CHAPTER XVI.
An Experiment.
Sow ye beside all waters, Where the dew of heaven may fall; Ye shall reap, if ye be not weary. For the Spirit breathes o'er all.
Sow, though the thorns may wound thee: One wore the thorns for thee; And though the cold world scorn thee, Patient and hopeful be. --Anna Shipton.
While Benny in his prison-cell was dragging out the weary hoursof that June Sabbath, Joe Wrag was engaged in an experiment thathad occupied his thoughts for some considerable time. Since thatnever-to-be-forgotten day when he had kissed his little Nelly a lastgood bye, he had never doubted three things:--First, that the elect were"whosoever will;" second, that he had been accepted of the Father; and,third, that little Nelly Bates had been to him the "sent of God," tolead him out of the darkness of error into the light of truth.
The certainty that he was included in God's invitation of mercy was tohim a new revelation. He felt as if he had suddenly grown young again,and, notwithstanding his grief for his little pet, he experienced a joyspringing up in his heart the like of which he had never known before.
The words that have comforted so many sorrow-bruised hearts--"for wemourn not as those without hope, for them that sleep in Him"--seemed tohim to have a new and deeper meaning. For he felt that not only was hislittle Nelly safe, but that he, too, was secure in the almighty love ofGod.
For several weeks Joe hardly knew at times whether he was in thebody or out of it. Wrapped in contemplation, he would forget "alltime and toil and care," and the long nights would slip away like adream. He grew more silent than ever; but the look of melancholy wasrapidly disappearing from his weatherbeaten face, and an expression ofheart-rest and peace was taking its place.
But one morning, as Joe was walking home from his work, lost as usual incontemplation, a thought crossed his mind that fairly startled him, andfor several moments he stood stock-still in the street.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" he groaned. "If I don't desarve to be reprobated,my name's not Joe Wrag."
Then he walked on again with rapid strides, as if he would escape thehaunting thought. But the thought would not leave him; nay, it seemed togrow into a living voice, that sounded clear and distinct above the roarof the streets.
"Joe Wrag," it said, "is your religion such a selfish thing, and isyour joy such a selfish thing, that you can think of nothing butyourself? Are you the only one for whom Christ died? Are there no tiredand toil-worn men and women around you struggling in the darkness andlonging for light? Do you want heaven all to yourself, that you inviteno one to go along with you? For shame, Joe Wrag, you are actuallygrowing selfish! In your thankfulness that you have found a place ofshelter, you have forgotten the many outside still exposed to the storm.Is this what you have learnt of Christ? Get down on your knees, man, andask His pardon, and ask Him for grace also that you may be saved fromyourself, and that henceforth you may live for Christ and humanity."
"O Lord, have marcy!" cried Joe, rushing on faster and faster. "I'vebeen as blind as a bat, an' as selfish as sin could make me. Enter notinto judgment with me for Thy marcy's sake, an' I'll try to do better--Iwill, for sure."
When Joe reached his home, he went at once to his bed-room, and, fallingon his knees, he poured out his soul in a long and agonizing prayer. Heprayed for grace and strength, he prayed for light and wisdom. He didnot ask for peace or joy, but he asked to be made holy and useful, thathe might do diligently his life-work, and be able to say when deathcame, "I have finished the work that Thou gavest me to do."
When Joe came downstairs a light was shining in his eyes, such as hiswife (who had been for many years Joe's "thorn in the flesh") had neverseen before.
From that day Joe Wrag was a changed man, and, as might be expected,his wife was the first to notice the change and the first to appreciateit. That very morning, instead of eating his meal in silence, as hadbeen his custom for many years, he began to talk to her, to ask herquestions, and to interest himself in domestic affairs. And when hehad taken his four or five hours' sleep, instead of moping in silence,as he had been in the habit of doing, until it was time to go to hiswork, he actually began to help his wife to tidy up the house, and evenanticipated her wants in several little matters, and altogether madehimself so agreeable that his wife was at her wits' end to know what hadcome over him.
Mary Wrag had grown, as the years had slipped by, from a light-hearted,high-spirited girl, into a sour, disappointed, and vixenish woman. PoorJoe was utterly at a loss to understand the change that had come overher. He could not think that he had contributed to it in the smallestdegree. He had never crossed her, never answered her back when shesnarled at him, never bothered her with his own troubles, and nevervexed her by trying to pry into hers. He had always let her have her ownway, and had scarcely interfered with her in anything, and hence it wasa mystery to him how she had grown so cross-grained and sour.
It was a very common mistake, and one that has been fraught with themost serious results. He did not know how, in the years gone by, hiswife had longed to share his troubles (for she was too proud to tellhim), and how she wanted him to share hers. He did not know what atrouble it was to her when he sat hour after hour moody and silent,never speaking to her, and taking no interest in anything she did orsaid. He did not know what bitter tears she shed in the early years oftheir wedded life, because he would not notice a new bow of pink ribbonshe had made, or a new fashion in which she had done up her glossy hair.
"I don't believe," she would say bitterly, "that Joe cares a bit what Iwears. It's not a bit of pleasure to try an' make oneself look nice, forhe never notices."
And so she grew cross and sour. He never blamed her, it is true, but shecomplained to herself that he never praised her, and even when she gotthoroughly out of temper and gave him a good "blowing up," his silenceonly exasperated her all the more.
"I'd rather a thousan' times over," she would say, "that he'd get cross,an' answer back again, than sit still, turnin' up his eyes like a dyin'dolphin."
Had Joe known all this, it would certainly have been a great trouble tohim, and yet if he had known it, it would doubtless have saved him manyyears of pain.
But after the morning to which we have alluded, Joe's conduct and mannerchanged in a remarkable degree. He became thoughtful and attentive andcommunicative, and he began to think, too, that his wife's temper wasimproving; and after a few weeks he was surprised at the wonderfulchange that had come over her, little dreaming that it was the change inhimself that had produced the change in his wife.
The experiment to which we alluded in the opening sentences ofthis chapter was that of trying to get hold of his neighbours andacquaintances, and helping them if possible to a higher and betterlife. There were people living all round him--some of them he had knownfor twenty years--who never went to church or chapel, and who seemedutterly unconcerned about death and the great hereafter that lay beyondit--people whose life was one hopeless round of toil, with nothing tobrighten or cheer its dull monotony. Some of them were decent peopletoo, honest and industrious. It is true they got drunk occasionally, andwere not always as civil to their wives and families and to each otheras they might be; yet, notwithstanding, they had a soft place in theirhearts, and were ever ready to watch by a sick neighbour's bed-side, orlend a helping hand to a mate more needy than themselves.
How to get hold of these children of the great Father, and lead theminto His fold, was a problem that had puzzled Joe for some time. Atlength he decided, with his wife's consent, to invite them to tea, or asmany of them as could be accommodated, some Sunday afternoon, and whenhe had got them together, to talk to them on those matters which were ofsuch vital importance.
Accordingly the invitations were sent out, and on the Sunday afternoonalready mentioned some fifteen men found their way to Joe Wrag'scottage, wondering what was in the wind.
When they had all got comfortably seated on the forms that Joe hadprovided, Joe stood up in a corner of the ro
om, and looked around him:evidently it was no easy task to begin to talk. Joe had no idea that itwould be so difficult. Every eye was fixed upon him with a wonderingexpression. Joe coughed two or three times, then making a tremendouseffort, he said,
"You all know me, mates?"
"Ay," they all exclaimed, "we ought to, anyhow."
"Ay, jist so," said Joe, feeling more at ease now that the ice wasbroken; "but I've discovered lately, lads, that I ain't a-done my duty."
"Come, old boss, we ain't a-blamin' yer; so don't begin a ballyraggin'yoursel' in that way," said one of the men.
"Facts is stubborn, though," went on Joe, "an' I see that I've kep'mysel' too much to mysel', an' I ain't a-been that neighbourly as Iought to ha' been; but I intend to do differ'nt."
"Well, I'm hanged," said the man who had before spoken, "if I ain'tconsiderable at a loss, Joe, to know what yer drivin' at."
"I 'spects so, no doubt, but I'm not good at 'splainin'; but it 'pearsto me, mates, as how we ain't got hold o' life by the right end."
"Yer mean _us_, Joe?" questioned several voices together.
"Well, p'raps I do. Yer don't git much comfort in this life, and yerain't preparin' for a better life. Don't stop me; but I used to thinkthat heaven wern't for me, and for lots o' us poor chaps--that wedidn't belong to the elect; but, bless yer, lads, I know now, thatthe elect are everybody as likes. We are all God's children, an' Heloves us all, the bad 'uns as well as the good 'uns, an' He's promisedpardon an' heaven to whosoever will. Let me tell 'e lads, how it cameabout. A little girl an' her brother comed an' axed me to let 'em warmtheirselves by my fire one pinchin' cold night. A purtier little critterthan little Nelly never breathed, wi' her great round eyes an' sweetmouth. I seem to see her now, though she's asleep in her grave. Well,when her father druv 'em from home, I got a place for 'em wi' BettyBarker. An' Betty used to read to 'em out o' the Testament. An' thenthey got into a chapel, an' heerd a couple o' sermons--leastaway Nellydid; the lad were asleep durin' the preachin'. Well, you can't tellhow eager that little gal became to know more about the Saviour, an'heaven, an' all the rest o' it. An' she used to come an' ax me all sortso' questions. Bless yer, that little girl had real speretuel insight;she used to floor me complete. I never heerd sich posers as she used toput sometimes. But I tell 'e, mates, every one of the questions helpedto lead me out o' the darkness into the light. Day after day it gotclearer, an' yet I doubted. I spoke the promises to the little gal, andyet I were afeard to take 'em mysel'. I had a vision, too, one night,an' that helped me amazin'. But not until my little Nell was dyin' did Isee clear. The nurse said to me what she seed the little gal wanted tosay, an' that took down the last shutter, an' the light streamed in. Ican't tell yer all the joy, lads, I've felt, but for a long time I keptit all to mysel'. But the Lord has showed to me how selfish I've been,an' now I want for everybody to get close to the Saviour."
For a moment there was silence, then one of the men said,
"But there's wussur chaps 'n us goin'."
"Ay, that's true, lad," said Joe; "but you're all bad enough to bebetter, an' the Saviour wants 'e all to be good, an' He wants to help 'eall to be patient an' bear the burden of life, an' He wants to show 'ehow much He loves an' cares for 'e all."
"I dunna think He ken love us very much," said one of the men sullenly,"or He wouldn't ha' put us in this 'ere muck all our lives."
"Well, lads," replied Joe thoughtfully, "I 'fess I can't 'splain all.An' the Book tells us how we on'y see through a glass darkly. We looksat life an' the world an' everything through a smoked glass, an' it all'pears dark. But I tell 'e, lads, this I know, that God loves us, ay,loves us, and He'll make everything right and square by-and-bye, if wewill only leave it wi' Him."
"I dunna see much sign o' the love anywheres," said the man in reply.
"P'r'aps so," said Joe. "But yer see, mates, as how sin an' the devilhave comed in th' world, an' they's made terrible mischief, terrible,and many o' us 'as bin 'elping the devil all we could, an' so between uswe's got oursels into a queer scrape, an' piled misery an' sorrow o' topo' our 'eads. But God loved us so much that He sent the Saviour to takeaway our sin an' make us free. An' yet all the time we complain as ifour Father made all the mischief an' trouble, when most o' us 'as a-madeit oursels."
"Ay, that's true, lad," said Dick Somerset, the man that had spoken most.
"Course it are true," said Joe, brightening up. "An', besides, it may bea good thing for us to be kep' poor an' 'ave plenty o' 'ard work. TheLord knows best, you may depend on 't, what's best for us; lots of uscouldn't stand riches, 't would be the greatest curse we could 'ave. Ib'lieve if you place some people on a hoss they'd ride to the devil, butif you were to keep 'em in clogs they'd plod on all the way to Paradise."
"It's 'nation 'ard, though," said several of the men, "to be allersa-grindin' away at it as we's bound to do."
"Ay, lads," said Joe, "that are true, an' yet I reckon we ain't a-triedvery much to better our position. Some o' yer 'as spent in drink whatyer might a-saved, an' if yer 'ad a-done so, an' 'ad spent yer evenin'simprovin' yer mind an' gettin' some larnin', ye might ha' been betteroff. I might, I see it now quite clear; but as I said at the fust, we's'ad hold o' life by the wrong end. An' I wants us all to begin afresh."
"But how is we to do it, Joe?" said several voices.
"Well, let's begin by axin' the Lord for pardon for all the past, an'for strength to do better for the future."
And Joe got down upon his knees at once and began to pray, and while hepleaded the promises, it seemed to him as if the little room became fullof the presence of the Most High. All his hesitancy of speech vanished.It seemed to him as if he had got hold of the very hand of God, and hecried out, "I will not let Thee go until Thou bless me." Promise afterpromise crowded into his mind with more rapidity than he could utterthem; until at length, overcome by his feelings, he cried out, "I cannadoubt, I canna doubt no more!" then he hid his face in his hands, andthere was silence throughout the room. When he rose from his knees hisface fairly shone with joy, and the men looked wonderingly at him and ateach other.
Just then there was a knock at the little kitchen door, and Joe's wifecame in to say that she was waiting to bring in the tea.
"Right thee are, lass," said Joe. "I'd nearly forgotten the tea; bringit away as fast as thee likes."
And Mary Wrag and a neighbour's wife who had come in to help beganto bring in large plates of cake and bread and butter, which the mengreedily devoured. It was very evident that whatever they thought of theother part of the service, they enjoyed this part of it.
Joe was more pleased than he could tell at his experiment, and fromthat day every Sunday afternoon his house was thrown open to any of hisneighbours who might like to come in, and hear the Bible read, and havea little conversation about spiritual things.
It was wonderful, now that the tongue of this silent man had beenunloosed, how freely he could talk, and he never lacked a congregation.The neighbours flocked to hear him talk of Jesus and of His wondrouslove, and in Joe's little kitchen many a weary and heavy-laden soulfound peace and rest.
In a little Bethel near his home Joe found a place to worship God. Heloved now to be in the house of prayer. It no longer gave him pain totalk of heaven and of the joys of the redeemed for he knew that heavenwas open to him, and that in a little while he would find again thelittle angel that led him into the light, and look upon the Saviour whomhe loved.