IX.
"_BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS._"
One Sunday when Mrs. Lawrence had been with them about two weeks,Maggie and Bessie, on going as usual to their class at Mrs. Rush's,found that they two were to make up her whole class that morning;for Gracie Howard was sick, and Lily Norris gone on a visit to hergrandfather who lived in the country. Mrs. Rush was not very sorry tohave her favorite scholars by themselves, for she wished to give them alittle lesson which it was not necessary that the others should hear.And Maggie gave her the opportunity for which she wished by askingColonel Rush for the story of Benito.
"For," said the little girl, "if we were away and Lily and Gracie here,and you told them a new story, we should be very disappointed not tohear it; so Bessie and I made agreement to ask for an old one, and welike Benito better than any."
"Very well; it shall be as you say," replied the colonel, who, providedhis pets were satisfied, was so himself, and after the children hadgone, he said to his wife, "Certainly there are few things in which oursweet little Maggie does not act up to the Golden Rule, of which sheis so fond. She does not repeat it in a parrot-like way, as many do,but she understands what it means, and practises it too, with her wholeheart."
So when the lessons were over, the colonel told the story of Benito,which never seemed to lose its freshness with these little listeners.When he came to the part where Benito helped the old dame with herburden, Mrs. Rush said, "Children, what do you think that burden was?"
"We don't know," said Bessie. "What?"
"Neither do I _know_," answered Mrs. Rush. "I was only thinking whatit _might_ be. Perhaps it was pain and sickness; perhaps the loss offriends; perhaps some old, troublesome sin, sorely repented of, longstruggled with, but which still returned again and again, to weary andalmost discourage her as she toiled along in the road which led tothe Father's house. Perhaps it was all of them; but what ever it was,Benito did not pause to ask; he only thought of his Lord's command,'Bear ye one another's burdens;' and so put his hand to the load, andeased the old dame's pain and weariness. Was it not so?" she asked ofher husband.
"I think so," he answered.
"But a little child could not help grown persons to bear their sins, orto cure them," said Bessie; "they must go to Jesus for that."
"Yes, we must go to Jesus; but the very love and help and pity we havefrom him teach us to show all we can to our fellow-creatures, whetherthey are young or old. One of the good men whom Jesus left on earthto do his work and preach his word tells us that Christ was 'touchedwith the feeling of our infirmities, because he was in all pointstempted like as we are.' This means that, good and pure and holy as hewas, yet he allowed himself to suffer all the trials and struggles andtemptations which can come to poor, weak man, so that he might knowjust what we feel as we pass through them, and just what help we need.Yet, sorely tempted as he was, he never fell into sin, but returned tohis Father's heaven pure and stainless as he left it. Since then Christfeels for all the pains and struggles through which we go for hissake, since he can make allowance for all our weakness and failures;and as he is so ready to give us help in our temptations, so much themore ought we who are not only tempted, but too apt, in spite of ourbest efforts, to fall into sin, to show to others all the kindness andsympathy we may at any time need for ourselves. So may we try to copyour Saviour, 'bearing one another's burdens,' even as he has borneours, by giving love and pity and sympathy where we can give nothingelse. Benito was a very young child, scarcely able to walk on thenarrow road without the help of some older and wiser hand, and his weakshoulders could not carry any part of the old dame's load; but he puthis baby hands beneath it, and gave her loving smiles and gentle words,and these brought her help and comfort, so that she went on her way,strengthened for the rest of the journey. And, as we know, Benito methis reward as he came to the gates of his Father's house. So much maythe youngest do for the oldest; and I think _we_ know of an old damewhose 'burden' our little pilgrims, Maggie and Bessie, might help tobear, if they would."
"I just believe you mean Aunt Patty!" exclaimed Bessie, in such a toneas showed she was not very well pleased with the idea.
"And," said Maggie, with just the least little pout, "I don't believeshe is a dame pilgrim, and I don't believe she is in the narrow path,not a bit!"
"There I think you are mistaken, Maggie, for, so far as we can judge,there is reason to think Aunt Patty is walking in the safe and narrowroad which leads to the Father's house; and, since she has not beenbrought to it by paths quite so easy and pleasant as some of us haveknown, there is all the more reason that we happier travellers shouldgive her a helping hand. It may be very little that we can give; aword, a look, a smile, a kind offer to go for some little trifle thatis needed, will often cheer and gladden a heart that is heavy with itssecret burden. And if we now and then get a knock, or even a ratherhard scratch from those corners of our neighbor's load, which are madeup of little faults and odd tempers, we must try not to mind it, butthink only of how tired those poor, weary shoulders must be of theweight they carry."
"But, Mrs. Rush," said Maggie, "Aunt Patty's corners scratch veryhard, and hurt very much."
"But the corners are not half as sharp as they were once; are they,dear?" asked Mrs. Rush, smiling.
"Well," said Maggie, slowly, as if she were considering, "maybe hertemper corner is not so sharp as it used to be, but her meddling corneris very bad,--yes, very bad indeed; and it scratches like everything.Why, you don't know how she meddles, and what things she says, evenwhen she is not a bit mad. She is all the time telling mamma how shehad better manage; just as if mamma did not know a great deal betterthan she does about her own children and her own house, and abouteverything! And she dismanages Franky herself very much; and she saiddear Aunt Bessie deserved to have such a bad sore throat 'cause shewould go out riding with Uncle Ruthven, when she told her it was toocold; and she said the colonel"--
"There, there, that will do," said Mrs. Rush, gently. "Do not let usthink of what Aunt Patty does to vex us, but see if we do not sometimesgrieve her a little."
"Oh! she don't think you do anything," said Maggie; "she says you are avery lovely young woman."
"Well," said the colonel, laughing, "neither you nor I shall quarrelwith her for that; shall we? There is one good mark for Aunt Patty; letus see how many more we can find."
"She was very good to Patrick when he hurt his hand so the other day,"said Bessie. "She washed it, and put a yag on it, and made it feel agreat deal better."
"And she likes Uncle Ruthven very much," said Maggie.
"That is right," said Mrs. Rush, "think of all the good you can. Whenwe think kindly of a person, we soon begin to act kindly towards them,and I am quite sure that a little love and kindness from you would domuch to lighten Aunt Patty's burden. And if the sharp corners fret andworry you a little, remember that perhaps it is only the weight of therest of the burden which presses these into sight, and then you willnot feel them half as much. Will you try if you can be like Benito, andso receive the blessing of Him who says the cup of cold water given inhis name shall meet its reward?"
"We'll try," said Maggie, "but I don't think we'll succeed."
"And if at first you don't succeed, what then?"
"Then try, try, try again," said Maggie, cheerfully, for she wasalready trying to think what she might do to make Aunt Patty's burdenmore easy; "but--"
"But what, dear?"
"I hope she won't shed tears of joy upon my bosom," said Maggie,growing grave again at the thought of such a possibility; "I wouldn'tquite like _that_."
"And what does Bessie say?" asked the colonel.
"I was thinking how precious it is," said the little girl, turning uponthe colonel's face those serious brown eyes which had been gazing sothoughtfully into the fire.
"How precious what is, my darling?"
"To think Jesus knows how our temptations feel, 'cause he felt themhimself, and so knows just how to help us and be sorry for us."
> Colonel Rush had his answer to both questions.
That same Sunday evening, the children were all with their father andmother in the library. Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm-chair by the parlorfire, alone, or nearly so, for Miss Rush and Mr. Stanton in the windowat the farther side of the room were not much company to any one butthemselves.
Certainly the poor old lady felt lonely enough, as, with her claspedhands lying upon her lap, her chin sunk upon her breast, and her eyesfixed upon the fire, she thought of the long, long ago, when she, too,was young, bright, and happy; when those around lived only for herhappiness.
Ah! how different it all was now! They were all gone,--the youth, thelove, the happiness; gone, also, were the wasted years which she mighthave spent in the service of the Master whom she had sought so late;gone all the opportunities which he had given her of gaining the loveand friendship of her fellow-creatures. And now how little she coulddo, old and feeble and helpless as she was. And what hard work it wasto struggle with the evil tempers and passions to which she had so longgiven way; how difficult, when some trifle vexed her, to keep back thesharp and angry word, to put down the wish to bend everything to herown will, to learn of Him who was meek and lowly in heart!
And there was no one to know, no one to sympathize, no one to give hera helping hand in this weary, up-hill work, to guess how heavily theburden of past and present sin bore upon the poor, aching shoulders.In her longing for the human love and sympathy she had once cast fromher, and which she could not now bring herself to ask, the poor oldlady almost forgot that there was one Eye to see the struggles made forJesus' sake, one Hand outstretched to save and to help, one Voice towhisper, "Be of good courage."
True, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford were always kind and thoughtful, and alltreated her with due respect and consideration; but that was not allshe wanted. If the children would but love and trust her. There wouldbe such comfort in that; but in spite of all her efforts, they werestill shy and shrinking,--all, save that little tyrant, Franky. Evenfearless Fred was quiet and almost dumb in her presence.
So Aunt Patty sat, and sadly thought, unconscious of the wistful pairof eyes which watched her from the other room, until by and by a gentlefootstep came stealing round her chair, a soft little hand timidlyslipped itself into her own, and she turned to see Bessie's sweet facelooking at her, half in pity, half in wonder.
"Well, dear," she asked, after a moment's surprised silence, "What isit?"
Truly, Bessie scarcely knew herself what it was. She had been watchingAunt Patty as she sat looking so sad and lonely, and thinking of Mrs.Rush's lesson of the morning, till her tender little heart could bearit no longer, and she had come to the old lady's side, not thinking ofanything particular she would do or say, but just with the wish to puta loving hand to the burden.
"Do you want anything, Bessie?" asked Mrs. Lawrence again.
"No, ma'am, but"--Bessie did not quite like to speak of Aunt Patty'stroubles, so she said, "_I_ have a little burden, too, Aunt Patty."
Aunt Patty half smiled to herself as she looked into the earnest,wistful eyes. She, this innocent little one, the darling and pet ofall around her, what burden could she have to bear? She did not knowthe meaning of the word. Then came a vexed, suspicious thought.
"Who told you that I had any burden to bear, child?" she asked, sharply.
"Every one has; haven't they?" said Bessie, rather frightened; then,strong in her loving, holy purpose, she went on. "Everybody has someburden; don't they, Aunt Patty? If our Father makes them very happy,still they have their faults, like I do. And if he don't make them veryhappy, the faults are a great deal harder to bear; are they not?"
"And what burden have you, dearie?" asked the old lady, quite softened.
"My tempers," said the child, gravely. "I used to be in passions veryoften, Aunt Patty, till Jesus helped me so much, and very often nowI have passions in myself when some one makes me offended; but if Iask Him quite quick to help me, he always does. But it is pretty hardsometimes, and I think that is my burden. Maybe it's only a littleone, though, and I oughtn't to speak about it."
Aunt Patty was surprised, no less at the child's innocent freedom inspeaking to her than at what she said, for she had never suspected thatgentle little Bessie had a passionate temper. She looked at her for amoment, and then said, "Then thank God every day of your life, Bessie,that he has saved you from the misery of growing up with a self-willed,ungoverned temper. Thank him that his grace has been sufficient to helpyou to battle with it while you are young, that age and long habit havenot strengthened it till it seems like a giant you cannot overcome.You will never know what misery it becomes then, with what force thetempter comes again and again; _no one_ knows, _no one_ knows!"
Perhaps Mrs. Lawrence was talking more to herself than to Bessie; butthe child understood her, and answered her.
"Jesus knows," she said, softly, and with that tender, lingering tonewith which she always spoke the Saviour's name.
"Jesus knows," repeated the old lady, almost as if the thought came toher for the first time.
"Yes, Jesus knows," said Bessie, putting up her small fingers with alittle caressing touch to Aunt Patty's cheek; "and is it not sweet andprecious, Aunt Patty, to think he had temptations too, and so can knowjust how hard we have to try not to grieve him? Mrs. Rush told us aboutit to-day, and I love to think about it all the time. And she told ushow he helped every one to bear their burdens; and now we ought tohelp each other too, 'cause that was what he wanted us to do. But ifsometimes we cannot help each other, 'cause we don't know about theirburdens, Jesus can always help us, 'cause he always knows; don't he?"
"Bessie, come and sing," called mamma from the other room, and away ranthe little comforter to join her voice with the others in the Sabbathevening hymn.
Yes, she had brought comfort to the worn and weary heart; she had puther hand to Aunt Patty's burden and eased the aching pain.
"Jesus knows." Again and again the words came back to her, bringingpeace and rest and strength for all days to come. She had heard itoften before; she knew it well. "Jesus knows;" but the precious wordshad never come home to her before as they did when they were spoken bythe sweet, trustful, childish voice,--"Jesus knows."
There is no need to tell that they were friendly after this, these twopilgrims on the heavenward way,--the old woman and the little child,she who had begun to tread in her Master's footsteps so early inlife's bright morning, and she who had not sought to follow him untilthe eleventh hour, when her day was almost ended. For they were bothclinging to one faith, both looking to one hope, and the hand of theyounger had drawn the feet of the elder to a firmer and surer footholdupon the Rock of Ages, on which both were resting.
And how was it with our Maggie?
It was far harder work for her to be sociable with Aunt Patty than itwas for Bessie; for besides her fear of the old lady, there was hernatural shyness to be struggled with. As for speaking to her, unless itwas to give a timid "yes" or "no" when spoken to, that was, at first,by no means possible; but remembering that Mrs. Rush had said that alook or a smile might show good-will or kindness, she took to lookingand smiling with all her might. She would plant herself at a shortdistance from Aunt Patty, and stare at the old lady till she lookedup and noticed her, when she would put on the broadest of smiles, andimmediately run away, frightened at her own boldness.
Mrs. Lawrence was at first displeased, thinking Maggie meant this forimpertinence or mockery; but Mrs. Bradford, having once or twice caughtMaggie at this extraordinary performance, asked what it meant, and wastold by her little daughter that she was only "trying to bear AuntPatty's burden."
Then followed an account of what Mrs. Rush had taught the children onSunday.
"But, indeed, indeed, mamma," said poor Maggie, piteously, "I don'tthink I can do any better. I do feel so frightened when she looks atme, and she don't look as if she liked me to smile at her, and thismorning she said, 'What are you about, child?' _so_ crossly!"
Ma
mma praised and encouraged her, and afterwards explained to AuntPatty that Maggie only meant to be friendly, but that her bashfulnessand her friendliness were sadly in each other's way. So Mrs. Lawrencewas no longer displeased, but like the rest of Maggie's friends, ratheramused, when she saw her desperate efforts to be sociable; and after atime even Maggie's shyness wore away. Before this came about, however,she and Bessie had made a discovery or two which amazed them very much.
Surely, it might be said of each of these little ones, "She hath donewhat she could."
Title decoration, chap. 10]