Patricia St John Series

by Patricia St John

  I sat quite still and waited as the footsteps came nearer, and then my curiosity got the better of me. I crawled to the edge of the pew and peeked over. It was the clergyman. He was walking slowly up the church aisle, looking up at the eastern windows. He need not have seen me at all, for his head was turned away and I was quite small enough to creep under the seat. I was just about to do this, for I did not want to be seen. Children were not allowed to sleep in churches, I was sure, and there was a police station just down the road. But I had been lying all night in a cold church with my legs on a stone floor, and I had caught a cold, so I was only half out of sight when a dreadful thing happened.

  I sneezed!

  I tried to stop, but it was no use. Out it came with a loud explosion, and the clergyman jumped. Then he came and looked over the side of the pew. He said nothing, but came inside and sat down. Then he leaned over and spoke very gently.

  “Come out,” he said. “There's no need to hide under the seat. I don't mind children in my church.”

  I uncurled slowly, sat down on the seat beside him, and looked up into his face. He was not very young and not very old, and his eyes were blue and kind. He reminded me of the old shepherd somehow—the sort of man I was not afraid of talking to.

  “I couldn't help being here,” I explained. “I came in last night when the door was open, and I went to sleep by mistake. I put on your gown because I was cold, but I didn't mean to stay all night. When I woke up the first time, it was too dark to move, and when I woke up again it was morning.”

  He looked rather startled. “Do you mean that you have been here all night?” he asked. “Whatever is your mother thinking? We must let her know where you are at once.”

  I sat silent for a moment, twisting my hands together. I had a sudden feeling that I wanted to tell someone all about it, and I thought this man would do.

  “It's not my mother,” I whispered, “it's my aunt. I wouldn't have done it with my mother. I've been very, very naughty, and she's going to send me away to boarding school because she can't manage me, and I didn't want to go, so I ran away, and here I am.”

  I looked up to see if he was very shocked, but he didn't seem to be. He just looked very interested and rather sorry for me.

  “I'm glad you told me that,” he said, “and I should like you to tell me a great deal more about it. But first of all we must tell your aunt where you are. Perhaps, when she knows you're safe, she will let you stay a little while and we can talk. Do you have a phone?”

  We did, and I knew the number.

  “Good,” said my friend. “We'll go straight back to the vicarage, ring up your aunt, and tell her all about it.”

  I put my small hand into his large one, and we walked out of the church together. The world was full of bird-song and light and color, but I knew it must be very early morning because the flower petals were still closed.

  “Why did you come to church so early?” I asked suddenly.

  “I came to say my prayers,” answered the clergyman. “I often come out early, because everything looks so beautiful. Don't you think that these buttercups are enough to make anyone feel good and happy?”

  I looked at the buttercups, but I did not feel happy, and I was quite certain I should never be good.

  I Make a New Friend

  We went into the vicarage, and he took me straight to his study. It was a big, sunny room full of books, and while I sat and rested in a big armchair he went away to telephone. He was gone a long time, and having nothing else to do I wandered around the room looking at the pictures. They were mostly photographs and not very interesting, but there was one I liked so much that I moved my chair over in front of it so that I could gaze at it.

  It was the picture of a sheep lost on a rocky mountainside. Overhead hovered a fierce bird, waiting for it to die, and the sheep looked up and cried to be rescued. Someone had heard its cry, for the shepherd with his crook was leaning over the edge. In another moment he would pick it up and carry it safe home in his arms.

  I was looking at the picture so closely that I never noticed that the clergyman had come back. Now he stood in front of me with a tray, which he laid down beside me.

  “I've telephoned your aunt,” he said. “She's been very worried about you, and the police and your uncle have been out looking for you all night. However, now she knows you're safe, she doesn't mind you staying to breakfast with me. Then you must go home and tell her how sorry you are.”

  I fell upon the tray of food with a tremendous appetite, for I had had nothing to eat since the day before. It was such a nice breakfast, too, with a boiled egg and strawberry jam and a teapot all to myself. I munched away happily. The vicar sat down on the sofa while I ate my breakfast, and we talked. I told him all about Philip and Terry, and the bird book, and the wigwam, and the camera, and the flower selling. He asked a great many questions and seemed really interested in it all.

  But when I had finished my last mouthful of bread and jam, I realized that now I should probably be sent straight home, and I didn't want to go just yet for I thought my new friend was one of the nicest men I had ever met, except perhaps Mr. Tandy, the old shepherd. So I laid down my tray and went over and sat down beside him on the sofa. Once again I found myself staring at the picture on the wall.

  “Isn't that a nice picture?” I remarked. “It reminds me of the shepherd at home. One of his lambs escaped, like the one in the picture, and he went back to look for it. I went, too; we looked for ever so long, and then we found it all tangled up in a thorn bush, and it took Mr. Tandy ages to get it out. His hands got all scratched to bits in the thorns.”

  My friend was looking at the picture, too. He did not answer for a minute.

  “Ruth,” he said suddenly, “how did the lamb get into such a place? Why did he ever get lost?”

  “Well,” I replied, “I suppose he ran away. They often do.”

  “Yes,” went on the clergyman, and he was speaking very seriously now. “But why did he run away? He had a kind shepherd and a very nice green field. Why didn't he stay there?”

  “Well,” I answered thoughtfully, “I expect he thought it looked nicer outside, and went to see. Then I expect he got lost, and when he wanted to go back he just couldn't find the way.”

  “You're quite right,” said my new friend. “Just look at the lamb in the picture. I expect he had been trying to find his way back all night. But he was lost, and the farther he went, the steeper the rocks became and the more hopeless he felt. So I think he stopped trying at last, and just stood quite still at the edge of the precipice. And what did he do then, Ruth?”

  I looked up at him. I was beginning to understand that he was not talking about a real sheep any longer. “I don't know,” I whispered rather shyly.

  “Well, then, I'll tell you,” went on my friend. “I think he looked around and saw a precipice underneath him and big rocks above him, and he said to himself, ‘It's no good. I can't possibly get back by myself. There's only one person who can take me home, and that's the shepherd.’ So he opened his mouth and gave a little cry. The shepherd had been waiting all night for that little cry; as soon as he heard it he leaned over and picked up the lamb, and carried it safe back to his own field. And I don't know who was the happier, the lamb or the shepherd.”

  My eyes were fixed on him; I knew now that he was talking about me.

  “I ran away, too, and got lost last night, didn't I?” I whispered.

  “You did,” answered the clergyman, “and you'll never find your way back on your own, Ruth. There's only one person who can take you back into God's way and keep you there, and that is the Lord Jesus Christ, who called Himself the Good Shepherd.

  “Every time you are naughty, you are getting a little bit farther away from God's way, and a little bit more lost than you were before. What you have to do is to stop trying to make yourself good. You have to tell the Shepherd that you are quite lost, and ask Him to find you.”

  “Will He really do it?”
I asked.

  “Ruth,” said the clergyman suddenly, “how old are you?”

  “Nine,” I answered, wondering what that had to do with it.

  “Well, then, He's been loving you and looking for you for nine whole years. Don't you think He'll be glad to hear you call to Him, when he's been waiting for such a long time?”

  I sat very still, thinking hard.

  “Is that really all I've got to do to be good?” I asked at last. “I thought it was very difficult to be good.”

  “It's all you must do at first,” he answered. “That's the wonderful part. You see, the Good Shepherd has done it all for you. He took away sin when He died on the cross, so that you can be forgiven without any punishment. You told me that your friend's hands got dreadfully torn and scratched as he rescued that lamb, but he lifted it out of the thorns without hurting it at all. And in just the same way Jesus, the Good Shepherd, was wounded and hurt when He came to look for you. He has done everything, and all you have to do is say thank you and believe that His wounded hands can lift you up and carry you back to God's fold the moment you ask Him.”

  “And what happens then?” I asked. “Will I always be good after that?”

  “You won't always be good all at once,” he replied, “but you will always belong to the Good Shepherd, Jesus, and He will begin to teach you how to be good. He will often speak to you in your heart, and you must learn to listen to His voice. When He speaks you must always try to obey. And you must learn to talk to Him about everything, too. We call it praying, but really it means sharing everything with Jesus.”

  Once more we sat still for a long time. At last the clergyman spoke.

  “I have to go to my church now,” he said gently, “and you must go home or your aunt will think you've run away to somewhere else. But before you go I'm going to give you a copy of that picture for your very own. Take it with you and look at it often, and each time you look at it remember that you are that lost lamb and that the Good Shepherd is waiting to find you as soon as you ask Him. One other thing—have you a Bible of your own?”

  I said I had a Bible in my drawer at home.

  “Then when you get home find the gospel of St. Luke and read a bit every night. It will tell you all the story of the Shepherd and how He came to earth to look for lost sheep. And when you've finished it, read the other Gospels: Matthew, Mark, and John.”

  He opened a drawer and took out a postcard-sized copy of the picture on the wall. I took it with shining eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I followed him out, holding my new treasure tightly. He came to the gate and stood watching me as I set out along the road. When I had gone a little way, I turned around and ran back. “Shall I come back and tell you when it's happened?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I was hoping you would,” he admitted. “I shall always be glad to see you, so come whenever you like.”

  I left him and turned the corner. The road ahead of me led back home. At the thought of home, my heart beat rather fast. What would my aunt and uncle say to me, and what would I say to them?

  But I did not worry very much, for I had more important things to think about. In my hand was the picture, and in my heart I had decided what I was going to do. I would find some quiet place far away from everyone, and before I went back home I would ask the Good Shepherd to find me and make me one of his lambs.

  I was very fussy about the spot. I didn't want to be seen from the road and I wanted to be quite alone. So I walked on until I came to the woods and slipped in and out among the trees till I reached a little clearing away from any path. Here I knelt down and felt as though I was in some secret chapel, far away from the world. I looked again at my picture, but at first I dared not pray. I felt as if my whole life was going to depend on the next few moments. What if I spoke and nothing happened? What if the Good Shepherd had gone away and was not listening anymore?

  Then I spoke aloud to the Good Shepherd. I told Him about my naughtiness, and how I couldn't be good by myself. I told Him I was sorry because I'd kept Him waiting so long, and then I asked Him to forgive me and find me and pick me up in His arms and never let me run away from Him again.

  Then I waited, perfectly still, for my answer, almost expecting to feel gentle arms thrown around me. And what happened? I heard nothing, I felt nothing, but I knew deep inside that my prayer was heard. I knew that at that moment I had been searched for and loved and found.

  I was so happy that I stayed where I was for a long time, as though if I moved I would break some spell. I was not only happy, I was thankful, too. I remembered how long He had waited, and I thought of Mr Tandy's poor, bleeding hands and remembered how Jesus' hands had been wounded when He died on the cross for me.

  Then I remembered that I was supposed to be going home. My aunt was waiting for me. So I left my special little place and went back to the road.

  I walked very slowly. Would they be angry with me? Worst of all, would I be naughty and rude again? My rudeness seemed to come out whether I wanted it to or not, and if I was naughty now everything would be spoiled.

  Then I remembered something else. The Good Shepherd had picked me up in His arms, and I could tell Him everything if He was really as close to me as all that. So I told Him all about it as I trotted home, and somehow all my happiness came back to me. I was not alone any longer.

  I swallowed hard as I opened the front door and slipped inside—a dirty, scared, untidy little girl, clasping my hands tightly together in the hall. I had no idea what I was going to say to my aunt. To myself I kept whispering the words, “Even if I'm punished, help me to be good.”

  My aunt suddenly appeared at the kitchen door. We both stood looking at each other in silence.

  But the loving Shepherd had found me, and when we first come to know His love He begins to make us more loving, too. As I stood stiffly in the hall, something happened to my hard little heart that I had not expected. I suddenly ran forward and flung myself into my aunt's arms.

  “I'm so sorry, Auntie,” I whispered. “I will try to be good. And please, please don't send me away to boarding school. I want to stay here with you, and I'll never, never run away or be naughty again.”

  My aunt, kneeling in the passageway, pressed my tear-stained cheek against hers and held me close to her. Then she smoothed back my tangled hair and kissed me.

  “Oh, Ruth,” she whispered, “I don't want to send you away if I can possibly help it. We'll try again.”

  Then she took my hand and led me to the table in the kitchen, where I sat down and ate a whole second breakfast to make up for missing my supper the night before.

  My Sheep Hear My Voice

  I caught a bad cold from sleeping in the church, and had to go to bed for three days. Philip stayed with me most of the time, so we put in a lot of work on the bird book. When we were tired of drawing and writing we lay and talked. He was never tired of hearing about my night in the church, and I was quite pleased and surprised to hear how much everybody had missed me.

  “I don't think Auntie or Uncle went to bed all night,” Philip told me. “I couldn't go to sleep either. I thought you might be dead, and I was crying and crying in bed. Then I went downstairs and I found Auntie crying a little bit in the kitchen. We had a lovely drink of hot chocolate together, and she gave me a chocolate biscuit, and we sat by the fire and talked.”

  “What did you talk about?” I asked, hoping it had been about me.

  “Oh, lots of things,” answered my brother cheerfully. “I said perhaps you'd been drowned in Whippet Brook. Auntie said she thought you were probably just hiding, and she might send you to boarding school as a punishment, and I said I thought it was a jolly bad idea.”

  “Why?” I asked hopefully.

  “Because I shouldn't have anyone to play with on Saturdays,” he explained. “I said I thought it wouldn't be any use, because you would run away at once.”

  “And what did she say then?”

  “She said you wouldn't be able
to. So I said it would be a pity to send you to boarding school in any case, because I should probably have a nervous breakdown.”

  “Whatever's that?” I asked with great interest.

  “Oh, it's an illness you get when people do things you don't like. I heard Auntie talking about someone who had a nervous breakdown because the cook went away. So I said I would have one if you went away.”

  “Like measles?” I asked. Measles was the only illness I had ever had, and I thought it was very important.

  “Oh, I don't know,” answered Philip. “I don't think it has spots, but it doesn't matter, anyhow. You're not going now, but you'll have to be very careful about being good, because once she's thought of it she may think of it again.”

  I was silent. I hadn't told anyone yet about what had happened in the wood, for somehow I did not know how to put it into words. How could I make Philip believe that something had really happened? There was nothing to show for it, and sometimes, lying there with a sore throat and a blocked-up nose, I began to wonder how much of it was true, or whether perhaps I'd imagined it. And then I would take out my precious picture and look at it until I was sure again, and I would bury my face in the pillow and ask the Good Shepherd to let me feel close to Him again, as I had felt that morning when we had walked home.

  There was my Bible, too. As soon as I got home, I found it in the drawer and started to read it. After much searching, I found the chapter Mr. Tandy had read to me about the sheep that was lost. I read it to myself again and again until I almost knew it by heart. I read the rest of the chapter, too, about the boy who ran away, just like me, and who came home again and said he was sorry and was forgiven by his father. I thought it was exactly like me and Aunt Margaret. I liked it very much indeed.

  I tried to pray, too. I had been taught to say my prayers, but somehow it was different now. Before, it was just saying words because I thought I should, but now it was talking to Someone I knew and who loved me.