Chapter III: "Thy kingdom come."

THE next day was Saturday, on the evening of which Viner, as usual, cast up his accounts, and reckoned his gains during the week. It was the amusement of Nelly, seated upon his knee, to arrange pence and half pence into little shilling heaps, and separate the sum always laid aside for the rent, and that required to purchase the next week's stock. The little child felt herself useful in doing this, and aspired to the time when she could manage the big book, and sum up all the figures like father. But this evening there was a cloud over her sunny face, and she looked sadly at the small amount of money that remained, when she had put aside what was wanted for rent and stock.

"We used once to have roast beef for Sunday dinner," she said, with a sigh, "and lately we have always had bacon and beans, but to-morrow we shall have nothing but porridge and potatoes."

"And eat them with thankfulness, I trust, my darling. There are many who have worse fare than that."

Walter was pained to the heart, although he said nothing; he felt himself a burden on one already poor, the little help that he could give was scarcely needed in the shop, food and lodging seemed to him not earned but received from charity.

Viner observed the gloomy expression on the face of his adopted son; and though his own heart was struggling beneath a weight of care, as he put by his insufficient gains, and thought of the approaching winter, when those gains might be expected to be less, he endeavoured to cheer his young companions by diverting their minds from the subject.

"Walter," said he, "I have observed your eye often rest on that curious little book which is kept on our mantelpiece."

"Yes; it looks so strange and ancient, in its old-fashioned covering, of what was once, I suppose, gold and blue; it is not like the small books we see now."

"Has Nelly yet told you the story of that book?"

In a moment the face of the little girl had all its sunniness again. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, "I left that for you—the story of my dear good grandfather! That is my favourite story about the illumination and the barefooted little boy. O father! So tell it to us now! This is just the time, when the shop is shut, and our work is over, and it is getting dark; we shall save a candle, you know, for we don't need light to listen!"

This favourite story was one which Nelly had heard more than once, and had thought over very often, till there was nothing in the possession of her father, his Bible and her mother's wedding-ring excepted, for which she felt half the reverence as for that little old book. Now, seated upon her father's knee, with her arm round his neck, and her head on his shoulder, and Walter listening opposite, Nelly quite forgot all care for the morrow, all fear of approaching want.

"I will tell you the story," said Viner, "partly as I heard it from my good father, who used to mention some of the circumstances of it as amongst the greatest mercies which he had ever experienced, but chiefly as it was often related to me by my grandmother, who was as fond, dear old lady, of telling the story about her son as Nelly is now of hearing it."

"Well, it must now be some seventy years since the day when my grandmother, a poor gardener's widow, who then lived in a cottage not far from this very place—(it has been pulled down long ago, but Nelly can show you where it stood)—bade farewell to her only son. The character of my grandmother was so respectable that, poor as she was, many looked up to her for counsel and example; she had been nurse in the family of a gentleman, and had more knowledge, and knowledge of the best kind, than usually falls to the lot of the poor."

"It was a great matter for her that a good situation had been procured for her only son in London, but still it was a sore trial to the widow to part with him; and when she thought of the temptations before him, her heart trembled and would have sunk within her, but for prayer, her unfailing resource."

"The morning before he left her, my grandmother sat packing the box of her son, for she would do everything for him herself. She had darned his stockings and mended his clothes so neatly, that they looked almost as good as new. I believe that many a tear had dropped over her work, but she tried to look cheerful to my father. Carefully, she placed his Bible in the box, and beside it three very small books in gold and blue, one of which you now see before you."

"'A single copy is enough for me,' said my father; 'they are, I see, exactly alike, what should I do with three?'"

"In those days, Walter, small religious publications were not so easily to be procured as they are at present. Now there is an abundance of works of all sizes and prices in which the pure Gospel is explained and taught, and even poor Christians may help, by the means of such, to spread the knowledge of God; but there was not the same number of them then. Where my grandmother had bought these books I do not know, they were considered old even in her day; they contained a good deal from Scripture, especially the Sermon on the Mount explained by a very holy Divine. I have heard that my grandmother had twelve copies at first, but now only these three remained, for, as she explained to my father, they were intended to be lent or given to others."

"'Always remember, my dear son,' she said, laying her thin hand upon his, 'that God's kingdom of glory may come any day, but God's kingdom of grace is coming every day; and as it is our bounden duty to pray for the first, so is it to work for the spread of the other. We must be like the Jews while building their second temple, the sword in one hand to fight against our sins, the working-tool in the other—and books like these are such—to help to raise a holy building to God. They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.'"

"These words of the widow sank deep into the heart of my father, they made him see his position as a Christian in a new light. It was not enough, he found, to keep unspotted from the world, he should also, as God might give him opportunity, visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction—not only himself faithfully serve his heavenly King, but seek to bring others to that blessed Saviour."

"But my father found all his good resolutions sorely tried when he entered the situation which had been procured for him. His master was a haberdasher in London, one whom the world termed respectable, but his standard of right and wrong was very different from that which the youth had learned from his Bible and his mother. Sharpness and shrewdness were prized above honest dealing. 'All fair in the way of business' was the shopkeeper's favourite motto, and he was not disposed to question too closely the lawfulness of whatever increased his gains. His other shop-boy, whose name was Tim Sands, was also one from whom my father could learn little that was good. Not an ill-disposed lad; had he been in proper hands and under the care of a conscientious master, he might have gone on steadily enough. But Sands was weak-minded and easily led, and though too busy during the week to have much time for mischief, on Sunday, he mixed in all kinds of dissipation, with companions far worse than himself. In society such as this, my poor father felt little comfort or benefit, truly, he stood alone; and but for the power of privately pouring out his heart before God, and thinking of the coming of that happy time when the kingdom of the earth shall become the kingdoms of the Lord, his courage would have failed him entirely, and he might have become like those amongst whom he lived."

"He had a constant fight against sin, I dare say," observed Walter, "but as for the work of which his mother had spoken, I think that he must have left that alone altogether: how could he look after the souls of other people; he had enough to do to take care of his own."

"Oh! You will hear—you will hear," whispered Nelly.

"In the first place," said Viner, "he prayed for others, especially for his master and companion; he asked that God's kingdom might come in their hearts. Such prayers are never in vain, for even if the petition be not granted, the Lord returns it in blessings into the bosom of him who offers it in charity and faith. But my father did not content himself with this. He found out in a street, not very far from his shop, a woman who had once been known to his mother. She had married and fallen into great poverty, and was now living in wretchedness in a small garret, with three children who were dependent upon her. My father had no money to bestow, but he did what he could: he found the family in a state of ignorance, and dirt, almost degraded to the level of the beasts that perish; he roused the mother to exertion by his words; he offered a weekly visit to read the Bible to her, for she was unable herself to read; he undertook on Sundays to teach her young children, looking upon the poor ignorant little ones as lambs whom the Lord had appointed him to feed."

"At first he met with little gratitude, and even some opposition, and the task of teaching, which was new to him, seemed intolerably irksome; much would he have preferred a walk on the bright Sabbath evenings to passing them in that close garret with noisy children. But difficulties gradually were smoothed away before him; even the woman herself became his pupil, children of other lodgers joined his little flock, and gladly shared his instructions; and as my father looked round upon this infant ragged school, he felt how great was the honour, how deep the joy of being permitted thus to labour for the spread of God's kingdom of grace."

"But while he quietly pursued this Christian work, my father had also to endure the Christian fight, and to try the strength of his principles upon an occasion that sorely tested his faith. One day, when he was serving behind the counter, his master overheard him, in reply to a question from a customer, frankly own that he did not believe that the colours of a print which he was showing would bear washing. The presence of the lady prevented anything at the moment but an angry look from the master, but when she had quitted the shop without purchasing anything, the torrent of his anger burst forth. My father had to submit to hear himself called a blockhead and a fool, and submitted in silence; for he thought of his widowed mother, the difficulty which she had in procuring for him this place, and the distress which she would feel if she lost it. But when his master, having exhausted his rage, began to give him a lesson in the ways of the world which went directly against conscience and religion, when he was ordered to be ready to utter a falsehood whenever that falsehood might serve his employer, my father felt that the time had come for him to make a stand, and risk anything rather than his soul."

"'I can only speak what is true,' he said modestly but firmly; how difficult he found it to utter that short sentence, but how thankful was he when he had done so!"

"'You must obey what I order, or march out of my shop!' exclaimed the master, his face reddening with passion."

"It was a great relief to my father that customers entering at the moment broke short the conversation; and he was truly glad that he was able, before they left, without having swerved in the least from truth, to make a considerable addition to the money in the till. It seemed as though Providence were helping him through the difficulties which he had boldly faced in obedience to duty."

"And did he always keep firm?" asked Walter.

"Always; he never even gave an equivocal answer."

"Then I suppose that his master turned him off."

"He threatened to do so more than once, but was too much a man of the world not to know when he had a good servant; and my father was so active and intelligent, so regular in his accounts, so ready on all occasions to oblige, that even his master could not but be aware of his value. As with Joseph, everything seemed to prosper in his hand, and having nothing to find fault with except his religion, even the ungodly man learned to respect his assistant."

"There is an influence, sometimes unknown to ourselves, which we exert either for good or evil amongst those with whom we live. Had my father been austere, proud, or self-righteous, he might, in attempts to convert Tim Sands, have driven him farther from the path of salvation. But my father's kindness and cheerfulness gradually won for him the regard of his fellow-shopman. Sands began by laughing at, but ended by looking up to him. It was not easy, indeed, to draw the youth's attention to anything serious; in vain one of the little counsellors in gold and blue had been purposely placed in his way—he had never got beyond the title page of it, and it was soon thrown aside for a dirty novel."

"One Sunday evening, after a wet, cold day, Sands, who, much against his will, had been kept from his usual diversions by the weather, saw my father preparing to leave the house."

"'I say, Viner,' cried he, 'are you going out for a walk? I see that the sky is clearing up at last. I think that I'll take a turn with you—that is, if you are not going to church again, you'll not draw me in for that!'"

"'I am not going to church, but to pass the evening with some friends.'"

"'Old Methodists, I suppose, grave and solemn.'"

"'No, young and lively,' answered my father."

"'Well, I say, there's no knowing what you good people are after! So you spend your Sunday evenings amid jovial companions! I've half a mind to go with you and see your friends. Had it not rained cats and dogs, I should have been at Greenwich with mine.'"

"'Come, and welcome,' said my father, with a smile."

"So they walked on till they entered a very narrow street, low and dirty, where most of the wretched shops were open, and such of the inhabitants as were loitering about looked as though they had been occupants of the workhouse. My father entered a little shop, and merely wishing good evening to the man who was in it, proceeded at once to the back of it, and, followed by Sands, ascended the steep, dark, dirty stair, where noisy sounds and disagreeable smells annoyed both senses at once."

"'Your company may be choice, but I can't say much for their place of meeting,' observed Sands."

"My father unclosed the door of an attic-room, and was received with a burst of welcome from a dozen young voices within. The room was small, close, and dimly lighted by a single candle; but it was impossible to look without interest on the pale, hungry-looking, but intelligent little beings with whom it was crowded; all poor, some barefoot, yet in their poverty as much the children of God and heirs of eternal life as the nobles and princes of the land. My father asked after the mother of this one, and the sick sister of that, winning the hearts of his scholars by his look of kindly interest; and, after a few minutes spent in this manner, 'Now, let us begin with a hymn,' said he."

"'Jerusalem, my happy home!' How strangely sweet it must have sounded to hear the voices of those ragged children sing of the 'pearly gates' and 'streets of shining gold' of the heavenly dwelling-place above, within the walls of that miserable attic! Sands remained an attentive, perhaps an interested, listener for the two hours during which his companion's labours lasted. When they found themselves again in the street, he remarked:

"'Well, certainly there is some difference between your kind of society and the jolly parties to which I am accustomed at the White Hart, or Saracen's Head.'"

"'But are all the pleasures which you may have enjoyed there worth the hope of meeting one of those little ones in heaven, when the kingdom of God shall have come?'"

"Sands made no reply, and walked back in silence."

"A day of trouble was coming for my father, in which he would need all the comfort which religion and a good conscience could give. He was sent one evening to a customer with a parcel of valuable goods, for which he was to receive payment. Thinking of lending one of his little friends in gold and blue to a widow who kept a stall near the square to which he was going, he opened his pocket-book which he carried with him, and placed one of the copies in it. The woman had, however, left her stand, so this opportunity of doing good was lost for the time. The customer received the goods, and paid for them, and two five-pound notes were carefully placed by my father in the pocket-book beside the little publication."

"The streets were much crowded on his return, for there were preparations for a grand illumination. My father did not loiter on his way, but his attention was naturally attracted by the splendid stars and wreaths, which were beginning to be lighted up as he passed. As he entered his master's shop, he put his hand into his pocket, and his surprise and distress may be readily imagined, when he found it entirely empty. His first impulse was to retrace his steps, which he did, though with scarcely the faintest hope of success; glancing vainly down on every side, asking bystanders the question which always received the same discouraging answer. All the glories of the illumination were lost upon him; he could think of nothing but his lost bank-notes."

"Weary and sad, he returned to his home, where he had to wait for an hour—a most painful hour it was—till his master returned from seeing the illumination. The confession of his loss was frankly made, with every expression of heartfelt regret; but the anger of the haberdasher was beyond all bounds, and he treated my unhappy father as though the money had not been lost but stolen by him. Whether the master had indulged too freely in drink that night, I know not, but I think it more than probable; he abused my father in violent terms, dismissed him from his service, refused to give him even a character, and, for his own convenience alone, allowed him to remain beneath his roof until he could procure some one to supply his place."

"My father retired to his little room with an almost breaking heart. I have often heard him say that this was the bitterest moment of his life. To lose his place was misfortune enough; but his character—that which was dearer than life! He could scarcely restrain his burning tears! But he laid his troubles before his God; he remembered that the Almighty afflicts not in vain, that the Lord would yet make his innocence clear before all, if not in this world, yet in the kingdom which is to come."

"As he was rising from his knees, Sands entered the room, having heard of the misfortune of his companion. Sands was a kind-hearted fellow, and really liked my father, and tried in his rough way to comfort him.

"'I am heartily sorry that you are going,' he said, in conclusion; 'I assure you, Viner, that I would do anything for you.'"

"'Then you will not refuse this little remembrance from a friend,' said my father, placing in his hand one of the books in gold and blue, from which he had just himself been drawing counsel and comfort. 'For my sake, you will read this little work through, and God bless you, Sands, and reward you for the kindness which you have shown to a friend in disgrace!'"

"And did Sands read it?" inquired Walter.

"I believe that he did. I remember seeing him as a gray-headed old man, and he then showed me his little copy in gold and blue, looking very much the worse for wear; and he told me that he thought that if there were any good in him, he owed it to the example and advice of my father."

"And was your father obliged to leave his situation?"

"Some delay occurred in supplying his place; he was, therefore, allowed to remain about ten days longer. He felt very sad and low on the Sunday evening on which he was to pay his last visit to his little school, for as he had as yet been unable to get another situation in London, he intended to return to his mother."

"He found his young pupils ready for him as usual; but a cloud of sorrow was over them, for they know that they were to welcome their kind teacher no more. My father tried to improve to them even the occasion of their mutual distress; he spoke to them of the place where there is no more parting, of the unending joys prepared for God's servants when His kingdom of glory shall come. He concluded by placing before the children his last remaining copy of the book in gold and blue, and offering it as a prize to the most industrious pupil, on condition of his reading it aloud to his companions."

"'Oh! That is just like the book which makes my mother sad!' cried a little barefooted boy from a corner of the room."

"My father started at the words, for he thought of that which he well remembered having placed in his lost pocket-book!"

"'Where did your mother get one like this? How long has she had it?' he cried eagerly."

"'I don't know where she got it,' replied the child, looking down. 'I think that she has had it about a week; she laughed when she began to read it, but, before she had done, she was crying as I never saw her cry before.'"

"After the lesson was over, and my father had received the oft-repeated farewells and good wishes of his pupils, not unmixed with tears, which went warmer to his heart than all the praises of man could have done, he laid his hand on the arm of the barefooted boy, and gently drew him along with him down the steep staircase, until they stood together in the street."

"'I should like to see your mother,' he said to the boy."

"'She lives quite near, just round the corner; I will take you to her if you wish it,' replied the child."

"'Am I foolish to indulge this strange hope?' thought my father, as he followed his little guide. 'But nowhere else have I seen any books like my three, and it may be that the Almighty has granted me a clue by which to find out the lost property of my master, and clear my own character from suspicion.'"

"With a heart beating faster than usual, my father was led by the boy to a neighbouring house, as low and dirty as the one which they had just quitted. They ascended to a room upon the second floor, where a woman sat alone, engaged in reading. At the first glance my father recognised the book which she held in her hand. It is that, Walter, which you now see in the possession of his son."

"The exclamation which he uttered startled the woman; she turned round hastily with an expression of fear on her face—the book dropped from her hand as, gazing wildly on my father, she exclaimed, 'It is he! Oh what strange fortune has brought him here!'"

"'Not fortune,' said my father with emotion, as he raised the little book, 'but, as I believe, a gracious Providence, who will surely bring both guilt and innocence to light.'"

"'I knew it—I knew it!' cried the woman, clasping her hands. 'Since the night when I robbed you I have had no peace; that book has been like a sword in my conscience—I would have restored what I had taken, had I known where to find its owner, and see—see my own child has led him to my door!' Hastening to a corner of her room, with trembling hands she opened a deal box, and frees the very bottom of it, under heaps of rags and rubbish, she drew forth my father's lost pocket-book!"

"Think, only think, how much delighted he must have been to see it!" cried Nelly.

"He could scarcely believe that he was not in a dream when the wretched woman placed it in his hand; and when on opening it he saw the two bank-notes, a feeling of overpowering, thankfulness filled his soul, and made him unable to speak."

"'Take it—it is just as when you lost it—I dared not change the notes,' said the woman; 'and oh I have mercy on a wretched creature; do not give me up to the police! It was my first theft; indeed, indeed it was, and I will never be guilty of one again!'"

"Did your father give her up to punishment?" inquired Walter, with interest.

"No; he was full of compassion for the unhappy woman, and never, as long as she lived, lost sight either of her or her son. He was able to procure for her a little employment from his master—set her thus in the way of honestly earning her living, and had reason to hope that that Sabbath evening was the turning-point of her life."

"And your father, I suppose, kept his situation after all?"

"He kept it for many years, and lived respected even by those who were strangers to the principles by which he was guided during life. He was, indeed, as the faithful servant, ready girded, and watchful for the coming of his Lord. Happy those who thus watch and wait for His appearing, who expect it not with fear, but with hope and joy; God's kingdom has already begun in their hearts, they count no effort great to win souls to His service, and the acts of their lives, as well as the words of their lips, seem to say:

"THY KINGDOM COME!"