The happiness of Hazelbrook
poem, 'Palestine,' had gained the prize, and had been read before all
the learned men at Oxford, the assembly broke up. But the successful
scholar could nowhere be found, till at length some one discovered him
in his study, on his knees, thanking God who had given him the power to
write that poem, and who had spared his beloved parents to witness and
share his joy."
"Please, Miss Mabel, will you tell us that story you promised me a long
while ago?"
"I am glad you reminded me of it, Nelly, for I had quite forgotten it."
"I am glad you did forgot it," said Katie, "for now I shall be able to
hear it too."
Katie Lawrence was indeed greatly changed. Before her illness she
had never cared about being in the room when Mabel called to see her
sister; indeed, she usually, if at home, found some excuse for being
absent. But it was quite different now; and the humble, teachable girl
was only too happy to listen to words of holy truth that fell from the
lips of gentle Mabel Tracy.
"I will try and tell it you as simply as I can," said Mabel, "in order
that you may understand it all. Papa read it to me out of a book."
"Once upon a time there were some people who lived in a happy island;
but they behaved very badly there, and the king of the island banished
them. The place to which they were exiled was a barren and cheerless
coast, and it lay within distant sight of their former happy home,
which they had lost by their misdeeds.
"Soon after they had been expelled from the island, a message had come
to them from their sovereign, offering a pardon to all that would seek
it. Strange to say, few minded it. They had grown quite hardened, and
they tried to persuade themselves that the mud huts in which they lived
were more comfortable than the mansions in the happy land, and that the
wild berries on the bleak shore of their new home were preferable to
all the fine fruits of the island garden.
"There was one man, however, who thought differently. He was a very
thoughtful person. Often and often you might have seen him pacing up
and down the beach, when the golden rays of the setting sun shone full
on the happy isle; and as from his own dreary prison, he saw the rich
forests and purple mountains of his former dwelling, he sighed, and
wished he was there.
"One morning, when he awoke, it struck him that the opposite shore
appeared unusually near, and the tide seemed so low that he fancied he
might easily swim across. And so he hastened forth; first over the dry
shingle, then over the solid sand, then still on, until he reached the
wet, soft strand, from whence the waves had but just receded. And then
he was astonished at his own delusion; for there was still a mighty
gulf before him, and even whilst he gazed, the tide was rising. Sad and
disheartened, he returned backwards towards the dreary shore.
"A short time afterwards, he tried another plan. To the right of
his dwelling the tall cliffs stretched far away in a succession of
headlands, until the one farthest off seemed to touch the opposite
side. To this distant spot he determined to make a visit, in the hope
that it would lead him to the long-sought land.
"The road was in many places very steep, and for a long time the
distant headland seemed no nearer than before. But at last, after much
fatigue and toil, he succeeded in reaching it. With eager steps he ran
along the ridge, half hoping that it was an isthmus, or neck of land,
which would bear him to the blessed isle.
"But, alas! no. He had reached the most distant edge, and there was
still the vast ocean dashing against the base of the cliff. Bitterly
disappointed, and faint and weary with his useless toil, he flung
himself on the ground and wept. But by-and-by, he noticed off the shore
a little boat, with whose appearance he was quite familiar. It used to
ride at anchor opposite his own abode, and had done so for a long time;
but, like his neighbours, he had got so used to seeing it, that he took
no notice of it.
"Now, however, seeing it there, he looked at it, and as he looked, it
came nearer to him. At last it came close to the rocks on which he was
seated. It was a beautiful little boat, with snow-white sail and golden
prow, and a bright red cross was its waving flag. There was one on
board—only one. His raiment was white and glistening, and his features
showed whence he came.
"'Son of man,' he said, in a kind and gentle voice, 'why weepest thou?'
"'Because I cannot reach the blessed isle.'
"'Canst thou trust thyself with me?'
"The poor wanderer looked at the frail little boat leaping lightly on
the waves, and he hesitated, till he looked again at the Pilot's kind
countenance, and then he said, 'I can.'
"And no sooner had he stepped on board, than swift as a sunbeam, the
boat bore him to the land of light. And with many a warm welcome from
the Pilot's friends, he found himself among its happy inhabitants,
clothed in the same bright raiment as they, and free to all their
privileges as a subject of their king.
"That is the whole of the story," said Mabel, as she concluded; "and
now can you tell me what it means?"
"Not quite," replied Katie; "I seem to know that there is some other
meaning to it, but I cannot quite explain it."
"Is it not something like a parable?" asked Nelly.
"You are right, Nelly," said Mabel; "it is called an allegory, which
means very much the same as a parable."
"And will you explain it to us, Miss Mabel?"
"I will give you dear papa's own words," said Mabel; "I did not
understand all of it myself until he explained it to me. The happy
isle is peace with God, and shows us the state in which man was while
innocent. The dreary, barren shore to which they were exiled is the
state of misery into which sinful man has fallen. The little boat
shows the 'only' way by which a sinner can pass over from his misery
into peace with God. It is not a way of any man's contriving, but is
provided for sinners by God Himself. That way is the 'atonement,' and
He who so kindly invites sinners to avail themselves of it is—"
"Our Saviour?" said Nelly.
"Just so, Nelly; and the poor man who tried to get to the happy island
his own way is like one who tries to make a righteousness for himself.
Papa says this is a mistake into which so many people fall. They
determine to read so many chapters, and to pray so long every day; they
determine henceforth never to be angry, or deceitful, or idle, and make
up their minds to go on in this way until they are really good, and
deserve to be forgiven.
"But how far must any one walk round the coast of Europe before he
arrives in Britain? He might walk on for ever, and would be no nearer,
because Britain is an island, and there is a great sea between it and
Europe. Just so the sinner cannot, of himself, reach God. Instead of
being good in order to be forgiven, we have need to be forgiven before
we can begin to become good."
Lady Tracy, who had promised to call for Mabel on her way home, now
entered the cottage. She had overheard the latter part of what her
daughter had been saying, and continued the subject by repeating the
verse of a hymn which both Katie and Nelly had learned:
"Eternal life is not a gift which good deeds or prayers can deserve or
purchase; it is the free gift of God.
"'God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in His Son.'"
Lady Tracy then spoke kindly to Katie, telling her how glad she was to
see her so much better.
"God has been most merciful to you, my dear child," said she. "Try to
feel grateful to Him for His goodness; and, above all, try and realise
that the 'only' way to have true peace with God is to have sincere,
humble trust in Jesus Christ."
CHAPTER VI
The Return of the Prodigal
IN a small lonely cottage, halfway between Hazelbrook and "The Hollow,"
lived old Granny Hale. She was not so very old; but her infirm health,
her blindness, and her solitary life in that lone cottage by the
woodside had caused the children of Hazelbrook to call her by the name
of "Granny." It was a sort of pet name, denoting the life of dependence
she lived on the assistance and kindness of others. Her husband died in
a decline, nearly twenty years before, at the early age of thirty-five.
His family inherited his delicacy of constitution; all except the
youngest boy, Tom, who was a strong, hearty lad, who never ailed
anything.
When Mrs. Hale lost her husband, and afterwards all her children, one
by one, except Tom, she seemed to cling to him with double affection.
To a certain extent, this was natural. But the excess of her love for
her only child led her to be blind to his faults, which were increased
by her own indulgence.
Tom Hale became a selfish, idle boy, allowing his mother to work early
and late to support herself and him. For he never stayed more than a
week or so in any place, preferring to idle away his time at home,
instead of earning his own living, and assisting his mother.
At last, Sir Herbert Tracy and Mr. Graham both spoke seriously to Mrs.
Hale on the subject, and pointed out to her the sin she was committing
in allowing Tom to continue in his present idle way of living. They
so far convinced her that she consented to their speaking to Tom,
and telling him that they would once more find him employment on a
neighbouring farm. But that if he did not do his duty and behave
industriously, he was to look for no further help from his mother,
whose health had been for some time giving way.
In a sulky humour, Tom went to his new situation. He did not try to
please his master, and at the first word of reproof which he received
for an act of gross negligence and idleness, he ran away to a seaport
town some miles off, and got taken as one of the boys on board a large
ship, bound for a distant part of the world. It was some time after his
departure before even this much was learned of what had become of him,
for the heartless boy had left without a word to his poor mother.
The loss of her son struck the final blow to Mrs. Hale's already
declining health, and a severe attack of fever, which for some time
threatened her life, left her totally blind. She arose from her bed of
sickness, a sadder but a wiser woman, confessing the folly and weakness
of which she had been guilty in her treatment of Tom.
She was no longer able to work for herself, and her friends advised her
to go into the workhouse. But the poor woman clung so fondly to her old
home, every corner of which was familiar to her, and into every room
of which she could soon grope her way by means of a stick, that Sir
Herbert, to whom the cottage belonged, consented to her staying in it
as long as she liked. A small allowance from the parish, a little help
from her brother, who was one of the gardeners at Hazelbrook Hollow,
and what money she could earn by knitting stockings, sufficed to bring
in enough for her simple wants. Little Mary Wood, her brother's child,
used to go every morning to light Granny's fire, and get her her
breakfast; and some of the Hazelbrook children were frequently dropping
in during the day to get her anything she might want.
Granny Hale was a great favourite with children. She was always
cheerful, notwithstanding her affliction, and there was scarcely a
child in Hazelbrook but would willingly give up an hour's play to
gather up sticks to boil Granny's kettle, or read a chapter to her out
of her large old family Bible. This Bible had many pictures in it, and
Mrs. Hale knew them so well that when any of her young readers came to
one of the pictures, she could explain it to them nearly as well as if
she had had the use of her eyes.
Ben Lawrence frequently went over to the widow's cottage for half an
hour on a summer's evening, and he would dig up the bit of ground in