Pine Needles

by Hildegard G. Frey

  CHAPTER XVI.

  "I must say, Ditto, you read us the most extraordinary variety ofstories."

  That was Flora's utterance. Meredith, however, sat looking very gravelyinto the water, which was rolling its little waves along at his feet farbelow. The sun had got lower while he had been reading; the lights andcolours were changing; shadows fell from the hill-tops and began to liebroad on the river, cast from the western shore; but all softened in thehaze, which now was getting in a strange way transfused with light; anda few little flecks of cloud were taking on the most delicate hues.

  "Mr. Murray," Meredith broke out, "that story is not exaggerated? Imean, the doing of the people in the story is not, is it?"

  "Miss Flora thinks so."

  "Don't you, Mr. Murray?" said the young lady.

  "Let us hear your reasons, please."

  "Well, Mr. Murray, surely life is given to us for something besides barework. We are meant to be happy and enjoy ourselves a little, aren't we?"

  "Most certainly."

  "Those good men,--I dare say they were good men,--seem to me to havebeen mistaken."

  "You think, for instance, they might have kept some of their New Year'smoney to buy their wives new dresses?"

  "Yes; or to get a good dinner, which I suppose they never had; or acarpet, suppose, for the bit of a room they lived in."

  "What do you say, Esther?"

  "Oh, I think just as Flora does, Uncle Eden. I think those people werevery extravagant."

  "Maggie?"

  "Uncle Eden, I do not know if they were extravagant; but it seems to methey might have kept a _little_ for their own New Year."

  "You all overlook one thing."

  "What is that, sir?" several voices asked eagerly.

  "Those good men were not acting so very contrary to your principle. Theywere doing, every one of them, what gave him the most pleasure with hismoney. That is what I understand you to advocate. The only differenceis, that they found their pleasure in one thing, and you would findyours in another."

  "But, Mr. Murray," Meredith began.

  "Yes, Mr. Murray," said Flora eagerly taking the words out of herbrother's mouth, "you have really not said anything. The question comesround,--_ought_ we to find our pleasure in what they did, and in nothingelse?"

  "That is not the right way of putting it. The Lord does not demand that,nor desire it; but that we should seek _first_ the kingdom of God. Youmay remember too that the spirit of our life, if we are Christians, mustbe the same as Christ's; for 'if any man have not the spirit of Christ,he is none of His.' Now the motto of His life was, 'My meat is to do thewill of Him that sent me.' And that, Miss Flora, must make pleasing Godthe great pleasure of a child of God."

  "That is what I think," said Meredith.

  "Then are we to have no pleasure?" Flora repeated. "I mean, no pleasureof our own?"

  "I have been trying to explain that. I do not know any pleasure muchsweeter than pleasing some one that we dearly love; do you?"

  Flora looked very gloomy.

  "Put out of your head any notion of bondage or hard lines of action. 'I_delight_ to do Thy will, O God!'--is the true way of stating it. Andthat is the only sort of service, I think, that the Lord really ispleased with."

  "Well, does He want us to do like those people, and give literally allwe have got, for the heathen, or the poor?"

  "The Bible rule is, 'Every man _according as he purposeth in his heart_,so let him give.' If His heart will be satisfied with nothing less thanall, you would not forbid Him?"

  Meredith's eyes sparkled, and he looked at Flora, but she would not meethim.

  "It may be and often is the case, that the Lord's best service requiressome of a man's money to be spent on things that seem personal; still,if he loves God best, all will be really for God. Education,accomplishments, knowledge, arts, sciences, recreation, travel,books--provided only that in everything and everywhere the man is doingthe very best he can for the service of his Master and the stewardshipof his goods. That does not shut out but increases his delight in thesethings."

  "That is enough!" exclaimed Meredith. "You have answered all myquestions, sir. I see my way now."

  "It will be a way apart from mamma and me, then, I suppose," said Flora,her eyes filling and her cheeks reddening.

  "No," said Mr. Murray gently, "perhaps not. Meredith, we have had asufficient interval of talk; suppose you read again. I am selfish insaying so; for while my ears listen, my eyes can revel in this wealth ofcolour. What will you give us next?"

  "May I choose, sir? It touches what we have been talking about, anotherlittle story. It is a story by the bedside of a sick day-labourer."

  "I don't believe we shall like it, Ditto," said his sister.

  "It will not hold us long. Let me try.--

  "'It is a long while ago, that I was once standing by the bedside of asick day-labourer, who had a wife and four children. The man had beenill for weeks, and the sickness had swallowed up all his money. Deathwas near, and he was glad of it; he had only one remaining wish, that hemight receive the symbols of the body and blood of the Lord Jesus in theHoly Communion. I administered them to him.

  "'We sang with a number of friends and neighbours who were gatheredtogether, the song,

  "Who knows how near my end may be!"

  "'He sang the words correctly along with us, for he knew the hymn byheart. His wife and children sang too. As we stopped at the fifth verse,I saw great tears in his eyes; but I said nothing at the time. The sickman spoke his confession devoutly, and afterwards received the bread andthe wine which are in figure the body and blood of our Lord JesusChrist. His eye beamed with joy. Then after the blessing was said wesang the most glorious verse of the same hymn,--"I have fed on Jesus'blood," &c. The neighbours and friends went away, after they hadcordially pressed his hand and said to him, "In the Lord's presencewe'll be together again." I remained alone with the sick man and hisfamily. Then I asked, why he had wept when we were singing, whetherperhaps it was a trouble to him that he must go away from his wife andchildren? He looked at me with open eyes, almost reproachfully, when Isaid that, and answered, "Does not Jesus stay with them then? Has notthe Lord said He would be 'the father of the fatherless and a judge ofthe widow'? No; they will be well looked after; I have prayed the Lordthat He would be a guardian to them. Isn't it so, mother, that thou artnot worried either, and thy heart is not anxious? Thou, too, hast faithin Jesus!" "Surely," said the woman, "I believe in Jesus; and I am gladthou art going to Jesus. In good time I will come after thee with thechildren. Jesus will help me by His Holy Spirit to bring them up.""Well--why did you shed tears then?" "For joy. I was thinking, if thesinging goes so lovely even down here, how beautiful it will be when theangels sing with us. That was what made me weep, for joy, because suchblessedness is so near before me." And now he made a sign to his wife.She understood the sign, went to the cupboard, and fetched out a littlesort of a cup dish, which was her husband's money-box. Six groschen werein it, all that was left over of his possessions. He took them out withtrembling fingers, laid them in my hand, and said, "The heathen are tohave those, that they too may learn how to die happy." I looked at thewife; she nodded her head pleasantly and said, "We have agreed uponthat. When all is paid that will be needed for the funeral, it willleave just these six groschen over." "And what will you keep?" "The LordJesus," said she. "And what are you going to leave to your wife andchildren?" I asked the man again. "The Lord Jesus," said he; and withthat whispered me in the ear, "He is very good and very rich." So I tookthe six groschen for the heathen, and put them, as a great treasure, inthe mission money-box; and it was hard for me to give them out again;only if I had not paid them out, I should not have fulfilled the dyingman's wish. In the following night he fell asleep. We buried him as aChristian should be buried, that is, publicly, with the ringing of thebell, with preaching, singing and prayer; and there was no weeping done,neither by his wife nor by his three oldest children, neither in thechurch nor by the gr
ave. But the youngest child, a boy of five yearsold, who followed the bier along with the rest, wept bitterly. I askedhim afterwards, why he had wept so bitterly at his father's grave? Thechild answered me, "I was so troubled because father didn't take me withhim to the Lord Jesus; I had begged him so hard to take me." "My child,"said I, "your father could not take you along with him; only the Saviourcould do that; you ought to have asked _Him_." "Shall I ask Him nowthen?" he questioned. "No, my child. See--when the Saviour wants you, Hewill call you Himself. But if He chooses that you shall grow to be a manfirst, then you must help your mother and let her live with you. Willyou?" He said, "I would like to go to Jesus; and I would like to be bigtoo, so that mother can live with me." "Well, then, say to the LordJesus that He shall choose." "That is what I will do," said the boy; andwas quite contented and pleased.

  "'The faithful Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ give us all a happy end.Amen.'"

  There was the usual pause after Meredith had done reading. Flora,however, could not keep back long her expression of opinion.

  "I protest!" she said. "Those people were utterly fanatical! Mr. Murray,isn't it true?"

  "O Uncle Eden, do you think so?" cried Maggie. "I think it isbeautiful."

  "Maggie is too young to understand," remarked Esther. "Those people werevery unnatural, I think."

  "How?" said Meredith.

  "Yes, how?" Mr. Murray echoed. "I should like to hear the arguments onboth sides."

  "A man who is dying, and has a wife and four children," said Florasolemnly, "has no _right_ to give his last six groschen away. I don'tknow how much a groschen is, but that don't make any difference. He hasno right to to do it!"

  "You emphasise, 'a man who is dying,'" said Meredith. "Would the case bedifferent if he were a man living and going to live?"

  "Why, of course."

  "How?"

  "He would work then, and earn more. How stupid to ask, Meredith!"

  "But an accident might happen to him; or he might fail to get work; orhe might miss his pay."

  "Yes, of course. I think it would be fanatical even then. But when hewas dying, and couldn't do anything!"----

  "But if in any case he must trust for a day--what does it signify? Godcan send help in a day."

  "I should not think He would, when people throw away wantonly what theyhave got already."

  "What is given to Jesus isn't thrown away," said Maggie.

  "And He always pays it back with interest," said Mr. Murray. "And whatis entrusted to Him is never neglected. I think that old German peasantwas very safe in his proceeding."

  "But so unnatural!" cried Esther. "Not to be sorry to leave his wife andchildren!"

  "I have no doubt he was very sorry to leave them. The only thing is, hewas more glad to go to Jesus."

  "I cannot understand that."

  "Not till you know the Lord yourself; and I do not deny that one mustknow Him well, to be so eager to go to Him. One does not easily leavethe known for the unknown."

  "Let me read another bit of a story, or history," said Meredith. "Wecannot come to an agreement by talking; these things must be _livedin_--must they not, Mr. Murray?"

  "Yes, read. But see the sky!" said Mr. Murray. "And the colours alongthe shore! Wonderful, wonderful! What a Sunday evening this is."

  Meredith sat silently looking for a few minutes. With every quarter ofan hour of the descending sun, the world was growing now more like afairy-tale world. The lights and the shadows and the colours were makingsuch exquisite work, that the bit of earth the gazers were looking uponseemed not to belong to the earth of history or the life of experience,but to be something unearthly, and glorified. With all that, the Sabbathstillness! There was the lap of the water at the foot of the rocks; therustle of the dry leaves down below where Fenton was prowling about; thecall of the bugle sounding out some order for the dragoons on the otherside at the post; between whiles the absolute repose of nature.

  "I wonder if the new heavens and the new earth will be anything likethis!" said Mr. Murray with a long breath.

  "This is not like our common world. Well, Meredith--it is hard upon you,but it is better than too much talking."

  "It is not hard upon me, sir. I am getting all my ideas cleared up.

  "'Holy Scripture saith, that the hearts of the children shall be turnedto the parents, and the hearts of the parents to the children. I willtell you a story about that, which, I hope, may be of use; so much themore, that in this regard one sees so much that is senseless.

  "'I knew a man once, who was the very ideal of a just living, upright,honourable man; but Jesus he knew not. Among his fellow-men he was heldin general, well-deserved esteem; for he was pleasant and winning inintercourse with them, and in his whole character there was somethingnaturally noble. No prayer was ever heard in his house, neither attable, nor mornings and evenings, nor was ever the morning and eveningblessing read. But love and peace reigned in the house, between parentsand children, and master and mistress and servants; and nothingdishonourable was tolerated. In other things, however, the way of thehouse was the way of the world; card-playing was had there, now and thendancing, and sometimes it might happen that an oath came out, when theangry vein was swollen; nevertheless, worldly gaiety was never permittedto go beyond bounds; the man would not suffer that. Nobody read theBible; though the man had a Bible which he had inherited from his piousmother and held in high honour; it had the chief place on hisbook-shelf; but it was made no use of, only now and then taken down tohave the dust brushed off it. This man had a whole flock of children;and a wife who clung to him with such inmost affection, that many a timewhen she heard his step on the floor she would call him into the roomwhere she was, and when he came in and asked what she wanted, wouldanswer him, "Oh, I only just wanted to see you, and now you may go offagain." In outward things he was pretty comfortable; made a living, butalso had a good deal of a burden to carry; was a diligent worker,however, and by little and little got on in the world. He was not oftenseen at church or the Lord's Supper; yet did not absolutely neglectthem. Nevertheless, the man had a special spite against _pious people_,of whom in his life he had known a few. Those pious people of hisacquaintance can indeed not have been of the right sort; for from theirexample he had come to the firm persuasion that pious people, all andsundry, were no better than hypocrites. He used often to tell of a piousman he had known, who used to read a great deal in the Bible and inreligious books, and used also to hold meetings for prayer in his house,while at the same time he was a miser and put out his money to usury.Another one he had known, who in externals made as fair pretences; butwith that was of such ungovernable temper and such unmeasured brutalitythat on more than one occasion he had beaten a man nearly to death.Therefore, as I said, he held all pious people to be a humbug.'"

  Meredith paused a moment, and Flora spoke up.

  "There!" she said, "_I_ know such people. Don't you think, Mr. Murray,that sort of good people do more harm than good?"

  "What sort of good people are they, Miss Flora?"

  "Why, sir, I mean, like these Meredith was reading about. I know suchpeople. They are selfish, and envious, and get angry, care for nobody inthe world but themselves, and are not at all particular about tellingthe truth."

  "Therefore _not_ good people."

  "But they are members of the Church, sir, and they go to the Communion."

  "Don't you know, the Lord forewarned His disciples that a large portionof His so-called Church would be none of His? You need not be surprisedat it. It is just what He told us would be."

  "Then how are we to know?"

  "You can know with certainty about yourself," said Mr. Murray with asmile. "It is not difficult to find out in your own heart whether Christor self comes first. For other people, you can afford to wait till thejudge comes, cannot you?"

  "You are thinking, Flo, are you not, that this man and his family werejust about the right pattern?" said her brother.

  "I think such people are pleasant," Flora confessed.
"They make nopretences. That man seems to have been just and kind and nice."

  "Ah, you make a mistake," said Mr. Murray again. "We all make pretences,of one sort or another, true or false. Such people as you are speakingof pretend _not_ to be Christians; and no doubt with perfect truth."

  "But is not God pleased with justice and kindness and benevolence?"

  "_With_ disobedience?"

  "Surely He commands us to love one another?"

  "He commands first that we love _Him_."

  "Isn't that loving Him?"

  "Love always shows itself towards the beloved one; _afterwards_ towardsthe objects the beloved one cares for."

  "May I go on?" said Meredith as Flora paused. "I think my story willillustrate this."

  "Go on, by all means. Perhaps an illustration will make it clear toeverybody."

  "'This man was a scholar in the law; and was already pretty well on inyears, when one of his sons, a special favourite with him on account ofhis fine parts and who was just studying law at the time, at theUniversity, learned to know his Saviour, and turned to Him with all hisheart. The instrument of his conversion was a faithful minister, whosepreaching he had attended diligently, and with whom he afterwards cameinto very intimate terms of intercourse. Now when this son's heart wasfilled with intense love to his Saviour, such as I have seen equalled infew men, nothing was more natural than that he should send longingwishes towards the parents and brothers and sisters whom he loved sotenderly; wishes that they too might learn to know the Saviour; and so,in his letters, he poured his whole heart out, told them without reservewhat had gone on in his own heart, and how he was now rejoicing in thecertainty that his sins were forgiven and in the sure hope ofeverlasting life. "Oh that all men were as happy as I!" he cried out inhis letters. For a long time he was left without an answer. At last camea letter from his father, it ran thus: "My son, your letters were wontalways formerly to be a refreshment and a delight to me; now, on thecontrary, they are a vexation and a bitter grief. I see that you areexactly in the way to become like those hypocrites of whom you used tohear me tell. I beg that you will either write as you have beenaccustomed to do, or not write at all."

  "'The son answered, "Father, you have always enjoined it upon me to tellthe truth; you always impressed it upon me that there is no morecontemptible and cowardly being than a liar, for he has not even thespirit to be honest; and now do you want to compel me to be untrue?Either I must write you what is according to my heart; for lie I cannotand will not, neither will I make believe; or I must indeed do as yousay and not write at all." This startled the father, for he had informer times said to his friends,--"The lad will not tell a falsehood;he would sooner let his head be taken off;"--and he was honest enough towrite to his son, "Well, write what you like; if you are not ahypocrite, you are a fanatic; but you shall tell no lies; there you areright and I was wrong."

  "'Soon after this the time of the holidays came about, and the son tookhis journey to his parents, to spend the holidays with them as it washis wont to do; for it has been already remarked that love and peacereigned in that house. As he came in, his mother met him with tears, andlooked at him in a very critical way, as if she feared he were not rightin his head; but he caught her heartily round the neck and kissed herand hugged her, whispering at the same time, "Mother, don't look at mewith such a doubtful face; I have got all my five senses yet." Then hewent to his father in the sitting-room, and would have fallen on hisneck too but the father at first kept him off with all his strength;till his son asked him, "Thou art my dear good father always, and alwayswilt be so; am I thy son no longer? and why not? what have I done thatis wrong? is reading the Bible and praying anything wrong?" Then thefather kissed his son and spoke--"I must honour the truth, thou hastdone nothing wrong, my son!" For an hour or so they talked togetherabout the professors at the University, and about the lectures the sonhad been attending there; and in the meantime the mother had got supperready, and they went to table. The son stood up, folded his hands andprayed. With that the father thrust his chair back till it cracked, andran out of the room, and the mother full of anxiety ran after him. Theson, however, did not follow them, but after he had heartily prayed forhis father and his mother, he sat down, and with tears ate his supper.When he found his parents did not come back, he sought his own room, andonce more poured out his heart before his faithful God and Saviour; thenhe slept quietly until morning. Next morning naturally the first thingwas to go at his prayers again; then he read a chapter in his belovedBible; and went afterwards to the dwelling-room, as he was accustomed.His father was there, sitting in his arm-chair, and turned pale oneminute and red the next. The son gave him his hand cordially and badehim good-morning, and to his mother as well. "My son," his father thenasked him, "are you master in the house? or am I? The son answered, "Whobut you, father?" "Why do you take upon you then to introduce prayer atmeals, seeing you know that it is not our habit here?" "Father," the sonanswered, "did I then say that you and my mother were to pray? I askedexpressly only, 'Come, Lord Jesus, be _my_ guest'--whereas elsewhereusually the prayer is, 'be _our_ guest.' I knew it was not your customto pray; therefore it would have been an untruth to say, 'our guest,'and that would have been assuming, too, for it would have been trying todraw you in." "But why did you not let the whole thing entirely alone?you knew very well we have no such regulation here." "Not for you,father; for me, however, there is such a regulation; and if I had takenmy supper without praying, I should have been false to my God; and it iscertainly not your pleasure that I should be false towards God, sinceyou cannot endure any falsehood towards men." "No," said his father,"you are not to be false; well, pray away, for all I care; but only whenwe are alone, not when strangers are by, else we should become alaughing-stock." "Father, I could not be untrue to God for my own dearfather's sake; should I for the sake of strangers? I am not ashamed ofmy God and Saviour before any man, neither before strangers nor beforethe king himself; and I will be faithful and true to my God. If it isnot your pleasure to have this thing done when strangers are present,then do not call me to table." The father said, "Boy, where did you getyour pluck?" "I love the Lord," the son answered, "who has redeemed me;I would go into death a thousand times for Him." "You are no hypocrite,my boy," said the father; "well, for all I care, you may be pious, ifyou only will not be a hypocrite."

  "'From that time the ice was broken; and I have myself seen it with myown eyes, how father and mother and son used to read together in theBible, pray and sing together, and how the brothers and sisters oneafter the other turned to the Lord. Rarely have I known a house in whichthe Lord Jesus was so fearlessly acknowledged as in that house. And doyou know what of this history I would like to inscribe in your hearts,yea, would like to burn into your hearts with letters of fire? It isthis. Let your Christianity be no lip work; let your religion notconsist in words; lip-work Christianity is hypocritical Christianity.True religion is a fact. The genuine believer is upright and makes nopretence, neither to God nor man. The heartfelt conviction--"Boy, youare no hypocrite"--ought to be forced upon the beholder by the walk andbehaviour of every real believer; if that had been the case, the worldwould present a different aspect from what it offers now. But mostpeople's Christianity is a fashion of speech; and so it is lying andhypocrisy; therefore it can at one and the same time, like Pilate,chastise and set free, pray and neglect prayer, confess and not confess,just as happens to be convenient in the circumstances. It is notrequired that you should preach to everybody you fall in with, as if itwere your vocation to set up lights for everybody's guidance; much morewould often be spoiled than mended in that way. But to be a Christian,to walk as a Christian, and thus to confess one's Christianity honestlyin action, just because it is so and you are not going to be falseeither towards God or towards men; that is the way in which the heartsof the parents are turned to the children, and the hearts of thechildren turned to the parents.'"