The Chautauqua Girls At Home Part 30

Ruth answered her almost fiercely:

"No, I didn't mean to; and as to that, I never meant to do anything that was not just right in my life; but I meant to have just exactly my own way of doing things, and I tell you I took it. Now, Marion, while I blame myself as no other person ever can, I still blame others. I was never taught as I should have been about the sacredness of human loves, and the awfulness of human vows and pledges. I was never taught that for girls to dally with such pledges, to flirt with them, before they knew anything about life or about their own hearts was a sin in the sight of G.o.d. I ought to have been so taught.

"Perhaps if I had had a mother to teach me I should have been different; but I am not even sure of that. Mothers seem to me to allow strange trifling with these subjects, even if they do not actually prepare the way. But all this does not relieve me. I have sinned; no one but myself understands how deeply, and no one but me knows the bitterness of it.

"Now I feel as though the whole of the rest of my life must be given to atone for this horrible fatal mistake. I wasted the last hour I ever had with a soul, and I have before me the awful consciousness that I might have saved it.

"It is all done now, and can never be undone; that is the saddest part of it. But there is one thing I can do; I need never live through a like experience again; I will give the rest of my life to atone for the past; I will never again be guilty of coming in contact with a soul, unprepared for death, without urging upon that soul, as often as I have opportunity, the necessity for preparation; I see plainly that it is the important thing in life."

There hovered over Marion's mind, while these last sentences were being spoken, words something like these:

"The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin."

She almost said to Ruth that even for this sin the atonement had been made; she must not try to make another. But the error that only faintly glimmered in Ruth's sentence was so mixed with solemn and helpful truth that she felt at a loss as to whether there was error at all, and so held her peace.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXII.

REVIVAL.

AS the early autumn months slipped away, and touches of winter began to show around them, it became evident that a new feeling was stirring in the First Church.

No need now to work for increased numbers at the prayer-meeting; at least there was not the need that formerly existed; the room was full, and the meetings solemn and earnest. The Spirit of G.o.d was hovering over the place. Drops of the coming shower were already beginning to fall.

What was the cause of the quickened hearts? Who knew save the Watcher on the tower in the eternal city? Was it because of the sudden, and solemn, and hopeless death occurring in the very center of what was called "the first circles?" Was it the spirit developed apparently by this death, showing itself in eager, indefatigable effort wherever Ruth Erskine went, with whomsoever she came in contact?

Was it Marion Wilbur's new way of teaching, that included not only the intellect of her pupils, but looked beyond that, with loving word, for the empty soul? Was it Eurie Mitch.e.l.l's patient way of taking up home work and care, that had been distasteful to her, and that she had shunned in days gone by? Was it Flossy Shipley's way of teaching the Sabbath-school lessons to "those boys" of hers?

Was it the quickened sense which throbbed in the almost discouraged heart of the pastor whenever he came in contact with either of these four? Was it the patient, persistent, una.s.suming work of John Warden as he went about in the shop among his fellow-workmen, dropping an earnest word here, a pressing invitation there?

Who shall tell whether either, or all of these influences, combined with hundreds of others, set in motion by like causes, were the beginnings of the solemn and blessed harvest time, that dawned at last on those who had been sowing in tears?

The fact was apparent. Even in the First Church, that model of propriety and respectability, that church which had so feared excitement or unusual efforts of _any_ sort, there was a revival!

Among those who were coming, and who were growing willing to let others know that they were awakening to a sense of the importance of these things, were Dr. and Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l, Eurie's father and mother. To themselves they did not hesitate to say that the change in Eurie was so marked and so increasing in its power over her life, that it obliged them to think seriously of this thing.

Among the interested also were a score or more of girls from Marion's room in the great school; and more came every day. Marion's face was shining, and she gathered her brood about her as a mother would the children of her love and longing.

Among them were four of Flossy's boys; and half a dozen boys, friends of theirs, who were not Flossy's, and who yet, someway, joined her train and managed to be "counted in." Among them was Judge Erskine--I mean among those who continued to come to the meetings--coming alone, and being reverent and thoughtful during the services, but going away with bowed head, and making no sign: there was something in the way with Judge Erskine that no one understood.

As for Ruth--how she worked during these days! Not with a glad light in her eyes, such as Marion and Flossy had; not with a satisfied face as if the question of something to do that was worth doing, and that helped her, had been settled, such as Eurie Mitch.e.l.l wore; rather with a sad feverish impatience to accomplish _results_; shrinking from nothing, willing to do anything, go anywhere, yet meeting with far less encouragement, and seeing far less fruits, than any of the others. She did not realize that she was working with a sort of desperate intention of overbalancing the mischief of her mistakes by so much work now, that there would be a sort of even balance at the scales. She would have been shocked had she understood her own heart.

Meantime, where was Satan? Content to let this reaping time alone? Oh, bless you, no! Never busier, never more alert, and watchful, and cautious, and _skillful_ than now! It was wonderful, too, how many helpers he found whose names were actually on the roll of the First Church!

There were those who had had in mind all the fall having little entertainments, "just a few friends, you know, nothing like a party; they were sorry to be obliged to have them just now while there were meetings; but Miss Gilmore was in town, and would be here so short a time, they _must_ invite her; it would not be treating her well to take no notice of her visit; and, really, the people whom they proposed to invite were those who did not attend church, so no harm could be done."

These were some of Satan's helpers. There were others who were more outspoken. They "did not believe in special efforts; seasons of excitement; religious dissipations--nothing else. People should be religious at all times, not put it on for special occasions."

It was well enough to have a special season for parties, and a special season for going to the sea-side, and a special season for doing one's dressmaking, and a special season for cleaning house, and a special season for everything under the sun but religious meetings; these should be conducted--at all times. Was that what they meant? Oh, dear, no! They should not be conducted at all. Was _that_ what they meant? Who should tell what they _did_ mean? One lady said:

"The idea of the bell ringing every evening for prayer-meeting! It was too absurd! People must have a little time for recreation; these weeks just before the holidays were always by common consent the time for festivities of all sorts; it was downright folly to expect young people to give up their pleasures and go every evening to meeting."

So she issued her cards for a party, and gathered as many of the young people about her as she could. And this woman was a member of the First Church! And this woman professed to believe in the verse that read, "Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatever ye do, do all to the glory of G.o.d!"

There were others who went to these parties, hushing their consciences meantime by the explanation that the social duties were important ones, and that one whose heart was right could serve G.o.d as well having religious conversation at a party, as she could occupying a seat at a prayer-meeting. Perhaps they really believed it. What marvel? Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

The trouble about the sincerity was, that those same persons were not unaware of certain sneering remarks that were being made, to the effect that if church-members could go to parties when there were meetings at their own church, _they_ could surely be excused from the meetings; and they could not have been utterly ignorant of the verse that read plainly, "Let not your good be evil spoken of."

There were still others who compromised matters, taking the meetings for the first hour of the evening and a party for the next three; and the lookers-on said, sneeringly, that there was a strife going on between the soul, the flesh and the devil, and they wondered which would conquer!

So all these cla.s.ses flourished and worked in their different ways in the First Church; just as they always _will_ work, until that day when the wheat shall be forever separated from the tares. The wonder is why so many blinded eyes _must_ insist that because there are tares, there is therefore no wheat. The Lord said, "Let both grow together until the harvest."

"I don't understand it," Ruth said one day to Marion, as they talked the work over, and tried to lay plans for future helpfulness. "Why do you suppose it is that I seem able to do nothing at all? I try with all my might; my heart is surely in it, and I long with a desire that seems almost as if it would consume me, to see some fruit of my work, and yet I don't. What _can_ be the difficulty?"

"I don't know," Marion said, speaking hesitatingly, as one who would like to say more if she dared. "I don't feel competent to answer that question, and yet, sometimes, I have feared that you might be trying to compromise with the Lord."

"I don't understand you; in what way do you mean? I try to do my duty in every place that I can think of. I am not compromising on any subject, so far as I know. If I am, I will certainly be grateful to anyone who will point it out to me."

"I am not sure that it is sufficiently clear to my own mind to be able to point it out," Marion said, still visibly embarra.s.sed. "But, Ruth, it sometimes seems to me as if you had said to yourself, 'Now I will work so much and pray so much, and then I ought to have rest from the pain that is goading me on, and I ought to be able to feel that I have atoned for past mistakes, and the account against me is squared.'"

Ruth turned from her impatiently.

"You are a strange comforter," she said, almost indignantly. "Do you mean by that to intimate that you think I ought _never_ to look or hope for rest of mind again because I have made one fearful mistake? Do you mean that I ought always to carry with me the sense of the burden?"

"I mean no such thing. You cannot think I so estimate the power of the sacrifice for sin. Ruth, I mean simply this: Nothing that you or I can do can possibly make one sin white, one mistake as though it had not been, give one moment of rest to a troubled heart. But the blood of Jesus Christ can do all this, and it does seem to me that you are ignoring it, and trying to work out your own rest."

Ruth was thoughtful; the look of vexation pa.s.sed from her face.

"It may be so," she said, after a long silence. "I begin dimly to understand your meaning; but I don't know how to help it, how to feel differently. I surely ought to work, and surely I have a right to expect results."

"In one sense, yes, and in another I don't believe we have. I begin to feel more and more that you and I have _got_ in some way to be made to understand that it is not our way, but the Lord's, that we must be willing to do, or, what is harder, to leave undone, exactly what he says, _do_ or _not_ do. I can't help feeling that you are planning in your own heart just what ought to be done, and then allowing yourself to feel almost indignant and ill-used because the work is not accomplished."

"I don't know how you have succeeded in seeing so deeply into my heart,"

Ruth said, with a wan smile. "I believe it is so, though I am not sure that I ever saw it before."

"I know why I see it; because it is my temptation as well as yours. You and I are both strong-willed; we have both been used to having our own way; we want to continue to have it; we want to do the right things provided we can have the choosing of them. Flossy, now, with her yielding nature, is willing to _be led_, as you and I are not. I have to fight against this tendency to carry out my plans and look for _my_ results all the time. The fact is, Ruth, we must learn to work for _Christ_, and not set up business for ourselves, and still expect him to give the wages."

"Still," said Ruth, "I don't know. There seems to me to be nothing that I am not willing to do. I can't think of anything so hard that I would not unhesitatingly do it. I have changed wonderfully in that respect. A little while ago I was not willing to do anything. Now I am ready for anything that can be done."

"Are you?" Marion asked, with a visible shiver. "Ruth, are you _sure_?

I can't say that; I want to say it, and I pray that I may be able; yet I can think of so many things that I might be called on to do that I shrink from. I have given up trying to do them, and fallen back on the promise, 'My grace is sufficient,' only praying, 'Lord, give me the needed grace for to-day; I will not reach out for to-morrow.' And, Ruth, I feel sure that neither you nor I must try to cover our past errors with present usefulness. Nothing but the blood of Christ can cover _any_ wrong; we _must_ rest on that, and on that alone."