. Collinge, who, having been informed of Mrs. Allison's death, came to the cottage.

Mrs. Bradford met him dry-eyed. "I must conquer my feelings as far as I can," she said, "for I'm only a poor creature, and if I was to give way as Maggie does, I should be good for nothing—here, or at home."

Margaret's nature was too impulsive to be so easily controlled, and she was weeping in real sorrow at the loss of her mother, yet glad that she had been able to wait upon her during her last days.

It soon became apparent that Mrs. Allison's daughters would only have to see the orders of Mr. Collinge carried out. He informed them that their mother had made a will; that he was the sole executor, as he had been under that of her husband, and that she had given him written instructions as to her funeral.

"There was only her furniture to leave. The money comes to us daughters, share and share alike, unless mother had put anything by;" and Mrs. Bradford looked inquiringly at Margaret. "The things have been well taken care of, but if they were sold they wouldn't more than pay all expenses."

Margaret knew and could tell nothing, and Mr. Collinge said, "Mrs. Livesey is scarcely likely to know more of her mother's affairs than you who have lived so near her. I think, indeed, that Mrs. Allison told no one but myself exactly how her affairs stood. The funeral expenses will be amply met without any sale, as the deceased was a member of two burial clubs. Beside, she had saved money, and this and the furniture are dealt with in the will to which I alluded. Its contents will be made known when the other members of the family are present."

So Mrs. Bradford had to control her impatience as best she might. In the meanwhile, she took up her abode under the same roof with Margaret, who was only too glad of the extra companionship, there being beside herself and her baby, only a young girl sleeping at the cottage. The widow's other daughters had visited her from time to time, but did not remain, as they lived at no great distance.