path: root/77088-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77088 ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.



                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

                                 [AND]

                            [JOE'S LETTER]

                        _[A New Year's Story]_


                              BY A.L.O.E.

                  _Author of "The Claremont Tales,"_
                     _"The White Bear's Den," &c._


                            [Illustration]


                        MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.

                          LONDON, EDINBURGH.



                              CONTENTS.

                               ——————

PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

   CHAPTER I. PAUL

   CHAPTER II. THE DREAM

JOE'S LETTER

   CHAPTER I.

   CHAPTER II.



                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

                              BY A.L.O.E.



[Illustration: "It stops all fun!" cried Paul.]



                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM

                                A Tale.

                                ——————

CHAPTER I.

_PAUL._

"I DO think it, and I will say it!" cried Paul Harley, with impatience.
"Of all days in the week, a Sunday is the worst for New Year's Eve.
It stops all fun, all larking, all hope of adventure. The New Year
steals in like a thief when one is fast asleep in bed; unless, like
that stupid fellow James Barton, one goes to some midnight service in
church, to pray in the New Year, as he says. As if one had not had
enough of that sort of thing all the Sunday!"

"My dear boy—" began his grandfather, Silas Harley, an aged man, who
sat with his arm leaning on the table, and his Bible before him.

What Harley was going to say I cannot tell, for his grandson cut him
short. Paul had been to school, and had learned many things there, of
the knowledge of which he was not a little vain. But one thing, worth
more than mere book-lore, he had not learned, which was to honour his
father and his mother, which includes grandparents also. Paul was
puffed up with pride, as a balloon is puffed out with gas.

[Illustration]

He stood erect by the table, grasping the back of a chair, and looking
down on the venerable man before him, whose white hair Paul should have
honoured, with a saucy look, which seemed to say, "I don't want advice
from you!"

"I wish that I could do this year what I did on last New Year's Eve,"
cried Paul. "A lot of us young fellows got on the top of a coach, and
were off to Enfield for a spree at a farm. How the horses plunged
through the snow; we were upset as nearly as could be!"

"No great fun in that," observed Harley.

"We had no end of snow-balling each other at Gale's farm, as long as
daylight lasted," continued Paul; "and when night came on, we had
dancing 'under the misletoe bough.' Ah! That night, what a merry one
it was! We were just in the midst of a dance, hands round and down the
middle, when the clock struck twelve, and in came the New Year!"

"And Sunday too," observed old Mrs. Harley, who was seated by her
husband. "I hope, Paul, that you left off your dancing?"

Paul only, in reply, gave a saucy laugh, which pained his good
grandparents. They had brought up the orphan boy ever since he had been
a helpless baby, and had now, in return for their loving care, but
disrespect and disobedience.

On the year of which I am writing, the thirty-first of December fell
on a Sunday, and it was on the evening of this Sunday that Paul stood
talking to his grandparents in the little parlour of their home, in one
of the suburbs of London.

"We were sorry not to have you with us at church this morning, Paul,"
observed Harley. The old man and his feeble wife had with no small
difficulty made their way to the house of prayer, to praise their Maker
for mercies received through the closing year, and to ask for His
blessing on the year so soon to open. The New Year to one or both of
them, as they thought, was likely to be the last, but neither of them
feared to "go home" to the rest prepared for the people of God.

"I don't care to go to morning service," replied Paul, bluntly; "I take
my ease, and lie late in bed on Sundays, at least in such freezing
weather as this. But I mean to go to-night to seven o'clock service;
for I like to see the church all lit up, with the gas-lights flaring on
the evergreens and the wreaths with which it is decked. I like, too,
the hymn which is to be sung, it has such a pretty tune." And without
the least reverence of manner, Paul rather bawled out than sang the
first lines of a well-known hymn—

   "'A few more years shall roll,
      A few more seasons come,
    And we shall be with those who sleep
      At rest within the tomb.'"

"Hush, my dear child, hush!" cried Mrs. Harley, with a shocked look.
"You don't seem to think of the meaning of the words which you are
singing."

Paul took no notice of the gentle reproof. "It's time for me to be off
to church," said he; "it must be just on seven; I think the bells have
stopped their ringing. Don't stay supper for me; I'm going to Uncle
Sam's after I've been at church; he's to have lobster salad for supper
on New Year's Eve, and I like that a deal better than your porridge. I
mean to stop the night at Uncle Sam's, and get some fun with his boys
on New Year's morning."

"Take your comforter!" cried the grandmother. "You're not the lad to
stand sharp cold; remember that you nearly died of rheumatic fever last
March!"

"I'm not going to coddle myself like an old woman!" exclaimed the boy.
"Cold only catches those who have to creep like snails!" Paul took down
his cap from its peg as he spoke, and went off to church, certainly not
in a mood either to praise or to pray.

The church was not full on New Year's Eve, for the weather was so
extremely cold that some persons who would otherwise have come, dared
not brave the piercing night air. Paul took his usual place in a dark
part of the church, where he could see without being much seen. He sat
during the prayers, and stared about him. Paul looked at the wreaths
and the gas-lights, noticed the fashion of the ladies' bonnets, and
amused himself with his own thoughts. There was no reverence either in
the posture or in the spirit of Paul. He behaved himself in the house
set apart for the worship of the Almighty as he would not have dared to
behave in the Queen's palace; nay, as he would not have dared to behave
in any gentleman's private dwelling.

[Illustration]

Paul's body was in church, but his heart was not there. Now he thought
of to-morrow's sports, now of his lobster supper. Then the lad's
thoughts took a more evil course. Malice and spite were shown in such
reflections as these:—

"I wonder how that James Barton can bear to stay up till midnight in a
church! 'Pray in the New Year,' to be sure! That may be well enough for
old folk, who are not likely to live many more years, but young chaps
like James and me have fifty or sixty before us, and I can't see the
use of all that praying. James wants to be thought better than any one
else. He has given up playing skittles on Sundays, and has taken, I
hear, to keeping a missionary-box. Catch me following his example! I've
something better to do with my pennies.

"I don't like James Barton at all. I have owed him a grudge ever since
our quarrel in a field three years ago, when he got me into a scrape
with a farmer's wife by saying I'd stolen her apples. I've been on the
watch ever since to pay him off for that bit of mischievous meddling.
If I did take the dame's apples, that was no business of his. Fine fun
I had last summer, when I crept up unseen to the neat model of a ship
which James had taken weeks to rig out, and tore her sails, and knocked
a hole in her keel, while he was wandering about in the brushwood
gathering flowers and ferns! I made off as soon as I had done the job,
but I'd have liked to have seen the lad's face, when he came to the
place where he had left his pretty ship, and found her lying broken
and spoiled in the mud! I wonder if he guessed who had played him the
trick? He did not see me, I'm sure of that, for I stole away like a
fox. I suppose that James has now grown so mighty good that, had I
smashed him instead of his ship, he'd have taken it as meek as a lamb.
The next time that we meet, I'll try how he likes a box on the ear."

But I will put down no more of the worse than idle thoughts which,
even in church, passed through the mind of the boy. I have said quite
enough to show that Paul did not for one moment reflect that he was
in the presence of his Maker; that the eye of God was upon him; that
his secret malice was laid bare unto Him who hath declared in His holy
Word, "The thought of foolishness is sin," Prov. xxiv. 9.

Paul only gave over making plans for teasing James when the clergyman
gave out the hymn. We have seen that Paul was vain; and of nothing was
he more vain than what he considered to be a very fine voice. A loud
one it was, without doubt, and Paul took care that it should be heard
all over the church.

A lady, speaking of church music, once said to me, "It makes me tremble
to hear the children sing." My readers may think these very strange
words, but to my mind there was cause for the lady's feeling of fear.
Oh, my young friends, have you ever thought how you may displease the
Lord, even whilst singing a hymn! "Thou shalt not take the name of the
Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who
taketh His name in vain." Is it a light matter to sing of the glory
of the Almighty, or the agonies of His dear Son, as carelessly as if
you were but shouting out some idle ballad? A dark stain of sin was
spreading over the soul of Paul as he boldly sang out, at the top of
his voice, even words so solemn as these:—

   "''Tis but a little time,
        And Christ the Lord shall come
      To take His ransomed people up
        To their eternal home.
      Then, oh, my Lord, prepare
        My soul for that great day;
      Oh, wash me in thy precious blood,
        And take my sin away!'"

Paul's hymn-singing was a mockery; his very prayer was "turned into
sin!" What thought he of the great Day of Judgment? What thought he of
the "precious blood," of which he dared so loudly to sing?



CHAPTER II.

_THE DREAM._

THE hymn was over, and Paul sat down, but not to listen to a word of
the sermon. Good and holy words were spoken, which touched most of the
hearers' hearts, but they never reached the heart of Paul. The boy fell
fast asleep in his dark corner of the church, and there he remained
fast asleep till long after the sermon had been ended, and the blessing
had been given by the preacher.

Paul not only slept, but he dreamed—a strange and wondrous dream. The
place in which he was seemed to widen, the roof to rise, till instead
of a ceiling above him were clouds of glory, and beneath him a pavement
of gold. There was music, but far sweeter, and more joyful than what
Paul had heard in church. Instead of mortal men and women, shining,
happy beings were around the dreamer, with starry crowns and waving
wings, that glittered like jewels in the glorious light.

But though all that Paul saw in his dream was beauty and gladness, he
could not delight in the beauty, he could not share in the joy. Paul's
heart felt nothing but dread. He did not belong to the happy band; he
could not join in their song; he feared lest one of the shining ones
should notice that he was there. Paul would fain have hidden himself,
but had no place wherein to hide. Terror seized him when one of the
beautiful angels drew near, and said, "What dost thou here?"

Paul was dumb, and could not reply. The proud tongue which had so often
repeated holy words without fear had lost all power to utter one now.

Then Paul seemed to hear the sentence, "Thrust him forth into outer
darkness!" And the start of terror which he gave awakened the boy from
his dream.

Paul found himself indeed in darkness. The lights in the church had
all been put out; the worshippers had gone to their homes; no one had
noticed the sleeping boy, and he had been locked into the church.

Paul's first feeling was that of great surprise at finding the church
so still and so dark; his next was that of alarm. He groped his way to
the outer door. How still and dark the place seemed as he moved down
the aisle! And, oh, how terribly cold! The clock struck nine just as
Paul reached the great door. It was locked. Paul shook it, and shook
it again, but had no power to force it open. He called as loudly as he
could, but the church stood in the middle of a large churchyard, no
house was near, and no one heard the boy's voice.

"Some one will search for me, oh, surely some one will search!" cried
Paul.

He thought of his loving grandparents, who, old and feeble as they
were, would be sure to brave the piercing cold if they know that their
boy was in danger. But then another thought startled Paul. "Grandfather
will think that I am at my uncle's; he will fancy me seated at his
table beside a blazing fire."

The contrast between his uncle's pleasant home, with its supper and
cheerful blaze, made his present dreary position seem worse than ever
to the hungry lad. But Paul tried to keep up his courage and warm his
chilled frame by walking up and down the part of the church which was
nearest to the door, stamping his feet and swinging his arms to keep
out the cold.

Ten o'clock struck. Paul counted each stroke on the bell. How loud and
solemn was the sound!

"Only ten!" muttered Paul. "I shall have to wait twelve whole hours
before this church is opened to prepare for New Year's service! The New
Year!" he repeated. "Oh! In how wretched a way I shall begin the New
Year! I'll go to sleep in one of the pews, and so try to get over the
time. The night grows colder and colder."

Paul did snatch a short sleep, but awoke quite cramped and chilled, and
with shoots of rheumatic pain, which frightened him more than anything
else. It was one of the bitterest nights that had ever been known in
England. The boy dared not sleep again lest he should bring back his
dreadful rheumatic fever.

When eleven o'clock struck, Paul's courage quite gave way. His limbs
were trembling, his teeth were chattering, his blood seemed turning to
ice. He remembered that his grandfather had read in the papers the day
before that four persons had been found frozen to death.

"What if I should die before morning!" thought Paul, and it was a
terrible thought. "I am not fit to die, I am not fit to go to the
beautiful place of which I was dreaming. Hark! What is that tinkling
sound which I faintly hear? The bells of St. John's Church are ringing
for the midnight service; James Barton will be hastening now to that
church to pray in the New Year. Oh, that I could pray too!" It was the
first time that such a wish had come into the mind of Paul. He had
attended church service hundreds of times, but he had never really
prayed in his life.

"I can't pray, I can think of no words," groaned the poor boy, as he
swayed his body to and fro; for he was afraid to remain quite still,
and yet was almost too stiff and cold to move about freely. "Perhaps
that hymn may serve as a prayer; I'll try a verse; it may help me to
forget for a few minutes the misery that I am in."

In a very different way from that in which he had sung a few hours
before, Paul, with trembling voice, attempted to sing—

   "'Then, oh! my Lord, prepare
     My soul for that great day.'"

Paul felt that for him the great day might be near. He no longer felt
sure of "fifty or sixty years" of life. He knew now that he had need of
comfort, of help, of forgiveness. Paul clasped his numbed hands, and
tears came into his eyes as he sang the words of entreaty—

   "'Oh! wash me in Thy precious blood,
     And take my sins away.'"

But how much better was Paul's feeble prayer for mercy, than his late
bold, careless singing of words so solemn and holy!

Twelve o'clock struck. The New Year had come! Some in London were
praying, many were sleeping, not a few, alas! were drinking in the
Now Year. Again Paul tried to get warmth by walking about, but the
frost was becoming more intense as the night advanced. The moon had
now risen, and dimly shone through the frosted windows. Paul could
distinguish some objects near him, such as the reading-desk, on which
lay the large Bible, that Bible which had been read so often in his
hearing, but to which he had never cared to listen.

"If I live through this dreadful night, I will try to be a very
different boy to what I have been," thought Paul Harley. "I will try to
be more dutiful to my old grandparents; they have had little comfort in
me. What would not I give now to be more like James, whom I despised
for being so pious! There is no danger of his being driven into outer
darkness. The angels will welcome him, for he loves the Lord whom they
love."

The weary, weary minutes stole on. It was now nearly one o'clock.
Drowsiness was creeping over Paul, but he knew the danger of sleeping
when the cold is intense; if he slept now, he might never waken again,
or waken in torture.

"I can only keep myself awake by singing," thought Paul. "I will sing
that hymn over again, and try to think of the words, and to make them
indeed a New Year's prayer."

Paul sang, and this time loudly, for he was calling on God from the
heart, and so threw his whole soul into the hymn.

"Who is singing there—at this hour?" cried a voice from outside.

Paul sprang to his feet with almost a cry of delight.

"I'm Paul Harley—I'm locked in—I'm almost frozen!" he shouted with the
utmost strength of his voice.

"Paul Harley!" echoed the speaker without.

"Oh! Run, run—quick as light—and get the key of the church!" cried Paul.

"Trust James Barton for that!" cried the voice, and off rushed the
speaker at full speed.

Yes, it was James, who, returning from the church where he had prayed
in the New Year, had taken his homeward way through the churchyard of
that in which poor Paul was looked up. It was not James' shortest way
home, but he had chosen it because St. Mary's church and churchyard
would look, he thought, so beautiful in the moonlight, robed in their
winter mantle of snow. James had been not a little surprised to hear
the sound of Paul's hymn in a spot so lonely and quiet. But for that
sound, James would have passed the church without suspecting that any
one was shivering and starving within it.

I have not space to describe how James ran, as if for his life, to the
house of the clerk of St. Mary's, and rang so furiously at the bell,
that the poor man, his wife, and all his family, thought that the place
was on fire. It is enough to say that James was trusted with the church
key, for his character was known to the clerk, and back he hastened to
the church. The big key was turned in the lock, the heavy door swung
back on its hinges, the imprisoned Paul was set free; and with what a
hearty grasp of the hand did he thank his kind deliverer!

"Come to our home for the rest of the night," said James; "mother will
bid you heartily welcome, I'm sure of that. She is sitting up to give
me my hot supper on my return from church, and I need not say how glad
I shall be for you to share it."

Very thankfully was the invitation accepted. Paul felt as if new life
were poured into his frozen veins when he sat by a glowing fire, and
drank hot steaming soup. Before he went to rest, he had confessed
to James the wrong he had done him by spoiling his ship, and asked
forgiveness for that and other acts of unkindness.

"Let bygones be bygones," said James, smiling; "this is New Year's day
you know; let us both resolve, by God's help, to begin it well, and
make a better use of our time than we ever have done before."

Paul did make the resolve, and earnestly and prayerfully tried to keep
it. He was a better and happier being to the end of his life for his
adventure on New Year's Eve.





                            JOE'S LETTER

                        _A New Year's Story_


                              BY A.L.O.E.

                  _Author of "The Claremont Tales,"_
                     _"The White Bear's Den," &c._


                            [Illustration]


                        MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.

                          LONDON, EDINBURGH.




                             JOE'S LETTER

                              BY A.L.O.E.



[Illustration: "No, Granny, I can't see him."]



                             JOE'S LETTER

                         A New Year's Story.

                                ——————

CHAPTER I.

"GO again, child, and see if the postman ben't coming down the lane!
It's past nine, sure he ought to be here!"

This was the third time that old Janet Jones had sent her little Annie
out into the snow, on the last day of the year. It was clear that the
cottager was expecting the postman to bring her some very important
letter indeed.

"No, Granny, I can't see him," said Annie, as for the third time she
came back from the road, shaking the flakes from her hair, and stamping
the snow from her boots. "Perhaps our old clock is wrong."

"Everything is wrong, I think," muttered Janet Jones, who was employed
in taking some filberts out of a basket, to put in glasses to sell in
her window. "Half these nuts are bad, and only fit for the fire!" And
into the fire she flung some that were indeed but empty husks.

"Yes," went on the old woman, knitting her brows into very deep
furrows, "the old year ends badly enough with me. The pig dead, the
potatoes bad, the weather sharp, and the pocket empty. These be very
hard times!"

"But Joe, dear Joe, is sure to send you money, Granny," said Annie, who
stood leaning against the wall. She did not sit down, for she expected
soon to be sent a fourth time to look for the postman.

"Joseph ought to," replied Janet, as sharply as if the child had said
that her brother would send not a penny. "He, a great tall fellow,
earning good wages, fifteen pounds a year, and everything found,
feeding on the fat of the land, and dressed as smart as a goldfinch! It
will be hard if he can't spare something for his poor old Granny in her
need."

"Joe will—I know that he will. He loves you so much," cried Annie.

"We'll soon see how much," said old Janet, "words without deeds are
like husks without seeds." And angrily she threw another rotten nut
into the fire.

Annie, to take off her grandmother's mind from her troubles, began to
tell her what she had seen the day before at the Hall, when sent up
with some work done for the ladies.

"Oh! Granny, I wish you'd been with me yesterday, and seen the
Christmas presents which Mrs. Poler has given her nieces! There was
a doll, dressed just like a lady, and the prettiest little set of
tea-things."

"What do I care about hearing of such trash," cried old Janet. "Mrs.
Poler had better spend her money on buying tea for them as wants it,
than on giving children tea-cups no bigger than filberts."

Annie was afraid to remind her Granny how kind Mrs. Poler had been in
filling her own little apron with apples to carry home to old Janet, or
to mention the hundredweight of coals which the lady had sent before
Christmas. Annie only remarked, "I suppose that Mrs. Poler gives toys
to her nieces because she loves them so much."

"Giving toys when one has lots of money to buy them with is no great
proof of love," cried the old woman. "When these little ladies had
the smallpox, Mrs. Poler never so much as went near them, for fear of
catching it."

"Perhaps Mrs. Poler knew that she could not nurse them; not every one
can nurse as you do, Granny," said the child. "What care you took of
Joe when he had that bad fall down an area, and broke his poor leg, the
very first month that he went into service in London."

"Ah! Poor fellow, he slipped on the steps one cold, frosty day; and his
master sent him all the way here to be nursed, for he knew that no one
would look after him like his old Granny. Didn't I sit up three nights
with my boy when the pain made the fever run high; and didn't I tear up
my own handkerchiefs into bandages for his leg, and half starve myself
to scrape up money to pay the doctor?"

"Joe will never forget all you did," said Annie.

"I hope that he'll give a proof now that he does not," began Janet,
when she caught a sight through the window of some one coming up to the
door. "Here's the postman at last!" she exclaimed, starting up from her
seat in such a hurry that she knocked over her basket, and sent a good
many of her nuts flying in every direction over her cottage floor.

Annie flew to the door, the postman had no need to knock. "Here's the
letter—the letter from Joe!" cried the little girl, joyfully, as she
returned with the note. "I was sure, quite sure, that he would write
soon!"

"I hope that he has done something more than merely write," said Janet,
looking very anxious, with mingled hope and fear in her face as she
broke open her grandson's letter. When she had taken out the written
sheet, instead of reading it, she shook it to see if any money-order
would drop out, then looked into the empty envelope, and muttered in a
tone of great disappointment, "I made sure of one pound at least! Did
I not write to him that the rent must be paid to-morrow, or that we
should both be turned out of doors."

"Won't you read Joe's letter, dear Granny?" asked Annie; she was very
anxious to hear it.

"You read it to me, child, my eyes are getting dim with old age," said
the old woman, giving her the note.

Annie glanced up at her Granny, and saw that the dimness came from
something besides age, for the eyes of Janet were brimful of tears
which were ready to flow over.

Annie read out as follows:—

   "Dear Granny, I am very sorry indeed that the pig is dead, and you in
such trouble, but I hope that things will be brighter soon. I have
hardly a minute for writing, but will soon let you hear again. I wish
you and Annie a happy New Year, and send lots of love to you both; from
your loving grandson, Joseph."

"Is that all?" asked Janet almost fiercely.

"I have not missed a word," replied Annie. She spoke sadly for she was
as much disappointed as her Granny could be, though she was not, like
her, angry besides.

"Then you may just fling that letter into the fire after the rotten
nuts!" exclaimed Janet, trembling with vexation. "After all I wrote to
him about the potatoes and the rent, to think of his not sending so
much as a sixpence to his Granny, who nursed him when sick, and fed him
and cared for him—ungrateful, selfish fellow that he is!"

"Oh! Granny," interrupted the poor little sister, who could not bear to
hear such hard words spoken of Joe.

"He 'is' selfish," repeated old Janet. "Did he not buy himself a silver
watch last summer, I guess that cost him a pretty bit of money, enough
to clear off my debt for rent—and more. Think of his buying himself a
watch, and leaving his Granny and his sister to be turned out of doors
for want of a couple of pounds! 'Lots of love' he sends us, does he!
I'd not give a crooked pin for such love! I like proofs, real proofs of
love. I've given him many many such, though now he forgets them all!"
Poor Janet put her thin hands before her face to hide the big drops
that were now running fast down her wrinkled cheeks.

"Granny, do let us 'trust' Joe," said Annie softly. "Perhaps he could
not send any money, he may have spent all before he heard of your
trouble."

"He might have written so then," said Janet, drying her eyes. "No, no,
in the fine big house in London he forgets all about the poor little
cottage which was his home for many a day. While he feasts like a lord
with meat twice a day, what does it matter to him if we have not so
much as a bit of bacon even on Sundays? He might have thought of 'you,'
Annie, my poor child, if my trouble was nothing to him."

"I am 'sure' that Joe loves me," said Annie firmly, her cheeks flushing
red at the thought that any one should doubt it.

For Annie remembered the old times before Joe had first gone into
service. He had been the kindest of brothers to his little sister, who
was many years younger than he. Many a ride had Annie had on Joe's
knee, or upon his shoulder. Many a sugar-plum or cake the generous boy
had given to his sister instead of eating it himself. What pains Joe
had taken to make for Annie a beautiful boat as a parting present!
Annie had thought it then the prettiest boat in the world, and after
six years she thought so still. There was the boat now on its shelf,
always kept nicely dusted by Annie, and almost as good as new,
reminding her every day of Joe.

Oh! Young brothers, if you only knew how much power you have by words
and deeds of kindness to make your little sisters happy, and win their
lifelong love, you would not so often give pain to them when you might
so easily give pleasure! Annie had never had from Joe one rough word,
far less one thoughtless blow. He would far rather have hurt himself
than have hurt his little sister. Annie looked up now at the boat, her
brother's keepsake, and could not and would not doubt his love. She
was quite able to trust him, and her greatest pain was to see that her
grandmother did not.

Perhaps my reader is inclined to think that Janet was a cross,
ill-tempered old woman, proud of what she had done for others, and
expecting others to do a great deal for her in return. And yet Janet
was an honest and kind-hearted woman, one who loved her Bible, and
never passed a Sunday without going to church. Janet feared God, and
tried to obey His commandments, but she had not yet learned to trust
His love. Janet let the wicked thought lurk in her heart that if the
Lord really cared for her, He would not leave her to be so poor. And if
old Janet thus dared to doubt the love of her heavenly Father, who can
wonder if she doubted the love of earthly friends! This want of trust
made every trial that came to her doubly heavy to Janet; this made her
temper cross, and filled her with bitter thoughts.

There are many who sin like Janet, without half the excuse which she
had for her discontented spirit. Janet had had very great trials to
bear. Once she had been well-off; she had lived with her good husband
in a pretty thatched cottage, and had been as happy and contented a
woman as any in the village. But in one year, poor Janet had lost both
her husband and her married daughter,—and with an almost broken heart
had received her two grandchildren into her home. Even that home was
not to be left to her long.

One day as the widow was returning from a distant field in which she
had been helping to reap, she saw thick volumes of smoke rising from
the direction of her cottage above the trees which hid it from view.
With a feeling of fear she rushed forwards, and terrible was the sight
which was soon before her eyes. Her pretty cottage was in flames, the
thatch was burning fiercely, and though an engine had come from the
town, and firemen and neighbours were doing their best to put out the
fire, they could not succeed, and what was once a comfortable home was
soon but a heap of ashes. Janet Jones was then, not only a widow, but a
very poor widow, and hard work she had had to bring up the two orphan
children left to her charge. These were no small troubles, and others,
in Janet's place, might have been sorely tempted to murmur.

"I wish that 'I' could give poor Granny some proof of love," thought
little Annie. "But I have nothing to give, not one penny! To-morrow is
New Year's day, and it will be such a sad day to her. Is there nothing
that I could do to please her?"

Now when we think hard to discover some way of pleasing a friend, we
are pretty sure to find one.

"I remember," said Annie to herself, "that there was a hymn which took
Granny's fancy in a book which Mrs. Brown lent us to read last summer.
Granny wished that I could write well enough to copy it out fair on the
flyleaf of her large Bible. I can write now much better than I could
then. I have no New Year's present to give, but I might copy out that
hymn; I am sure that Mrs. Brown would lend me the book again if I asked
her. But this is such a little, such a 'very' little thing to do for my
Granny. Ah! I would do much more if I earned wages like Joe!"

Copying out a hymn was a very little thing, but it was a "proof of
love," and a proof that cost Annie some self-denial. She did not like
writing at all, and she knew that it would take her hours to copy out
six verses quite neatly, taking care not to make one blot. She resolved
however to do so, and ran out again into the snow, and went over to
Mrs. Brown's to ask her to lend her the book.

Mrs. Brown had a large cheerful home, and four merry little children
full of play.

"Oh! Annie, we're so glad you've come!" cried the eldest, clapping her
hands as Annie entered.

"I hope you'll stop all day with us," said kind Mrs. Brown, who knew
that the girl had a very dull home.

"Oh! Yes,—stop, stop!" cried Charlie Brown. "We're to have roast beef
and roley-poley, 'cause it's the last day in the year."

"And grandfather's coming, and he tells us such famous stories,—we'll
have games, and all sorts of fun!" exclaimed little Bess.

Annie longed to stop to share the food and the fun. She hesitated, but
only for a moment. She had real love for her Granny, and gave a proof
of it at once.

"No, thank you so much," she said, "but I cannot leave poor Granny to
spend the last day of the year by herself."

Annie soon returned to her cottage with the book containing the hymn.
She got down the little bottle of ink, and a pen, and began her copying
work, while old Janet sat gloomy and sad by the fire, never speaking a
word except to abuse ungrateful Joe.

It was well that Annie had to give much attention to what she was
doing, so that she scarcely heard what her Granny was muttering to
herself. The verses are so beautiful that they took up Annie's thoughts
as she wrote. They are so suitable for the New Year that I will copy
them out for my readers, as Annie did for her Granny. I wish that each
would learn by heart the loving questions which the Saviour, in this
hymn, asks alike of the old and the young:

  "I gave My life for thee,
     My precious blood I shed,
   That thou mightest ransomed be,
     And quickened from the dead.
   I give My life for thee,
   WHAT HAST THOU GIVEN FOR ME?

  "I spent long years for thee,
     In weariness and woe,
   That one eternity
     Of joy thou mightest know.
   I spent long years for thee,
   Hast thou spent ONE for Me?

  "My Father's house of light,
     My rainbow-circled throne,
   I left for earthly night,
     For wand'rings sad and lone.
   I left it all for thee,
   Hast thou left AUGHT for Me?

  "I suffered much for thee,
     More than thy tongue can tell,
   Of bitterest agony,
     To rescue thee from Hell.
   I suffered much for thee,
   WHAT DOST THOU BEAR FOR ME?

  "And I have brought to thee,
     Down from My home above,
   Salvation full and free,
     My pardon, and My love.
   Great gifts I brought to thee,
   WHAT HAST THOU BROUGHT TO ME?

  "Oh! let thy life be given,
     Thy years for Me be spent
   World fetters all be riven,
     And joy with suffering blent,
   I gave MYSELF for thee,
   Give thou THYSELF to Me?"



CHAPTER II.

NEW YEAR'S morning dawned bright and clear; the pure snow gleamed like
diamonds in the rays of the glorious sun, but old Janet rose with a
heavy heart and a gloomy brow. She thought of the landlord calling for
the rent; she thought of her neighbours in their merry homes, and of
her grandson living in comfort in London; she thought of everyone being
happy but herself. If Janet thought also of God, I fear that it was
with little faith, little trust. She was so gloomy and sad that she did
not even smile at poor Annie when they first met, or wish her a happy
New Year.

Annie watched her Granny as she went up to the table on which lay her
large Bible open at the place where the child, as neatly as she could,
had copied out the hymn. Annie saw her Granny take out her spectacles,
slowly wipe them, put them on, and then sit down to read, as she always
read while the water was boiling for breakfast.

"I hope that Granny will be pleased," thought Annie. "I hope that she
will like the hymn now as she did in the summer, and know that I copied
it out as a little proof of my love. But dear me! What is the matter!
Granny is crying—crying over the hymn!"

For as the old woman read the Saviour's questions to her own heart,
first her lip trembled, then her eyes dimmed with tears, and she had
to take off her spectacles and wipe them before she could read any
farther. At last, when she had reached the sixth verse, the poor old
woman murmured to herself, "ungrateful sinner that I am!" and fairly
burst into tears.

"Oh! Granny, I never meant to write out anything to vex you, I never
thought that hymn would make you cry!" exclaimed Annie, quite in
distress.

"Is it not enough to make me cry to think that my Lord has done all
this for me, sinner that I am," sobbed old Janet, speaking not to
Annie, but to herself, "to think that He should have given Himself for
'me,' suffered for 'me,' died for 'me,' and that all the return which I
made is to doubt Him now! What proof of love could the dear Lord have
given more than He gave! He kept back nothing, not even His life! And
I—I have been finding fault with a poor lad for forgetting the little
kindness which I have shown, the little trouble which I have taken,
while all the while I was ungrateful to the Lord, who has done for me a
thousand—thousand times more than ever woman did for a child!"

The words of the beautiful verses had indeed gone straight to the heart
of Janet, and awoke in it sorrow and repentance, but other feelings
besides. Janet felt love, grateful love to Him who had first loved her;
and with love came peace, and hope, and trust, for He who had done so
much for her soul would, as she now felt sure, never, never forsake her.

Annie scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that she had written
out the hymn. But she had soon something else to take up her attention.

"Why, Granny, here's the postman coming again," cried out the child in
surprise; for to have letters two days running was a thing which had
never happened before to old Janet.

Annie ran to the door to take in the letter, and returned with a face
beaming with joy. "It's Joe's hand—he has written again," she cried, as
she gave the note to her Granny.

Janet had her spectacles on, and she opened the letter herself, but
as she did so, a little paper dropped fluttering to the floor. Annie
picked it up, and almost screamed with delight as she saw "three
pounds" written on a post-office order.

Janet clasped her wrinkled hands and softly exclaimed, "Thank God!"
then with a trembling voice read aloud the following letter.

   "Dear Granny, I had not enough money yesterday to get you clear out of
trouble, and did not like to do more than let you know that I had got
your note, till I should find how much my watch would sell for. I am
pleased now to send £3; it is more than you will need for the rent, but
I want you to have a real good dinner on New Year's day,—and please,
with the rest of the money, buy a nice warm cloak for Annie, from me."

Annie kissed her brother's letter again and again; her heart was full
of love and joy.

"I hope that it's not wrong," she said, smiling as she examined the
post-office order, "but I can't help wishing that I could give such a
'proof of love' as Joe has done."

"Your little hymn has done as much—more for me than this money-order,"
said old Janet, with a trembling hand taking the paper from the child.
"This order shows me that I did wrong to doubt the love of my boy, but
the hymn has shown me how faithless and sinful it was in me ever, for
one moment, to doubt the love of my Saviour!"






*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77088 ***