The Two watches, and other stories

UF00028198.sgm

UF00028198_00001.pdf

UF00028198_00001.txt

00026.txt

00047.txt

00080.txt

00058.txt

00105.txt

00060.txt

00054.txt

00092.txt

UF00028198_00001_pdf.txt

00051.txt

00055.txt

00061.txt

00067.txt

00037.txt

00033.txt

00100.txt

00096.txt

00108.txt

00062.txt

00002.txt

00112.txt

00076.txt

00057.txt

00087.txt

00066.txt

00073.txt

00075.txt

00127.txt

00027.txt

00063.txt

00114.txt

00091.txt

00071.txt

00120.txt

00059.txt

00042.txt

00125.txt

00023.txt

00039.txt

00122.txt

00133.txt

00072.txt

00081.txt

00020.txt

00038.txt

00101.txt

00011.txt

00034.txt

00083.txt

00024.txt

00110.txt

00093.txt

00117.txt

00022.txt

00119.txt

00111.txt

00019.txt

00126.txt

00135.txt

00070.txt

00032.txt

00068.txt

00107.txt

00128.txt

00064.txt

00008.txt

00035.txt

00095.txt

00090.txt

00016.txt

00116.txt

00118.txt

00005.txt

00103.txt

00017.txt

00097.txt

00050.txt

00121.txt

00085.txt

00018.txt

00098.txt

00113.txt

00052.txt

00084.txt

00069.txt

00134.txt

00088.txt

00029.txt

00074.txt

00077.txt

00041.txt

00053.txt

00104.txt

00115.txt

00078.txt

00021.txt

00028.txt

00031.txt

00046.txt

00044.txt

EUCNNPQK7_OG48N7_xml.txt

00013.txt

00001.txt

00109.txt

00099.txt

00102.txt

00040.txt

00129.txt

00094.txt

00014.txt

00086.txt

00130.txt

00049.txt

00079.txt

00048.txt

00123.txt

00065.txt

00106.txt

00015.txt

00056.txt

00045.txt

00030.txt

00089.txt

00082.txt

00036.txt

00124.txt

00043.txt

00025.txt

00003.txt

Tk ad nl Nt a li ni ll, lin ali ie A a ate i ae ale ig ot Tite hile setae cl aT a tial ae



il la ir yh ek re a



ce
BS





*

aby gapne2s eet Sof aa)
i. Daptist Congregational &
03 : 0
4 SUNDAY SCHOOL, ats
. . ay HCARGATE. ‘

<=








Z ie Ap
: SIS Is
adhe SE 6 Is.
| &> Pp (ye
xb 5 (
oa AWARDED TO

bs





The Baldwin Library

preaay
RmB Florida











—S2wsegPerce—

THE TWO WATCHES,

AND
@Orher GHtories.

—“n rete





THE TWO WATCHES COMPARED

page 32



THE TWO WATCHES ©

ye OTHER STOR,

F
asTHOR a COPSiey |
AX%, yet os CLOT z) Vv,
Ce aaa geal Ls
# Fe.





THE BANK NOTE
page 102

a. NELSON AND SONS,

LONDON, EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK











tiie TWO WATCH iis,

AND

@ther Stories. |

BY THE AUTHOR OF

“COPSLEY ANNALS,” ““FATHER’S COMING HOME,”
ce Catcecs



LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK.

1874.

== ee











GJ ontents.

— +
THE TWO WATCHES :—-
I. A Serious Subject, Bee ee ese st 9
II. The Lesson a Watch Teaches, bee en Ee 24

THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN :—

I. Alone in the World, li eee ear ee 41
It. A Friend in Need, as ase Ree es 55
III. The Water of Life, as oes nor eee 64

BANK-NOTES :—
I. Hard Times, oe es ae oO oe 79

vee are 96
IIf. A Royal Promise, ... eee) nee eats . 106

II. The Old Pocket-book,







Saree

fHk: [Two WATCHES.

wok were—















THE TWO WATCHES.



“Tf ye love me, keep my commandments.”



CHAPTER I.
A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

MPDY GRANT sat quietly and
(22° thoughtfully upon his rocking-horse.




<1 He had been riding in a very
spirited manner after first mount-
ing; but a serious subject was
occupying ie thoughts, and in proportion
as his mind busied itself with increasing
intentness upon this subject, so his horse
went slower and slower, until at last it
stopped altogether, and its rider remained
perfectly still, with his whip in his hand.



10 A SERIOUS SUBJECT,

Now, as Eddy was not in the habit of
sitting still to think, but was far more
accustomed to run about and play untiringly
the moment that lessons were over, and
that he and his sister Ruth were set free, it
might have puzzled any one entering the
play-room at that moment to guess the
reason of his thoughtfulness. But we shall
soon find out; for Ruth, who, being a
year older than her brother, is kept in
the school-room a little longer to have
a lesson in needle-work, will join him pres-
ently; and while he waits for her, we
will tell our readers in a few words some-
thing about Eddy Grant’s parents and
home.

_A pretty country-house standing in a
pleasant garden and surrounded by beautiful
trees was his home, and a very happy one
it was. Mr. and Mrs. Grant left nothing
undone which could tend to the real advan-
tage of their children; and though their
little boy did not always show his love to



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 11

them by trying to conquer many faults
which they regarded with anxiety, he yet
loved them very, very dearly. Next to
their parents, Ruth and Eddy loved their
sister Mary better than any one in the
world. She was much older than either of
them, for Ruth was only nine, and Mary
was eighteen ; but she was not a bit too old
for a good game of play, nor for hide-and-
seek in the garden, nor for many an amuse-
ment which she made her little brother
and sister think she enjoyed as much as
themselves. - Then Mary was her parents’
right hand, assisting her mother in home
duties, and her father by writing for him
and reading to him; and in the village
school and among the cottages, no teacher
was so welcome, no visitor so warmly
ereeted. Often she took Ruth and Eddy
with ‘her in these visits of usefulness, and as
they walked home, even the latter—whose
usual mode of returning was to climb the
banks and explore every little path which



12 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

led off from the road—even Eddy was con-
tent to walk by her side, and listen while
she told him about the children in the
different homes, and made him take an
interest in providing amusements for them
and in her plans for their improvement ;
so that after one of these walks he imparted
his private opinion to Ruth, that of all
elder sisters in existence, no one was so nice
as Mary. He did not fully understand
what it was that rendered her so beloved
and useful, for Eddy had not felt for him-
self the love of Jesus which had found its
way to his sister’s heart, early renewed by
divine grace; but if he had been able to
trace the struggles against temptation, and
the desires after holiness, which passed
within, he would have learned that a life
like Mary’s was one of difficulties indeed,
but mixed with deep and tranquil peace,
such as the world cannot give.

It was on her eighteenth birth-day that
we have introduced Eddy to our reader ;



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 13

and while we have been describing her
home, her parents, and her sister, Ruth has
finished her work, and being finally dis-
missed from the school-room, has run down-
stairs with the exclamation,—

“Now, Eddy, for our half - holiday !
Mary says she'll come to us for all the
afternoon, and tell us stories, and play in
the garden; and mamma says we're all to
have tea on the lawn!”

“Ruth,” replied her brother soberly,
“how old must I be to be grown-up ?”

It seemed rather an out-of-the-way ques-
tion following upon his sister’s entrance, but
Ruth saw nothing remarkable in it. “I
don’t know exactly,” she replied. “I think
people are grown-up at twenty.”

“Twenty!” answered Eddy; “long before
that! Why, Mary’s grown-up, and she’s
only eighteen; and Harry More’s only
sixteen, and he’s as tall as papa.”

Ruth looked puzzled. ‘ Very well,
Eddy,” she replied; “let us settle that



14 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

sixteen is grown-up—but we're both a long
way off from that.”

“A long, long way!” sighed Eddy.—
“Ruth, what did you think when papa
gave Mary that watch this morning? I
know what I thought—that I’d rather have
one of my own than anything else in the
world.”

“Tt would be very nice,” replied his
sister ; “but did you hear what papa said
when he put it on for her? It was that he
had not intended to give it until she was
twenty-one, but that she had already learned
the lesson which a watch teaches, and that
it was to show how he and mamma felt her
such a comfort to them.”

“‘T wonder what papa meant!” said Eddy;
“TIT suppose he meant how quickly time
goes. But J think it goes very slow; it
seems a long time before I shall be a man
and have a watch of my own. Ruth, if I
were to walk on tip-toe always, and to
stretch myself up very tall, perhaps I



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 15

should grow up quicker. Or—lI’ve thought
of something else—don’t laugh, Ruth, it’s a
plan, JI heard the gardener say that this
was such fine growing weather, and that
the plants in the green-house had shot up
prodigious—that was what he said exactly ;
and when papa looked at Mary to-day, he
said she had grown so fast—as fast as a
green-house plant. Now, Ruth, suppose I
were to sit in the green-house a great deal,
and take my books and spend all my play-
time there, don’t you think I might shoot
up prodigious too ?”

Ruth looked doubtful. “I don’t think—
I’m afraid it wouldn’t do, Eddy,” she re-
plied; “things that make flowers grow
don’t do for us. You see, rain makes them
grow ever so fast; but if we were to stand
out in the rain, we shouldn’t get any taller.”

“What’s this about standing out in the
rain, Miss Ruth?” said a voice close to her,
while she suddenly felt her father’s arm
round her waist, and found herself lifted on



16 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

his knee. Eddy looked rather shy, for
they had been talking so busily that they
had not heard Mr. Grant enter; but Ruth
replied, quite simply,—

“Eddy was planning how to make him-
self grow up to be a man very quick, papa,
so that he might have a watch.”

“ Indeed,” answered Mr. Grant, with a
very merry look at Eddy, who still sat upon
his rocking-horse ; “and so, Master Eddy,
youre going to stand out in the rain, are
you, that you may grow faster, and that
you may havea watch! Is it Mary’s watch
that has set you upon this ?”

Mr. Grant’s children were not in the least
afraid of him, for he was so kind that almost
all their projects were confided to his ears ;
and, in fact, Eddy and Ruth had not even
kept back their most secret plan of digging
through the earth in their gardens in hopes
of finding a gold-mine underneath. So that
it was without any reserve that Eddy re-
plied to his question,—

(406)



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 17

“Oh yes, papa; I’d give anything to have
a watch of my own. Mary’s looks so bright
and pretty, and ticks so beautifully, and it
has a key to wind it up.”

“Did you hear what I said to Mary when
I gave it her this morning?” asked Mr.
Grant.

“Yes, papa—that she had learned the
lesson that a watch teaches.”

“Well, Eddy, you are to be eight years
old next week—let me see, what day is it
to be?”

“ Friday.”

“ Well, on Friday evening I will tell you
what I meant when I said this to Mary; and
meantime, my boy, don’t be wanting to be
a man before you know half the pleasures of
being a boy. And besides,” continued Mr.
Grant more seriously, “when we remember,
dear children, how short at the longest is
the time given us here for preparation for
eternity, we could not wish to lose a moment

ef it. That is one lesson that Mary’s watch
(406) 2



18 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

teaches us. That tick, tick, tick, tick, seems
to say, ‘Time is flying, time is flying—
watch, watch, watch; another minute is gone
which can never come back.’ God grant,”
he added in a low voice, “that my little ones
may so ‘number their days that they may
apply their hearts unto wisdom !’ ”

Mary’s birth-day was a pleasant day to the
children, and the tea on the lawn was en-
joyed by all. They made a wreath for the
birth-day cake which was much admired ;
and when it was no longer needed for the
cake, Mary let them put it on her head ;
which little coronation was performed with
a great deal of ceremony by Eddy and Ruth.
Then, after tea, there was avgrand game of
hide-and-seek, the finishing stroke to which
was the discovery of Eddy perched up in the
boughs of a tree, like King Charles in the
oak, when everybody had been looking for
him underneath the bushes. When they
were tired of playing, Mr. Grant told them
a long story of his travels in Italy ; and the



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 19

evening was concluded with some sweet
hymns led by Mary’s voice, and in -which
her little brother and sister had already
learned to take part ; after which they went
to bed wishing the evening was not ended,
and already looking forward to the next
Friday, when Mr. Grant’s promise was to
be fulfilled.

The following day was Sunday, and
whether it was that Eddy’s thoughts were
full of the pleasures of the night before, or
whether it was that a sudden fit of indolence
had taken possession of him, we can hardly
determine, but so it happened that he con-
trived two or three times to give his parents.
cause for reproving him.

‘How is it your texts are so carelessly
learned, Eddy ?” inquired his mother, who
had been patiently waiting for him to stumble
through them. ‘“ You had plenty of time
after breakfast, but you hardly know one.”

“They’re very hard, mamma. I can’t say
them rightly.

oP)



20 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

Mrs. Grant took up the Testament.
“Very hard, Eddy ! why, they are not half
~ so long as last Sunday’s, and you learned
those quite easily ; and Ruth has said hers
without any trouble.’

‘Ruth learned hers before breakfast.”

“And why could not you have learned
them then? You had plenty of time.”

“ T was looking at my flowers. I don’t

?

like learning these verses, mamma ; I wish
I might learn my hymn instead.”

Mr. Grant had been standing near the
window while Eddy was talking, and now,
taking no notice of the boy, he looked in to
say that the church-bells were ringing, and
then walked away.

Eddy’s mother looked vexed. So did
Ruth. This particular hour before church,
and after Mary had gone to the Sunday
school, was always devoted by Mrs. Grant
to hearing the children say two or three
texts chosen the previous Sunday, and then
explained to them with many an interesting





A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 21

anecdote, and with illustrations from their
own conduct during the week. It was gener-
ally a most favourite hour, and now Eddy
had given so much trouble, and had been so
inattentive, that he had quite spoiled it.
Ruth might have felt vexed with him, but
she was a gentle little girl, and only alluded
to it by saying to her brother, as they walked
to church behind their parents, “I hope,
Eddy, you'll get your verses perfect after
dinner ; it vexes mamma so when we’re care-
less.”

“T can’t help it,” he replied roughly ; “it’s
all very well for girls to talk and be good ;
I learned my verses quite well enough.”

During church-time, before which Mary
joined them, Eddy’s thoughts seemed never
to be fixed for a moment. Not that he ap-
peared naughty outwardly, for his parents’
eyes were on him ; but he seemed to think
that the prayers were for grown-up people
only, and not for him ; his voice was silent
during the responses and singing, and on



22 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

coming home he was unable to answer a
single question about the sermon, although
it was so easy that every child could have
understood it. Eddy’s self was at church,
but his heart was not there.

After the early dinner, Mr. Grant called
Eddy to his study, and told him that he
should expect to hear him say the im-
perfectly learned verses before evening; and
advised him to take his Testament to a quiet
seat in the garden, where he would learn
undisturbedly.

If he had chosen he might have brought
them back perfectly learned in half an hour ;
but when, before going out to evening-service,
his father called for them, the verses were
still carelessly repeated, and it was quite
evident that Eddy had not tried to learn
them. Nothing more, however, was said
upon the subject; but Eddy went discon-
tentedly to bed that evening, vexed because
Ruth had been able to answer about the
sermon, and to say her verses so much better



A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 28

than himself; vexed that he had lost the
pleasant hour with Mary which she always
gave to her little brother and sister on the
Sunday afternoon, and in which she usually
brought outa large “ Pilgrim’s Progress” full
of pictures, and explained it to them; and
vexed, finally, because he knew that he had
trifled away the hours of the Sabbath, and
he had an uncomfortable feeling that God
was displeased with him for doing so.

If Eddy had confessed his sin humbly to
his heavenly Father, and had asked him to
pardon it for Jesus Christ’s sake, he might
have fallen asleep with the sweet assurance
that God had forgiven all for his dear Son ;
but his prayers were only said, not prayed—
his thoughts were busy with something else;
and though he woke up the next morning
as bright and merry as ever, having forgotten
all that had passed, it was not a safe forget-
fulness. /





CHAPTER II.

THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.



£°T would take too long a time to give

the history of what happened every
nek day between Sunday and Friday.

@ Eddy and Ruth had a great many
quiet pleasures. Their lessons were made
so interesting to them, ‘that they might
have been numbered with their pleasures.
Then they had gardens of their own, and
playthings, and some cousins who lived not
far off and were their constant playfellows,
and plenty of nice books; so that as far as
outward things could make them happy, they
were so. It was Thursday evening, and the
two children stood together in their gardens,
m each of which was a gooseberry bush, a





THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 25

few potatoes which they regarded with special
pride, a rose-tree, and some mignonette.

“Ruth,” exclaimed Eddy after a long
silence, “it’s only twelve hours now to my
birth-day. I want to go to sleep very early
indeed to-night, that to-morrow may come
sooner; and then we'll both get up very
early, to make the day as long as possible.”

“ But what shall we do all the time be-
_ fore breakfast ?” inquired his sister soberly.

“QO Ruth, such a question! Why, it'll
be my birth-day, and we’ve a whole holi-
day, and we can guess what papa, and
mamma, and Mary will give me; and then
all our cousins are coming in the afternoon,
and there'll be all my presents to show
them—and—and oh! let us try and get up
very early.”

Eddy was quite out of breath as he enu-
merated the coming pleasures; and although
he had given no answer to his sister's
question, she was quite willing to accept
his reply as such.



26 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

“T’ll get up whenever you please,” she
said good-naturedly; “but how shall we
awake in time ?”

“We'll determine, Ruth; we'll both de-
termine,” answered her brother seriously ;
“and if you wake first, you must come and
call me. And now let us guess what I
shall have for my presents.”

The bell summoned the children to tea,
and every one was surprised at the manner
in which, when bed-time was announced,
Eddy went off without a moment’s delay,
contrary to his usual custom; while Ruth
actually gave up her additional quarter of
an hour down-stairs, allowed in right of her
being a year older, that she might satisfy
his impatience, expressed by nods and winks
intended for herself alone. Every one was
surprised but Mary, who laughed quietly at
her little brother’s precautions, which she
understood perfectly.

Eddy’s determination resulted in his wak-
ing up at three o’clock in the morning; upon



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 27

which he proceeded to call Ruth! Little
Ruth, though very sleepy, obeyed the
summons, and stole on tip-toe to the head
of the stairs to ascertain the time; but find-
ing it so early, they agreed to sleep on for a
little while longer, and did not then wake
up till nurse called them at their usual hour.

There was time for a run in the garden,
however, before prayers. There they were
joined by Mary, who very lovingly greeted
her little brother on his birth-day. When
they came in, his parents repeated the birth-
day wishes; and in the prayer Mr. Grant
made a special petition for the little boy,
that his heart might early be renewed by
the Holy Spirit, and that the opening year
might be to him a year of learning in the
school of Jesus.

Then every one went to the breakfast-
room, and eagerly did Master Eddy run to
his place at the table, and take up the plate,
which, contrary to custom, was turned down,
as if to indicate concealed treasures.



28 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

And so it did! He gave a cry of plea-
sure when first a beautiful little box, filled
with many coloured books, appeared. as
Mrs. Grant’s present. Next to this was a
pocket-knife, given to him by Mary on con-
dition that he would not cut his fingers.
Then there was a ball—for playing in the
hall on wet days—of Ruth’s making ; and
lastly, a packet wrapped up in paper from
his father. When opened, a little box
with a glass lid was revealed ; and inside,
on cotton-wool, lay a small watch, such as
Eddy, who had seldom been in toy-shops, had
never seen before. With it was a key, and
the boy was delighted when Mary put the
chain round his neck, and showed him how
to turn the hands to the hour he wished.
It was not a real watch, but still it was
very like; and after showering thanks on
the kind givers of his presents, Eddy sat
down to his breakfast, pausing at intervals
to delight his eyes with his new possessions.
Throughout the day he held frequent coun-



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 29

sel with the old clock on the stairs, adjust-
ing the hands of his watch every half-hour,
and answering with grave satisfaction the
inquiries made to him by every member of
the family as to what time it was. During
the whole morning the new watch was
Eddy’s constant delight. After dinner,
Ruth fancied he did not look at it quite so
often ; and when it had been once more set
right, and exhibited to his cousins, he asked
Mary to take care of it for him while he
went to play. Very quickly the hours—
the bright birth-day hours—passed away ;
and after tea, and when his play-fellows had
said “Good-bye,” Eddy went slowly with
Ruth into the drawing-room, feeling some-
thing of sadness at the thought that the day
he had looked forward to so long was really
over.

“T must wait a whole year, Ruth,” he
said, “before I shall have another birth-
day; I wish I could begin the day
again,”



380 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

Mr. Grant was in the drawing-room wait-
ing for the children, after having distin-
guished himself in their games during the
evening. It was always his custom to con-
clude a birth-day with a quiet talk with his
child, and to choose a Scripture motto which
was to be remembered throughout the open-
ing year; and which, printed neatly on a
card, was hung up by the bedside, where it
caught the eye immediately on its opening
every morning.

Eddy sprang to his father’s knee, and
Ruth fetched a stool and sat quietly by his
side while he asked the question, —

“Well, my boy, and has this been a
happy birth-day ?”

“Yes, papa,” answered Eddy, with a half
sigh, “oh yes, very.”

“And you are a little sorry that it is
over—eh, Eddy ?”

“T think I am, papa; it seems to have
gone so quickly.”

“And what else is making you look



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 3

sober, Eddy? Is there nothing but the
thought that the birth-day is ended ?”

“Not exactly, papa—I mean, that’s not
quite all. I don’t know that I ought to
say the rest.”

Eddy’s honesty prevailed over his hesita-
tion.

“T think I can guess,” said Ruth; “it’s
about—”

“No, Eddy shall tell me himself,” inter-
posed her father.—“ You needn’t mind tell-
ing me, my boy.” |

“But I’m afraid youll think me un-
grateful, papa.”

“Not at all, Eddy. I suspect it has some-
thing to do with the watch; and you know
I can’t so well keep my promise of telling
you the lesson that a watch teaches unless
you answer my question. I shan’t think
you ungrateful.”

“You see, papa,” said Eddy, hesitatingly,
“T liked it very much at first—it looked so
pretty, though it wasn’t real; and then I



82 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

hiked putting the hands by the right time;
but then, after all, I began to get tired of
its being only for show, and of no real use in
_ telling the time. But it was very kind of
you to give it me, papa. Indeed, I liked it
_ this morning very much.”

Mr. Grant smiled as he passed his hand
softly over Eddy’s brow. “I’m glad you’ve
told me this, dear boy,” he said, “for I did
not choose my present without a reason.
Now run and bring it here; and Ruth, you
may ask Mary to trust you to bring her
watch to me, and we will have our promised
talk about it.”

“Let us compare them with each other,”
he continued, as, after accomplishing their
errands, the children resumed their seats ;
“one is nearly as pretty. as the other.”

“‘Yes, papa; but Eddy’s is not real
gold.”

“And Eddy’s has two hands and a
key.”

“But they do not move, papa, unless I



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 33

move them ; there is nothing inside to make
them go right.”

“T understand,” said Mr. Grant; “now
let us look inside Mary’s.”

He opened it, and showed the children
how all the wheels acted upon each other ;
and asked if they knew what it was that
set all in motion, and regulated the hands.”

“T know,” answered Ruth; “Mary told
me it was the main-spring.”

“ Quite right,” answered her father. “We
can hardly see the main-spring, but yet’
from it comes all the power which works
the hands; and when Mary winds it up
every night, its power is renewed for the
next day. And so the difference between
her watch and yours, Eddy, is, that one is
only outside show, and requires you to move
the hands for yourself, while Mary’s. is
beautifully regulated by the spring inside.
And now, which of you can tell me what
this watch teaches ?”

“Papa, I think I know,” said Ruth in a
(406) 3



34 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

low voice; “unless the love of God is in
our hearts, our hands can’t go right, and we
only look good outside.”

“ Quite right, dear Ruth ; but I will make
it still plainer. There are a great many
children—ay, and grown-up people too—
who seem good outside, as you call it.
They go to church or chapel, they say
their prayers, and read good books, and are
often very kind and good-natured, but—
' there is no main-spring within. They put
on an appearance of religion; and just as
Eddy’s watch appears like a real one at a
distance, so they are very often mistaken,
until better known, for true disciples of
Jesus. But now for the difference. You
heard me tell Mary that she had learned
the lesson, and you can both see from her
daily life that she has the main-spring in her
heart. When a child begins to see that he
is very sinful—that he deserves God’s anger,
- and cannot of himself be saved—he searches

for some way of finding peace. The Holy



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 35

Spirit is. graciously given to show him that
Jesus died in his stead, that he bore the
punishmént of his sins on the cross, and
that on him was laid the iniquity of us all.
You have read the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’
and can remember how, when Christian
saw the cross, the burden of sin fell off his
back.

“Well, dear children, just in the same
way the poor sinner who comes to Jesus
finds peace in the thought that he has paid
the debt, and that the blood of Jesus Christ
cleanseth from all sin; the great burden is
removed, and joy and love fill his heart.
Now, suppose that, as we read in a Bible
parable, you had a very heavy debt, and
some kind friend were to pay it for you,
' what would you feel ?”

“Oh, papa, we should love him very
much,” replied the children in one breath ;
“we should feel as if we could never do
enough to show our love.”

“ And so it is with true children of God,”



36 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

rejoined their father. ‘They feel as if they
could never do enough to show their love
and gratitude to Him who so loved them ;
and thes love to the Saviour 1s the main-spring
which regulates their lives and actions, guid-
ing their hands, and directing all they do.
The first cry of St. Paul, when he saw the
Lord Jesus, was, ‘ Lord, what wilt THOU
have me to do?’ and you know how his
whole after-life, as he said himself, was de-
voted to him who loved him and gave him-
self for him; so the soul that has once
come to know Jesus Christ, will feel that
gratitude to him must be the moving-spring
of life for ever after. And then, too, as
Mary’s watch needs often to be wound up,
so our strength must be often renewed—
there must be a continual work of God’s
Spirit in our hearts, that our outward lives
may be regulated truly and rightly from
within.

“Which is the case with my children?”
inquired Mr. Grant, after a moment’s pause.



THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 37

There was no answer for a minute; then
Ruth said in low tones, “Papa, I am afraid
that I am like Eddy’s watch.”

“Eddy,” said his father, “can you guess
what made me choose my present for you ?
I would not make your birth-day sad, my
boy ; but I have feared lately that you have
been careless of pleasing God. When you
were outwardly quiet in God’s house last
Sunday, but inwardly careless of his wor-
ship—when, instead of learning your verses,
you were chasing a butterfly, and attending
to your garden, because you thought no eye
was upon you—when I have seen you well-
behaved in my presence and your mamma’s,
and have caught the sound of angry words
and rough language while you thought we
could not hear,—then I have thought of the
difference between the real watch and the
false one.”

‘“‘Papa,” said Eddy, lifting up his head,
and wiping away the tears which had wetted
his cheeks,—“ papa, I will pray to God



38 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

that he will put the main-spring into my
heart.”

Then Mr. Grant knelt down with the
little brother and sister, and asked God to
put the best birth-day gift of love to Jesus
into their hearts, and to guide their feet
into the way of peace. And he gave
Eddy’s birth-day motto from John xiv. 15:
“Tf ye love ME, keep my commandments.”

The watch was hung up by his bed-side,
and he and Ruth from time to time talk of
all that their papa said about it; and I
think that, silent as it is, it often speaks to
them of Eddy’s birth-day, and bids them
ask themselves whether the main-spring in
their hearts is love of self, or the love of
Jesus Christ their Saviour.

ee



Sg pete—
THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN.

“Sao warts















THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN.

“' Whosoever will, let him drink of the water of life freely.”

CHAPTER I.

ALONE IN THE WORLD.




T is a hot, burning, summer day—
hot even in the green country,
* where the busy sunbeams seem as if
they themselves must take shelter
aatiee the trees, for they do their best to
penetrate the leafy shade—hot even where,
on the coast, sea-breezes temper the scorch-
ing rays; but hotter still in the great city,
where fresh air seldom comes, where thickly
peopled courts and crowded alleys are so.



42 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

close together, that you feel astonished that
so many human beings can live in such
small space, and where, at every breath, you
inhale an atmosphere from which you gladly
retreat to a more inviting locality.

In the shadow of some tall, ruinous-look-
ing warehouses, a boy stood silently examin-
ing with curious eyes an object of recent
erection, and evidently quite new to him.
It was a drinking-fountain, which, since he
had last visited that spot, had been placed
there by a benevolent individual who knew
the blessing of fresh, pure water, and who
would gladly have made the poor inhabi-
tants of this thickly populated district feel
its superiority to the poisonous stimulants
which are sold in public-houses and gin-
palaces on every side.

If you had asked poor Maurice where he
lived, he would have replied, ‘“‘ Anywheres.”

If you had asked him how he lived, he
would have answered, ‘‘ Anyhow.”

But if you had asked him what friends



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 43

he had, he would have looked up won-
deringly in your face with the sad reply,
“ None.”

He was very ragged and otic and seemed
tired as he crouched into the little patch of
shade which we have mentioned. There
was a look in his face which told you that
his life was objectless—or at least, that it
had no aim beyond that of supporting life.
Friendless and alone, he was one of that
sad brotherhood who, homeless and uncared-
for, wander about our great cities, earning,
it may be, a penny now and then, but sub-
sisting more usually by begging, if not by
theft. He leaned wearily by the side of the
drinking-fountain, and wondered much as to
how it came there, and as to what he should
have to pay for a drink of the fresh water,
which would be so refreshing on that sultry
day. He would have put the cup to his
lips at once, only that he felt sure the owner
must be near, and would collar him if he
were found stealing the water ; and he knew



44 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

already, poor fellow, the results following
upon detection in dishonesty.

Just as he was musing upon the subject,
the door opened of a building near at hand,
of better appearance than those by which it
was surrounded, and a number of children
ran out into the street. Once without, they
advanced slowly, as it was too hot to run;
and several eagerly stationed themselves by
the fountain, and with much satisfaction
drank in turn of the pure cold water.

Maurice looked on with surprise, wonder-
ing how they had obtained leave to drink so
freely, and then answering the wonder to
himself, by supposing that the privilege had
been purchased for the school. None of the
children noticed him; and when he con-
trasted his rags with the neatness which, for
the most part, showed itself in their appear-
ance, he felt shy of accosting them. The
last visitor to the fountain was a little girl
of about ten years of age, small in stature,
and of gentle manners. She had to stand



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 45

on tip-toe to reach the water, and more than
once spilt it in the endeavour. Maurice
came shyly forward, and filling the cup, gave
it into her hand, wondering to himself that
her pleasant “Thank you!” should make him
feel so comfortable. When he peeped under
the white straw bonnet, and saw a pair of
kindly blue eyes, and a kindly little smile
lighting them up, he felt emboldened to ask
a question of their owner, only saying to
himself, “I wish her dress warn’t so on-
common neat—she’s a sight grander than
me.”

“What's to pay for a drink?” he in-
quired.

“A drink of water?” was the reply.
“Oh, nothing!— it’s free to everybody.
Good afternoon.”

With which words the little maiden ran
off to join her companions.

‘“¢Nothing to pay, and free for every-
body !’” exclaimed Maurice to himself.
“ Well, now, if that ain’t a good un!”



46 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

With which words he filled the cup and
raised it to his lips, looking round cautiously:
at first, lest any one should stop to interfere ;
but finding this needless, finishing up with
a long draught, which refreshed him in no
small degree.

“Nothing to pay!” he repeated. ‘“ Well,
now, I know I’d like to see the man who
set up that ’ere; I’d like to say Thank ’ee!
It seems so kind-like for a body to be able
to get a drink free and easy, and no one to
ask what un’s about.”

The next day found Maurice again near
the drinking-fountain. He had spent part
of the night on a door-step, and when the
policeman had made him “move on” from
thence, he finished it up under a railway
arch, The morning was marked by him as
a lucky one, for he was called to carry a
bundle by a passer-by, who had himself
undertaken more than he was able for, and
received threepence for the same act of
service. Moreover, his errand led him close



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 47

to the spot which he had visited the day
before, and he gladly drank once more of
the cool water, half feeling that the fountain
was a friend that knew him again.

“ T wish I could read,” said he to himself;
“Td like to know what the writing is over
the basin. Now, if that little lass were to
go by again, I’d ask her. She’s a scholar,
I guess, for she'd a book in her hand; and
she’d not be above telling me, for all she’s
so well dressed. I know that from the look
of her eyes.”

So Maurice, who had nothing better to
do, waited to see the school-door open, and
watched for the white straw bonnet with a
dark blue ribbon, matching a frock of dark
blue print, covered by a white pinafore. It
did not appear for some time after the
others, and when at last it caught his sight,
he saw that the owner thereof was in a
hurry, and that she was passing by without
seeing him.

“Ma’am, missus, ma’am, said poor Maurice,



48 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

who felt instinctively a desire to call up
a little good manners, and who seemed, ig-
norant as he was, to be fumbling for them
in some remote recess without being able
exactly to lay his hand on them.

“T’m not ma’am,” said the little maiden,
stopping short; “I’m Charity — Charity
March.”

Now poor Maurice’s experiences of charity
had been very small; but having often
heard the proverbial saying that ‘“ Charity
begins at home,” from the lips of those who
most sturdily refused to assist him, he had
settled it in his mind that another proverb,
“Cold as charity,” was very true indeed ;
which axiom he dismissed from his mind
from that moment when little Charity
March told him her name. ;

“Would you tell me the reading that’s
on there ?” said Maurice ; “ I thought you’d
maybe be scholar enough.”

“T can’t stay more than a minute,” an-
swered little Charity: “you see, I’m late



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 49

this afternoon, and father would never know
how to get his tea without me; but I can
just stop to tell you the words. Those over
the basin are,—‘ He that drinketh of this
water shall thirst again, but whosoever
drinketh of the water that I shall giwe him
shall never thirst;’ and then, ‘ Whosoever
will, let him take of the water of life freely ;’
and underneath, ‘Presented by Mr. John
Matthews, May 27, 1859.’ They’re beauti-
ful words, aren’t they? I mean those first ;
they're out of the Bible, you know.” And
then little Charity tripped away.

“Out of the Bible, you know!” Much
poor Maurice knew of the Bible; and much
he puzzled over the little maiden’s words.
Several things came into his mind respect-
ing her few remarks, and gave occupation
to his thoughts. ‘“ Father couldn’t ever get
his tea without me.” How nice that
sounded! How he wished that there was
somebody who would care for his coming

back—that there was any home, however
(406) 4



50 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

poor, where he might go. Little Charity
had a home—a home, and tea too. Maurice
had only once tasted tea in his life, and had
looked upon it as a luxury so entirely above
his reach, that he had given up all expectation
of ever tasting it again. Home! yes, that
was a word to which the friendless boy’s
thoughts returned over and over. Home,
and a father looking out for her! He had
never known a father, and he had been told
that his mother had died a widow before he
could remember. He had grown up hardly
knowing how, and with no one to care
whether he came or went, lived or died.
And he silently looked up the street at the
end of which little Charity had disappeared,
wondering to himself what it would feel like ~
to have a friend.

“ Tf I was to die now,” he said to himself,
“ T wonder what difference it would make to
anybody! I should like to think somebody’d
cry for me like the poor old woman who
followed her grandson’s coffin in the street



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 51

yesterday. This here dripping fountain
seems the friendliest-looking thing I have
seen for a long day. It makes a fellow feel
better to think that some one has cared to
give him water for nothing—everything has
to be paid for so in this here world. And
- those words she said sounded so friendly,

i

too. ‘I wonder what they meant,— Water
of life freely.’ It sounds very. pleasant in
words. And then, ‘ He that drinketh of the
water that I shall give him shall never
thirst, —I wonder who it is gives us that.
Perhaps it’s the Mr. John Matthews who
set up the fountain. He must be kind. I
wish I could see him, and look if his face
was good ; if it was, I’d be bold and ask him
to be my friend. Perhaps he’d find me
some work. I'd be strong enough to work,
with a little more food ; and then—and then—
why, I’d earn money reg’lar, and get friends ;
and then this kind fountain would have
been the beginning of it all.” And Maurice
looked brightly into the marble basin, and



52 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

at the little trickling stream of water, just
as if he would have said, ‘‘ We’ll be friends,
and understand each other.”

He loitered about the next day in hopes
of spying little Charity March, like a bright
star among the restless throng of ragged
poor which crowded together around him ;
but it was a Saturday, and there was always
a holiday on that day at the small school
for tradesmen’s daughters which she attended,
and so she did not appear. But it was still
a pleasure to see how many that drinking-
fountain befriended during the day—how
many hot, thirsty, poor people, left it re-
freshed and invigorated; while the words
which Charity had read to him became
quite imprinted on his memory from his
hearing them so often repeated aloud by
those who had partaken, and who almost
always turned away the better for the little
spark of kindliness which the freely-offered
token of good-will woke up in their hearts.

“T will find out Mr. John Matthews,”



ALONE IN THE WORLD. 53

said Maurice to himself, “and ask him to
be so kind as to give me this water of life if
he has it. It might make me strong and
well; for I am weak enough from star-
vation, and weary enough too. Maybe
he’d be looking after his fountain here. Il
look out for some one likely, and make bold
to speak to him.”

Maurice only made the attempt once on
that Saturday evening; for into that low
neighbourhood but few people found their
way who were at all like what he expected
Mr. John Matthews to be. It was to an
elderly gentleman that he spoke, who was
passing rapidly by, and whose dress looked
promising, Maurice thought.

“Tf you please, are you Mr. John
Matthews?” he asked timidly.

“IT make it a rule never to give to
beggars,” was the reply of the elderly gen-
tleman, who was very deaf, and who passed
on, leaving Maurice quite sure that he was
not the man he sought.



54 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

He did not try again that night, but
spent his last halfpenny in procuring some-
thing to eat; then he took a drink at the
friendly fountain, and after wandering out-
side the warehouses for a long time, found
an unbolted door, and creeping into an out-
of-the-way corner, discovered an unusually
comfortable bed on some old straw which
was spread on a piece of coarse sacking.









CHAPTER II.

A FRIEND IN NEED.




MUST try and earn something for
breakfast,” Maurice said to him-
self as he woke the next morning ;
“T haven’t nothing for breakfast,
and one can’t live altogether on water. I
don’t like to steal—I’d rather not beg, but
I can’t starve. I'll look out for Mr. Mat-
thews. I must get to know about ‘the
water of life freely.’”

Sunday morning had no voice to the
heart of the friendless boy ; indeed, Sun-
day made little difference to any one in
that neighbourhood, except, perhaps, that
the eating-shops were more visited, and that
the women flaunted gayer rags. Maurice,



56 A FRIEND IN NEED.

hungry and desponding, listened to the
church bells without an idea that they might
be sounding out an invitation to him. It
had never entered his head that churches
and chapels were for poor ragged boys. He
had a sort of notion that somebody stood at
their doors to prevent any one from enter-
ing unless he were well dressed, and he did
not in the least understand why people went
to them at all.

At about nine o’clock he spied the little
form of Charity March coming down the
street. She had on a clean frock and a
white tippet, and a bag of books was in her
hand. When she saw Maurice, she stopped
short, and felt for a time in her bag, as if in
search of something which she could not at
first find. Then, coming up half timidly,
she put a little parcel of bread and meat
into his hand. “I’m afraid youre very
poor,” she said in a low, child voice, “and
perhaps youre hungry. You won’t mind
my giving you this! You must take it from



A FRIEND IN NEED. 57

the same who says, ‘ He'll give the water of
life freely. And so saying, little Charity
went on her way; and Maurice, the poor

aoe

orphan boy, who was very weak and faint,
looked after her until the hot tears came
into his eyes as he repeated to himself the
gentle words of kindness, almost the first he
had ever heard, and put them by in a little
corner of his heart, where he might go and
look at them over and over again.

They puzzled him, however, not a little.
“From the same ‘who gives the water of
life freely,’ she said. Can that be Mr. John
Matthews? It seems very strange that he
should know of me. Perhaps little Charity
knows him, and has told him I’m so poor.
Perhaps he'll come and look after me him-
self, Anyhow, I'll stay hereabouts and see
if I can’t find him. When one has ‘Thank
you!’ on one’s mind, one don’t seem right
till it’s said.”

But no Mr. John Matthews appeared.
Maurice asked two or three people, but one



58 A FRIEND IN NEED.

laughed at him; the second, more kindly,
threw him a penny; and the last, a tall man
with a walking-stick, told him that if he
didn’t mind, he’d send a policeman after
him. So all his consolation was to watch
for little Charity, who, after an hour and a
half, passed by with about twenty more
children, walking two and two, with books
in their hands, and in neat attire. Where
they were going Maurice did not exactly
know, but he guessed that it was to church;
for in his wanderings amongst the streets of
the metropolis, he had often seen processions
of school-children entering churches on Sun-
day, and had wondered how and why they
went to church, and what good it did them.
Little Charity nodded as she passed, just as
much as to say, “ You know, we’re friends ;”
and then Maurice wandered idly about, after
following the school for some distance, and
seeing them enter a church about half a mile
off. He determined, with a new sense of
loneliness in his heart, to get a talk with her



A FRIEND IN NEED. 59

the next day, to ask her who it was that
gave the water of life freely, and to beg
her, if she could, to take him to that kind
person.

That evening, a grave middle-aged man
came to the drinking-fountain, and looked
at it attentively. He drank some of the
water, and then read the words that were
written over it, quite unconscious that,
amongst the throng who filled the street,
a ragged boy, with black, anxious eyes, was
watching him intently, and had caught the
half inaudible murmur of his voice as he
repeated the words, “Shall never thirst.”
Maurice felt sure that this was the person
whom he desired to see. In the first place,
he wore a black coat, and Maurice had
settled that Mr. Matthews was to be thus
attired. Then he looked at the fountain as
if he had a particular interest in it; and that
was all right. Again, he had a very kind
face, and a half grave, half pleasant smile—



60 A FRIEND IN NEED.

a face which wouldn’t let any one feel afraid ;
and that was right too. Maurice’s hopes
revived.

“Please, are you Mr. John Matthews ?”
he asked boldly and shyly at the same
time.

“No, my boy,” and poor Maurice looked
wofully sad; “why do you ask me?”

“ Because it’s wrote there that he gave
the fountain; and I thought, maybe he’d
give me that water of life it’s wrote about,
and that if he was kind he’d find me work,
and be a friend to me ;” and the boy’s lips
trembled visibly.

“Mr. John Matthews isn’t in England
now,” said the stranger ; “for I know about
him. He’s the owner of these warehouses.
He’s kind enough, but it’s not he that gives
the water of life, poor boy.”

“T don’t know what that means. I wish
I did,” continued Maurice sorrowfully ; “ but
it sounded good.”

“Tt is better, far better even than it



A FRIEND IN NEED. 61

sounds,” replied his new friend. “I know
who it is that can give it you, and will give
it for the asking. Would you like to know
Him too?”

“Tf I’m not too poor and ragged. I
don’t know nought about manners. Would
he—he that has the water of life—be my
friend 2”

“T can promise you that he will—that he
is already. Poor boy! you are very igno-
rant, but I will try to help you. That very
Friend sent me to you here.”

“Sent you tome! Well, I never did,”
answered Maurice, in unfeigned amazement,
and with a sudden remembrance darting
across his mind of the bread and meat that
morning. “Sent you here to me! Well,
that beats all!”

“Shall I tell you something else that he
says, before I go?” asked the stranger
kindly. ‘He says, ‘Come unto me, all ye
that labour and are heavy laden, and I will
give you, rest.’ ”



62 A FRIEND IN NEED.

“But how am I to come to him? I
should have lots to say to him and thank
him for. Can you bring me to him ?”

“T will try,” answered his new acquaint-
ance with a glistening eye; “ you must come
to my house to-morrow—stay—have you
anything to eat for to-night ?”

Maurice drew out the remainder of
Charity’s provision.

“T’ve got this,” he replied. “A little lass
that passes this way gave it me this morn-
ing, and said, ‘It came from him who gave
the water of life.’ I thought it must be
Mr. John Matthews. She’s an uncommon
kind little lass—it was her told me the
words on the fountain.”

His friend smiled. ‘“ You must go down
this street,” he said, ‘and turn to the right,
and then go straight on until you come to
a large warehouse, called the Old Well
Warehouse—any one will tell you the
name. There’s a high door that’s opened
every Monday morning at eight o’clock,



A FRIEND IN NEED. 63

and you'll find me in a little room with a
glass window just inside. Now good-night.”

They were lost to each other in the crowd
before either of them remembered that their
names were mutually unknown. But as
Maurice turned away, a bright ray of the
setting sun sparkled on the water of the
fountain and lit up the words above it; and
it was like the ray of hope which entered
the heart of the poor boy who had found a
friend.











CHAPTER III.

THE WATER OF LIFE.

x. way with slow steps. IPf you could
' have caught the words that every

now and then came in a low whisper
from his lips, you would have heard him
say, “ Who am. I that I should know thee,
O Lord, and taste of the water of life so
freely! Thanks be to God for his unspeak-
able gift. Oh that I may lead this poor
boy to the fountain of thy grace. Oh that
he, too, may hear thy invitation, ‘Let him
that is athirst come.’ ”



On arriving at the large warehouse which
he had described to Maurice, he opened with
a latch-key a small door by the side of the



THE WATER OF LIFE. 65

great unwieldy gate, and entered a little
quiet courtyard. “Quiet” at least on Sun-
day ; for during every other day in the week,
carts, packing-cases, and creels were strewn
about, and the sounds of hammering, lading,
directing, and driving were heard unceas-
ingly. There was a tree in the middle of
the court, which grew surprisingly, consider-
ing the adverse circumstances by which it
was surrounded. But what did it signify
that its foliage was brown and scanty, and
that its kindred in the country would prob-
ably refuse to own any relationship with it
—it was a real tree that grew for all that,
and had leaves; and sparrows sometimes
chirped among its thinly-covered boughs;
and in that part of London, the tree had its
admirers and its friends.

It was nearly dark when Maurice’s friend
crossed the court, and opening the door into
a small passage with a stair ascending from
it, turned into a room on the left ;—a pretty,

cosy little room, in which a small lamp was
(406) 5



66 THE WATER OF LIFE.

lighted, and on the table of which a neat
supper-tray was spread. By the table sat a
little girl with a book in her hand—a child
with dark blue eyes, and brown hair folded
back from a white forehead, and dressed in
a clean print frock, covered with a snowy
pinafore. Have you seen her before, kind
reader, and do you recognize little Charity
in her own home ?

She jumped up as her father opened the
door. “I thought you were never coming,
father,” she exclaimed. “Was the service
so very long?”

“ Not longer than usual,” replied he, sit-
ting down and taking her on his knee;
“but I stopped on my way. I have been
making acquaintance with a friend of yours,
Charity.”

“Of mine, father! One of our teachers,
perhaps.”

“No; a poor boy whom you told me of
a few days ago—the same who asked you
to read the words over the drinking-foun-



THE WATER OF LIFE. 67

tain.” And then Mr. March told little
Charity all the story that we have told you ;
and whether it was that the lamp burned
very brightly, or that there was something
infectious in the look that he threw upon
her—so it happened that something very
glittering appeared on Charity’s cheek when
he had ended.

“And may I talk to him sometimes, and
teach him in the Bible, father?” she in-
quired.

“Yes, my child; you shall try to show him
the true Fountain, from which whosoever
drinks may be satisfied. We will have that
for our talk after supper; and whilst we are
eating it you shall tell me how you came to
know about this poor boy.” So then came
a most pleasant time for Charity, who, like
a wise little housekeeper as she was, pro-
vided her father with all he needed, and
then told him how the sad, friendless face of
poor Maurice had touched her heart; and of
how she had put by a little provision for



68 THE WATER OF LIFE.

him, saved from her own dinner and supper,
and had not liked to say anything about it,
because we are not to let our left hand know
what our right hand doeth ; and of how she
had prayed in her prayers that she might
know for herself what it was to drink of the
water of life freely. And then, when the
supper was ended, Charity put away the
things quite handily, and trimmed the lamp,
and brought down her father’s large Bible
and her own small one, which were so ac-
customed to descend from the shelf every
evening, that Charity declared they would
do so of their own accord if she forgot them;
and then, when everything was settled, she
sat down on a little stool close by Mr. March,
with the question, “ Now, father, let me hear
all about the water of life.”

“What does water do for us, Charity ?”
asked her father.

“Cleanses us, father, and refreshes us, and
quenches our thirst.”

“Quite right. We know how pleasant a



THE WATER OF LIFE. 69

glass of cold water is even here when we are
thirsty; and in a hot country, like the coun-
tries which the Bible speaks of, it is even
more needful. Now, can you remember
any stories in the Bible or any texts about
water ?”

“Yes, father. In Exodus there’s the
story of Moses smiting the rock, when God
told him, and of the water coming out for
the thirsty people. Then there’s the story
of Jesus talking to the woman of Samaria,
and the text that’s over the drinking-foun-
tain has the words which he said to her.
And there’s about his standing in the
temple and saying, ‘If any man thirst, let
him come unto me and drink.’ ”

‘And now for some texts, Charity.”

“Oh, such a number, father! I’ve been
finding them out this evening. There’s that
beautiful one in Ezek. xxxvi., ‘ Then will I
sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall
be cleans... and Iwill put my Spirit within
you. And there’s Mr. Norton’s text last



70 THE WATER OF LIFE.

Sunday : ‘ Ho, every one that thirsteth, come
ye to the waters’ (Isa. lv. 1). And another
we had in our class: ‘ When the poor and
needy seek water, and there is none, and their
tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear
them, I the God of Jacob will not forsake
them. I will open rivers in high places, and
fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will
make the wilderness a pool of water, and the
dry land springs of water’ (Isa. xli. 17, 18).
And now one more, father,—the one I like
best of all: ‘I will give unto him that 1s
athirst of the fountain of the water of life
freely’ (Rev. xxi. 6).

“Somebody has a good memory,” said Mr.
March, kindly stroking the brown hair away
from little Charity’s brow ; “now let us see
what water typifies or prefigures in the Bible.
Look at John vii. 37-39. Jesus, on the last
day of the Feast of Tabernacles, had seen the
Jews bringing water from the Pool of Siloam,
some of which they drank, and some of which
they poured on the altar at the time of even-



THE WATER OF LIFE, F 7

ing sacrifice, while they joyfully sang the
beautiful words, ‘With joy shall ye draw
water outof the wells of salvation’ (Isa. xii. 3).
This custom they observed as a remembrance
of their fathers having been miraculously
supplied with water in the wilderness. Now,
when Jesus saw this, he cried, saying, ‘ If
any man thirst, let him come unto me and
drink ;? and went on to promise living water,
to which promise the explanation is added :
‘But this spake he of the Spirit, which they
that believe on him should receive.” All
through the Bible, when water is spoken of
as a type, it prefigures the Spirit of God,
which is freely given to all who ask.”

“ How did it typify the Holy Spirit, father,
when Moses struck the rock in the wilder-
ness ?”

“Tf you look at 1 Cor. x. 4, my child, you
will find that we are told, ‘ That Rock was
Christ.’ When was Jesus smitten for our
transgressions, and wounded for our iniqui-
ties, Charity ?”



72 THE WATER OF LIFE.

“When he died in our stead on Calvary,
father.”

“ And when the soldiers pierced his sacred
side, what flowed forth in a mingled stream?”

“Water and blood.”

“ Yes, dear child, then the double fountain
was opened for sin and for uncleanness—the
blood of Jesus Christ to cleanse us from all
sin—the water typical of that Holy Spirit
which Christ’s death purchased for us,—
whose office it is to quicken, and sanctify,
and cleanse our inmost hearts. And that
fountain is flowing still for all who will wash
and be clean, just as the stream from the
rock followed the Israelites through the
desert. When Moses struck the rock with
the rod of God, he showed forth in a figure
how, nearly fifteen hundred years afterwards,
the rod of God’s wrath would strike the Lord
Jesus for our sakes; and how, when he was
thus glorified, the Holy Spirit would be
purchased for us. Can you remember any
hymn about that, Charity?”



THE WATER OF LIFE. 73

No, Charity could not at first; but when
2 3
her father began—“ Rock of Ages,” she
quickly took up the words, continuing,—
eae “cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee ;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power !”

“And so, my child,” continued Mr. March,
“to every one who lays his sins upon Jesus
this precious gift is given. How graciously
he promised it to the poor woman of Samaria!
—how graciously he still promises it to all !
Do you remember that beautiful verse : ‘//
ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts
unto your children, how much more shall your
heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them
that ask him.”

“That’s just like the other words, ‘ Whoso-
ever will, let him take of the water of life
freely. Father, since I’ve come to know
Jesus more, I’ve been very thirsty, often,”
said little Charity.



74 THE WATER OF LIFE.

Her father put his arm round her very
tenderly, with the words, “Let him that ts
athirst come.”

And then they both knelt down, and Mr.
March prayed that, as Jesus had in his death
opened the fountain, and had ascended into
heaven to send down the gift of his Holy
Spirit, so he would give them to drink—to
drink here of the brook by the way, until he
should lead them to the living fountains of
water above. And they prayed that the
poor friendless boy, who knew as yet nothing
of Jesus, might drink of the water of life
too, and that they might all be daily renewed
by the indwelling of the blessed Comforter.
And when little Charity rose from her knees,
she whispered to her father, “ Father, I feel
as if we had been drinking just a little at
the true fountain even now.”

But our story has been long enough. It
would take many more pages to tell of how
poor Maurice came the next morning and



THE WATER OF LIFE. 75

found to his surprise that both his friends
were there to welcome him, and that Mr.
March was Mr. John Matthews’ head-clerk,
and would give him work as errand-boy if he
proved trustworthy ; or of how, on many a
Sunday evening, he and Charity would sit
under the shadow of the shabby tree in the
court, which they both liked, although it
didn’t give much of a shadow after all, and
how then she would tell him the story of
the fountain opened on Calvary, and that, if
only he would believe, he might drink freely ;
or of how Maurice is learning to read, and
goes Sunday by Sunday to the house of God,
neatly dressed, and with thankful heart,—
all this, I say, would take too long to write.

One thing more I must tell my reader,—
that whenever either he or Charity passes
by a certain drinking-fountain, in a crowded
thoroughfare, whether thirsty or not, they
always stop to drink ; and they look upon it
as an old friend whose voice reminds them of
a loving invitation given by the Lord Jesus



76 THE WATER OF LIFE.

more than eighteen hundred years ago, but
which is repeated still, “If any man thirst,
let him come unto me and drink;” and,
“ Whosoever will, let him take of the water

of life freely.”




uy
aN Le”



—~Sa ders —
BANK-NOTES.

ts g@rete-



























BANK-NOTES.

“My God shall supply all your need according to his riches
in glory by Christ Jesus.”

CHAPTER I.

HARD TIMES.



JHE month of February had nearly
s, reached its close, and primroses and
early violets were up, peeping, in
the country. And in small town-
gardens, pale snowdrops, more delicate and
fragile than the wild-flowers, were lifting
their heads too, as if to see what the world
looked like after the winter, and then droop-
ing them permanently, as though they felt
shy and timid at finding themselves all alone



80 HARD TIMES.

above ground, and exposed, without any pro-
tection, to the notice of the many who stopped
to gaze at the first flowers of the spring;
though, indeed, if they had not been too
shamefaced to observe how kindly were the
glances which bade them welcome from
every passer-by, they would have felt re-
warded for the effort they had made to ap-
pear as early as possible, and in despite of
chilling salutations from the cold winds, and
of possible freezing demonstrations on the
part of snow, sleet, and hail—brethren of
the cold-weather family, whose unfriendly
reception is often more than sufficient to
_ counterbalance the effects even of a cheery
smile from the great sun himself. The little
snowdrops might have known that all
welcomed them, as they came to proclaim
the good-will of mother Earth, and appeared
as pledges of her intention to continue
through the new year her usual annual
bounties, of which these were the earnest
and the delicate reminders.



HARD TIMES. 81

But in the heart of the great metropolis,
where lived Kate and Archie Neville, there
were no snowdrops to tell them that winter
could not always last. From a dark and
gloomy house, opening into a dark and
gloomy street, the only visible intimations
of the existence of a vegetable kingdom
were the grassy weeds which forced their
way between the flags of a dull court-yard
on the other side of the way, and something
growing in a flower-pot belonging to an in-
habitant of this same court, which never de-
veloped into anything particular, but which
made a feeble attempt at leaves when June
came—and though generally unsuccessful, in
that close, loaded atmosphere, maintained a
sort of neutral existence, or rather didn’t die
altogether.

It was, as we have said, a cold, damp even-
ing, at the end of February, and Mrs. Neville
had made up the fire in the small grate con-
taining a bare handful of coals, and had told

Kate to make the room more orderly than
(406) 6



82 HARD TIMES.

it had been left at the conclusion of a game
of romps between Archie and baby Rose,
who was not four years old.

“ Your father will be in soon, Katie,” con-
tinued her mother ; “he likes to see the place
as nice as we can make it.”

Whereupon Katie surveyed the task before
her, and entered upon it with a wee, wee
sigh ; which, translated into words, would
have said, “ I wish the room were not quite
so easy to set to rights; there were more
things to tidy away in our old home.”

However, a poor room neat and orderly
looks much brighter than a poor room in
disorder, and Katie felt this too. So first
she gathered up Rose’s playthings, such as
they were, and put them into the old basket
set aside for their reception in the corner of
the cupboard. Then the table was cleared
of little ends of stuff and cotton which re-
mained from her mother’s work, and was
made to look as respectable as it could.
This table was a source of perplexity to the



HARD TIMES. 83

Neville family, and Archie said that it had
never been new! Its surface was slightly
uneven ; it had rheumatism in one of its legs,
and another had suffered from a compound
fracture, so that it required much manage-
ment and humouring to enable it to stand
straight. Katie, however, maintained that
she understood the table, having carefully
studied its peculiarities ; and she certainly
contrived, by means of a wedge here, and an
extra support there, to enable it, better than
could any other member of the family, to do
its duty. There remained four comfortless-
looking chairs to be made the most of in the
arrangement of the room, and these Katie
disposed of to the best advantage, proceed-
ing then to pay attention to the few articles
ranged upon a clumsy mantel-shelf, and
upon the old family trunk which filled a
corner of the apartment, and which was
used as a dresser by Mrs. Neville in her
domestic operations.

You could not have been for five minutes



84 HARD TIMES.

in that room without becoming aware that
the Neville family had once been in better
circumstances, and that they had not always
inhabited this dark, gloomy abode. You
would have known it from observing the
children’s appearance and manners, perhaps
from hearing little Rose propose to Archie
that they should play at being at home
again, and wish that she had as many toys
here. And you would have noticed it, too,
in the speech and dress of their mother,
who, plain and homely as was her own attire
and that of the children, contrived that it
should look neat and well even in this dark
room, which required bright faces within
to lighten it, as few sunbeams seemed to
think it worth while to take the trouble of
calling there. There were some neatly-
bound books, too, and children’s lesson-
books, which Katie ranged in order on the
trunk, and a writing-desk and small ink-
stand—which all looked as if they were un-
accustomed to such quarters ; and a clock on



HARD TIMES. 85

the mantel-piece ticked out a reminder to the
little maiden that her father might be soon
expected.

Your conjectures would have been true,
good reader. A few years before the com-
mencement of our story, the Neville family
had their abode in a pleasant little house,
near a park so bright and green that the two
children had thought it must be almost as
good as the country, of which they had heard
so much. Their father had held the situa-
tion of head clerk in a large mercantile house
in the city, and was laying by yearly a suf-
ficient portion of his salary to enable him to
look forward to giving his children a good
education, besides setting something in store
against a rainy day. These hopes, however,
had been thrown to the ground by the
failure of the bank in which all his savings
had been deposited ; whereupon he and his
wife had been obliged to leave their first
home, and, dismissing their one servant, to
retreat to a smaller abode in a less desirable



86 HARD TIMES.

neighbourhood. Here little Rose had been
born, and as her father still retained his
situation, her parents hoped that by-and-by
they might once more look forward to
brighter days. Meantime Archie and Katie
were being instructed by their mother, and
by their father himself when he returned
from his long day in the counting-house,
whilst they early learned to make them-
selves useful within-doors.

But greater trials had come about a month
before the opening of our story. The large
commercial house in which Mr. Neville held
his clerkship unexpectedly failed, through
the dishonesty of one of the partners, and its
servants were dismissed, many of them with-
out their full payment, and all without an
hour’s warning, to find themselves thrown
upon the world without any certainty or
prospect of finding employment. It was a
great blow to the Nevilles, who had few
friends, and none able to help them. Even
their present humble dwelling was beyond



HARD TIMES. 87

their means, since, though modest, it was
comfortable and cheerful in its arrange-
ments and situation, and had, moreover, a
few square yards of ground at the back,
which afforded endless interest to the chil-
dren, who delighted in what they called
their “ gardens,” although, from some peculi-
arity in the soil, we should state that nothing
planted in them was ever known to grow to
maturity. This abode, where had been spent
many happy days, it became necessary to
leave ; and the offer for a few months, rent
free, of two or three dingy rooms in the city,
formerly occupied by one of the now dis-
carded warehousemen, which was made to
Mr. Neville from the directors of the lately
flourishing concern in which he had been em-
ployed, was at once accepted; and thither
one dreary day at Christmas-time he re-
moved his wife and family.

They felt the change in no small degree ;
they missed favourite possessions, which had
of necessity been sold with the greater part



88 HARD TIMES.

of their moderate supply of furniture, in order
to their being enabled to leave their former
home without a debt; and the parents saw
with bitter anxiety, that while their small
fund of ready money rapidly diminished,
though eked out with the most rigid
economy, their children’s stock of health
and spirits was diminishing too. The con-
finement in the close, unhealthy atmosphere,
was visibly affecting them ; and as he ob-
served this, increasingly urgent became their
father’s search after fresh employment, in
quest of which he daily sallied forth, to re-
turn, however, depressed, weary, and disap-
pointed. If it had not been that the little
family circle was rich in the treasures of
home love and union, there would have been
yet more to suffer. But as it was, the trial
seemed to bring the husband and wise yet
nearer to each other ; and Katie and Archie
sought bravely, children though they were,
to prevent their parents from thinking how
much they missed the interests and amuse-



HARD TIMES. 89

ments of their former home, exercising their
inventions most successfully in devising new
plays for little Rose, in order to prevent her
from feeling the change as much as they did.

And while we have been telling you all
this, Katie has finished her task of setting
the room in order, and is proceeding to lay
the cloth for supper in readiness for her
father’s return, doing all in her power to
avoid disturbing her mother, whose fingers,
often stiff and weary, still pursue their busy
employment of needlework, by which she
earns a small sum to meet the present need.

Laying the cloth seemed a dreary sort of
ceremony to Katie, who knew exactly the
state of things within the cupboard. The
four tea-cups, and Rose’s gilt mug, with “A
present for a good girl” inscribed upon it,
looked very well, and the plates were ranged
very neatly, but—and the but was one from
which there was no escape—tea-cups and
plates alone make out but scant fare, and
Mrs. Neville’s negative reply to the inquiry,



90 HARD TIMES.

“Ts there nothing but bread for father’s
supper, mother?” was not cheering, when
Katie remembered that he had eaten nothing
but bread and the last little portion of cheese
for dinner. She took the remains of the loaf
from the shelf, and placed it on the table.
It had never been an attractive loaf, like the
home-baked ones of their former abode, and
now it looked less inviting than ever.

‘“T wish I had a penny,” she whispered to
Archie, “to get a little bit of butter, or a
piece of bacon for father and mother. It
doesn’t seem to matter so much for us as for
them—the having nothing but dry bread.”

“ There’s tea left,” replied Archie, “and
mother bought a penn’orth of milk from the
man ; but still—it comes to dry bread still.”

“Tt would look something more to make
some toast,” suggested Katie, suddenly ;
‘“T’ll make some before father comes in.”

Whereupon, cutting the loaf so carefully
as not to waste a crumb, she proceeded to
make some slices of toast, which were hardly



HARD TIMES. 91

ready when Mr. Neville’s step was heard at
the door.

“Well, William?” said his wife, looking
up wearily with a glance which said, “ What
success ?”

“Nothing better,” he replied, wiping the
rain-drops off his coat, and throwing himself
on a chair. “I’ve been out miles to the
West End, thinking to get a situation I'd
heard of. The gentleman saw me himself,
for a wonder, and listened; and then, when
he found I’d belonged to the Macleane firm,
told me the place was filled up. It’s that
name that sticks in my way so.”

“Didn’t they offer you something to eat ?”
asked his wife, with a glance from her tired
husband to the loaf on the table.

“No; there at the West End they’re too
grand to have heard of any one coming
hungry to look after a place; but there—it’s
no use complaining; one sometimes feels too
weary to look up, as we should, though it
seems so dark now.” And he took little



92 HARD TIMES.

Rose on his knee, thankful that one of their
party was too young to understand all he
had said. Rose nestled snugly into his arms.
“We've been p’aying cool,” she said.

“Playing school, Rosie; and who taught
you 2”

“Kate and Artie ; me learn hymn to say
’ou, father.”

“Well, let me hear; Katie and Archie
know a great many.”

“'Tan’t remember all,” said Rote, sitting
up gravely, and then trying to recall dimly
the manner in which Archie had insisted on
her pronouncing every word ; “the end is—

‘We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.’”

“That'll do by itself, little one,” said her
father, while his sad face somewhat. bright-
ened ; “ father wants to learn it too,—

‘We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.’

Sarah, don’t be down; let’s cheer up with
) 2
Rose’s words. Come, it’s tea-time.”



HARD TIMES. 93

So they sat down somewhat silently to
the tea-table, and yet the better for the
thought of trusting the future to higher
hands. Mrs. Neville broke the silence.

“What's to be done for to-morrow,
William? All my money’s gone.”

“T might earn something by carrying,” he
replied, “but that wouldn’t come in till night.
What’s in the house, Sarah ?”

“That,” she replied, pointing to the por-
tion of crust which remained on the table.

They glanced at the children, and then to-
wards the clock. ‘It would only fetch a
trifle,” she continued, answering his thoughts ;
“it’s so old-fashioned, and not good of its
kind.”

“'There’s my desk,” her husband rejoined;
“but that would bring next to nothing.”
The cloud was coming back to his brow.
His wife looked for a moment at the ring
on her left hand, but turned away, as if to
give it up would be too hard.

“Tf only we had friends!” she said sadly;



94 HARD TIMES.

“it seems strange we should both of us have
been orphans, alone in the world, before we
married, William. Isn’t there any one we
could go to? Those directors should do
something.”

He shook his head. ‘They’re worse off
themselves,” he replied; “we have no debts.
I suppose by this time they’re out of England
for the most part. Here Katie, child, you
may put away the things.”

Kate obeyed silently and sadly. She had
understood what her parents had said, and
vainly pondered as to what she might do to
help them. As she put up the cups and
saucers, her little Bible received an accidental
push and fell from the shelf. Her father
stooped to pick it up, but it had fallen open,
and his eye caught the words on the page
exposed to view. He leaned towards his
wife and pointed them out to her,—< My
God shall supply all your need.” ‘“That’s
our bank-note, Sarah; and the bank’s a safe
one—‘ according to His riches in glory by



HARD TIMES. 95

Christ Jesus.’ Let’s agree, dear wife, to
‘trust Him for all that’s to come.’”

He had become cheerful again, but she
shook her head and covered her face with
her hands. Poor mother! She had worked
day and night unwearyingly in that dull
room, and when she looked at the children,
she felt her strength and faith giving way.







CHAPTER II.

THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

ehiZATE and Archie had been trying
ine to amuse little Rose at the other
fs end of the room with what they
could find in the old black trunk
above mentioned, in which sundry
stray articles were contained that had been
gathered out from depositories in their former
home, and had not been worth selling. Sud-
denly Archie exclaimed that he could hear
the postman’s knock in the distance. It was
to him the little interest of the evening to
watch him go by in his red coat, and to
wonder at the speed and regularity with
which he delivered his letters ; and so the
boy ran to the outer door, in spite of rain







p ‘\

a


Tk ad nl Nt a li ni ll, lin ali ie A a ate i ae ale ig ot Tite hile setae cl aT a tial ae



il la ir yh ek re a



ce
BS


*

aby gapne2s eet Sof aa)
i. Daptist Congregational &
03 : 0
4 SUNDAY SCHOOL, ats
. . ay HCARGATE. ‘

<=








Z ie Ap
: SIS Is
adhe SE 6 Is.
| &> Pp (ye
xb 5 (
oa AWARDED TO

bs





The Baldwin Library

preaay
RmB Florida





—S2wsegPerce—

THE TWO WATCHES,

AND
@Orher GHtories.

—“n rete


THE TWO WATCHES COMPARED

page 32
THE TWO WATCHES ©

ye OTHER STOR,

F
asTHOR a COPSiey |
AX%, yet os CLOT z) Vv,
Ce aaa geal Ls
# Fe.





THE BANK NOTE
page 102

a. NELSON AND SONS,

LONDON, EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK








tiie TWO WATCH iis,

AND

@ther Stories. |

BY THE AUTHOR OF

“COPSLEY ANNALS,” ““FATHER’S COMING HOME,”
ce Catcecs



LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK.

1874.

== ee





GJ ontents.

— +
THE TWO WATCHES :—-
I. A Serious Subject, Bee ee ese st 9
II. The Lesson a Watch Teaches, bee en Ee 24

THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN :—

I. Alone in the World, li eee ear ee 41
It. A Friend in Need, as ase Ree es 55
III. The Water of Life, as oes nor eee 64

BANK-NOTES :—
I. Hard Times, oe es ae oO oe 79

vee are 96
IIf. A Royal Promise, ... eee) nee eats . 106

II. The Old Pocket-book,

Saree

fHk: [Two WATCHES.

wok were—









THE TWO WATCHES.



“Tf ye love me, keep my commandments.”



CHAPTER I.
A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

MPDY GRANT sat quietly and
(22° thoughtfully upon his rocking-horse.




<1 He had been riding in a very
spirited manner after first mount-
ing; but a serious subject was
occupying ie thoughts, and in proportion
as his mind busied itself with increasing
intentness upon this subject, so his horse
went slower and slower, until at last it
stopped altogether, and its rider remained
perfectly still, with his whip in his hand.
10 A SERIOUS SUBJECT,

Now, as Eddy was not in the habit of
sitting still to think, but was far more
accustomed to run about and play untiringly
the moment that lessons were over, and
that he and his sister Ruth were set free, it
might have puzzled any one entering the
play-room at that moment to guess the
reason of his thoughtfulness. But we shall
soon find out; for Ruth, who, being a
year older than her brother, is kept in
the school-room a little longer to have
a lesson in needle-work, will join him pres-
ently; and while he waits for her, we
will tell our readers in a few words some-
thing about Eddy Grant’s parents and
home.

_A pretty country-house standing in a
pleasant garden and surrounded by beautiful
trees was his home, and a very happy one
it was. Mr. and Mrs. Grant left nothing
undone which could tend to the real advan-
tage of their children; and though their
little boy did not always show his love to
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 11

them by trying to conquer many faults
which they regarded with anxiety, he yet
loved them very, very dearly. Next to
their parents, Ruth and Eddy loved their
sister Mary better than any one in the
world. She was much older than either of
them, for Ruth was only nine, and Mary
was eighteen ; but she was not a bit too old
for a good game of play, nor for hide-and-
seek in the garden, nor for many an amuse-
ment which she made her little brother
and sister think she enjoyed as much as
themselves. - Then Mary was her parents’
right hand, assisting her mother in home
duties, and her father by writing for him
and reading to him; and in the village
school and among the cottages, no teacher
was so welcome, no visitor so warmly
ereeted. Often she took Ruth and Eddy
with ‘her in these visits of usefulness, and as
they walked home, even the latter—whose
usual mode of returning was to climb the
banks and explore every little path which
12 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

led off from the road—even Eddy was con-
tent to walk by her side, and listen while
she told him about the children in the
different homes, and made him take an
interest in providing amusements for them
and in her plans for their improvement ;
so that after one of these walks he imparted
his private opinion to Ruth, that of all
elder sisters in existence, no one was so nice
as Mary. He did not fully understand
what it was that rendered her so beloved
and useful, for Eddy had not felt for him-
self the love of Jesus which had found its
way to his sister’s heart, early renewed by
divine grace; but if he had been able to
trace the struggles against temptation, and
the desires after holiness, which passed
within, he would have learned that a life
like Mary’s was one of difficulties indeed,
but mixed with deep and tranquil peace,
such as the world cannot give.

It was on her eighteenth birth-day that
we have introduced Eddy to our reader ;
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 13

and while we have been describing her
home, her parents, and her sister, Ruth has
finished her work, and being finally dis-
missed from the school-room, has run down-
stairs with the exclamation,—

“Now, Eddy, for our half - holiday !
Mary says she'll come to us for all the
afternoon, and tell us stories, and play in
the garden; and mamma says we're all to
have tea on the lawn!”

“Ruth,” replied her brother soberly,
“how old must I be to be grown-up ?”

It seemed rather an out-of-the-way ques-
tion following upon his sister’s entrance, but
Ruth saw nothing remarkable in it. “I
don’t know exactly,” she replied. “I think
people are grown-up at twenty.”

“Twenty!” answered Eddy; “long before
that! Why, Mary’s grown-up, and she’s
only eighteen; and Harry More’s only
sixteen, and he’s as tall as papa.”

Ruth looked puzzled. ‘ Very well,
Eddy,” she replied; “let us settle that
14 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

sixteen is grown-up—but we're both a long
way off from that.”

“A long, long way!” sighed Eddy.—
“Ruth, what did you think when papa
gave Mary that watch this morning? I
know what I thought—that I’d rather have
one of my own than anything else in the
world.”

“Tt would be very nice,” replied his
sister ; “but did you hear what papa said
when he put it on for her? It was that he
had not intended to give it until she was
twenty-one, but that she had already learned
the lesson which a watch teaches, and that
it was to show how he and mamma felt her
such a comfort to them.”

“‘T wonder what papa meant!” said Eddy;
“TIT suppose he meant how quickly time
goes. But J think it goes very slow; it
seems a long time before I shall be a man
and have a watch of my own. Ruth, if I
were to walk on tip-toe always, and to
stretch myself up very tall, perhaps I
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 15

should grow up quicker. Or—lI’ve thought
of something else—don’t laugh, Ruth, it’s a
plan, JI heard the gardener say that this
was such fine growing weather, and that
the plants in the green-house had shot up
prodigious—that was what he said exactly ;
and when papa looked at Mary to-day, he
said she had grown so fast—as fast as a
green-house plant. Now, Ruth, suppose I
were to sit in the green-house a great deal,
and take my books and spend all my play-
time there, don’t you think I might shoot
up prodigious too ?”

Ruth looked doubtful. “I don’t think—
I’m afraid it wouldn’t do, Eddy,” she re-
plied; “things that make flowers grow
don’t do for us. You see, rain makes them
grow ever so fast; but if we were to stand
out in the rain, we shouldn’t get any taller.”

“What’s this about standing out in the
rain, Miss Ruth?” said a voice close to her,
while she suddenly felt her father’s arm
round her waist, and found herself lifted on
16 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

his knee. Eddy looked rather shy, for
they had been talking so busily that they
had not heard Mr. Grant enter; but Ruth
replied, quite simply,—

“Eddy was planning how to make him-
self grow up to be a man very quick, papa,
so that he might have a watch.”

“ Indeed,” answered Mr. Grant, with a
very merry look at Eddy, who still sat upon
his rocking-horse ; “and so, Master Eddy,
youre going to stand out in the rain, are
you, that you may grow faster, and that
you may havea watch! Is it Mary’s watch
that has set you upon this ?”

Mr. Grant’s children were not in the least
afraid of him, for he was so kind that almost
all their projects were confided to his ears ;
and, in fact, Eddy and Ruth had not even
kept back their most secret plan of digging
through the earth in their gardens in hopes
of finding a gold-mine underneath. So that
it was without any reserve that Eddy re-
plied to his question,—

(406)
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 17

“Oh yes, papa; I’d give anything to have
a watch of my own. Mary’s looks so bright
and pretty, and ticks so beautifully, and it
has a key to wind it up.”

“Did you hear what I said to Mary when
I gave it her this morning?” asked Mr.
Grant.

“Yes, papa—that she had learned the
lesson that a watch teaches.”

“Well, Eddy, you are to be eight years
old next week—let me see, what day is it
to be?”

“ Friday.”

“ Well, on Friday evening I will tell you
what I meant when I said this to Mary; and
meantime, my boy, don’t be wanting to be
a man before you know half the pleasures of
being a boy. And besides,” continued Mr.
Grant more seriously, “when we remember,
dear children, how short at the longest is
the time given us here for preparation for
eternity, we could not wish to lose a moment

ef it. That is one lesson that Mary’s watch
(406) 2
18 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

teaches us. That tick, tick, tick, tick, seems
to say, ‘Time is flying, time is flying—
watch, watch, watch; another minute is gone
which can never come back.’ God grant,”
he added in a low voice, “that my little ones
may so ‘number their days that they may
apply their hearts unto wisdom !’ ”

Mary’s birth-day was a pleasant day to the
children, and the tea on the lawn was en-
joyed by all. They made a wreath for the
birth-day cake which was much admired ;
and when it was no longer needed for the
cake, Mary let them put it on her head ;
which little coronation was performed with
a great deal of ceremony by Eddy and Ruth.
Then, after tea, there was avgrand game of
hide-and-seek, the finishing stroke to which
was the discovery of Eddy perched up in the
boughs of a tree, like King Charles in the
oak, when everybody had been looking for
him underneath the bushes. When they
were tired of playing, Mr. Grant told them
a long story of his travels in Italy ; and the
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 19

evening was concluded with some sweet
hymns led by Mary’s voice, and in -which
her little brother and sister had already
learned to take part ; after which they went
to bed wishing the evening was not ended,
and already looking forward to the next
Friday, when Mr. Grant’s promise was to
be fulfilled.

The following day was Sunday, and
whether it was that Eddy’s thoughts were
full of the pleasures of the night before, or
whether it was that a sudden fit of indolence
had taken possession of him, we can hardly
determine, but so it happened that he con-
trived two or three times to give his parents.
cause for reproving him.

‘How is it your texts are so carelessly
learned, Eddy ?” inquired his mother, who
had been patiently waiting for him to stumble
through them. ‘“ You had plenty of time
after breakfast, but you hardly know one.”

“They’re very hard, mamma. I can’t say
them rightly.

oP)
20 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

Mrs. Grant took up the Testament.
“Very hard, Eddy ! why, they are not half
~ so long as last Sunday’s, and you learned
those quite easily ; and Ruth has said hers
without any trouble.’

‘Ruth learned hers before breakfast.”

“And why could not you have learned
them then? You had plenty of time.”

“ T was looking at my flowers. I don’t

?

like learning these verses, mamma ; I wish
I might learn my hymn instead.”

Mr. Grant had been standing near the
window while Eddy was talking, and now,
taking no notice of the boy, he looked in to
say that the church-bells were ringing, and
then walked away.

Eddy’s mother looked vexed. So did
Ruth. This particular hour before church,
and after Mary had gone to the Sunday
school, was always devoted by Mrs. Grant
to hearing the children say two or three
texts chosen the previous Sunday, and then
explained to them with many an interesting


A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 21

anecdote, and with illustrations from their
own conduct during the week. It was gener-
ally a most favourite hour, and now Eddy
had given so much trouble, and had been so
inattentive, that he had quite spoiled it.
Ruth might have felt vexed with him, but
she was a gentle little girl, and only alluded
to it by saying to her brother, as they walked
to church behind their parents, “I hope,
Eddy, you'll get your verses perfect after
dinner ; it vexes mamma so when we’re care-
less.”

“T can’t help it,” he replied roughly ; “it’s
all very well for girls to talk and be good ;
I learned my verses quite well enough.”

During church-time, before which Mary
joined them, Eddy’s thoughts seemed never
to be fixed for a moment. Not that he ap-
peared naughty outwardly, for his parents’
eyes were on him ; but he seemed to think
that the prayers were for grown-up people
only, and not for him ; his voice was silent
during the responses and singing, and on
22 A SERIOUS SUBJECT.

coming home he was unable to answer a
single question about the sermon, although
it was so easy that every child could have
understood it. Eddy’s self was at church,
but his heart was not there.

After the early dinner, Mr. Grant called
Eddy to his study, and told him that he
should expect to hear him say the im-
perfectly learned verses before evening; and
advised him to take his Testament to a quiet
seat in the garden, where he would learn
undisturbedly.

If he had chosen he might have brought
them back perfectly learned in half an hour ;
but when, before going out to evening-service,
his father called for them, the verses were
still carelessly repeated, and it was quite
evident that Eddy had not tried to learn
them. Nothing more, however, was said
upon the subject; but Eddy went discon-
tentedly to bed that evening, vexed because
Ruth had been able to answer about the
sermon, and to say her verses so much better
A SERIOUS SUBJECT. 28

than himself; vexed that he had lost the
pleasant hour with Mary which she always
gave to her little brother and sister on the
Sunday afternoon, and in which she usually
brought outa large “ Pilgrim’s Progress” full
of pictures, and explained it to them; and
vexed, finally, because he knew that he had
trifled away the hours of the Sabbath, and
he had an uncomfortable feeling that God
was displeased with him for doing so.

If Eddy had confessed his sin humbly to
his heavenly Father, and had asked him to
pardon it for Jesus Christ’s sake, he might
have fallen asleep with the sweet assurance
that God had forgiven all for his dear Son ;
but his prayers were only said, not prayed—
his thoughts were busy with something else;
and though he woke up the next morning
as bright and merry as ever, having forgotten
all that had passed, it was not a safe forget-
fulness. /


CHAPTER II.

THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.



£°T would take too long a time to give

the history of what happened every
nek day between Sunday and Friday.

@ Eddy and Ruth had a great many
quiet pleasures. Their lessons were made
so interesting to them, ‘that they might
have been numbered with their pleasures.
Then they had gardens of their own, and
playthings, and some cousins who lived not
far off and were their constant playfellows,
and plenty of nice books; so that as far as
outward things could make them happy, they
were so. It was Thursday evening, and the
two children stood together in their gardens,
m each of which was a gooseberry bush, a


THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 25

few potatoes which they regarded with special
pride, a rose-tree, and some mignonette.

“Ruth,” exclaimed Eddy after a long
silence, “it’s only twelve hours now to my
birth-day. I want to go to sleep very early
indeed to-night, that to-morrow may come
sooner; and then we'll both get up very
early, to make the day as long as possible.”

“ But what shall we do all the time be-
_ fore breakfast ?” inquired his sister soberly.

“QO Ruth, such a question! Why, it'll
be my birth-day, and we’ve a whole holi-
day, and we can guess what papa, and
mamma, and Mary will give me; and then
all our cousins are coming in the afternoon,
and there'll be all my presents to show
them—and—and oh! let us try and get up
very early.”

Eddy was quite out of breath as he enu-
merated the coming pleasures; and although
he had given no answer to his sister's
question, she was quite willing to accept
his reply as such.
26 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

“T’ll get up whenever you please,” she
said good-naturedly; “but how shall we
awake in time ?”

“We'll determine, Ruth; we'll both de-
termine,” answered her brother seriously ;
“and if you wake first, you must come and
call me. And now let us guess what I
shall have for my presents.”

The bell summoned the children to tea,
and every one was surprised at the manner
in which, when bed-time was announced,
Eddy went off without a moment’s delay,
contrary to his usual custom; while Ruth
actually gave up her additional quarter of
an hour down-stairs, allowed in right of her
being a year older, that she might satisfy
his impatience, expressed by nods and winks
intended for herself alone. Every one was
surprised but Mary, who laughed quietly at
her little brother’s precautions, which she
understood perfectly.

Eddy’s determination resulted in his wak-
ing up at three o’clock in the morning; upon
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 27

which he proceeded to call Ruth! Little
Ruth, though very sleepy, obeyed the
summons, and stole on tip-toe to the head
of the stairs to ascertain the time; but find-
ing it so early, they agreed to sleep on for a
little while longer, and did not then wake
up till nurse called them at their usual hour.

There was time for a run in the garden,
however, before prayers. There they were
joined by Mary, who very lovingly greeted
her little brother on his birth-day. When
they came in, his parents repeated the birth-
day wishes; and in the prayer Mr. Grant
made a special petition for the little boy,
that his heart might early be renewed by
the Holy Spirit, and that the opening year
might be to him a year of learning in the
school of Jesus.

Then every one went to the breakfast-
room, and eagerly did Master Eddy run to
his place at the table, and take up the plate,
which, contrary to custom, was turned down,
as if to indicate concealed treasures.
28 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

And so it did! He gave a cry of plea-
sure when first a beautiful little box, filled
with many coloured books, appeared. as
Mrs. Grant’s present. Next to this was a
pocket-knife, given to him by Mary on con-
dition that he would not cut his fingers.
Then there was a ball—for playing in the
hall on wet days—of Ruth’s making ; and
lastly, a packet wrapped up in paper from
his father. When opened, a little box
with a glass lid was revealed ; and inside,
on cotton-wool, lay a small watch, such as
Eddy, who had seldom been in toy-shops, had
never seen before. With it was a key, and
the boy was delighted when Mary put the
chain round his neck, and showed him how
to turn the hands to the hour he wished.
It was not a real watch, but still it was
very like; and after showering thanks on
the kind givers of his presents, Eddy sat
down to his breakfast, pausing at intervals
to delight his eyes with his new possessions.
Throughout the day he held frequent coun-
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 29

sel with the old clock on the stairs, adjust-
ing the hands of his watch every half-hour,
and answering with grave satisfaction the
inquiries made to him by every member of
the family as to what time it was. During
the whole morning the new watch was
Eddy’s constant delight. After dinner,
Ruth fancied he did not look at it quite so
often ; and when it had been once more set
right, and exhibited to his cousins, he asked
Mary to take care of it for him while he
went to play. Very quickly the hours—
the bright birth-day hours—passed away ;
and after tea, and when his play-fellows had
said “Good-bye,” Eddy went slowly with
Ruth into the drawing-room, feeling some-
thing of sadness at the thought that the day
he had looked forward to so long was really
over.

“T must wait a whole year, Ruth,” he
said, “before I shall have another birth-
day; I wish I could begin the day
again,”
380 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

Mr. Grant was in the drawing-room wait-
ing for the children, after having distin-
guished himself in their games during the
evening. It was always his custom to con-
clude a birth-day with a quiet talk with his
child, and to choose a Scripture motto which
was to be remembered throughout the open-
ing year; and which, printed neatly on a
card, was hung up by the bedside, where it
caught the eye immediately on its opening
every morning.

Eddy sprang to his father’s knee, and
Ruth fetched a stool and sat quietly by his
side while he asked the question, —

“Well, my boy, and has this been a
happy birth-day ?”

“Yes, papa,” answered Eddy, with a half
sigh, “oh yes, very.”

“And you are a little sorry that it is
over—eh, Eddy ?”

“T think I am, papa; it seems to have
gone so quickly.”

“And what else is making you look
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 3

sober, Eddy? Is there nothing but the
thought that the birth-day is ended ?”

“Not exactly, papa—I mean, that’s not
quite all. I don’t know that I ought to
say the rest.”

Eddy’s honesty prevailed over his hesita-
tion.

“T think I can guess,” said Ruth; “it’s
about—”

“No, Eddy shall tell me himself,” inter-
posed her father.—“ You needn’t mind tell-
ing me, my boy.” |

“But I’m afraid youll think me un-
grateful, papa.”

“Not at all, Eddy. I suspect it has some-
thing to do with the watch; and you know
I can’t so well keep my promise of telling
you the lesson that a watch teaches unless
you answer my question. I shan’t think
you ungrateful.”

“You see, papa,” said Eddy, hesitatingly,
“T liked it very much at first—it looked so
pretty, though it wasn’t real; and then I
82 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

hiked putting the hands by the right time;
but then, after all, I began to get tired of
its being only for show, and of no real use in
_ telling the time. But it was very kind of
you to give it me, papa. Indeed, I liked it
_ this morning very much.”

Mr. Grant smiled as he passed his hand
softly over Eddy’s brow. “I’m glad you’ve
told me this, dear boy,” he said, “for I did
not choose my present without a reason.
Now run and bring it here; and Ruth, you
may ask Mary to trust you to bring her
watch to me, and we will have our promised
talk about it.”

“Let us compare them with each other,”
he continued, as, after accomplishing their
errands, the children resumed their seats ;
“one is nearly as pretty. as the other.”

“‘Yes, papa; but Eddy’s is not real
gold.”

“And Eddy’s has two hands and a
key.”

“But they do not move, papa, unless I
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 33

move them ; there is nothing inside to make
them go right.”

“T understand,” said Mr. Grant; “now
let us look inside Mary’s.”

He opened it, and showed the children
how all the wheels acted upon each other ;
and asked if they knew what it was that
set all in motion, and regulated the hands.”

“T know,” answered Ruth; “Mary told
me it was the main-spring.”

“ Quite right,” answered her father. “We
can hardly see the main-spring, but yet’
from it comes all the power which works
the hands; and when Mary winds it up
every night, its power is renewed for the
next day. And so the difference between
her watch and yours, Eddy, is, that one is
only outside show, and requires you to move
the hands for yourself, while Mary’s. is
beautifully regulated by the spring inside.
And now, which of you can tell me what
this watch teaches ?”

“Papa, I think I know,” said Ruth in a
(406) 3
34 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

low voice; “unless the love of God is in
our hearts, our hands can’t go right, and we
only look good outside.”

“ Quite right, dear Ruth ; but I will make
it still plainer. There are a great many
children—ay, and grown-up people too—
who seem good outside, as you call it.
They go to church or chapel, they say
their prayers, and read good books, and are
often very kind and good-natured, but—
' there is no main-spring within. They put
on an appearance of religion; and just as
Eddy’s watch appears like a real one at a
distance, so they are very often mistaken,
until better known, for true disciples of
Jesus. But now for the difference. You
heard me tell Mary that she had learned
the lesson, and you can both see from her
daily life that she has the main-spring in her
heart. When a child begins to see that he
is very sinful—that he deserves God’s anger,
- and cannot of himself be saved—he searches

for some way of finding peace. The Holy
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 35

Spirit is. graciously given to show him that
Jesus died in his stead, that he bore the
punishmént of his sins on the cross, and
that on him was laid the iniquity of us all.
You have read the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’
and can remember how, when Christian
saw the cross, the burden of sin fell off his
back.

“Well, dear children, just in the same
way the poor sinner who comes to Jesus
finds peace in the thought that he has paid
the debt, and that the blood of Jesus Christ
cleanseth from all sin; the great burden is
removed, and joy and love fill his heart.
Now, suppose that, as we read in a Bible
parable, you had a very heavy debt, and
some kind friend were to pay it for you,
' what would you feel ?”

“Oh, papa, we should love him very
much,” replied the children in one breath ;
“we should feel as if we could never do
enough to show our love.”

“ And so it is with true children of God,”
36 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES.

rejoined their father. ‘They feel as if they
could never do enough to show their love
and gratitude to Him who so loved them ;
and thes love to the Saviour 1s the main-spring
which regulates their lives and actions, guid-
ing their hands, and directing all they do.
The first cry of St. Paul, when he saw the
Lord Jesus, was, ‘ Lord, what wilt THOU
have me to do?’ and you know how his
whole after-life, as he said himself, was de-
voted to him who loved him and gave him-
self for him; so the soul that has once
come to know Jesus Christ, will feel that
gratitude to him must be the moving-spring
of life for ever after. And then, too, as
Mary’s watch needs often to be wound up,
so our strength must be often renewed—
there must be a continual work of God’s
Spirit in our hearts, that our outward lives
may be regulated truly and rightly from
within.

“Which is the case with my children?”
inquired Mr. Grant, after a moment’s pause.
THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES. 37

There was no answer for a minute; then
Ruth said in low tones, “Papa, I am afraid
that I am like Eddy’s watch.”

“Eddy,” said his father, “can you guess
what made me choose my present for you ?
I would not make your birth-day sad, my
boy ; but I have feared lately that you have
been careless of pleasing God. When you
were outwardly quiet in God’s house last
Sunday, but inwardly careless of his wor-
ship—when, instead of learning your verses,
you were chasing a butterfly, and attending
to your garden, because you thought no eye
was upon you—when I have seen you well-
behaved in my presence and your mamma’s,
and have caught the sound of angry words
and rough language while you thought we
could not hear,—then I have thought of the
difference between the real watch and the
false one.”

‘“‘Papa,” said Eddy, lifting up his head,
and wiping away the tears which had wetted
his cheeks,—“ papa, I will pray to God
38 THE LESSON A WATCH TEACHES,

that he will put the main-spring into my
heart.”

Then Mr. Grant knelt down with the
little brother and sister, and asked God to
put the best birth-day gift of love to Jesus
into their hearts, and to guide their feet
into the way of peace. And he gave
Eddy’s birth-day motto from John xiv. 15:
“Tf ye love ME, keep my commandments.”

The watch was hung up by his bed-side,
and he and Ruth from time to time talk of
all that their papa said about it; and I
think that, silent as it is, it often speaks to
them of Eddy’s birth-day, and bids them
ask themselves whether the main-spring in
their hearts is love of self, or the love of
Jesus Christ their Saviour.

ee
Sg pete—
THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN.

“Sao warts









THE DRINKING-FOUNTAIN.

“' Whosoever will, let him drink of the water of life freely.”

CHAPTER I.

ALONE IN THE WORLD.




T is a hot, burning, summer day—
hot even in the green country,
* where the busy sunbeams seem as if
they themselves must take shelter
aatiee the trees, for they do their best to
penetrate the leafy shade—hot even where,
on the coast, sea-breezes temper the scorch-
ing rays; but hotter still in the great city,
where fresh air seldom comes, where thickly
peopled courts and crowded alleys are so.
42 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

close together, that you feel astonished that
so many human beings can live in such
small space, and where, at every breath, you
inhale an atmosphere from which you gladly
retreat to a more inviting locality.

In the shadow of some tall, ruinous-look-
ing warehouses, a boy stood silently examin-
ing with curious eyes an object of recent
erection, and evidently quite new to him.
It was a drinking-fountain, which, since he
had last visited that spot, had been placed
there by a benevolent individual who knew
the blessing of fresh, pure water, and who
would gladly have made the poor inhabi-
tants of this thickly populated district feel
its superiority to the poisonous stimulants
which are sold in public-houses and gin-
palaces on every side.

If you had asked poor Maurice where he
lived, he would have replied, ‘“‘ Anywheres.”

If you had asked him how he lived, he
would have answered, ‘‘ Anyhow.”

But if you had asked him what friends
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 43

he had, he would have looked up won-
deringly in your face with the sad reply,
“ None.”

He was very ragged and otic and seemed
tired as he crouched into the little patch of
shade which we have mentioned. There
was a look in his face which told you that
his life was objectless—or at least, that it
had no aim beyond that of supporting life.
Friendless and alone, he was one of that
sad brotherhood who, homeless and uncared-
for, wander about our great cities, earning,
it may be, a penny now and then, but sub-
sisting more usually by begging, if not by
theft. He leaned wearily by the side of the
drinking-fountain, and wondered much as to
how it came there, and as to what he should
have to pay for a drink of the fresh water,
which would be so refreshing on that sultry
day. He would have put the cup to his
lips at once, only that he felt sure the owner
must be near, and would collar him if he
were found stealing the water ; and he knew
44 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

already, poor fellow, the results following
upon detection in dishonesty.

Just as he was musing upon the subject,
the door opened of a building near at hand,
of better appearance than those by which it
was surrounded, and a number of children
ran out into the street. Once without, they
advanced slowly, as it was too hot to run;
and several eagerly stationed themselves by
the fountain, and with much satisfaction
drank in turn of the pure cold water.

Maurice looked on with surprise, wonder-
ing how they had obtained leave to drink so
freely, and then answering the wonder to
himself, by supposing that the privilege had
been purchased for the school. None of the
children noticed him; and when he con-
trasted his rags with the neatness which, for
the most part, showed itself in their appear-
ance, he felt shy of accosting them. The
last visitor to the fountain was a little girl
of about ten years of age, small in stature,
and of gentle manners. She had to stand
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 45

on tip-toe to reach the water, and more than
once spilt it in the endeavour. Maurice
came shyly forward, and filling the cup, gave
it into her hand, wondering to himself that
her pleasant “Thank you!” should make him
feel so comfortable. When he peeped under
the white straw bonnet, and saw a pair of
kindly blue eyes, and a kindly little smile
lighting them up, he felt emboldened to ask
a question of their owner, only saying to
himself, “I wish her dress warn’t so on-
common neat—she’s a sight grander than
me.”

“What's to pay for a drink?” he in-
quired.

“A drink of water?” was the reply.
“Oh, nothing!— it’s free to everybody.
Good afternoon.”

With which words the little maiden ran
off to join her companions.

‘“¢Nothing to pay, and free for every-
body !’” exclaimed Maurice to himself.
“ Well, now, if that ain’t a good un!”
46 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

With which words he filled the cup and
raised it to his lips, looking round cautiously:
at first, lest any one should stop to interfere ;
but finding this needless, finishing up with
a long draught, which refreshed him in no
small degree.

“Nothing to pay!” he repeated. ‘“ Well,
now, I know I’d like to see the man who
set up that ’ere; I’d like to say Thank ’ee!
It seems so kind-like for a body to be able
to get a drink free and easy, and no one to
ask what un’s about.”

The next day found Maurice again near
the drinking-fountain. He had spent part
of the night on a door-step, and when the
policeman had made him “move on” from
thence, he finished it up under a railway
arch, The morning was marked by him as
a lucky one, for he was called to carry a
bundle by a passer-by, who had himself
undertaken more than he was able for, and
received threepence for the same act of
service. Moreover, his errand led him close
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 47

to the spot which he had visited the day
before, and he gladly drank once more of
the cool water, half feeling that the fountain
was a friend that knew him again.

“ T wish I could read,” said he to himself;
“Td like to know what the writing is over
the basin. Now, if that little lass were to
go by again, I’d ask her. She’s a scholar,
I guess, for she'd a book in her hand; and
she’d not be above telling me, for all she’s
so well dressed. I know that from the look
of her eyes.”

So Maurice, who had nothing better to
do, waited to see the school-door open, and
watched for the white straw bonnet with a
dark blue ribbon, matching a frock of dark
blue print, covered by a white pinafore. It
did not appear for some time after the
others, and when at last it caught his sight,
he saw that the owner thereof was in a
hurry, and that she was passing by without
seeing him.

“Ma’am, missus, ma’am, said poor Maurice,
48 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

who felt instinctively a desire to call up
a little good manners, and who seemed, ig-
norant as he was, to be fumbling for them
in some remote recess without being able
exactly to lay his hand on them.

“T’m not ma’am,” said the little maiden,
stopping short; “I’m Charity — Charity
March.”

Now poor Maurice’s experiences of charity
had been very small; but having often
heard the proverbial saying that ‘“ Charity
begins at home,” from the lips of those who
most sturdily refused to assist him, he had
settled it in his mind that another proverb,
“Cold as charity,” was very true indeed ;
which axiom he dismissed from his mind
from that moment when little Charity
March told him her name. ;

“Would you tell me the reading that’s
on there ?” said Maurice ; “ I thought you’d
maybe be scholar enough.”

“T can’t stay more than a minute,” an-
swered little Charity: “you see, I’m late
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 49

this afternoon, and father would never know
how to get his tea without me; but I can
just stop to tell you the words. Those over
the basin are,—‘ He that drinketh of this
water shall thirst again, but whosoever
drinketh of the water that I shall giwe him
shall never thirst;’ and then, ‘ Whosoever
will, let him take of the water of life freely ;’
and underneath, ‘Presented by Mr. John
Matthews, May 27, 1859.’ They’re beauti-
ful words, aren’t they? I mean those first ;
they're out of the Bible, you know.” And
then little Charity tripped away.

“Out of the Bible, you know!” Much
poor Maurice knew of the Bible; and much
he puzzled over the little maiden’s words.
Several things came into his mind respect-
ing her few remarks, and gave occupation
to his thoughts. ‘“ Father couldn’t ever get
his tea without me.” How nice that
sounded! How he wished that there was
somebody who would care for his coming

back—that there was any home, however
(406) 4
50 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

poor, where he might go. Little Charity
had a home—a home, and tea too. Maurice
had only once tasted tea in his life, and had
looked upon it as a luxury so entirely above
his reach, that he had given up all expectation
of ever tasting it again. Home! yes, that
was a word to which the friendless boy’s
thoughts returned over and over. Home,
and a father looking out for her! He had
never known a father, and he had been told
that his mother had died a widow before he
could remember. He had grown up hardly
knowing how, and with no one to care
whether he came or went, lived or died.
And he silently looked up the street at the
end of which little Charity had disappeared,
wondering to himself what it would feel like ~
to have a friend.

“ Tf I was to die now,” he said to himself,
“ T wonder what difference it would make to
anybody! I should like to think somebody’d
cry for me like the poor old woman who
followed her grandson’s coffin in the street
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 51

yesterday. This here dripping fountain
seems the friendliest-looking thing I have
seen for a long day. It makes a fellow feel
better to think that some one has cared to
give him water for nothing—everything has
to be paid for so in this here world. And
- those words she said sounded so friendly,

i

too. ‘I wonder what they meant,— Water
of life freely.’ It sounds very. pleasant in
words. And then, ‘ He that drinketh of the
water that I shall give him shall never
thirst, —I wonder who it is gives us that.
Perhaps it’s the Mr. John Matthews who
set up the fountain. He must be kind. I
wish I could see him, and look if his face
was good ; if it was, I’d be bold and ask him
to be my friend. Perhaps he’d find me
some work. I'd be strong enough to work,
with a little more food ; and then—and then—
why, I’d earn money reg’lar, and get friends ;
and then this kind fountain would have
been the beginning of it all.” And Maurice
looked brightly into the marble basin, and
52 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

at the little trickling stream of water, just
as if he would have said, ‘‘ We’ll be friends,
and understand each other.”

He loitered about the next day in hopes
of spying little Charity March, like a bright
star among the restless throng of ragged
poor which crowded together around him ;
but it was a Saturday, and there was always
a holiday on that day at the small school
for tradesmen’s daughters which she attended,
and so she did not appear. But it was still
a pleasure to see how many that drinking-
fountain befriended during the day—how
many hot, thirsty, poor people, left it re-
freshed and invigorated; while the words
which Charity had read to him became
quite imprinted on his memory from his
hearing them so often repeated aloud by
those who had partaken, and who almost
always turned away the better for the little
spark of kindliness which the freely-offered
token of good-will woke up in their hearts.

“T will find out Mr. John Matthews,”
ALONE IN THE WORLD. 53

said Maurice to himself, “and ask him to
be so kind as to give me this water of life if
he has it. It might make me strong and
well; for I am weak enough from star-
vation, and weary enough too. Maybe
he’d be looking after his fountain here. Il
look out for some one likely, and make bold
to speak to him.”

Maurice only made the attempt once on
that Saturday evening; for into that low
neighbourhood but few people found their
way who were at all like what he expected
Mr. John Matthews to be. It was to an
elderly gentleman that he spoke, who was
passing rapidly by, and whose dress looked
promising, Maurice thought.

“Tf you please, are you Mr. John
Matthews?” he asked timidly.

“IT make it a rule never to give to
beggars,” was the reply of the elderly gen-
tleman, who was very deaf, and who passed
on, leaving Maurice quite sure that he was
not the man he sought.
54 ALONE IN THE WORLD.

He did not try again that night, but
spent his last halfpenny in procuring some-
thing to eat; then he took a drink at the
friendly fountain, and after wandering out-
side the warehouses for a long time, found
an unbolted door, and creeping into an out-
of-the-way corner, discovered an unusually
comfortable bed on some old straw which
was spread on a piece of coarse sacking.






CHAPTER II.

A FRIEND IN NEED.




MUST try and earn something for
breakfast,” Maurice said to him-
self as he woke the next morning ;
“T haven’t nothing for breakfast,
and one can’t live altogether on water. I
don’t like to steal—I’d rather not beg, but
I can’t starve. I'll look out for Mr. Mat-
thews. I must get to know about ‘the
water of life freely.’”

Sunday morning had no voice to the
heart of the friendless boy ; indeed, Sun-
day made little difference to any one in
that neighbourhood, except, perhaps, that
the eating-shops were more visited, and that
the women flaunted gayer rags. Maurice,
56 A FRIEND IN NEED.

hungry and desponding, listened to the
church bells without an idea that they might
be sounding out an invitation to him. It
had never entered his head that churches
and chapels were for poor ragged boys. He
had a sort of notion that somebody stood at
their doors to prevent any one from enter-
ing unless he were well dressed, and he did
not in the least understand why people went
to them at all.

At about nine o’clock he spied the little
form of Charity March coming down the
street. She had on a clean frock and a
white tippet, and a bag of books was in her
hand. When she saw Maurice, she stopped
short, and felt for a time in her bag, as if in
search of something which she could not at
first find. Then, coming up half timidly,
she put a little parcel of bread and meat
into his hand. “I’m afraid youre very
poor,” she said in a low, child voice, “and
perhaps youre hungry. You won’t mind
my giving you this! You must take it from
A FRIEND IN NEED. 57

the same who says, ‘ He'll give the water of
life freely. And so saying, little Charity
went on her way; and Maurice, the poor

aoe

orphan boy, who was very weak and faint,
looked after her until the hot tears came
into his eyes as he repeated to himself the
gentle words of kindness, almost the first he
had ever heard, and put them by in a little
corner of his heart, where he might go and
look at them over and over again.

They puzzled him, however, not a little.
“From the same ‘who gives the water of
life freely,’ she said. Can that be Mr. John
Matthews? It seems very strange that he
should know of me. Perhaps little Charity
knows him, and has told him I’m so poor.
Perhaps he'll come and look after me him-
self, Anyhow, I'll stay hereabouts and see
if I can’t find him. When one has ‘Thank
you!’ on one’s mind, one don’t seem right
till it’s said.”

But no Mr. John Matthews appeared.
Maurice asked two or three people, but one
58 A FRIEND IN NEED.

laughed at him; the second, more kindly,
threw him a penny; and the last, a tall man
with a walking-stick, told him that if he
didn’t mind, he’d send a policeman after
him. So all his consolation was to watch
for little Charity, who, after an hour and a
half, passed by with about twenty more
children, walking two and two, with books
in their hands, and in neat attire. Where
they were going Maurice did not exactly
know, but he guessed that it was to church;
for in his wanderings amongst the streets of
the metropolis, he had often seen processions
of school-children entering churches on Sun-
day, and had wondered how and why they
went to church, and what good it did them.
Little Charity nodded as she passed, just as
much as to say, “ You know, we’re friends ;”
and then Maurice wandered idly about, after
following the school for some distance, and
seeing them enter a church about half a mile
off. He determined, with a new sense of
loneliness in his heart, to get a talk with her
A FRIEND IN NEED. 59

the next day, to ask her who it was that
gave the water of life freely, and to beg
her, if she could, to take him to that kind
person.

That evening, a grave middle-aged man
came to the drinking-fountain, and looked
at it attentively. He drank some of the
water, and then read the words that were
written over it, quite unconscious that,
amongst the throng who filled the street,
a ragged boy, with black, anxious eyes, was
watching him intently, and had caught the
half inaudible murmur of his voice as he
repeated the words, “Shall never thirst.”
Maurice felt sure that this was the person
whom he desired to see. In the first place,
he wore a black coat, and Maurice had
settled that Mr. Matthews was to be thus
attired. Then he looked at the fountain as
if he had a particular interest in it; and that
was all right. Again, he had a very kind
face, and a half grave, half pleasant smile—
60 A FRIEND IN NEED.

a face which wouldn’t let any one feel afraid ;
and that was right too. Maurice’s hopes
revived.

“Please, are you Mr. John Matthews ?”
he asked boldly and shyly at the same
time.

“No, my boy,” and poor Maurice looked
wofully sad; “why do you ask me?”

“ Because it’s wrote there that he gave
the fountain; and I thought, maybe he’d
give me that water of life it’s wrote about,
and that if he was kind he’d find me work,
and be a friend to me ;” and the boy’s lips
trembled visibly.

“Mr. John Matthews isn’t in England
now,” said the stranger ; “for I know about
him. He’s the owner of these warehouses.
He’s kind enough, but it’s not he that gives
the water of life, poor boy.”

“T don’t know what that means. I wish
I did,” continued Maurice sorrowfully ; “ but
it sounded good.”

“Tt is better, far better even than it
A FRIEND IN NEED. 61

sounds,” replied his new friend. “I know
who it is that can give it you, and will give
it for the asking. Would you like to know
Him too?”

“Tf I’m not too poor and ragged. I
don’t know nought about manners. Would
he—he that has the water of life—be my
friend 2”

“T can promise you that he will—that he
is already. Poor boy! you are very igno-
rant, but I will try to help you. That very
Friend sent me to you here.”

“Sent you tome! Well, I never did,”
answered Maurice, in unfeigned amazement,
and with a sudden remembrance darting
across his mind of the bread and meat that
morning. “Sent you here to me! Well,
that beats all!”

“Shall I tell you something else that he
says, before I go?” asked the stranger
kindly. ‘He says, ‘Come unto me, all ye
that labour and are heavy laden, and I will
give you, rest.’ ”
62 A FRIEND IN NEED.

“But how am I to come to him? I
should have lots to say to him and thank
him for. Can you bring me to him ?”

“T will try,” answered his new acquaint-
ance with a glistening eye; “ you must come
to my house to-morrow—stay—have you
anything to eat for to-night ?”

Maurice drew out the remainder of
Charity’s provision.

“T’ve got this,” he replied. “A little lass
that passes this way gave it me this morn-
ing, and said, ‘It came from him who gave
the water of life.’ I thought it must be
Mr. John Matthews. She’s an uncommon
kind little lass—it was her told me the
words on the fountain.”

His friend smiled. ‘“ You must go down
this street,” he said, ‘and turn to the right,
and then go straight on until you come to
a large warehouse, called the Old Well
Warehouse—any one will tell you the
name. There’s a high door that’s opened
every Monday morning at eight o’clock,
A FRIEND IN NEED. 63

and you'll find me in a little room with a
glass window just inside. Now good-night.”

They were lost to each other in the crowd
before either of them remembered that their
names were mutually unknown. But as
Maurice turned away, a bright ray of the
setting sun sparkled on the water of the
fountain and lit up the words above it; and
it was like the ray of hope which entered
the heart of the poor boy who had found a
friend.








CHAPTER III.

THE WATER OF LIFE.

x. way with slow steps. IPf you could
' have caught the words that every

now and then came in a low whisper
from his lips, you would have heard him
say, “ Who am. I that I should know thee,
O Lord, and taste of the water of life so
freely! Thanks be to God for his unspeak-
able gift. Oh that I may lead this poor
boy to the fountain of thy grace. Oh that
he, too, may hear thy invitation, ‘Let him
that is athirst come.’ ”



On arriving at the large warehouse which
he had described to Maurice, he opened with
a latch-key a small door by the side of the
THE WATER OF LIFE. 65

great unwieldy gate, and entered a little
quiet courtyard. “Quiet” at least on Sun-
day ; for during every other day in the week,
carts, packing-cases, and creels were strewn
about, and the sounds of hammering, lading,
directing, and driving were heard unceas-
ingly. There was a tree in the middle of
the court, which grew surprisingly, consider-
ing the adverse circumstances by which it
was surrounded. But what did it signify
that its foliage was brown and scanty, and
that its kindred in the country would prob-
ably refuse to own any relationship with it
—it was a real tree that grew for all that,
and had leaves; and sparrows sometimes
chirped among its thinly-covered boughs;
and in that part of London, the tree had its
admirers and its friends.

It was nearly dark when Maurice’s friend
crossed the court, and opening the door into
a small passage with a stair ascending from
it, turned into a room on the left ;—a pretty,

cosy little room, in which a small lamp was
(406) 5
66 THE WATER OF LIFE.

lighted, and on the table of which a neat
supper-tray was spread. By the table sat a
little girl with a book in her hand—a child
with dark blue eyes, and brown hair folded
back from a white forehead, and dressed in
a clean print frock, covered with a snowy
pinafore. Have you seen her before, kind
reader, and do you recognize little Charity
in her own home ?

She jumped up as her father opened the
door. “I thought you were never coming,
father,” she exclaimed. “Was the service
so very long?”

“ Not longer than usual,” replied he, sit-
ting down and taking her on his knee;
“but I stopped on my way. I have been
making acquaintance with a friend of yours,
Charity.”

“Of mine, father! One of our teachers,
perhaps.”

“No; a poor boy whom you told me of
a few days ago—the same who asked you
to read the words over the drinking-foun-
THE WATER OF LIFE. 67

tain.” And then Mr. March told little
Charity all the story that we have told you ;
and whether it was that the lamp burned
very brightly, or that there was something
infectious in the look that he threw upon
her—so it happened that something very
glittering appeared on Charity’s cheek when
he had ended.

“And may I talk to him sometimes, and
teach him in the Bible, father?” she in-
quired.

“Yes, my child; you shall try to show him
the true Fountain, from which whosoever
drinks may be satisfied. We will have that
for our talk after supper; and whilst we are
eating it you shall tell me how you came to
know about this poor boy.” So then came
a most pleasant time for Charity, who, like
a wise little housekeeper as she was, pro-
vided her father with all he needed, and
then told him how the sad, friendless face of
poor Maurice had touched her heart; and of
how she had put by a little provision for
68 THE WATER OF LIFE.

him, saved from her own dinner and supper,
and had not liked to say anything about it,
because we are not to let our left hand know
what our right hand doeth ; and of how she
had prayed in her prayers that she might
know for herself what it was to drink of the
water of life freely. And then, when the
supper was ended, Charity put away the
things quite handily, and trimmed the lamp,
and brought down her father’s large Bible
and her own small one, which were so ac-
customed to descend from the shelf every
evening, that Charity declared they would
do so of their own accord if she forgot them;
and then, when everything was settled, she
sat down on a little stool close by Mr. March,
with the question, “ Now, father, let me hear
all about the water of life.”

“What does water do for us, Charity ?”
asked her father.

“Cleanses us, father, and refreshes us, and
quenches our thirst.”

“Quite right. We know how pleasant a
THE WATER OF LIFE. 69

glass of cold water is even here when we are
thirsty; and in a hot country, like the coun-
tries which the Bible speaks of, it is even
more needful. Now, can you remember
any stories in the Bible or any texts about
water ?”

“Yes, father. In Exodus there’s the
story of Moses smiting the rock, when God
told him, and of the water coming out for
the thirsty people. Then there’s the story
of Jesus talking to the woman of Samaria,
and the text that’s over the drinking-foun-
tain has the words which he said to her.
And there’s about his standing in the
temple and saying, ‘If any man thirst, let
him come unto me and drink.’ ”

‘And now for some texts, Charity.”

“Oh, such a number, father! I’ve been
finding them out this evening. There’s that
beautiful one in Ezek. xxxvi., ‘ Then will I
sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall
be cleans... and Iwill put my Spirit within
you. And there’s Mr. Norton’s text last
70 THE WATER OF LIFE.

Sunday : ‘ Ho, every one that thirsteth, come
ye to the waters’ (Isa. lv. 1). And another
we had in our class: ‘ When the poor and
needy seek water, and there is none, and their
tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear
them, I the God of Jacob will not forsake
them. I will open rivers in high places, and
fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will
make the wilderness a pool of water, and the
dry land springs of water’ (Isa. xli. 17, 18).
And now one more, father,—the one I like
best of all: ‘I will give unto him that 1s
athirst of the fountain of the water of life
freely’ (Rev. xxi. 6).

“Somebody has a good memory,” said Mr.
March, kindly stroking the brown hair away
from little Charity’s brow ; “now let us see
what water typifies or prefigures in the Bible.
Look at John vii. 37-39. Jesus, on the last
day of the Feast of Tabernacles, had seen the
Jews bringing water from the Pool of Siloam,
some of which they drank, and some of which
they poured on the altar at the time of even-
THE WATER OF LIFE, F 7

ing sacrifice, while they joyfully sang the
beautiful words, ‘With joy shall ye draw
water outof the wells of salvation’ (Isa. xii. 3).
This custom they observed as a remembrance
of their fathers having been miraculously
supplied with water in the wilderness. Now,
when Jesus saw this, he cried, saying, ‘ If
any man thirst, let him come unto me and
drink ;? and went on to promise living water,
to which promise the explanation is added :
‘But this spake he of the Spirit, which they
that believe on him should receive.” All
through the Bible, when water is spoken of
as a type, it prefigures the Spirit of God,
which is freely given to all who ask.”

“ How did it typify the Holy Spirit, father,
when Moses struck the rock in the wilder-
ness ?”

“Tf you look at 1 Cor. x. 4, my child, you
will find that we are told, ‘ That Rock was
Christ.’ When was Jesus smitten for our
transgressions, and wounded for our iniqui-
ties, Charity ?”
72 THE WATER OF LIFE.

“When he died in our stead on Calvary,
father.”

“ And when the soldiers pierced his sacred
side, what flowed forth in a mingled stream?”

“Water and blood.”

“ Yes, dear child, then the double fountain
was opened for sin and for uncleanness—the
blood of Jesus Christ to cleanse us from all
sin—the water typical of that Holy Spirit
which Christ’s death purchased for us,—
whose office it is to quicken, and sanctify,
and cleanse our inmost hearts. And that
fountain is flowing still for all who will wash
and be clean, just as the stream from the
rock followed the Israelites through the
desert. When Moses struck the rock with
the rod of God, he showed forth in a figure
how, nearly fifteen hundred years afterwards,
the rod of God’s wrath would strike the Lord
Jesus for our sakes; and how, when he was
thus glorified, the Holy Spirit would be
purchased for us. Can you remember any
hymn about that, Charity?”
THE WATER OF LIFE. 73

No, Charity could not at first; but when
2 3
her father began—“ Rock of Ages,” she
quickly took up the words, continuing,—
eae “cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee ;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy wounded side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power !”

“And so, my child,” continued Mr. March,
“to every one who lays his sins upon Jesus
this precious gift is given. How graciously
he promised it to the poor woman of Samaria!
—how graciously he still promises it to all !
Do you remember that beautiful verse : ‘//
ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts
unto your children, how much more shall your
heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them
that ask him.”

“That’s just like the other words, ‘ Whoso-
ever will, let him take of the water of life
freely. Father, since I’ve come to know
Jesus more, I’ve been very thirsty, often,”
said little Charity.
74 THE WATER OF LIFE.

Her father put his arm round her very
tenderly, with the words, “Let him that ts
athirst come.”

And then they both knelt down, and Mr.
March prayed that, as Jesus had in his death
opened the fountain, and had ascended into
heaven to send down the gift of his Holy
Spirit, so he would give them to drink—to
drink here of the brook by the way, until he
should lead them to the living fountains of
water above. And they prayed that the
poor friendless boy, who knew as yet nothing
of Jesus, might drink of the water of life
too, and that they might all be daily renewed
by the indwelling of the blessed Comforter.
And when little Charity rose from her knees,
she whispered to her father, “ Father, I feel
as if we had been drinking just a little at
the true fountain even now.”

But our story has been long enough. It
would take many more pages to tell of how
poor Maurice came the next morning and
THE WATER OF LIFE. 75

found to his surprise that both his friends
were there to welcome him, and that Mr.
March was Mr. John Matthews’ head-clerk,
and would give him work as errand-boy if he
proved trustworthy ; or of how, on many a
Sunday evening, he and Charity would sit
under the shadow of the shabby tree in the
court, which they both liked, although it
didn’t give much of a shadow after all, and
how then she would tell him the story of
the fountain opened on Calvary, and that, if
only he would believe, he might drink freely ;
or of how Maurice is learning to read, and
goes Sunday by Sunday to the house of God,
neatly dressed, and with thankful heart,—
all this, I say, would take too long to write.

One thing more I must tell my reader,—
that whenever either he or Charity passes
by a certain drinking-fountain, in a crowded
thoroughfare, whether thirsty or not, they
always stop to drink ; and they look upon it
as an old friend whose voice reminds them of
a loving invitation given by the Lord Jesus
76 THE WATER OF LIFE.

more than eighteen hundred years ago, but
which is repeated still, “If any man thirst,
let him come unto me and drink;” and,
“ Whosoever will, let him take of the water

of life freely.”




uy
aN Le”
—~Sa ders —
BANK-NOTES.

ts g@rete-





















BANK-NOTES.

“My God shall supply all your need according to his riches
in glory by Christ Jesus.”

CHAPTER I.

HARD TIMES.



JHE month of February had nearly
s, reached its close, and primroses and
early violets were up, peeping, in
the country. And in small town-
gardens, pale snowdrops, more delicate and
fragile than the wild-flowers, were lifting
their heads too, as if to see what the world
looked like after the winter, and then droop-
ing them permanently, as though they felt
shy and timid at finding themselves all alone
80 HARD TIMES.

above ground, and exposed, without any pro-
tection, to the notice of the many who stopped
to gaze at the first flowers of the spring;
though, indeed, if they had not been too
shamefaced to observe how kindly were the
glances which bade them welcome from
every passer-by, they would have felt re-
warded for the effort they had made to ap-
pear as early as possible, and in despite of
chilling salutations from the cold winds, and
of possible freezing demonstrations on the
part of snow, sleet, and hail—brethren of
the cold-weather family, whose unfriendly
reception is often more than sufficient to
_ counterbalance the effects even of a cheery
smile from the great sun himself. The little
snowdrops might have known that all
welcomed them, as they came to proclaim
the good-will of mother Earth, and appeared
as pledges of her intention to continue
through the new year her usual annual
bounties, of which these were the earnest
and the delicate reminders.
HARD TIMES. 81

But in the heart of the great metropolis,
where lived Kate and Archie Neville, there
were no snowdrops to tell them that winter
could not always last. From a dark and
gloomy house, opening into a dark and
gloomy street, the only visible intimations
of the existence of a vegetable kingdom
were the grassy weeds which forced their
way between the flags of a dull court-yard
on the other side of the way, and something
growing in a flower-pot belonging to an in-
habitant of this same court, which never de-
veloped into anything particular, but which
made a feeble attempt at leaves when June
came—and though generally unsuccessful, in
that close, loaded atmosphere, maintained a
sort of neutral existence, or rather didn’t die
altogether.

It was, as we have said, a cold, damp even-
ing, at the end of February, and Mrs. Neville
had made up the fire in the small grate con-
taining a bare handful of coals, and had told

Kate to make the room more orderly than
(406) 6
82 HARD TIMES.

it had been left at the conclusion of a game
of romps between Archie and baby Rose,
who was not four years old.

“ Your father will be in soon, Katie,” con-
tinued her mother ; “he likes to see the place
as nice as we can make it.”

Whereupon Katie surveyed the task before
her, and entered upon it with a wee, wee
sigh ; which, translated into words, would
have said, “ I wish the room were not quite
so easy to set to rights; there were more
things to tidy away in our old home.”

However, a poor room neat and orderly
looks much brighter than a poor room in
disorder, and Katie felt this too. So first
she gathered up Rose’s playthings, such as
they were, and put them into the old basket
set aside for their reception in the corner of
the cupboard. Then the table was cleared
of little ends of stuff and cotton which re-
mained from her mother’s work, and was
made to look as respectable as it could.
This table was a source of perplexity to the
HARD TIMES. 83

Neville family, and Archie said that it had
never been new! Its surface was slightly
uneven ; it had rheumatism in one of its legs,
and another had suffered from a compound
fracture, so that it required much manage-
ment and humouring to enable it to stand
straight. Katie, however, maintained that
she understood the table, having carefully
studied its peculiarities ; and she certainly
contrived, by means of a wedge here, and an
extra support there, to enable it, better than
could any other member of the family, to do
its duty. There remained four comfortless-
looking chairs to be made the most of in the
arrangement of the room, and these Katie
disposed of to the best advantage, proceed-
ing then to pay attention to the few articles
ranged upon a clumsy mantel-shelf, and
upon the old family trunk which filled a
corner of the apartment, and which was
used as a dresser by Mrs. Neville in her
domestic operations.

You could not have been for five minutes
84 HARD TIMES.

in that room without becoming aware that
the Neville family had once been in better
circumstances, and that they had not always
inhabited this dark, gloomy abode. You
would have known it from observing the
children’s appearance and manners, perhaps
from hearing little Rose propose to Archie
that they should play at being at home
again, and wish that she had as many toys
here. And you would have noticed it, too,
in the speech and dress of their mother,
who, plain and homely as was her own attire
and that of the children, contrived that it
should look neat and well even in this dark
room, which required bright faces within
to lighten it, as few sunbeams seemed to
think it worth while to take the trouble of
calling there. There were some neatly-
bound books, too, and children’s lesson-
books, which Katie ranged in order on the
trunk, and a writing-desk and small ink-
stand—which all looked as if they were un-
accustomed to such quarters ; and a clock on
HARD TIMES. 85

the mantel-piece ticked out a reminder to the
little maiden that her father might be soon
expected.

Your conjectures would have been true,
good reader. A few years before the com-
mencement of our story, the Neville family
had their abode in a pleasant little house,
near a park so bright and green that the two
children had thought it must be almost as
good as the country, of which they had heard
so much. Their father had held the situa-
tion of head clerk in a large mercantile house
in the city, and was laying by yearly a suf-
ficient portion of his salary to enable him to
look forward to giving his children a good
education, besides setting something in store
against a rainy day. These hopes, however,
had been thrown to the ground by the
failure of the bank in which all his savings
had been deposited ; whereupon he and his
wife had been obliged to leave their first
home, and, dismissing their one servant, to
retreat to a smaller abode in a less desirable
86 HARD TIMES.

neighbourhood. Here little Rose had been
born, and as her father still retained his
situation, her parents hoped that by-and-by
they might once more look forward to
brighter days. Meantime Archie and Katie
were being instructed by their mother, and
by their father himself when he returned
from his long day in the counting-house,
whilst they early learned to make them-
selves useful within-doors.

But greater trials had come about a month
before the opening of our story. The large
commercial house in which Mr. Neville held
his clerkship unexpectedly failed, through
the dishonesty of one of the partners, and its
servants were dismissed, many of them with-
out their full payment, and all without an
hour’s warning, to find themselves thrown
upon the world without any certainty or
prospect of finding employment. It was a
great blow to the Nevilles, who had few
friends, and none able to help them. Even
their present humble dwelling was beyond
HARD TIMES. 87

their means, since, though modest, it was
comfortable and cheerful in its arrange-
ments and situation, and had, moreover, a
few square yards of ground at the back,
which afforded endless interest to the chil-
dren, who delighted in what they called
their “ gardens,” although, from some peculi-
arity in the soil, we should state that nothing
planted in them was ever known to grow to
maturity. This abode, where had been spent
many happy days, it became necessary to
leave ; and the offer for a few months, rent
free, of two or three dingy rooms in the city,
formerly occupied by one of the now dis-
carded warehousemen, which was made to
Mr. Neville from the directors of the lately
flourishing concern in which he had been em-
ployed, was at once accepted; and thither
one dreary day at Christmas-time he re-
moved his wife and family.

They felt the change in no small degree ;
they missed favourite possessions, which had
of necessity been sold with the greater part
88 HARD TIMES.

of their moderate supply of furniture, in order
to their being enabled to leave their former
home without a debt; and the parents saw
with bitter anxiety, that while their small
fund of ready money rapidly diminished,
though eked out with the most rigid
economy, their children’s stock of health
and spirits was diminishing too. The con-
finement in the close, unhealthy atmosphere,
was visibly affecting them ; and as he ob-
served this, increasingly urgent became their
father’s search after fresh employment, in
quest of which he daily sallied forth, to re-
turn, however, depressed, weary, and disap-
pointed. If it had not been that the little
family circle was rich in the treasures of
home love and union, there would have been
yet more to suffer. But as it was, the trial
seemed to bring the husband and wise yet
nearer to each other ; and Katie and Archie
sought bravely, children though they were,
to prevent their parents from thinking how
much they missed the interests and amuse-
HARD TIMES. 89

ments of their former home, exercising their
inventions most successfully in devising new
plays for little Rose, in order to prevent her
from feeling the change as much as they did.

And while we have been telling you all
this, Katie has finished her task of setting
the room in order, and is proceeding to lay
the cloth for supper in readiness for her
father’s return, doing all in her power to
avoid disturbing her mother, whose fingers,
often stiff and weary, still pursue their busy
employment of needlework, by which she
earns a small sum to meet the present need.

Laying the cloth seemed a dreary sort of
ceremony to Katie, who knew exactly the
state of things within the cupboard. The
four tea-cups, and Rose’s gilt mug, with “A
present for a good girl” inscribed upon it,
looked very well, and the plates were ranged
very neatly, but—and the but was one from
which there was no escape—tea-cups and
plates alone make out but scant fare, and
Mrs. Neville’s negative reply to the inquiry,
90 HARD TIMES.

“Ts there nothing but bread for father’s
supper, mother?” was not cheering, when
Katie remembered that he had eaten nothing
but bread and the last little portion of cheese
for dinner. She took the remains of the loaf
from the shelf, and placed it on the table.
It had never been an attractive loaf, like the
home-baked ones of their former abode, and
now it looked less inviting than ever.

‘“T wish I had a penny,” she whispered to
Archie, “to get a little bit of butter, or a
piece of bacon for father and mother. It
doesn’t seem to matter so much for us as for
them—the having nothing but dry bread.”

“ There’s tea left,” replied Archie, “and
mother bought a penn’orth of milk from the
man ; but still—it comes to dry bread still.”

“Tt would look something more to make
some toast,” suggested Katie, suddenly ;
‘“T’ll make some before father comes in.”

Whereupon, cutting the loaf so carefully
as not to waste a crumb, she proceeded to
make some slices of toast, which were hardly
HARD TIMES. 91

ready when Mr. Neville’s step was heard at
the door.

“Well, William?” said his wife, looking
up wearily with a glance which said, “ What
success ?”

“Nothing better,” he replied, wiping the
rain-drops off his coat, and throwing himself
on a chair. “I’ve been out miles to the
West End, thinking to get a situation I'd
heard of. The gentleman saw me himself,
for a wonder, and listened; and then, when
he found I’d belonged to the Macleane firm,
told me the place was filled up. It’s that
name that sticks in my way so.”

“Didn’t they offer you something to eat ?”
asked his wife, with a glance from her tired
husband to the loaf on the table.

“No; there at the West End they’re too
grand to have heard of any one coming
hungry to look after a place; but there—it’s
no use complaining; one sometimes feels too
weary to look up, as we should, though it
seems so dark now.” And he took little
92 HARD TIMES.

Rose on his knee, thankful that one of their
party was too young to understand all he
had said. Rose nestled snugly into his arms.
“We've been p’aying cool,” she said.

“Playing school, Rosie; and who taught
you 2”

“Kate and Artie ; me learn hymn to say
’ou, father.”

“Well, let me hear; Katie and Archie
know a great many.”

“'Tan’t remember all,” said Rote, sitting
up gravely, and then trying to recall dimly
the manner in which Archie had insisted on
her pronouncing every word ; “the end is—

‘We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.’”

“That'll do by itself, little one,” said her
father, while his sad face somewhat. bright-
ened ; “ father wants to learn it too,—

‘We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.’

Sarah, don’t be down; let’s cheer up with
) 2
Rose’s words. Come, it’s tea-time.”
HARD TIMES. 93

So they sat down somewhat silently to
the tea-table, and yet the better for the
thought of trusting the future to higher
hands. Mrs. Neville broke the silence.

“What's to be done for to-morrow,
William? All my money’s gone.”

“T might earn something by carrying,” he
replied, “but that wouldn’t come in till night.
What’s in the house, Sarah ?”

“That,” she replied, pointing to the por-
tion of crust which remained on the table.

They glanced at the children, and then to-
wards the clock. ‘It would only fetch a
trifle,” she continued, answering his thoughts ;
“it’s so old-fashioned, and not good of its
kind.”

“'There’s my desk,” her husband rejoined;
“but that would bring next to nothing.”
The cloud was coming back to his brow.
His wife looked for a moment at the ring
on her left hand, but turned away, as if to
give it up would be too hard.

“Tf only we had friends!” she said sadly;
94 HARD TIMES.

“it seems strange we should both of us have
been orphans, alone in the world, before we
married, William. Isn’t there any one we
could go to? Those directors should do
something.”

He shook his head. ‘They’re worse off
themselves,” he replied; “we have no debts.
I suppose by this time they’re out of England
for the most part. Here Katie, child, you
may put away the things.”

Kate obeyed silently and sadly. She had
understood what her parents had said, and
vainly pondered as to what she might do to
help them. As she put up the cups and
saucers, her little Bible received an accidental
push and fell from the shelf. Her father
stooped to pick it up, but it had fallen open,
and his eye caught the words on the page
exposed to view. He leaned towards his
wife and pointed them out to her,—< My
God shall supply all your need.” ‘“That’s
our bank-note, Sarah; and the bank’s a safe
one—‘ according to His riches in glory by
HARD TIMES. 95

Christ Jesus.’ Let’s agree, dear wife, to
‘trust Him for all that’s to come.’”

He had become cheerful again, but she
shook her head and covered her face with
her hands. Poor mother! She had worked
day and night unwearyingly in that dull
room, and when she looked at the children,
she felt her strength and faith giving way.




CHAPTER II.

THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

ehiZATE and Archie had been trying
ine to amuse little Rose at the other
fs end of the room with what they
could find in the old black trunk
above mentioned, in which sundry
stray articles were contained that had been
gathered out from depositories in their former
home, and had not been worth selling. Sud-
denly Archie exclaimed that he could hear
the postman’s knock in the distance. It was
to him the little interest of the evening to
watch him go by in his red coat, and to
wonder at the speed and regularity with
which he delivered his letters ; and so the
boy ran to the outer door, in spite of rain







p ‘\

a
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK. 97

and fog, to maintain his usual post of ob-
servation.

A moment after, he came running in with
a missive in his hand. ‘A letter for you,
father!” he exclaimed; ‘“ perhaps there’s good
news for us—perhaps it’s to say you'll get
rich again.” The children, as they looked
back, thought that their father had been a
rich man before this last time of trial.

Mrs. Neville looked up eagerly while her
husband examined the letter, and the cover
addressed to—

Mr. William Neville,
4 Glass Court,
City.

“T don’t know the handwriting,” he ob-
served, and then opening it began to read.
He folded it and gave it to his wife.

“T can’t see to read it,” she said; “my
eyes are blinded so with work, and the light’s
bad. Tell me what’s inside.”

“Tt’s from a gentleman a hundred and fifty

miles off, who’s heard of my wanting a clerk’s
(406) 4
98 THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

place from one of the partners in the firm—
Macleane’s firm that was. He says there'll
be a place open in his business house, with
the same pay as I had before, but that I
must apply myself not later than the day
after to-morrow, or it will be filled, as there
are so many after it. It’s a kind letter—a
gentleman’s letter—and it’s been kind of the
directors to mention my name.”

Mrs. Neville’s face had brightened sud-
denly. The cheerful voices of the children
who had strayed into the inner room no
longer sounded so sadly on her ears, as a hope
of being enabled to provide for them found
its way to her heart. Then her countenance
fell once more. ‘A hundred and fifty miles!
Oh, a hundred and fifty miles, William; and
how are you to get there? My ring! but
that wouldn’t raise enough. To think of
being so near good times again, and then
just failing.”

Her husband looked anxious. “I have
only this coat,” he said, “and one must look
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK. 99

fairly respectable to apply. It'll take nearly
two pounds altogether, there and back.”

Katie’s voice outside filled up the silence
that followed. She was singing over, as
if to herself, the words which little Rose
had repeated,—

“We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come.”

“We must try Katie’s plan,” he rejoined
gently. ‘“Can’t we trust, Sarah, to Him
who will supply all our need? His arm isn’t
shortened, and we’re His, and our children.”

She did not answer, but stood up, saying
it was Rose’s bed-time. The cloud was on
her brow, settling amongst furrows that had
become imprinted there of late.

The children re-entered, and Rose climbed
her father’s knee to say good-night.

“Was there good news in the letter,
father ?” inquired Archie.

“Yes, my boy,” replied his father.

‘Mother doesn’t look like it,” said Katie,
anxiously.
100 ; THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

“ Mother’s tired,” he rejoined. ‘We must
try to ask God to supply all our need, Katie.
The letter came to give me a chance of a
situation, but I haven’t money now to get to
the place where the gentleman lives.”

“O father, take my work-box and sell it,”
said Katie ; “or the brooch—no, that’s gone
already ; or my books that are left—or—
anything that I have.”

“Take my Noah’s ark,” said Archie, not
to be outdone by Katie ; “or my ‘ Robinson
Crusoe’ with gilt leaves, or—”

Little Rose was listening wonderingly,
understanding only at last that her brother
and sister seemed engaged in the bestowal
on their father of all their remaining worldly
goods ; whereupon, holding up the article
which she had been quietly playing with,
she put it into his hands, saying, “Take lis
too, father.”

Katie and Archie laughed at the little
mocking-bird, and her father playfully took

at from her.
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK. 101

“Why, where did this come from?” he
inquired. “It is hke my poor mother’s old
pocket-book, which I used to play with when
I was Archie’s age.”

“Tt came out of the old black trunk,
father ; Rose liked doing and undoing the
fastening.”

“Tt must have lain at the bottom amongst
old rubbish ever since before we were
married,” rejoined his wife carelessly. ‘I
don’t ever remember clearing it well out, for
I’d forgotten all about that trunk till our
first move, and then I put the children’s
toys and clothes in it.”

‘My poor mother !” pursued her husband,
as, still with his little one on his knee, he
turned over the pages, and noticed the old-
fashioned contrivance for keeping needles
nd thread, and told the children a story of
how once he had lost that identical pocket-
book, and though he had been then grown-up,
and had bought his mother a fine leather
one instead, she had not liked it half so well,
102 THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

and had never ceased mourning for the old
one until it was found after many months in
some out-of-the-way corner.

“Pretty pictur!” said Rose, catching a
thin piece of paper which suddenly fluttered
down from an unexpected slit in the inner
lining of the pocket-book.

Archie looked over her shoulder. ‘‘ Such
an odd little picture,” he exclaimed, “ up
in the corner !—it has a crown at the top,
and—”

“There’s writing,” interposed Katie,—
“writing in such funny letters. Listen :
‘Bank or Enotanp. I promise to pay the
Bearer, on demand, the swm of Ten Pounds.
1801, Feb. 27. London, 27 Feb. 1801. For
the Governor and Company of the Banx or
Eneuann.’ And then there’s a name signed
down at the bottom, and a great big ugly
Txn in funny white letters in the corner.
Did you print it for grandmother, father ?”

Mrs. Neville laid down the candle quickly,
whilst her father withdrew the paper from
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK. 108

Rose’s fingers. He read it carefully and
silently, and then exchanged looks with his
wife. It seemed too good, too strange to
be true—yet it was true. She first realized
it all.

“Will you go, William?” she inquired
brightly, while the children looked wonder-
ingly into her face.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied gravely.—
“ Katie, Archie, didn’t little Rose tell us to
‘trust Him for all that’s to come, and didn’t
God’s Word tell us that he’d ‘supply all our
need?’ Well, Fe children (don’t mind
poor mother’s crying a little—she’s been
very anxious, and it'll do her good), He’s
been true to his word, and this that little
Rose calls a picture is an old bank - note,
which my mother must have laid by in her
pocket-book without telling any one, and
which has just come to us when God saw
our need was the sorest.” *

So it was. Katie and Archie were neither

* This incident is a true one.
104 THE OLD POCKET-BOOK.

of them quite clear in their minds as to how
that flimsy piece of paper was to turn into
gold, silver, copper, bread, tea, meat, sugar,
and clothing. Archie, who was not quite
out of the fairy ages, said that some magic
wand would transform it into these good
things ; and Katie wondered without arriv-
ing at any conclusion at all. Their father,
however, promised that they should compre:
hend it on the morrow.

And then, when a few minutes had gone
rapidly by in discussing the brighter pros-
pects before them; when the children had
realized the possibility of a railroad journey,
and of a little house with a garden, perhaps,
in a country-town—a new place ; when Rose
had opened her blue eyes in wonderment at
a shower of kisses which came upon her,
because it seemed to every one the most
natural way of showing their gladness, they
knelt together and thanked Him who had
heard their cry and had sent them help in
time of need. And when father and mother
THE OLD POCKET-BOOK. * 105

looked together that night on their sleeping
children, they joined in the words which
. Rose had taught them,—

“We'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that’s to come!”








CHAPTER III.

A ROYAL PROMISE.



4 SLHE next day the brother and sister
en accompanied their father to the
Bank of England, which was close
to their gloomy abode, now bright-
ened, however, by two sunshiny visitors
named Hope and Thankfulness. It was
such an old note, their father said, that he
would take it to the bank; the which remark
neither of the children in the least under-
stood. They watched with interest how, as
he presented the precious paper, the clerk
behind the counter examined it, and then
made the inquiry, “Do you wish for gold,
sir?” to which their father replied, “ If you

please ;” whereupon were delivered over to
A ROYAL PROMISE. 107

him ten bright new sovereigns, which looked
more promising in their eyes than the crum-
pled note for which they were exchanged.
Then they all went to a shop, where one of
these sovereigns was partially converted
into bread, and into another where meat
was purchased, and it was with strangely
happy feelings that they arrived at home.
Their father could not explain anything then,
for after an hour or two he wished them all
good-byes that were to last, he said, for two
days, and departed in haste ; and we must
wish the children good-bye too, not to re-
turn until the evening when their father was
expected back again.

Upon that evening Katie had no need to
task her wits as to how to make some little
variety for supper : for some nice broth with
substantial meat-bones in it was simmering
encouragingly by one side of the fire, and
some hot potatoes steamed promisingly on
the other; and a large cut-and-come-again
loaf was on the table, and by its side was a
108 A ROYAL PROMISE.

small portion of butter, which Mrs. Neville
said was a piece of extravagance, but which
Katie had begged her to buy for father, as
he was sure to come back with the promise
of the new place, and he would not have
dined on the way. And the cups and saucers
reflected the light ; and when he came, his
face reflected the light too ; whereupon Mrs.
Neville’s took to reflecting the light that
was reflected in his face ; whence it followed
that the children’s countenances all joined in
reflecting the combined light which their
parents reflected ; the result being, finally, a
complication and combination of pleasant re-
flections, which were positively delightful to
behold.

Yes; it was all good news. He had ob-
tained the place, and a good salary; and the
sisters and brother were almost bewildered
at the prospect which their father opened
before them, of a railway journey that was
to come almost directly ; and of a small cot-
tage with a tiny garden, in which grew
A ROYAL PROMISE. 109

crocuses and snowdrops now, and wherein
might be reasonably expected to grow roses
and carnations in the summer ; and of going
to school where was a play-ground, in which
he had been credibly informed that there
was a swing and a see-saw ;—that was a
tumultuous and a happy supper-time. Plans
were discussed, and questions innumerable
asked and answered. The dull, cross-look-
ing old room in the city, had probably never
been accustomed to such gladness ; and the
smoky rafters and discoloured walls seemed
to question the desirability of echoing the
children’s mirth, which, however, darkly as
they looked on the matter, they were con-
strained to do at last.

The little clock did its duty steadily, even
under these unsteadying circumstances. Mrs.
Neville consulted it after some time, and
found that Rose’s hour for retirement had
come, and Jed her into the inner room;
while, as it was later than usual, she told
the elder ones not to wait for her, but _
110 A ROYAL PROMISE,

to begin their evening reading with their
father.

They fetched their Bibles, but Katie
paused ere opening hers. “Father,” she
said, “I’ve wanted to ask you, do you re-
member that evening that was so sad at
first, and then so happy, how you showed
mother that promise, and said it was a bank-
note ?”

“Yes, Katie,” replied her father; I’ve
thought of it often since. Find it in the
fourth of Philippians.”

They obeyed, and listened inquiringly.

“What were the words on that bank-note
which has done so much for us?” he in-
quired.

“It was like this, father: ‘I promise to
pay to the Bearer on demand the sum of Ten
Pounds ;’ and then it was signed by a name
at the bottom.”

“ Quite right, Katie. You see it did not
need for me to earn that money, though the
prom’se must once upon a time have be-
A ROYAL PROMISE. 111

longed to some one, who had a right to the
money which he had earned; the bearer—
any one who took that promise to the bank,
and claimed its being paid to him—was sure
of getting it. There are millions of money
in the bank,—more than you could possibly
count; and the person whose name is signed
at the bottom of the promise, is what is
called the cashier—the person who is sup-
posed to be chosen to make all the payments.”

“ But,” interposed Archie, “ suppose there
were so many promises brought to be paid
at the bank, that though there are millions
of pounds, still there would not be enough
money to pay them.”

“Then it would prove that it was a dis-
honest‘ bank,” replied his father ; “it would
have sent out more notes or promises than
it was able to fulfil. If it had not been for
a dishonest bank, which did this in a way I
cannot explain to you, I should have been
richer than I am.”

“ And now about the verse. father,” re-
112 A ROYAL PROMISE.

~ sumed Katie; “what did you mean when
you said that to mother ?”

“ Read it, Katie, the nineteenth verse.”

She obeyed, reading slowly : ‘“‘ My God
shall supply all your need according to his
riches in glory by Christ Jesus.’”

“Now, dear children,” said their father,
“you must remember what you have so often
learned about our having fallen so deeply
into sin that God was obliged for his word’s
sake to pass sentence of death upon us all.
Well, then, you know his dear Son came
to die in order to take our punishment
upon himself. He bore every part of our
punishment; and when he had suffered even
unto death instead of us, he ascended again
to his Father’s throne, to wear the crown of
glory which he had won. Then our heavenly
Father, who had grieved so much over
our sins and the punishment to which he
was obliged by his justice to condemn us,
that he did not spare his own dear Son that
he should take it all in our stead, rejoiced
A ROYAL PROMISE. 113

greatly that, since all the penalty was paid
for us, he could give us for Christ’s sake all
the great gifts which he could not justly
have given us in our own right. God has a
great treasure-house of heavenly riches and
of gifts for men, which he could not in justice
have given us, if our Saviour had not died
for us. But now the Lord Jesus has gone
up into heaven, to receive those gifts for
men, since he has bought the right of giving
them by his blood; and it is just as if he had
won the key of the treasury by his death,
‘since everything we receive is for his sake.”

“That's why we say ‘for Jesus Christ’s
sake, at the end of our prayers, isn’t it ?” in-
quired Archie.

“Yes, Archie; and the treasures in that
great treasury are told of over and over in
the Bible. In one verse it says, ‘In whom we
have forgiveness of sins, according to the riches
of his grace;’ and in another we are told
that the Holy Spirit’s strength in the inner

man is given us from ‘the riches of his glory;’
(406) 8
114 A ROYAL PROMISE,

and in that same chapter St. Paul speaks of
‘the unsearchable riches of Christ, —riches
which can never fail, and from which we
may always be drawing and yet never make
them less.”

“ But about the bank-note,” persisted
Katie.

Her father took her Bible and found a
verse in the sixteenth of St. John: ‘ What-
soever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he
will give it you.’ This is a bank-note, Katie,
a promise signed by Jesus Christ, in his
blood,—a royal promise which we must
bring to the treasury on our knees. And just
as you saw that my note of promise was
turned into money at the bank, so that
promise will be received when we plead it
with the God who waits to be gracious,
and who lets us fill up that ‘whatsoever’
with that which we most need, and then
owns the promise, and gives us the blessings.

“And the verse you showed to mother,”
interposed Archie again.
A ROYAL PROMISE. 115

«“ Ah, that is a wonderful verse!” answered
his father ; “there’d be fewer anxious hearts
if we used that bank-note aright. It might
be put like this: “I promse to supply to
the pleader of this promise, on demand, the
sum of all that he may need from God the
Father's treasury of riches m glory. And
this is made sure by the name of Christ
Jesus, which signs and seals the promise.”

“Tt says, ‘ All the promises of God are
Yea and Amen in Christ Jesus,” pursued
Katie, thoughtfully. “I wonder, father,
were not always quite sure about every-
thing,—I mean, I wonder we don’t come to
him about all we want.”

“Tt 7s a wonder,” he added, half sorrow-
fully. “We often let the promises lie by,
making as little use of them as I did of the
note in the pocket-book, till I found it and
turned it into money. They’re no good to
us unless we bring them to the Lord and
turn them into blessings.” |

“ And they’re of use over and over again,”
116 A ROYAL PROMISE.

added Archie. “I’ve found another bank-
note, father: ‘Ask, and ye shall receive.”

‘And here’s another,” exclaimed Katie:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ Rest’s
what’s promised there, father—O Archie,
we have hundreds of bank-notes, if we look
for them.”

“And mind you bring them to the
treasury, expecting to have them made
good,” concluded their father. “ Remem-
ber it says, ‘What things soever ye desire,
when ye pray, believe that ye receive them,
and ye shall have them.”

- And now we must say good-bye to Katie
and Archie, for this is to be but a little book,
and the story of their journey to their new
home, and of their settling down in it, and
of the school with the play-ground, and of
all the other new circumstances which be-
fell them, would make quite a long recital.
Bright days had come to the Neville family,
A ROYAL PROMISE. 117

and they prospered from the hour in which
the old pocket-book had been discovered.
Perhaps we should tell you that on the Sun-
day evenings one of the children’s favourite
employments is that of finding Bible bank-
notes; and when you are in need, or anxiety,
or poverty, young reader, oh! do the same,
—let them not lie unpleaded, unpresented
in your Bible. Remember that “ He that
spared not his own Son, but delivered him
up for us all, will with him also freely give us
all things,” and that our unfailing treasury
is that of “the unsearchable riches of Christ.”




eo Fe tei IA eS
FEllustrated Story -IWooks for the WV oung.





HE CHILDREN ON THE PLAINS. A Story of
Travel and Adventure in the Great Prairies of North America.
With Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and Sixteen Illustrations.
Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
HINGS IN THE FOREST. By Mary and E1izapetru
.Kirpy. With Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and Fifty
Illustrations. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
‘ ape UTe IS ALWAYS BEST; or, ‘‘A Fault Confessed is
Half Redressed.” By Mary and ExizAserH Kirpy. With
Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and Seventeen Illustrations.
Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
HE STORY OF REUBEN INCH;; or, The Power of
Perseverance. By the Author of ‘“Copsley Annals,” ‘Village
Missionaries,” &c. With Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and
“Twenty Illustrations. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
pete LILY’S TRAVELS. With Coloured Frontis-
“LJ piece and Vignette, and Twenty-two Illustrations. Royal 18mo,
cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
LD ROBIN AND HIS PROVERB; or, With the Lowly
‘is Wisdom. By Mrs. Henry F. Brock. With Coloured Fron-
-tispiece and Vignette, and Sixteen Illustrations. Royal18mo. Price 1s.
a UR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN. A Story
- Illustrating the Lord’s Prayer. By a CLERG@YMAN’s WIDOW.
With Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and Twenty Illustrations.
Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s.
HE STORY OF A PIN; or, The Changes and Chances
“of an Eventful Life. By E.M.S. With Coloured Frontispiece
and*Vignette. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price Is. 6d.
IBLE STORIES FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. By M.
Jones. With Thirty-['wo Engravings. Royal 18mo, cloth extra,
gilt edges. Price 1s. 6d.
ESSONS ON THE LIFE OF CHRIST FOR THE
LITTLE ONES AT HOME. By the Author of “Hymns from
the Land of Tuther.” With Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette, and
Thirty Engravings. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.
N ARION’S SUNDAYS; or, Stories on the Command-
zl ments. With Tinted Frontispiece and Vignette, and Three
Illustrations. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 1s. 6d.

Enstructive Series of Skilling Wooks.
Each with Coloured Frontispiece and Vignette,
and Numerous Engravings.
WONDERS OF CREATION.—Volcanoes and their Phenomena.
NATURE’S WONDERS.—Pictures of Remarkable Scenes in Foreign
Lands.
WONDERS OF THE VEGETABLE WORLD.
SCENES OF WONDER IN MANY LANDS. Being Descriptions
of Rapids, Cascades, Waterfalls, &c.



T. NELSON AND SONS LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
Alhe “ Sschonberg- Gotta” Serics.

Crown 8vo. Cloth, 6s. 6d. each.



HRONICLES OF THE SCHONBERG - COTTA
FAMILY.

Tue Trmes.—“ The book is thoroughly Protestant, in the highest
and best sense of the word.... We are confident that most women will
réad it with keen pleasure, and that those men who take it up will not
easily lay it down without confessing that they have gained some pure
and ennobling thoughts from the perusal.”

HE VICTORY OF THE VANQUISHED. A Story
of the First Century.

AtHenmuM.—“ The authoress keeps up in the present story the
characteristics which have marked its predecessors; and the care shown
in reproducing the manners of the first century does not render the per-
sons either stiff or unnatural.”

TARY OF MRS. KITTY TREVYLYAN: A Story of
the Times of Whitefield and the Wesleys.

HE DRAYTONS AND THE DAVENANTS: A Story
of the Civil Wars.

N BOTH SIDES OF THE SEA: A Story of the

Commonwealth and the Restoration.
INIFRED BERTRAM, AND THE WORLD SHE
LIVED IN.

HE MARTYRS OF SPAIN AND THE LIBERA-
TORS OF HOLLAND; or, The Story of the Sisters Dolores and
Costanza Cazalla.

KETCHES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE IN ENGLAND
IN THE OLDEN TIME.

TARY OF BROTHER BARTHOLOMEW, WITH
OTHER TALES AND SKETCHES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE
IN DIFFERENT LANDS AND AGES.

ANDERINGS OVER BIBLE LANDS AND SEAS.

With Panorama of Jerusalem.

OEMS by the Author of “Chronicles of the Schonberg-
Cotta Family.” Contents :—The Women of the Gospels—The
Three Wakings—Songs and Hymns, &c. Crown 8vo, gilt edges.

HE VOICE OF CHRISTIAN LIFE IN SONG; or,
Hymns ard Hymn Writers of Many Lands and Ages.

T NELSON AND SONS, LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.






xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8
REPORT xmlns http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance xsi:schemaLocation http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitssReport.xsd
INGEST IEID EUCNNPQK7_OG48N7 INGEST_TIME 2011-07-01T02:40:33Z PACKAGE UF00028198_00001
AGREEMENT_INFO ACCOUNT UF PROJECT UFDC
FILES