Chapter VII: Drawn Aside

THE subject of the preceding conversation had been so exceedingly solemn that even little Elsie had a grave look of awe on her round rosy face, though she could understand but little of the great mysteries of which her mother had been speaking. Elsie could only gather that a type was like a picture of something much greater and more wondrous than itself, and said in her simple, childish way, “Is not a type like your very tiny photo, mamma, so little that we could not make out that there was any picture at all till we held it up to the light, and then we could see the Queen’s great palace quite plain?”

“Elsie has given us a type of a type!” cried Lucius, clapping his little sister on the shoulder.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Agnes.

Lucius was puzzled to explain his own meaning, which was perhaps not very clear to himself, so his mother came to his help.

“Elsie’s very minute photograph is not a bad illustration of what Bible types are,” remarked Mrs. Temple. “They look small, and might almost escape notice, until the eye of faith sees them in the clear light of God’s Word, and then what seemed little more than a speck, may be found to be a likeness of something grander far than a royal palace.”

“It would be interesting to find out some other Bible types,” observed Agnes.

“I was just going to propose that while I attend afternoon service, you should all occupy the time of my absence in each finding a type, which we can talk over in the evening,” said Mrs. Temple.

“I should like that!” cried Lucius; “I am glad of anything to make the afternoon less dull; for I know that as it is damp to-day we shall all have to keep within bounds,” he added, Agnes having just begun a fit of coughing.

“I should like to find a Bible type if I could, but I’m afraid that I am too stupid,” said Amy.

“You and me, we’ll try together,” cried Elsie, laying her plump dimpled hand on that of her sister.

“Ah! you think that union is strength, Pussie!” cried Lucius; “and that you two youngest of the party will together be a match for any one of the rest.”

Little Elsie’s brain had now been quite long enough on the stretch, and after jumping upon her mother’s knee to give her “a good tight kiss,” the child ran off to play with her Noah’s Ark. The family then dispersed to various parts of the house, soon to reassemble at the cheerful sound of the dinner-bell.

After Mrs. Temple had started for church, Lucius, Agnes and Amy took up their Bibles to search in them for types, while little Elsie amused herself with a book of Scripture pictures. Dora went to the room called the study, in which the children usually learned their lessons in the morning, and amused themselves in the evening, and in which they kept their workboxes and desks, and most of their books. Dora found no one in the study, and sauntered up to the side table, covered with green cloth, on which stood her neat little workbox.

“Of course I am not going to do one stitch of my embroidery to-day, because this is Sunday,” said Dora to herself. “But there can be no harm in just looking at my pretty pattern, and seeing whether it is likely to do for the inner curtains and veil.”

Dora opened the box, and took out the pattern which lay on the neatly-folded piece of linen which her mother had given to her just before the twins had gone up-stairs to bed. Dora admired her own pattern, which was realty drawn out with some skill, but she saw that it was not quite perfect. Her pencil lay close at hand; Dora could not, or did not, resist the temptation to put in a few touches to this and that part of the drawing.

“I wonder how I should arrange the colors,” thought Dora; “I wish that I had more scarlet in my reel, and I think that my blue skein is too dark; Agnes has some sky-blue sewing silk, I know. Perhaps that would be better, or both shades might have a pretty effect, mixed with the scarlet and purple.”

Dora took out her reels and skeins, and placed them beside her pattern, and tried to imagine the effect of the different combination of color. Would it be well for the cherubim to be worked in purple or blue, or entirely in thread of gold, like their wings? Dora was inclined to think the last plan best, only gold thread is so stiff, and difficult to manage.

“I shall never go to rest till I have made up my mind about this,” muttered Dora to herself, “and how can I decide what will be best till I try? And why should I not try?” Dora, with her colored silks before her, was, like Eve, looking at the forbidden fruit, and listening to the voice of the Tempter, who would persuade her that evil was good.

“There are some things which even mamma says are quite lawful to be done on Sundays, such as charitable works. Mamma herself dressed the cook’s scalded arm upon a Sunday, and put in a stitch or two to keep the bandages firm. _That_ was surely sewing on a Sunday, but then that was a work of charity. Well, but mine is a work of charity, too.” Thus Dora went on, while the dangerous current of inclination was gradually drifting her on towards breaking in act the Fourth Commandment, which she had all day long been breaking in thought. “Our Tabernacle is to be the model of a holy—a very holy thing, just the kind of a thing which it is right to think about on Sunday. Then it is to be made for a very charitable purpose. I am sure that bandaging the cook’s arm is no better work than helping a ragged school; I don’t think that it is really as good, for aunt’s poor little pupils are taught to love God and read the Bible. No, it surely cannot be wrong to assist such an excellent work on any day in the seven.”

Dora unrolled a length of blue silk, took out a needle and threaded it. She had almost succeeded in silencing conscience, at least for a time; she had almost persuaded herself that in amusing herself she was helping a holy cause; and that God would not be displeased at her breaking His commandment, because she was going to work for the poor. There is, perhaps, no more dangerous error than to think that the end justifies the means—that it is lawful to a Christian to do evil that good may come. Oh, dear young reader! if you ever find yourself trying to quiet conscience by the thought that to do a great good you may do a little harm, start back as if you caught sight of the tail of a snake in your path! Yes, for the serpent who deceived Eve is trying to deceive you also. If Dora had been honest and candid with herself, she would have seen, as her fingers busily plied the needle, that she was really working for her own pleasure; that her embroidering a piece of linen was an utterly different thing from her mother’s bandaging a badly-scalded arm, and relieving a sufferer’s pain. To cases of necessity such as that, the Saviour’s words truly applied—“It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath-day;” but there was nothing to justify Dora in following her own inclination, and working on the day appointed for holy worship and rest.

If there was really no harm in what she was doing, why was it that Dora started so when she heard her mother’s voice at the door of the study, and why did she so hurriedly thrust linen, pattern, and silks back into the workbox as her gentle parent entered the room?

Dora’s back was turned towards the door, so that, from her being between it and the table, Mrs. Temple could not see the cause of the little bustling movement which she noticed on coming into the study.

“What are you doing, my love?” asked the lady.

“Nothing,” answered Dora quickly, as she succeeded in shutting down the lid of her workbox. The word was uttered in haste, without reflection; but the instant after it had passed her lips a pang shot through the young girl’s heart, for she was aware that, perhaps for the first time in her life, she had uttered a downright falsehood. Conscience could be silenced no longer; the second sin into which Dora had been drawn by her fear showed her in a strong light the nature of the first, into which she had been drawn by her love of amusement. If she had not been doing what was wrong, she would not have been afraid lest her occupation should be found out by her tender, indulgent mother.

Mrs. Temple never doubted the word of one of her children, but she could not help thinking that the manner of Dora was strange, and she would probably have inquired further into its cause, had she not just then been followed into the study by Lucius. The boy had his Bible in his hand, and a thoughtful, perplexed look on his face, which at once fixed the attention of Mrs. Temple. Dora was glad that her mother’s attention should be drawn by anything from herself, for otherwise she could not have hidden her confusion. She seated herself on a stool by the window, with her face turned away from her parent, and there remained a silent listener to the following conversation between Mrs. Temple and her son. Whether that conversation was likely to make Dora’s conscience easier or not, I leave the reader to judge.