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Chapter XXI.

Eleven o'clock next day the church bells rang out merrily, calling men and women to meet together in the sacred house of God. In a quiet corner, half hidden by an angle of the church, sat our little friend. Goodness, even such frail goodness as that of righteous Lot, is not so abundant in this world that it can be passed by uncommented, and no one could fail to notice the sweetness of that little face. Nellie, vain girl, was quite conscious of the attention paid to her secluded corner. It is mock modesty to pretend not to see what is openly displayed; yet she set herself to task, and would not allow her thoughts obey the Sirene voice of Vanity. Jingle-de-ding, jingle-de-ding, sang those merry bells—those merry musical bells—those bells of holy thought. They tell us that in every land whereon the sun's bright rays fall, men, women and children are mingling together, and passing into God's quiet consecrated churches. They, those chiming bells, echo down to us, through the vast corridor of eighteen hundred years, the old old strain—"Christianity." And for, perhaps, eighteen hundred more, perhaps less, they will prolong their molten echo, growing more stupendous, more gloriously grand, in their never-ending volume as it sweeps past every node of time. The bells ceased; the organ awoke, and stirred into life the sunny, purified air. Wave upon wave of melody rolled down the aisle, and spread like a silvan flood along the well-filled pews. One moment's pause at the crimson folding doors, one moment, page 251then onward, upward; they, those melodious waves, curled themselves around the hearts of many an idler, and forced them, almost against their wills, into their fountain basin. The strain dies away, the white-haired minister arises, and from behind the crimson velvet and swaying tassels, announces, in his grand deep tones, the commencement of their morning service. His voice speaks to his flock; his heart to his God. There he stands, that saintly man, his tall form towering above that seething people, like a mighty Abraham wrestling with God for mercy on Sodom; his voice, more pleading, more persistent than that ancient Patriarch's, winning a more effectual destruction, the destruction of the devil of contention in the hearts of his people. To the congregation, as they gazed upon their hoary-headed priest, never before had his spiritual face seemed so dear, so full of human strength; and, as their voices arose in one burst of praise, the Glorified One bent forward in his throne to listen. The song ended, the congregation knelt, and in the inspired voice of the minister, priest, and people prayed. Too much; the yearning heart of that Glorified One broke from the bonds of reserve, and rising from his seat, and opening wide his arms of love, he descended with his train of angels, and clasped each earnest petitioner to his heart.

Ah! I hear in the whispering air, and see in the phantom faces, strange, mocking sounds, strange contemptuous smiles; and on the great Earth's wall is written the words, "Preserve us from purity and earnestness, if this, and that, and the next, be samples of Christianity."

O, mighty accusers, ye are right; sadly awfully right; and no one mourns more over Christianity's failings than the Christians do themselves. In our pows we sit and gaze at the inscriptions above our church doors and windows. "Jealousy." "Self pride." "Carnal wilfulness." And page 252bowing our head with the force of our anguish, we weep bitter bitter tears. "Oh! spare us, ye judges, and spare our brethren, for the sake of Him, whose blood drops wipe away our stains. God knows the Christains suffer enough from the persecuting hands of those "Samples," without the addition of your taunts. Remember there are some who prostrate themselves before their Lord, and cry continually. "God be merciful to me, a weak and erring, yet righteous thirsting, sinner." Who occupy not the front seats, nor veil their faces with mock humility, but who stand unshrouded in their simple knowledge of simplicity, and who are not conspicuous in that vast congregation.

The sermon over, the last hymn sung, the benediction pronounced, the congregation rise, and slowly make their way out. "A beautiful sermon." "A wonderful sermon." "Criky, an' it war warth a bearing." And so they commented with one another, and pulled the parson and his preaching to pieces, little dreaming that a woman's hand had wielded the magic wand; never knowing that those stirring truths, which inspired them on to a higher life, were wrung from the depth of a suffering heart, a heart in every way like their own.

The minister gazed after the retreating forms of his flock, and sighed. All his efforts had been fruitless, not one heart had been touched. "Ah! well, perhaps, they are tired of me, and want a change." But it was hard, very hard. "My prayers, aye, and my tears, are useless, save to incite such comments as "A beautiful sermon." He thought of the struggles he had had to find truths, and to give them vent in truthful words, he thought—and sighed again. "My very earnestness is made to recoil upon my head." But it would never do to sit there all day, so he arose, descended the pulpit steps, re-entered the vestry, page 253removed his surplice, then unconscious of two bright eyes looking at him, knelt down on the bare floor, and uttered a short prayer for himself. There were tears of disappointment in his eyes, as he rose and stepped out into the open sunshine.

"Why uncle, Cupid, have mercy. What is the cause of thy serious countenance?" exclaimed a sweet girlish voice, and a little neatly gloved hand was slipped through the old gentleman's arm.

"Nellie. Why, where's the gig?"

"I sent it home. It is such a lovely day that I wanted to be out of doors ever so long. Please don't walk quickly, uncle."

Mr. Remay looked down at the sweet face beside him, and thought of his wife's words, "Nole the child is not strong."

Something uneasy crept into his heart, and for his own peace of mind he dared not analyze it. He walked on in silence for a few minutes, hardly conscious of anything but the ring of those words, "The child is not strong."

"Well uncle," exclaimed Nellie, "You have not answered my question yet."

"Oh! Ah! Yes, yes! Why am I serious? I am grieved to find how hard are the hearts of men; how imperceptible to the pleadings of God." The melancholy tone so out of keeping with the circumstances around, and so different from the eager ringing ones of half an hour before, tickled Nellie's fancy, and she burst out laughing.

Mr. Remay, not seeing the joke, and having a suspicion that the mischievous girl was laughing at him, turned to chide, but, as was always the case, smiled.

"How do you know men's hearts are not touched, mon uncle?" asked Nellie, after she had recovered sufficiently to speak.

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"You don't deserve to be told, my lady," laughed her uncle. Somehow or other he felt his old bright self coming back, and his despondency vanishing into the air." By your fruits, ye shall know them, and I see none for all my labours."

"Vraiment! C'est tres 'etrange," answered Nellie in a tone of feigned astonishment. "A minister canna see nae fruit for a' his labour," and she laughed again, while a merry twinkle danced in her dark eyes. "Before I begin my lecture, uncle, I shall tell you something so funny, for I cannot talk to a man who has the blues. Last night I was standing just behind that tree by the church gate, waiting for you, when I saw two people come toward me, a lady and a gentleman. When they got nearly opposite, the lady dropped something, and the gentleman stooped to lift it. "Why dolly," said he, handing the lady her book, "What a pretty foot you have. I never knew a Kraitmar could boast of a small foot before." But just as he turned to resume his walk, and the girl turned with him, somehow they collided, and the pretty foot came in contact with his corns. "O uncle," and Nellie laughed, until she made her uncle laugh, and until the tears streamed down her cheeks. "O uncle, you should have seen that man dance, it would have competed with David's before the Ark. By the language, I concluded he was the girl's brother. The pretty foot was all the elephants, and clodhoppers, and maximums in Creation; and the girl, instead of going down on her knees and begging to be forgiven for having such big feet, burst out laughing." Two bright dark eyes shot a wicked glance at the grave elderly face. "There's the least bit of likeness between that man, and this. Because something has come in contact with your corns, uncle, you think it the horridest misfortune that ever befel you, and instead of it being a page 255very pretty foot, which it really is, you call it elephant, clodhopper,—efforts without effects,—labour without fruit." Nollie paused, and Mr. Remay spoke.

"Go ahead, little woman. Perhaps you will tell me next that you are a fruit. A jolly ripe one, by the by; my mouth is waiting for a' bite. Come, I've been talking all the morning; it's your turn."

"Well," with a toss of the little head, and a rebuke for his allusion to herself. "Well, I don't believe you know where to look fruit, nor that you would know fruit when you saw it," another thoughtful pause. "Uncle, I dearly love fairy tales, do you?"

"Yours I do."

"Ah! That's encouraging. Listen. Once upon a time in the nineteenth century, there lived an old gentleman. He was a very good old gentleman, and so kind, a real dear. Well, one day this good old gentleman went for a walk: before he set out, however, he had received a letter of commendation, and O! he was so proud. He did not expect this letter; in fact, at first he could not believe he deserved it. But then he remembered all his labours, and this, as I said before, made him very proud. As he walked along the road with his head bent, and his hands locked behind, he began to count over his collection of good works; presently he felt very thirsty. 'I should like some fruit,' mused this kind old gentleman. 'I deserve some, I am such a good man, you know.' From one side of the road to the other he crossed, up and down he looked, but no fruit obliged him by peeping out.

'Ha!' exclaimed he, spying a fir tree in the distance, 'Fruit at last.' Everything else but his thirst was forgotten, even his precious letter of commendation. He peered about among the branches, he called for fruit, he shook the great tree, but lo, he was thirsty still. Suddenly page 256a drop of rain fell down the back of his neck, softening the beautifully starched collar, he glanced up the darkening sky. 'Bother! what a nuisance. I shall have to return, and "There's no fruit for all my labour.' The poor old gentleman retraced his steps, and once more stood on his doorstep. His niece ran to meet him, and as per usual, he poured out all his trouble into her listening ears, and she, instead of weeping in sympathy, burst out laughing, and called her uncle a silly old dear.

'Did you expect to find fruit trees growing on the hard dusty road? Or could you tell fruit with those horrid green glasses over your eyes?' she cried, clapping her hands, and dancing around her uncle. 'Come in and wait until this shower is over, and then we shall go and get fruit.' They waited; the shower passed, the sunshine came out; the time to gather had come, and uncle and niece sallied forth.—Now listen—

"God bless me, I've been listening all the while. What is the girl driving at?"

"Stop swearing—listen." Mr. Remay bent forward, and held his hand to the back of his ear, a comical look in his kind grey eyes.

"Now uncle, I heard you say in church, the other Sunday, that it was unkind to pull out a watch and look at the time during the sermon." The hand dropped instantly.

"Listen—a third time—Where do you think they went? Out on the "Public declaration road?" No. Into the "Home orchard." Into the secluded life. Oh, what a surprise, what a glorious surprise. There were trees laden with ripe fruit. Golden peaches, with downy cheeks. Apples streaked, and shaded like the great red sunset. Grapes, Oh how those grapes clustered about, and hung page 257from their branches, as if they waited to drop into the visitors' mouths, and melt there."

"For goodness sake come to a point, and relieve my anxiety," interrupted Mr. Remay, "I shall make a bite and a melt."

"I am coming as fast as I can. (I forgot to tell you the old gentleman had left his spectacles at home this time). He put out his hand to gather, but the girl interfered. "Let us look at the labour, and then we shall understand, and appreciate the fruit. That ground, at a time unknown to mortal, had to be carefully surveyed; particular notice had to be taken of those places where the loose stones and rubbish lay. Then the surface had to be cleared; and the glaring and most conspicuous fault thorns had to be cut down. The ploughing began. Ah! that ploughing," Nellie shuddered, as if she were actually experiencing the sensation. "What pain to the flesh; how necessary to the spirit. Into every corner that sharp knife entered, laying bare to the sun the dying struggling roots of those fault thorns. In some parts the soil is rich and fertile, and requires little labour. In other parts it is rank and hard, and years of patient labour is required to make it fruitful. Now the land, which had once produced nothing but weeds and briers, becomes the fosterage of fruit bearing trees. The seeds of Love, which is 'Jesus' first love,' of Joy, Peace, Long Suffering, Gentleness, Goodness, Faith, Meekness, Temperance, are sown; the ground is harrowed over, there is a short time of waiting, and then the rain comes. The precious rain of Sorrow. Life springs from the moistened ground: but life of two sorts. Among the fruit trees grow the deadly thorn shoots that are natural to the soil. Now the labour appears, being light but tedious—Plucking up the failings one hy one. But the season draws near, the season of yielding, and page 258over every tree there is scattered an innumerable number of laughing blossoms. Ah! do not count the fruit by the blossoms, the blossoms of Visible Success: many flowers are imperfectly formed. Time is the nursling of all that is good: use time rightly. But when the petals fall, and the little ovaries are left, and the inexperienced eyes of the servants turn away, and cry, "All the bloom is gone, there will be no fruit," the Great Husbandman smiles and watches and fertilizes the growing seed, and in his own hands and feet receives the biting frosts. At last the fruit is ripe, beautiful, perfect, strange. Here, take and eat—eat—eat. Fruit must not remain unused, else it will become objectionable. Eat, eat, of our choicest fruit. Thirst, hunger, weariness, flee at Faith's refreshing draught, and beneath the shady boughs of Temperance the body shakes off the thralls of lust and pride, and the liberated soul soars upward, right into the presence of God"

"There uncle, my fairy story is finished. It's a complicated one, but I wanted to show you, you were looking for the wrong kind of fruit in the wrong place, and at the wrong time. The very tranquillity of your ministration should disclose the secret existence of fructuation; but," and Nellie glanced archly at her single audience, "As a special favour, I shall tell you what was written in that letter of commendation. Mary Groves, after attending to your weekly service, found peace; she returned home, as you know, and was the means of guiding her own treasure to the hearts of her aged parents."

She drew her arm out of her uncle's, and ran lightly up the stairs, while Mr. Remay repaired to his study, and from thence to the dining-room.

"So, Nellie, you have been lecturing my husband," exclaimed Mrs. Remay, as soon as that young lady made her appearance.

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"Oh auntie, that husband of your's couldn't keep a secret to save his life. I never saw such a man."

"I am quite aware of his failings, my dear," laughed Mrs. Remay. "I have had to minister unto them these last twenty years. Were there many at church?"

"Not as many as usual, auntie. I can't understand people not coming to church in the morning. The services are just perfect. There is no artificial light inside, no darkness outside. The birds come singing around the doors, and peeping in the windows, and I am sure uncle preaches his best sermons in the morning."

Mrs. Remay's eyes danced mischievously, as she glanced across the table at her husbahd. "Nellie has a great deal to learn yet, hasn't she Nole? The extra number in the evening does not constitute the greater earnestness. It is often very convenient to have church to go to on Sunday evenings. I am afraid we used to find it so during our courtship, didn't we, my husband?"

"Only during our courtship, Mary? I think I remember a time when my little wife used to try and make her husband vain. She used to say how beautifully I preached in the evenings, and how proud she was of her wise husband."

"Ah!" with mock humility, "I have learned sense since. Indeed, I am beginning to think quite the opposite."

And so the gay repartee was kept up, until duty called the happy family their several ways, and then brought them together again after all was done. Why, think you, have we inserted these two chapters into our narrative? Because it is the key to our heroine's real life. The true and actual experiences of her inner being. She had lived through shadows, and understood them; she had walked along rays, and knew their power; she had seen flashes of Lights, and sought to see more; she had studied her heart-page 260orchard, and the heart-orchard of others, and recognised the perfect, and the sham, fruits. And above all, because we wish to let our reader know that, unfelt by herself and her friends, she had become the pivot on which the thoughts and actions of that Godly household revolved. Is that not a nobler and a higher sphere of labour and power, than is the foremost seat in political government; where, upon their faces, woman carry what is not within their hearts: where, in the study of words, the study of thoughts is neglected; where woman, instead of being a teacher, fails even to become a pupil. Perhaps these are old-fashioned arguments. "We women must rise and assert our rights." By all means, if we asserted our rights more often, we would not now be asserting men's rights; there would be no need for woman's signatures in the inferior law books—they (women) in themselves would be law enough. In our illustration, was not Nellie's vocation infinitely above that of her uncle? She could afford to sit in her pew, and smile at his success, while her uncle stood up in the pulpit, and spoke her thoughts; and then her strength being not overtaxed by exertion, she could minister to his despondency when the re-action of his earnest excitement threatened to break down the kindly spirit. Of course, there would have been a certain kind of pleasure in her occupying the pulpit, and in addressing a listening throng. Yet that is not the sweetest of cups, for it is one foreign to her womanly heritage. But perhaps after all, some women can be satisfied with less than can others. Popularity and celebrity are tempting cups, even though they may not be the richest and the greatest.