CHAPTER V.
The next day but one, in the afternoon, a little figure set out fromMrs. Englefield's gate on a solitary expedition. She had left hersisters and cousin in high debate, over the various probabilities ofpleasure attainable through the means of twenty-five dollars. Matildalistened gravely for a while; then left them, put on her hood andcloak, and went out alone. It was rather late in the short winterafternoon; the slanting sunbeams made a gleam of cheer, though it wascold cheer too, upon the snowy streets. They stretched away, the whitestreets, heaped with banks of snow where the gutters should be,overhung with brown branches of trees, where in summer the leafy canopymade a pleasant shade all along the way. No shade was wanted now; theair was growing more keen already since the sun had got so far down inthe west. Tilly turned the corner, where by Mr. Forshew's hardware shopthere was often a country waggon standing, and always a knot ofloitering men and boys gathering or retailing the news, if there wasany; when there was none, seeking a poorer amusement still in storiesand jests, mingled with profanity and tobacco. Tilly was always glad tohave passed the corner; not that there was the least danger ofincivility from any one lingering there, but she did not like theneighbourhood of such people. She turned up towards the church, whichstood in one of the principal streets of the village. Matilda herselflived in the other principal street. The two were at right angles toeach other, each extending perhaps half a mile, with comfortable housesstanding along the way; about the "corner" they stood close together,for that was the business quarter, and there were the stores. Passingthe stores and shops, there came next a succession of dwelling-houses,some of more and some of less pretension; in general it was _less_. Thenew houses of the successful tradesmen were for the most part in thestreet where Matilda's mother lived. These were many of them old andlow; some were poor. Here there was a doctor's shop; there a heap ofdingy sheep skins and brown calf hides cast down at a door, told of theleather store; here and there hung out a milliner's sign. A few stepsfurther on the other side of the way, a great brick factory stood;Matilda had no very distinct notion of what wares it turned out, butthe children believed they were iron works of some sort. A cross streethere led to side ways which extended parallel with the mainthoroughfare, one on the north and one on the south of it, and which,though more scatteringly built up, were yet a considerable enlargementof the village. A little further on, and Matilda had reached thechurch; in her language _the_ church, though only one of several inwhich the villagers delighted. A great creamy-brown edifice, of noparticular style of architecture, with a broad porch upheld by a row ofbig pillars, and a little square tower where hung a bell, declared tobe the sweetest and clearest of all in the neighbourhood. So, manythought, were the utterances inside the church. Just beyond, Matildacould see the lecture-room, with its transepts, and its pretty hoodover the door, for all which and sundry other particulars concerning itshe had a private favour; but Matilda did not go so far this afternoon.Short of the lecture-room, a gate in the fence of the church groundsstood open; a large gate, through which waggons and carriages sometimespassed; Matilda turned in there, and picked her way over the ridgy snowdown the lane that led to the parsonage.
The parsonage sat thus quietly back from the sights and noises of thestreet; a little brown house, it looked, half hidden in summer by thesweeping foliage of the elms that overarched the little lane; halfsheltered now in winter by a goodly pine-tree that stood in the centreof the little plot of grass round which swept the road to thefront-door. Wheels or runners had been there, for the road was trackedwith them; but not many, for the villagers needed no such help to getto the minister, and there were few of the church people who lived at adistance and could leave their work and take their teams on a week-dayto come a-pleasuring; and still fewer who were rich enough to do asthey liked at all times. There were some; but Matilda ran little riskof meeting them; and so mounted the parsonage steps and lifted theknocker with no more than her own private reasons for hesitation,whatever those might be. She knocked, however, and steps carne within,and Miss Redwood opened the door.
"Well!" she said, "here's the first one this blessed afternoon. Ithought I was going to get along for once without any one; but suchluck don't come to me. Wipe the snow off, dear, will you, clean? for myhall's as nice as--well, I don't know what; as nice as it had ought tobe. That will do. Now, come in, for the air's growin' right sharp. Whatis it, my dear?"
"Is Mr. Richmond at home?" Matilda asked.
"Well, I s'pose he is. I hain't hearn him nor seen him go out sincenoon. Do ye want to see him, or is it a message?--ye want to see him,eh. Well, I s'pose he'll see you--if he ain't too busy--and I don'tknow when he gets time for all he has to do, but he gets it; so Is'pose I had ought to be satisfied. _I_ don't, I know; but I s'pose menand women is different. Some folks would say that's a reason why menwas created the first and the best; but I don't think so myself. Andhere I am an old goose, a-talkin' to little Tilly Englefield aboutphilosophy, instead o' lettin' her into the minister's room. Well, comein, dear; round this way; the minister has taken a notion to keep thatdoor shut up because of the cold."
Miss Redwood had not been idle during the utterance of this speech.First she had been shaking the snow from the door mat on whichMatilda's feet had left it; then she seized a broom and brushed thewhite masses from the hall carpet out to the piazza, and even off thepainted boards of that. Finally came in, shut the door, and led Matildato the back of the hall, where it turned, and two doors, indeed three,confronted each other across a yard of intervening space. Thehousekeeper knocked at the one which led into the front room; then setit open for Matilda to go in, and closed it after her.
A pleasant room that was, though nothing in the world could be moreunadorned. Deal shelves all around were filled with books; a table ortwo were piled with them; one, before the fire, was filled as well withpapers and writing materials. This fronted, however, a real blazingfire, the very thing Miss Redwood had once been so uneasy about; in awide open chimney-place, where two great old-fashioned brass andironswith round heads held a generous load of oak and hickory sticks, softlysnapping and blazing. The sweet smell of the place struck Matilda'ssense, almost before she saw the minister. It was a pure, quiet,scented atmosphere that the room held; where comfort and study seemedto lurk in the very folds of the chintz window-curtains, and to shinein the firelight, and certainly seemed to fill Mr. Richmond's arm-chaireven when he was not in it. He rose out of it now to meet his littlevisitor, and laid study on the table. Of one sort.
"All's well at home, Tilly?" he asked, as he put her into his own chair.
"Yes, sir."
"And you do not come to me with any message but to see me yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's nice. Now while you are talking to me, I will roast you anapple."
Matilda looked on with great curiosity and as great a sense of relief,while Mr. Richmond took out of a cupboard a plate of apples, chose afine one with a good bit of stem, tied a long pack-thread to this, andthen hung the apple by a loop at the other end of the string, to a hookin the woodwork over the fireplace. The apple, suspended in front ofthe blazing fire, began a succession of swift revolutions; first in onedirection and then in the other, as the string twisted or untwisted.
"Did you ever roast an apple so?"
"No, Mr. Richmond."
"It is the best way in the world--when you haven't got any other."
"We haven't got that way at our house," said Matilda; "for we have nofires; nothing but stoves."
"You speak as if you thought fires were the best plan of the two."
"Oh, I do, Mr. Richmond! I do _not_ like stoves at all. They're soclose."
"I always thought stoves were rather close," said Mr. Richmond. "Nowwhat did you come to see me roast apples for this afternoon? Did youcome to keep your promise?"
"Yes, sir," Matilda answered, rather faintly.
"Are you sorry you made the promise?" Mr. Richmond inquired, looking ather. But the look was so plea
sant, that Matilda's could not keep itssolemnity. She had come in with a good deal.
"I don't know but I _was_ sorry," she said.
"And you are not sorry now?"
"I think not."
"That is all the better. Now what did you want to say to me, Matilda?"
"You know you made me say I would come, Mr. Richmond."
"Did I? I think not. I do not think I _made_ you say anything--do youthink I did?"
"Well, you _asked_ me, Mr. Richmond."
"Just what did I ask you?"
"You asked me, if I would come and tell you--you said you _wished_ Iwould come and tell you--if----"
And Matilda made a great pause. The eyes of her friend seemed only tobe watching the apple, yet perhaps they knew that her little lips wereunsteady and were trying to get steady. He left his seat to attend tothe roast; got a plate and put on the hearth under it; arranged thefire; then came and with his own hands removed Matilda's hood andloosened and threw back her cloak; and while he did this he repeatedhis question, in tones that were encouragement itself.
"I wished you would come and tell me if--if what?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond--if I thought I could not do something that Ithought--I ought."
"Yes, I believe that was it, Tilly. Now, to begin with one thing at atime, what do you think you 'ought' to do?"
"Last night, I mean, Mr. Richmond; I mean, the night before last, atthe meeting."
"I know. Well, what did you think then you ought to do?"
"Mr. Richmond, I think, I thought that I ought to rise up when Mariaand the others did."
"I knew you thought so. Why did you not, then, Matilda?"
"I couldn't."
"Do you know why you could not?"
Again there was difficulty of speech on the child's part. Mr.Richmond's saying that "he knew" she had had such feelings, was anendorsement to her conscience; and Matilda could not immediately getover a certain swelling in her throat, which threatened to put a stopto the conversation. The minister waited, and she struggled.
"Why could _you_ not do what the others did, Matilda?"
"Mr. Richmond--I didn't want to do the things."
"What things? Bringing new scholars to the Sunday-School, for instance?"
"Oh no, sir, I wouldn't mind doing _that_, or some other things either.But----"
"You mean, you do not want to pledge yourself to be a servant of theLord Jesus Christ?"
"No, sir," after a pause, and low.
"Well, Tilly," said the minister, "I can only be very sorry for you.You keep yourself out of a great joy."
"But, Mr. Richmond," said Matilda, down whose cheeks quiet tears werenow running, one after another; "don't you think I am very young yet tobe a member of the Church?"
"Do you think Jesus died for you, Tilly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you believe He loves you now?"
"Yes, sir."
"You understand all about that. Does _He_ want you to be His obedientchild and dear servant?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"You know all about that, too. Can you think of any reason why youshould for another year refuse to love Him, refuse to mind Him, and doall that your example and influence can do to keep others from lovingand minding Him? When He so loves and has loved you?"
Tilly's little hands went up to her face now, and the room was verystill; only the flames softly flickering in the fireplace, and theapple sputtering before the fire. Mr. Richmond did not say a word forseveral minutes.
"Mr. Richmond," said Matilda at last, "do you think anybody cares whatI do?--when I am so little?"
"I think the Lord Jesus cares. He said nobody was to hinder the littlechildren from coming to Him. And I would rather be in His arms and haveHim bless me, if I were you, than be anywhere else, or have anythingelse. And so would you, Tilly."
"But, Mr. Richmond--it is because I am not good."
"Yes, I know it. But that is a reason for giving yourself to the LordJesus. He will make you good; and there is no other way."
But Tilly's trouble at this got beyond management. She left her seatand came to Mr. Richmond, letting his arm draw her up to him, anddropping her head on his shoulder.
"O Mr. Richmond," she said, "I don't know how!"
"Don't know how to give yourself to Jesus? Do it in your heart, Tilly.He is there. Tell Him He may have you for His own child. He is at thedoor of your heart knocking; open the door and bid Him come in. He willmake it a glad place if you do."
"Mr. Richmond," said the child, with great difficulty between hersobs--"won't you tell Him that I will?"
They kneeled down and the minister made a short prayer. But then hesaid--
"Now, Tilly, I want you to tell the Lord yourself."
"I can't, Mr. Richmond."
"I think you can. And I want you to try."
They waited and waited. Tilly sobbed softly, but the minister waitedstill. At last Tilly's tears ceased; then with her little hands spreadbefore her face, she said very slowly--
"O Lord, I am a naughty child. I want to be good. I will do everythingthat you tell me. Please take my heart and make it all new, and help meto be strong and do right. Amen."
They rose up, but Mr. Richmond kept the child within his arm, where shehad been standing.
"Now, Tilly, how do we know that our prayers are heard?"
"God has promised, hasn't He, Mr. Richmond?"
"Where? in what words?"
Tilly hesitated, and then repeated part of the verse, "Ask, and itshall be given you. Seek, and ye shall find."
"And look here," said Mr. Richmond, half turning, so as to bring herand himself within reach of the Bible that lay at his elbow on thetable--"see here, Matilda. Read these words."
"'If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it.'"
"And here,"--
"'Whatsover ye shall ask the Father in My name, He will give it you.'"
"Does Jesus ever break His promises?"
"No, Mr. Richmond; He can't."
"Then remember that, whenever you think of to-day, and whenever youfeel troubled or weak. _You_ are weak, but He is strong; and He cannotbreak His promises. So you and I are safe, as long as we hold to Him."
There was silence a little while, and Mr. Richmond set the apple totwirling again. It had untwisted its string and was hanging still.
"I am to put your name now, I suppose, Tilly, among the names of ourBand; am I?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"What work would you like specially to do?"
"I do not know, Mr. Richmond; I will think."
"Very well; that is right. And there is another place where your nameought to go--is there not?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Yes; among those who desire to be members of the Church; to tell theworld they are Christ's people."
"Oh no, Mr. Richmond."
"Why 'oh no, Mr. Richmond'?"
"I am not good enough. I want to be better first."
"How do you expect to get better?"
Silence.
"I suppose your thought is, that Jesus will make your heart new, as youasked Him just now, and help you to be strong. Is that it?--Yes. Andyou do not expect to accomplish the change or grow strong by your ownpower?"
"Oh no, sir."
"Don't you think Jesus loves you now as well as He will by and by, andis as ready to help you?"
"Yes, Mr. Richmond."
"Then, Tilly, I call it just distrust of Him, to hold off from what Hecommands you to do, for fear He will not help you to do it. I would beashamed to offer such an excuse to Him."
"But--has He commanded _that_, Mr. Richmond?"
"He has commanded us to confess openly that we are His servants, hasn'tHe? and to be baptized in token of the change He has wrought in us, andas a sign that we belong to Him? How can we do either the one or theother without joining the Church?"
"I thought"--Matilda began, but seemingly did not like to tell what shehad thought.
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sp; "Let us have it, Tilly," said her friend, drawing her closer to him."You and I are talking confidentially, and it is best in those cases totalk all out. So what did you think?"
"I thought there were people who were the servants of Christ, and yetdid not join any church," Matilda said softly.
"By not doing it, they as good as say to the world that they are notHis servants. And the world judges accordingly. I have known peopleunder such a delusion; but when they were honest, I have always knownthem to come out of it. If you give all you have to the Lord Jesus, youmust certainly give your influence."
"But, I thought I might wait," Tilly said again.
"Till when?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
"Wait for what?"
"Till I was more like what--I ought to be, Mr. Richmond."
"Till you were more like the Lord Jesus?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you not think the quickest way to grow like Him would be to do andobey every word He says?"
Matilda bowed her head a little.
"You will be more likely to grow good and strong that way than anyother; and I am sure the Lord will be more likely to help you if youtrust Him, than if you do not trust Him."
"I think so too," Matilda assented.
"Then we will do everything, shall we, that we think our Lord wouldlike to have us do? and we will trust Him to help us through with it?"Mr. Richmond said, with an affectionate look at the child beside him;and Matilda met the look and answered it with another.
"But, Mr. Richmond----"
"What is it?"
"There is one question I should like to ask."
"Ask it."
"Why ought people to be baptized?"
"Because our Lord commands it. Isn't that a good reason?"
"Yes, sir; but--what does it mean, Mr. Richmond?"
"It is a way of saying to the world, that we have left it, and belongto the Lord Jesus Christ. It is a way of saying to the world, that Hisblood has washed away our sins and His Spirit has made our heartsclean; or that we trust Him to do both things for us. And it is theappointed way of saying all this to the world; _His_ appointed way. Doyou understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, do you not think that those who love the Lord Jesus, ought to beglad to follow His will in this matter?"
"Yes, sir," Matilda said again, raising her eyes frankly to Mr.Richmond's face.
"Would you be willing to be left out, when next I baptize some of thosewho wish to make it publicly known that they are Christ's?"
"No, sir." And presently she added. "When will that be, Mr. Richmond?"
"I do not know," he answered, thoughtfully. "Not immediately. You and Imust have some more talks before that time."
"You are very good to me, Mr. Richmond," Matilda said, gratefully.
"Have we said all we ought to say this time? Are there any morequestions to bring up?"
"_I_ haven't any to bring up," Matilda said.
"Is all clear that we have been talking about?"
"I think so."
"Now, will you be good to me, and stay and take supper with me? Thatknock at the door means that Miss Redwood would like to have me knowthat supper is ready. And you shall have this apple we have beenroasting."
"Mr. Richmond, I think mamma would be frightened if I did not go home."
"She does not know where you are?"
"Nobody knows," said Matilda.
"Then it won't do to let you stay. You shall come another time, and wewill roast another apple, won't you?"
"I should like to come," said Matilda. "Mr. Richmond, didn't you sayyou were going to talk to the Band and explain things, when we have ourmeetings?"
"I did say so. What do you want explained?"
"Some time,--I would like to know just all it means, to be a servant ofChrist."
"All it means," said Mr. Richmond. "Well, it means a good deal, Tilly.I think we had better begin there with our explanations. I shall notmake it a lecture; it will be more like a class; so you may ask as manyquestions as you please."