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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
^f^OLD j^AST BY YoUR SuNDAYS.
t
"Do VOU KNOW, HarKV, I DATE ALL MY TROfDLES AND VEXATIOKS FROM
THAT WRETCHED St'NDAY. AlL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS; AND SOME-
HOW EVERYTHING HAS CONE WRONG WITH ME SINCE."
Page loo-ioi.
err-
■-tD
ij;OLD if&ST
1
^
BY
X
?rOUPx ^UIIDIYS.
/.*=»■»
CN^^
>v,
\^o^
»»'
VO'
"■ • !
,*^-^-
BY THE AUTHOR OF "DEEPDALE VICARAGE," "MARGARET'S CHOICE," ETC.
With Tnti\oductory Note
REV. CHARLES BULLOCK, B.D., formerly Rector of St. Nicholas',
Worcester ; Editor of "Home Words," etc
NEW EDITION.
^
ILonlJon:
"HOME WORDS" OFFICE, 7, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.
BiTr,T.E & Tanneh,
The Sri.wood riuNTixG Woeks,
FuoME, AND London.
TK
DctiirntrtJ
/ 6^ i
TO
THE MEMORY OF
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
The Earl of Shaftesbury, K.p.
"the working man's friend,"
who so nobly vindicated not only
THE RIGHTS OF LABOUR
BUT
THE SADDATH RIGHT OF REST.
c^^-S^^^-
^-^■^^^
1524re3
BY THE REV. RICHARD WILTON, M.A., RECTOR OF LONDESBOROUGH, EAST
YOPKSIIIKE, AUTHOR OF "SUNGLEAMS : SONNETS AND RONDEAUX," ETl.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; let nothing have power
To take from God's children their birthright and dower,
The Rest-Day appointed in Eden's fair bower
Ere sin had yet clouded earth's glad morning hour.
Hold fast by your Sundays, the Sabbath of Rest,
God's solemn commandment from Sinai's crest,
When awed by the thunder, by darkness opprest.
Their sin and their weakness His people confcst.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; the Saviour arose
In triumph on Sunday, and scattered your foes,
His labours all ended, and borne all His woes.
That you might have pardon and faith's sweet repose.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; the Spirit came dpwn
On Sunday, and gave it a gladsome renown ;
On calm Christian Sabbaths no thunder-clouds frown ;
Grace, peace, and rejoicing are Sunday's bright crown.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; earth's business and care
In six weary work-days have more than their share ;
Then comes the blest Sabbath : of labour beware
Which steals from the Rest-Day to which you are heir.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; of pleasure take heed
Which seeks from God's worship your footsteps to lead :
Oh, pause, Sabbath-breaker, that flower is a weed
Which stings as you pluck it, and bears deadly seed.
Hold fast by your Sundays, the earnest and sign
Of "Rest" that "remaineth" in mansions Divine;
With streaks of Heaven's glory our Sabbaths now shine,
Some grapes they now yield us from Eshcol's rich vine.
Hold fast by your Sundays ; these happy Lord's-Days
On wings as o\ eagles your souls shall upraise.
While faith's joyful worship and hope's cheering lays
Ring in the grand Sabbath and thunders of praise !
Frovt "Home Words."
CONTENT^.
PACR
Introductory Note 9
CHAPTER I.
"Hold Fast dv your Sundays!". .... 17
CHAPTER II.
My New Place 23
CHAPTER III.
"The May do, and the Will do" . . . .29
CHAPTER IV.
The Motto Stared me in the Face . . . .34
CHAPTER V.
The Office of the Good SiiF.riiERD . . . .39
CHAPTER VI.
Ruth Comes Back Alone 43
CHAPTER VII.
Something Unexpected Happens. . * , .47
CHAPTER VIII.
The Voice was that of my Old Acquaintance . 51
CHAPTER IX.
The Gold and the Dross 56
viii CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X. ''AGB
To-morrow is the Day 6i
CHAPTER XI.
An Order ! the Word had a Welcome Sound . 66
CHAPTER Xn.
I looked again at the Motto i .... 71
CHAPTER Xni.
•'•A Good Example is worth following" . . , 76
CHAPTER XIV.
More Changes Still 80
CHAPTER XV.
A Sunny Spot in my Life 86
CHAPTER XVI.
The Two Weddings 92
CHAPTER XVII.
"What has the Sabbath-breaker Gained?" .. . 99
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Watchword of my Family . , . , .106
CHAPTER XIX.
The Wanderer's Return .112
CHAPTER XX.
A Sunday Never to be Forgotten . . . .118
f3:j'
Ijstroductory JioTE,
^jJ,,OLD Fast ly your Sundays
originally appeared as a Serial
Tale in " HOME WORDS."
Its gifted Author has since ceased
from earthly labours, and entered
into the Sabbath rest and joy of
the Master's Home above. The entrusted talent had
long been employed for good and noble ends : and
"godly living" issued in "blissful dying." "Heaven
now! Heaven now!" were parting words upon
the failing lips.
During the period of its serial publication, the Tale
gained universal commendation : and, as the Editor
of " Home Words," I have not been surprised by
the repeated requests which have been urged for its
separate publication.
In yielding to these requests I may add, the late
Earl of Shaftesbury most readily evinced his appre-
lo HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
ciation of the Talc by allowing it to be dedicated to
himself.
Lord Shaftesbury well earned the title of TilE
Working Man's Friend ; and he bore no title
which reflected greater honour on his noble character.
No one ever did more than his lordship to vindicate
the Rights of LABOUR ; and it is almost needless to
say he was ever equally ready to assert and maintain
the Right of SUNDAY REST : — to use his own ex-
pressive and exhaustive words, — "the full, absolute,
unqualified, and unconditional enjoyment by the
working classes of one day in seven for the high and
holy purposes for which the Day was set apart."
I feel that I could not better commend " HOLD
Fast by your Sundays" to the hearty reception of
my working friends, than by quoting the following
extract from a speech delivered some years since by
Lord Shaftesbury in the City Hall, Glasgow, to a
crowded assembly of the members of " The Glasgow
Working Men's Sabbath Protection Association."
His lordship said : —
" Well did one of your countrymen call this * The
Pearl of Days.' As the Pearl of Days let it be
precious to you — the single goodly pearl of all the
pearls you could seek on earth. (Applause.)
" I am glad to see you, free, honest, and indepcn*
dent citizens, rising to the assertion of the exercise
of your political rights ; it is constitutional ; it gives
hope of the country in which we live. But if you rise
to the assertion of your political rights, how trumpery,
how mean, how unworthy of consideration are they
when compared with those rights which assert the
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. II
sanctity of the Lord's Day ! You may busy your-
selves on weekdays in your works of industry ; you
may busy yourselves in your political assemblies, or
in regard to the exercise of the suffrage and the tone
of the men who should represent you in Parliament ;
but Task you, What are these rights compared with
the right that you assert, to have this great and sacred
Day exclusively your own, for the contemplation of
God's Holy Word, for waiting upon Ilim in worship,
for repairing all the wear and tear of the mind and
body in the work that is prescribed, for refreshing
yourselves for future toil, but, above all things, pre-
paring yourselves, through the all-redeeming blood
of the Saviour, for a blessed immortality? These are
the great rights for you to maintain ; these are the
great rights that raise you to the full sense of your
responsibility to God and man.
" I have read an article in one of your local papers
to-day. I do not complain of its tone, on the contrary
I took it as rather friendly than otherwise ; but it
speaks as if you had called me down here, and I had
come in the most willing manner, for the purpose of
putting some restriction upon the ordinary pleasures
you enjoy. Above all, the writer went out of his
way to say that it was to limit the poor people in
their walks on the Sabbath Day. Now I look upon
the Sabbath Day as a day of holy, physical, and
mental recreation ; I look upon it as a day of which
you must devote a good part to the worship and
service of Almighty God (hear, hear) ; but I look
upon it as a day that you may devote to family
affections, to man}' family duties, to social intercourse,
12 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUA'DAYS.
to many little innocent enjoyments ; and if there is
anything on the face of the earth that to my mind
is more beautiful than another, it is to see on the
Sabbath Day, under the bright sun and on a glowing
evening, the working-man with his wife on his arm
and his children behind him, all enjoying themselves
under the open canopy of heaven. (Loud applause.)
" I ask you now to look at this picture, — I know
we have it in London, and I hope you have it here in
Glasgow, — Donald going out on the Sunday evening
with his Jeannie upon his arm, nice and neat in her
cap and kirtle, and all the bairns round about en-
joying themselves. Then they go home; then they
read a chapter of the Word of God ; then they join
in the common prayer, then they retire to bed ; and
Donald rises next day and resumes his working
clothes full of confidence and joy, because he knows
he has spent well the Sabbath, and that God will be
with him for the ensuing week. (Applause.)
" It is impossible, for those who will be candid
enough to admit the truth, not to see and confess the
wisdom of the institution of the Sabbath. A rest of
one day in seven is so necessary, so true, and so wise,
that it could not possibly have sprung from any
human origin, but must have come down as a
revelation, as an ordinance from heaven. (Applause.)
Those who are most engaged in works of toil, whether
it be of the brain or of the hand, call out for repose ;
and if it be felt that rest is necessary to the human
mind and the human body, I ask you if there ever
was a period in the history of the world, in the history
of this nation, when it was more necessary than at
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 13
the present moment? (Applause.) Is it not an
observation of every one, that wc arc hvinj with
immense rapidity ? Is it not an observation of every
one, tii'at wc arc crowding into the year the events of
a century ? Everybody knows that in the days in
whicli we hvc the moral system, the intellectual
system, is more greatly disturbed than ever, owing to
the wild competition in every department of trade
and art in which men's minds are so busily engaged.
Therefore it is important that we should be more
than ever circumspect in attending to God's great
ordinance, and give up exclusively to Ilim, without
let, or hindrance, or restraint, the whole of that
blessed Day, apart from the toil of the mind and of
the body,
"We do not want to impose upon others any
ascetic observance ; only we do not choose to be
deprived of that privilege ourselves. We are not
called by any Act of Parliament to attend places of
worship ; but we say, ' You shall not do anything on
your part that shall prevent any working-man from
attending a place of worship.' (Applause.) It is for
working-men to maintain their right to the Sabbath
for themselves ; and that right the law of the land
has established. But I wish to impress this upon
you : Do not trust only to the law. What I want is,
that working-men should create a sound, healthy,
and strong public opinion (hear, hear) ; and if we
once get public opinion to prevail in our land, we
shall succeed in making a true and God-fearing,
Sabbath-keeping population.
" Let me add, I have the greatest possible attach-
14 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
mcnt, almost next to the observance of the Sabbath
itself, to the Saturday half-holiday, to which I cannot
help thinking a species of sanctity attaches. (Hear,
hear.) I think the Saturday half- holiday ought to
be given to all classes, because I believe it would be
one of the best means of securing the full, free, and
decent observance of the Lord's Day." (Applause.)
The working-men of England will know how to
appreciate these earnest and eloquent words of faith-
ful counsel ; and the respose in many a God-fearing
reader's breast will be a renewed resolve to
Hold Fast by our Sundays.
T/ie Editor of " HOME Words. **
CoowritJi, BoiirncinontJi.
Alt gust, 1889.
Life's jSayings j3ank.
The Sabbath is God's special present to ihe working
man ; and one of its chief objects is to prolong his hfe,
and to preserve efficient iiis working tone. It replenishes
the spirits, the elasticity, and vigour, which the last six
days have drained away, and supplies the force which is
to fdl the six days succeeding. In the economy of life it
answers the same purpose as in tlic economy of income
is answered by a Savings Bank.
The frugal man who puts aside a pound to-day, and
another pound next month, and who, in a quiet way, is
always putting by his stated pound from time to time,
when he grows old and frail, not only gets the same
pound back again, but a good many pounds beside.
And the conscientious man, who husbands one day of
existence every week ; who, instead of allowing the Sab-
bath to be trampled and torn in the hurry and scramble
of life, treasures it devoutly up, the Lord of the Sabbath
keeps it for him, and in length of days, and a hale old
age, gives it back with usury.
The Savings Bank of human existence is the weekly
Sabbath.— A 'b;/'/^ Brilish Rrvicxu.
Our Father's House
B
Blest day of God, most calm, most bright,
The first and best of days ;
The labourer's rest, the saint's delight,
A day of joy and praise.
The first-fruits do a blessing prove
To all the sheaves behind ,
And they that do a Sabbath love,
A happy week shall find. — Mason
-4
YoUf^ ^UJNDAY^.
>nci«
CHAPTER I.
"HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS!"
/^■r-
^>2 Y father uttered these words one
Sabbath evening, many years ago.
I can scarce tell how many. I
was a mere lad then, and Hfc lay
all before me in a kind of golden
halo, such as never appears but
once, and that is in the days of our youth.
My life had been a happy one : I cannot, up to
this period, recall any sorrow of much magnitude.
We were working people, and from Monday morning
till Saturday night we kept strict count of the words,
" Six days shalt thou labour." My father had been
X7 B
i8 HOLD FAST DY YOUR SUNDAYS.
in the employ of the squire of the parish ever since I
could remember, and long before that. At the close
of every week, he came home with his honest earnings,
and put them into my mother's hands, to be appro-
priated to the use of the family.
It was astonishing how far the earnings went.
Two household friends, named thrift and economy,
would spin them out to the last farthing. My mother
was a capital manager. Neither head nor hands were
ever idle. Within the home, all things were kept
clean and bright ; " Cleanliness," she used to say, " is
the luxury of the poor." And we had good food and
clothing, and many little comforts besides, which
were unknown to those of our neighbours whose
affairs were not managed with the same prudence
and skill, and who would drop their earnings into the
pocket of the landlord of the inn, instead of into their
own.
"This kind of privation is not sent by Providence,"
my father would say, if ever the subject were referred
to. " The means of preventing it are bestowed upon
us. We have strong hands, if only we had willing
hearts. It comes of our own unruly wills and
passions."
And then, for he was a man deeply versed in holy
things, he would speak of the blessings of piety in
the home, and the safety and prosperity of those who
dwell under the shadow of the Almighty, and are
kept from all kind of evil.
I used to listen to him with reverence. It was a
teaching with which I had been familiar from my
childhood upwards, but I did not enter very deeply
HOLD FAST DY YOUR SUNDAYS/ 19
into the matter. The root of it lay beyond the Hmit
of my experience.
Sunday was our happiest day. How well I can
remember it, and all the little incidents connected
with it ! It comes to me, through all these years,
with the freshness of yesterday. I can scent the old
woodbine that clung lovingly round the cottage porch,
and with its companion, a white rose, used to look,
in summer time, through the window. I can recall
the casement, with its muslin curtain, old and darned,
but spotless in its whiteness. I can see the clock in
the corner, and the well-polished table, with the best
tea-tray leaning against the wall ; and the row of
books^ my father's humble library, well worn with
use. And I can see the strip of garden, with its bed
01 sweet-williams and mignonette ; and the patch of
potatoes, and the row of peas, and the bee-hives
under the wall ; and the gate leading into a smooth
green meadow, over which we went to church ; and
the old, weather-beaten tower itself, peeping from
behind a clump of trees.
Sunday was essentially a holiday. Besides its
sacred character, and the deeper, holier rest, of which
I then knew but little, it came to us with a genial
smile. Our week-day work was done. ]\Iy father's
tools, — his spade, his fork, his hoe, the implements
with which he had toiled, day after day, tilling,
sowing, reaping, as it might happen, — were laid aside.
The horses in the meadow grazed contentedly, or
stood hanging their heads over the gate, secure from
harness.
The Sabbath-bells, as they chimed in the early
20 HOLD FA^r BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
morning', li^id but one message. They seemed to say
"Rest! rest! rest!"
In these days I cared little for rest. I was active,
and had all the restlessness of youth. My limbs
never tired, my head never ached. 1 was full of the
busy schemes and plans of boyhood. But I loved
these happy Sundays. The memory of them is
precious to me now, though the snows of age have
fallen thickly on my head, and I am approaching,
through God's mercy, another Sabbath, far away
from here !
The period when my story begins, was an eventful
one. It was the last Sunday at my old home. I
was about to go into the world, and fill up my humble
place amid its busy scenes. My father had resolved
to give mc a trade, and he had bound me apprentice
to an upholsterer in the next market town. It was a
very subordinate position to begin with. I was to
run errands, and make myself useful in any way that
might be required. But this was supposed to lead to
better things.
"If the lad works well, and is steady, we shall soon
push him on," was the promise held out by my em-
ployer.
So, on the morrow, these new scenes were to dawn
upon me. I was to be ushered into a new sphere.
I liked the thoughts of the change ; — what lad of
fourteen would not ? The town, with its bustling
streets and gay shop-windows, had long been regarded
with a beating heart. That roseate hue I spoke of
rested on the new stretch of life's journey, and gave
it a fictitious charm. The uphill work, the cares,, the
HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS! 21
snares, the pitfalls, with which life abounds, lay
hidden. One by one, I have come upon them since.
I have seen the halo flee as I approached, and the
bare • rugged path lie steep before me, reaching I
knew not whilher.
But at the time of which I speak, it was not so :
my knowledge had not come ; the lesson was not
taught.
My father was well acquainted with life. He knew
by experience where danger lurked and where safety
was to be found. And he put before me certain
places of refuge, certain towers of strength, when he
said, —
" Hold fast by your Sundays ! "
The day was almost over when he said it. We
had attended our evening service, and my father was
sitting at the window, the open Bible on his knee.
He had been reading until the twilight closed in
around us, and then, as was our custom, we had sung
a hymn.
" Lord, we Thy people hail the Day
Which breathes of peace and love,
Which bids our toils and cares away.
And tells of rest above.
We love the soothing Sabbath bell ;
We love the House of Prayer ;
Sweet thoughts and hopes within us swell,
While we are gathered there.
£>^
Lord, for Thy Day we bless Thy Name,—
Thy law hath made it sure ;
It stands from age to age the same,—
The birthright of the poor.
22 HOLD FAST HY YOUR SUNDAYS.
Oh may tl".csc firstfruits of our lime,
These Sabbath seasons, be
Bright steps up which our souls may climb,
Till they are safe with Thee ! "
My mother joined in our simple melody, but I fcdr
her thoughts wandered from it. She was about to
part with her son, and there was a touch of sadness
on her spirit, I could see her wipe away a tear that
now and then trickled down her check ; and when I
had retired to rest, she came to my bedside and,
stooping over me, kissed me.
" Haivy," she whispered, " be sure you remember
what your father says about the Sunday."
"That I will, mother," I replied confidently.
" Make no vows in your own strength," she said,
"for it is just weakness. But pray to God to help
you and keep you in the right way. There is more
in the Sunday than you think."
The words were but partially understood, though
I thought of them many times. It was the outer
sanctuary in which I had a dwelling : the veil had
not been lifted from the Holy Place within.
\^
CHAPTER IT.
^l^^l^x l-im MY NEW PLACE.
■^5if^^'?^/^' ^^^' II''^i''y> l^ccp close bcliind me.
'^" Tliis is the way to your new
^^il%/\^"„ As my father spoke, ahnost be-
fore he had time to utter the
words, I had alighted from the
carrier's cart, our humble con-
veyance, and was standing looking about me. The
journey had seemed very tedious, and the stoppages
endless, as we had passed through the villages. But
time and patience last out many things, and here we
were.
My new place ! I see it now. A shop in a crowded
thoroughfare, piled with upholsterers' goods, with
chairs, tables, and sofas, some of them bulging out on
the pavement ; and a narrow gangway left between
the goods, so narrow, that oy father and I could but
just squeeze ourselves along, one behind the other, on
our way down the shop. And a great barn-like place
at the back, called the " workshop," that we could see
24 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
into, and that was full of chairs and tables in the
process of being made, some legless and armless, and
some of them mere rough blocks of wood.
A lad, of my own age, was in the shop, and came
forward to receive us. He was as spruce and dapper
as I was homely and countrified. There was a great
looking-glass just opposite, in which both our figures
could be seen, and mine did not gain much by the
contrast. And he had a readiness of speech too that
I did not possess. In a few minutes he had told us
that he was leaving that very day, to go to a grand
new shop in the market-place, and that he had been
living here six months, and that I was to fill his
place, and many other things beside ; to which my
father seemed to pay but little attention.
As for me, I rather took to the lad from the first,
and felt sorry he was going.
Presently my new master came out, — a little wiry
man, with a certain briskness and activity about him
that I liked ; for I was used to brisk stirring ways at
home. " Never let the grass grow under your feet,"
" Make hay while the sun shines," and many such-
like proverbs, were frequent sayings of my father.
"If God gives us rest on the Sabbath," he would
argue, "it is a stringent command, 'Six days shalt
thou labour.' And labour," he would go on to say,
*' is a blessing, Harry, not a curse ; health, wealth,
and peace are hers ; the seed-time and the harvest,
the basket and the store. It is through idleness of
the hands that the house droppeth through ; for idle-
ness neither sows nor reaps, has neither storehouse
nor barn."
Jl/V NtlV PLACE, 25
While my father and my new master went forward
into a little room behind the shop, talking, I suppose,
about myself, we young ones lagged behind. I waited
to look about mc, and I liked to hear what the
talkative lad had to say about the new place I had
come into.
There was no need to ask many questions : he
talked on with a glibness that was surprising. He
contrived, in the few minutes we were together, to
tell me that this was the worst end of the town, and
the place to which he was going the best ; that this
shop was "a poky affair," but his shop was the
grandest in the town ; that I should find myself
"cooped up" and "precious dull ;" that there was a
park at the other end, and a river wilh lots of boats
on it ; and his speech was garnished with many slang
terms that I did not understand. On the whole,
however, I liked him, and was rather flattered by the
interest he seemed to take in me.
My village companions were very humdrum sort of
lads compared to this one. And he might be my
companion, even though we were not under the same
roof.
But in spite of my liking for him, it must be con-
fessed that there were points about my new friend
that I felt were rather questionable. When he asked
where I should go on the Sunday, and I told him to
the parish church, he laughed, and said he did not
mean that. I could not find out what he did mean,
for at that moment out came my father.
" Now, Marry," he said, briskly, " I have settled all
about you : this is your new master.'
26 HOLD FAST DY /OUR SUNDAYS.
I made the kind of bow I used to do at home, in
presence of a superior. Then I looked up into his
face. It was rather a careworn face, I thought, and
belonged to a person that I feared was hard to please.
But Mr. Gibson (that was his name) was an old
friend of my father's, and I knew that he must be
the right sort of man. I had full confidence in my
father as regarded everything.
And yet, how was it that the words "cooped up,"
"dull kind of place," "queerish chap," and many such
expressions came unpleasantly to my mind ? I did
not entertain them ; mdeed, there was no chance
just then. My father had some errands to do, and
nothing was more delightful than his proposal that
I should go with him.
A brisk walk through the town on a sunshiny day
— could anything be better .'' There were the shops —
the market-place — the great broad handsome streets
— the beautiful sparkling river — the park, filled with
gaily-drcssed people, who looked as if taking a
holiday. Everything was novel and delightful ; and
I was to stay here — to live among these grand new
things always !
When we came back, it did strike me that our
shop, as I had already begun to call it, was in the
worst part of the town. The streets were very nar-
row, and the pavement bad, and the general aspect of
the place inferior. Again I remembered my new
friend's remarks, and I felt a trifle disappointed. I
had seen his shop in the market-place, and admired,
as we passed, the curtains and mirrors and grand
ornaments, far beyond what our place could boast.
MV NEW PLACE. 27
And I felt a Iwiiv^c of envy. I had hoped, on our
return, for a little further conversation ; but my now
friend was gone.
Nobody was at home now but my master and a
comfortable-looking person, his housekeeper, who was
also his niece ; for my master had lost his wife many
years ago.
Ruth was the name of the housekeeper ; and she
took me upstairs to show me my room, a tiny closet
of a place in the attic, but very clean and snug. My
box stood under the window, as if it had already
taken possession. I could see nothing from the
window but chimney-tops and smoke.
We had dinner when I got downstairs ; and then
my father said it was time to go, and I walked with
him to the carrier's cart, and bade him good-bye.
"Now, Harry," he said, "you have your future
prospects in your own hands, lad. There is a good
old proverb, that ' God helps those who help them-
selves.' And, Harry," he added, a minute later, as we
stood in a quiet place apart from the busy crowd, and
while the carrier was putting in his horse, " be sure
you pray that God will keep you from temptation,
A big town, like this, is a dangerous place for a lad,
unless he is in God's keeping. But he'll be safe
enough then."
" I will pray," I said, all the pious influences of my
early years coming upon me, and standing, as they
often do, in the place ol" a surer restraint ; " I will
strive."
" That's right ! and God bless you ! "
1 felt his hand on my head a moment, and then it
28
HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
was drawn hastily over his eyes. After that, we
parted. The carrier's horse set off at its usual jog-
trot pace, and I was left alone. I had fairly started
in life,
I walked briskly back to my new home, which was
in the next street, I hardly knew for the moment,
whether I was glad or sorry : whether I felt most
inclined to laugh or to cry. At any rate, I looked
about, in a wistful sort of way, for my new friend.
The sight of his merry face, I thought, would have
done me good. But it was not to be seen.
>^"r^
CHAPTER III.
"THE Af.iY DO, AND THE IIV/.L DO."
SOON found out the reason why my
father had placed me whh Mr. Gibson.
Andrew Gibson, as he was called by
his employers, was the best and most
finished workman in the town. The
articles of furniture supplied by him were
said by a well-known figure of speech,
to " last for ever."
He was a capital man of business. " Business," he
used to say, " has two hands and two feet. Civility
and attention are the hands, diligence and perse-
verance the feet."
There is a " may do," and a " will do," he used also
to sa}', as wc plied our tasks. The " may do " can
shuffle lamely by in a crowd, and so contrive to pass ;
but the " will do" looks you in the face like an honest
man.
I made up my mind from the beginning to strive
after the "will do." I wanted to learn my trade well.
30 tJOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
and be a good workman and a useful member of
society. These were my first and fairest intentions.
I led a happy life, though the days went with the
regularity of clock-work. I rose with the lark, and
used to be in the workshop whistling merrily, and as
busy as a bee.
" Take time by the forelock," was another of my
master's sayings. " It is of no use trying to catch
him. He goes like the wind when once he has
started."
My master's establishment was a small one. He
employed no more hands than were needed, and
nothing was for show, but all for use. In the work-
shop were some half-dozen men, who went home to
eat and to sleep. And within doors there was Ruth.
Ruth made us very comfortable. The room in
which we lived was plain as could be, but it was
clean and neat, and the meals were served with the
quietness and regularity of my own home. My
master, Ruth, and myself, composed the family circle,
and we began to feel as if knit together by a closer
bond than that of interest. My master treated me
more like a son than an apprentice.
" I had a son once," he said to me, one day, "just
such a lad as you are ; but he has left me."
I asked Ruth what was the meaning of this speech ;
and she told me that the lad was not dead, as I had
supposed, but had run away to sea, and nobody had
heard of him since.
I thought of this many times, when my master was
grave and silent, as he would be by fits and starts.
I fancied he was grieving for his son.
''THE MAY DO, AND THE WILL DO." 31
We used to attend church on Sunday morning, all
three of us ; Ruth lockuic^ the door and taking the
key in her pocket. In fine weather, Ruth and I
would take an afternoon stroll into the fields, or into
some quiet lane, and my master would sit at home
reading. His legs, he said, were not so young as
they used to be ; and when we came back we often
found him asleep, with his handkerchief over his
head, and his glasses on the great book in wliicii he
had been reading. It was always the same book —
the Bible.
These were peaceful days, and it seemed an easy
injunction to " Hold i.xsi by my Sundays ; " but I was
yet all untried, and the hour of temptation had not
come.
One day, as I was going along the street on an
errand, I heard some one calling after me.
" What a hurry you are in ! " said a voice close to
my elbow — a voice I remembered to have heard
before. " What is it all about } "
I stopped. It was my acquaintance of the shop,
the sharp lad who had gained my favour the first day
of my arrival, but whom I had not seen since.
The sight of him brought back the old feeling of
liking. I held out my hand cordially. He was just
as lively as ever, and talked away as fast as possible.
" What had I been doing with myself? " " How did
I like my place .■• " And a hundred questions more.
And though I resisted a little, he would have me go
round the corner to look at Ais shop, and then farther
still, to have a peep at the river, all glittering in the
sun, and with pleasure boats sailing upon it. A little
32 HOLD FAST DY YOUR SUNDAYS.
way farther was the Park ; and a band was playing
merrily under the trees. But I steadfastly refused to
go another step. " I must go back," I said ; and I
did, running as fast as I could to make up for lost
time.
But the conversation that had taken place between
us, left a curious impression on my mind. The gaiety
and light-heartedness of my companion's manner, his
love of fun and of frolic, roused up something of the
-same sort in myself This was innocent enough, and
did me no harm. But the hints and speeches he
dropped, the allusion to pleasures I never had the
leisure to enjoy, and to a liberty I had never before
wanted, or felt to need, were neither good nor whole-
some. They were rather like drops of poison too
minute to be observed, but the result of which would
be felt.
When I got back from my errand, it struck me for
the first time that the place was dull and gloomy :
that my way of life was monotonous, and had not
sufficient variety ; that I was at work from morning
till night, and had not the enjoyments and pastimes
of other lads. INIany more such thoughts would have
crowded into my mind, but that occupation, and the
brisk polishing I was giving to a certain set of
drawers, caused them to flee away. By degrees, and
when my task was completed, I felt as happy and
as contented as ever.
But it chanced after a time, — and I must not dwell
too long on this part of my story,— it chanced that I
met Peter Clarke (for this was the name of my new
acquaintance) again and again. I never went out on
" THE MA Y DO, AND THE WILL DO." 33
an errand, but his merry face was sure to meet me at
the corner of the street ; and by slow but dangerous
degrees we became very intimate indeed. I had
never been so taken with a companion before. He
could do almost everything ; and, as it seemed to me,
he knew almost everything. I thought he was the
cleverest lad I had ever met with in my life.
He had some friends — "a jolly set," he used to
call them, and by degrees I became acquainted with
every one of them. These stolen interviews took
place when I went on errands, or when I was left
in charge of the shop.
"It was not right," something told me. "These
lads were each of them in the employ of a master,
and it was his time which they were wasting."
Still the few merry minutes, the jest, the song, had
a kind of charm for me. When it was over, I was
sad and depressed in a manner unknown to me be-
fore. I was fretful too, and impatient. I lost by the
exchange, as people always do who give up right for
wrong, good for evil. And it was wrong, or why
should I have kept silence to those who had been my
best and kindest friends .-* Why did I say not a word
of these things to my master or to Ruth .''
CHAPTER IV.
THE MOTTO STARED ME IN THE FACE.
iHE kind of life I was leading could
not be without its effect on me. Out-
?i wardly, I went on pretty much as
usual ; but there Avere certain gaps
and breaks in my chain of duty. I
Avanted to "get out" more than I
used to do. The society of my master and of Ruth
had not excitement enough. I was always planning
how to see or speak to " my friends."
I did not care so much for my trade, or to be the
best workman in the place. I was longing rather for
a time when I could get those holidays and those
pleasures of which my companions were constantly
telling me : when I should have less work and more
play.
Many were the pit}'ing speeches made to me, and I
began to pity myself very much indeed. Yet in my
better moments, I was ashamed of myself. A healthy,
3*.
THE MOTTO STARED ME IN THE FACE. 35
hearty lad, witli strong arms and a good trade and a
happy home : what more could I want ?
I , often had this kind of reflections as I passed
some shivering urchin in the street on a winter's day,
and I could not but recall the hymn —
" Not more tlian others I deserve,
Yet God has given me more."
At such times I would shake off my discontent,
and set myself to work with all my might.
But Winter was over now. Spring had come, and
with it came my first great temptation.
I had been gradually falling away. I had been
more and more won to my companions, and to their
ways of thinking and of acting. I had seen them at
all times when it was practicable. I had listened
eagerly to their schemes ; and when their great scheme
came to be disclosed, it did not shock me as miirht
liave been supposed.
Yet it was a plan for an excursion down the river
on a Sunday. There was something exciting in the
word "excursion." It was just what I had been
longing for, this beautiful Spring weather. I had
jiever been on the river but once. That once was a
holiday afternoon, and my master and Ruth and I
had made a merry little party on the water ; and we
went a long way down in a boat, and had tea at a
quiet inn by the water-side. I had never enjoyed
myself more in my life. But should I enjoy this trip,
and on a Sunday ?
The trip proposed would be very different from
that "slow affair," as Peter Clarke called it. There
36 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
was to be a party of six, and we were to stop, not at
the quiet inn, but at some tea-gardens lately opened,
and where a great deal of merriment was always
going on.
My father, I well knew, would have disapproved of
the scheme from beginning to end. But from the
point on which I stood, I had lost sight of my father,
and the pious home in which I dwelt. I saw, instead,
the gay flowing river, alive with holiday parties and
pleasure-seekers ; and my fancy depicted a scene of
enjoyment in which I was to take a part.
And on a Sjuiday !
The difficulty in my mind was how to persuade my
master into letting me go. I did not mention this to
my companions, for I dreaded their gibes and jeers ;
but I thought it over as I walked back to the shop.
It was clear to me that if I told him the truth, it
would be the same thing as giving up my holiday.
But could I bring myself to tell a lie ?
I was still debating the point when I reached the
door of the shop. Ruth was looking out for me.
Her uncle, she said, was in the parlour, and wanted
to speak to me.
Ah ! that guilty conscience ! It needed but those
few words to make my face red and my heart beat
Had my master found out my scheme } And was
this the reason why he was waiting to speak to me ?
I went trembling into the room where my master
sat, his great ledger on the table before him.
" Harry," he said, "I find that I shall have to take a
journey. My only brother is dangerously ill, and has
sent for me. I shall have to set off in the morning."
THE MOTTO STARED ME IN THE EACE. 37
The mornlnjT was Saturday. My licart, that had
failed me with fear, gave a great bound. I could
hardly tell wliy, but it seemed a relief — this news my
master had just told me.
" I must be back on Monday, in time for business,"
he went on to say. " Ruth will go with me, but we
can trust you to keep house while we are away."
The unsuspecting smile made me wince as with
pain ; but I said nothing.
" You can attend the morning service, as usual,"
continued my master; "but I would rather you kept
in the rest of the day. There is a great fair going to
be held, and many loose people have come into the
town. I should not like the place to be left."
"Very well," I said quietly.
He looked up at me \\ith the same unsuspecting
smile.
" It will be your turn next," he said kindly. " I
must spare you to go home for a Sunday, soon."
"Thank you, sir," I replied.
I had the handle of the door in my hand, and kept
twisting it round and round. I was anxious for the
conversation to come to an end ; and it did. My
master went back to his ledger, and I retired to the
shop.
I wondered what I should do. The more I thought
about it, the more ardently I desired the holiday ;
and after all, what could be more convenient ? Events
played into my hands. My master was going out of
the way, as it seemed, on purpose!
I can slip out, I argued to m3'sclf, and fasten
the doors behind me. No one will ever find out I
38 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
have been, and there ivill Le no need to tell a lie
about it.
I did not stay to argue the case fairly out, or to
reflect on the good old saying, that " one sin leads to
another ; " or to discuss with myself how I should
face my master when he came back, having been
unfaithful to my trust. I did not care to dwell on
these things. I kept my secret very safe, and the
boys contrived to let me know the hour of starting,
and the place where we were to meet.
I got up earlier than usual on Sunday morning,
and laid out my best clothes and brushed my hat.
The house was very still, for my master and Ruth
were gone, and I had it all to myself. I was eager
and excited now the pleasure was so near. My hand
shook as I hunted to the bottom of my trunk in
search of something I wanted, tumbling everything
over in my impatience. The thing I wanted did not
come, but I got hold of a book my mother had put
in, and which I had never opened. As I tossed it
carelessly on one side, a marker fell out, and lay on
the floor just where I could not help but see it. The
marker was worked with coloured silk, no doubt by
my dear mother's own hands. The motto stared d^q
full in the face —
"Hold fast by your Sundays!"
U-s
CHAPTER V.
THE OFFICE OF THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
PICKED up the marker, and sat down
> with it in my hand. If it had been
gifted with the power of speech, it could
not have appealed to me more forcibly.
Yes ; my mother had planned this little
gift, and put it there as a surprise. She
was a good needle-woman, and made gowns and
bonnets, in a plain way, for her neighbours : and she
was fond of making little ornaments like this. She
had worked a marker for the great Bible out of which
my father read every morning and night. But that
marker had a different motto.
It came before me in a moment — my dear happy
home — just at this very hour. The Sabbath sua
shining on the window, and the Sabbath bells
chiming ; and my father reading the Word of God,
and offering prayer, perhaps for me ! And his parting
words, repeated with such earnestness : " Hold fast
by your Sundays."
39
40 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
Sunday, as he esteemed it, was not a day for idle
mirth and pleasure and feasting. What did it mean,
I wondered, as I sat on the edge of the bed — the
Sabbath kept as my father kept it ? It meant — and
conscience answered readily enough — it meant rest, —
not for the body only, but rest for the soul ; a period,
when we can commune with God, — a state akin to
one above, to the rest that remaincth for the people
of God. I had heard my father say as much many
times.
And where was I going, down this headlong path,
away from all that was pure and holy ? Where would
it lead me }
A cloud seemed to come over the gay river, with
its gladsome throng. The day's brightness was dim
and dead. I put the marker back into its place. It
was impossible, in the face of this silent rebuke, this
voice from home, to persist in my Sabbath excursion.
I had, in fact, given it up.
" Hold fast by your Sundays." I had done so as
far as outward observance went My place at church
had never been vacant, and, after some indistinct
fashion, I had been glad when they said unto me
" Let us go up to the house of the Lord." But what
of this present Sunday.^ Was I going to hold fast
by it ? As I took my solitary breakfast, I resolved
what I would do. I was penitent for my past mis-
conduct ; and though there was a lingering regret, as
the sunlight danced on the window and gave promise
of a glorious day, still I was firm. I would holdfast,
even by this Sunday. I would pass it as I should
have done if the temptation had never occurred.
THE OFFICE OF THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 41
When the bells began their pleasant chime, I was
ready. I took my Prayer-Book in my hand, the very
marker placed within it, as though to keep me fnni,
and stepped quickly forward to church.
" The Lord is my Shepherd."
My mind had wandered during the prayers. I had
thought of my companions. They would not wait
for me — that I knew — and at this moment they were
in the full enjoyment of their holiday. I felt half-
inclined to repent that I was not with them ; but the
text, given out in a clear, distinct voice, arrested my
attention ; I began to listen. I was more struck by
that sermon than by any other I had ever heard.
One sentence applied to my own case, as though the
preacher knew what had happened to me.
"A word, a look, a text, will often stop a man
from doing what he knows is wrong ; and we arc apt
to say that tJiis has saved him. But did you never
think that, behind the word, or look, or text was One
who gave it point and effect ; One whose office it is
to call back Mis wandering sheep; even the ' Lord
our Shepherd ' ? "
I had been saved from doing wrong, I thought, as
I walked home, by a simple motto, brought suddenly
before me ; but what power could there be in those
few words to break through a settled purpose and
hinder me from sin ?
Might there not have been standing by, close to
me, though I knew it not. One who gave effect to the
words, — even the " Lord our Shepherd " ?
I was much softened as I recalled what had been
said of the love of Christ; of His seeking and saving
4? HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
those that were lost ; of His tenderness hi gathering
the lambs in His arms, and carrying them in His
bosom ; and of the price He paid that sinners might
be brought home to God. All these things had been
dwelt upon in the sermon.
I was glad I had not joined the party on the river.
My companions had been to seek for me, for I found
a crumpled bit of paper pushed under the door. They
had waited half an hour, and they wanted me to come
after them. I threw the paper in the fire. The
whole affair had been one of those critical periods in
a life, when good and evil seem balanced by a single
hair !
I did not find the day so lonely as I expected. I
read as much as I could, and I wrote a letter to my
father ; and then, I sat at the window and watched
the people go by to church, and listened to the bells.
When it grew dark, I closed the shutters and
lighted the gas. Just as I had done so, a party of
noisy revellers came down the street, and hammered
rudely at the door. I knew who they were, and that
my companions had returned from their excursion ;
and I knew also — and it gave me a shudder — that
some of them had passed the bounds of temperance.
This visit to me was nothing less than a drunken
frolic. I did not make any sign, but sat quite still in
my chair, and thanked God for His mercy in saving
me from a fate like this !
-7-fl
CHAPTER VI.
RUTH COMES BACK ALONE
ONDAY mornincT dawned, briijht
'j^ and clear. I shook off my sleep,
and sprang hastily up, just as the
• lyP 6#*^^ sun was gilding the tall chimneys
Hi^^%^ and peaked roofs opposite. I felt
cheerful as a lark. My mind was
vigorous, my body rested and refreshed. How should
I have been, I asked myself, if, instead of that quiet
Sabbath, I had spent the day upon the river? I
could picture the result — the weariness, the dread of
detection, the burden on the conscience, the downhill
course, one step of which had been taken.
It was worth anything to have this quiet con-
science, this sense of security, this fear of nothing.
I had never missed my morning prayer, though it
had often been hurried over ; but the Sabbath by
which I had been enabled to " hold fast," seemed
to have left a savour on my spirit. I knelt down and
prayed earnestly.
♦3
44 HOLD FAST DY YOUR SUNDAYS.
There was a path — of which I had been taught
from my youth up — a path of safety and of blessed-
ness. I began to think that, with God's help, I would
endeavour to walk in it. Something was inclining
me to do so — something I had met with in the house
of God and carried away in my heart Was it the
good seed — the little leaven which would leaven the
whole lump .''
One thing I resolved upon : I would get free from
my bad companions, and shake off both their advice
and their company. And I recalled a passage in the
Bible that applied to this very resolve : " My son,
if sinners entice thee, consent thou not." Another
thing I made up my mind to do : I would no longer
withhold my confidence from my master and from
Ruth. Though I should have to speak with shame
and confusion, I would tell them the whole story.
They would be home for breakfast, and I bustled
about to get everything ready. The men had come
to the workshop, and found " all right and tight," as
I heard one of them say. And when I had made my
little preparations indoors, I went into the shop and
began to polish up the furniture, whistling all the
time. The Sabbath rest seemed to have given me a
double measure of strength and vigour, " Perhaps it
is so," I thought, for my mind was still inclined to
dwell on the subject; and I recalled my dear mother's
words : " There is more in the Sunday than you
think."
When I heard the pony-trap, that my master used,
come rattling down the street, I ran out to meet it.
But only Ruth alighted at the door. She looked
RUT II COMES BACK ALONE. 45
very sad, and told mc tliat the Sunday had been a
melancholy one for them, I\Iy master's brother was
getting, near his end ; and my master was staying
with him until all was over, and had sent Ruth home
by herself.
Their only comfort, she said, as she looked around
the room, and noticed what I had been doing — their
only comfort was in thinking that they had left the
place in good hands, for they both placed the utmost
confidence in mc.
I turned very red at this speech.
" Ruth,'' I said, " I have not been as you think
f have been wicked and deceitful ; and if it had not
been for the mercy of God in restraining me, I should
have fallen into open sin."
And, in answer to her look of surprise, I told her
all.
She listened attentively, and with an anxious ex-
pression on her kind face. As I finished, a tear
came into her eye.
"Ruth," I said, "you will never trust me again."
"Yes," was her reply, " I shall trust you; for I
think that God is dealing with you as He does
with many of His erring children. He follows them
in their wanderings, and brings them back to the
fold. Once there, Harry, the poor terrified sheep has
no more wish to stray."
And then, as we sat at breakfast, Ruth talked to
me as my own dear mother would have done. And
she told me that the sick relative she had just quitted
found the utmost solace hi religion ; and that, when
a lad of my age, he had been tempted to go astray.
46 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
but God in His providence had stopped him ; and,
all through his after career, religion had been his
guide and his stay.
"And Harry," she said, earnestly, "if I v/ere you,
I would make up my mind, iiozu, at this very time, to
serve the Lord ; it will bring you greater happiness
than you ever imagined."
I thought over the words many times, and it
seemed as if some inward monitor kept pressing
them upon my mind. " It will be a happy choice,"
whispered this unseen counsellor ; " you will be safe
in the keeping of an almighty Friend. Your sins will
be forgiven ; you will be led and guided to your life's
end ; and then, you will join the company of holy
men and angels above."
* * * *
I am old now, as I said before, and my hair is
silver-grey ; but as I look back through the varied
Scenes, some of which I am about to recount, I know
that my first real impressions of religion date from
this very time, when I resolved, by God's grace, not
in letter only, but in spirit and in truth, to " hold fast
by my Sundays."
.u-^\
rV'JK
J*»-
CHAPTER VII.
SOMETHING UNEXPECTED IIArPENS.
N clement of change lies at the root
of every step we take through this
changeful world. The lesson is soon
taught us ; and it goes on being
■^^3^ repeated year by year, almost from
the cradle to the grave.
It was a lesson strongly brought
before me at this time. Instead of resuming our
usual routine, an unsettled period began. My master,
it is true, returned the next day, for business obliged
him to do so. But he soon started off again, and for
a short time there was nothing but hurried journeys
and anxious looking-out for tidings.
The invalid, contrary to all expectations, had some-
what rallied. There was not the slightest hope of
recovery, Ruth told me ; and it was a mere matter
of time as to how long the spark would go on
flickering ere it went out.
This unsettled period was fraught with much im-
portance to myself and my inner world. I have
47
48 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
reason to believe, with gratitude and humility, that
I was under the teaching of God's Holy Spirit. I
found delight in prayer and in reading the Bible. I
would rise early and sit up late to do so. And the
Sabbath was looked forward to with eagerness, and
its sacred hours were precious to me in a way they
had never been before. Indeed, to express my
meaning in a few words, the things I once lightly
esteemed were all I now seemed to care for.
With this inner change came back the old desire to
excel in my trade. I worked with increasing diligence,
and tried in this timiC of anxiety to spare my iiiaster
all the trouble in my power. It was only natural
that this should be so ; for religion, as I have long
found out, must be a daily, practical thing, if it is to
do anything for us.
At last, the event we had been expecting took
place — suddenly, as such events often do in the end.
My master's brother died, and my master and Ruth
went away in a hurry, and stayed until after the
funeral.
It never occurred to me, as I put everything in
readiness for their return, that one change might
bring another. I hoped we should now at least go
back to our old peaceful days. But so it was not to
be.
One evening, when work was over, my master sent
for me. I had guessed that something was going on.
Indeed, it had been reported among the neighbours
that my master's brother had left some property
behind him, and that my master would be better off
in consequence. But beyond a casual speculation as
SOMETHING UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 49
to wlicthcr he would use the money in new fronting
the shop or increasing his business, I had not thought
much, about it.
My master was seated by the table in the little
parlour, engaged, as it seemed to me, in writing
letters. lie pushed his desk aside as I came in. It
was time, lie said, to tell me what was going on, that
I might not be taken unawares.
" I am amply provided for now, Harry," he con-
tinued ; "and I have long wished to retire from
business. I am getting an old man, and infirmities
are coming fast upon mc. If my son," and here he
paused, "had been with me, I should perhaps have
retired sooner. At any rate, the- business would
have passed into his hands. As it is, it must go
to a stranger."
I had never thought of this. It seemed as if the
ground were breaking up under my feet. The hint of
such a thing was enough to make me more unsettled
than I had ever felt in my life. And yet I was to
remain in the old home, and go on the same as usual.
This was arranged in due course of time between my
father and my master.
" All you have to think of, Harry, is doing your
duty," said my father.
A purchaser was soon found, for the business was a
well-established and a thriving one ; and the arrange-
ments were made far too rapidly to suit my wishes.
I clung to my dear master and to Ruth, and I felt
the bitterness of separation would be great indeed.
They would not even remain in the town, where I
might nov/ and then have seen them. They intended,
D
so HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
for the sake of Mr. Gibson's health, to Hve in the
country,
I was very sore at heart. To have all the furniture
carried away and the pleasant home broken up, was
almost more than I could bear. But, in the midst of
my trouble, it comforted me to think of "a P'riend
that sticketh closer than a brother." He would be
my Guide and my Stay. I could not be lonely or
forsaken while He was with me !
Preparations for removal soon began. The old-
fashioned bureau, the eight-day clock that kept time
to a minute, my master's easy chair, and the little
table where Ruth sat at her work, were taken away ;
and in their place came other articles, smart and new,
but which I did not like nearly so well. Instead of
Ruth, there would be my new master's wife, who
seemed a much grander and more important person
than dear good Ruth had been.
As one part of the change, my own little attic
underwent a complete metamorphosis.
It was newly papered and better furnished. But
even this did not seem to content me. And when
all was finished, I hung up by the wall a copy I
had made of my dear mother's motto. I had done it
on paper, with coloured ink. I wanted at this new
period of my life to have the words always before
me,
"Hold fast by your Sundays."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE VOICE WAS THAT OF MY OLD ACQUAINTANCE
PETER CLARKE.
T was with a heavy heart that I stood
watching at the window one fine summer's
evening. My master and Ruth were
-j..,-^, ;.„- gone, and the last h'nk with the tranquil
r i^^^ life I had enjo}'ed so long was snapped
asunder. We had a sorrowful parting.
Ruth had wept outright, and my master's eye was
lim with a tear. Still they did their best to cheer
and encourage me.
"You will often come to see us, Harry," they said ;
"and you will always meet with a welcome."
I was very sad when they were gone. I had some
hours to myself, for my master and his wife were not
expected until dusk. And though the place had
been painted up, and new windows put into the shop,
and everything done to improve it that could be, the
very improvements seemed to make me feel more
strange and less at home. Besides, the new comers
HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
were entire strangers; I had scarcely exchanged a
word with them.
They were young people, smart and good-looking,
and what the neighbours cdiW^d pushing. Indeed, the
neighbours congratulated me on the change.
" Mr. Wilkins will do twice the business that
Andrew Gibson did," they said, speaking of my new
master.
There were speedily signs of the truth of this
remark. Tlie shop was filled with smart modern
furniture, much more showy in appearance than the
substantial articles it once contained. It is true that
the sniart things, as I shrewdly suspected from the
first, were not so good, but they pleased the eye, and
were much cheaper; and as a natural consequence,
more persons would come to buy them.
" In fact, the shop looks iike business now," said
a well-known voice that roused me from my fit of
musing.
I had not heard the voice for some time, but I
recognised it in a moment. It was that of my old
acquaintance, Peter Clarke.
We had not met for a long time, and I could not
but perceive that he was much altered. The spruce,
dapper appearance that took my fancy, was to a
certain degree gone. His health had evidently not
improved. His face was pale and thin, and had a
careworn expression, remarkable in one so young.
But he was as talkative and as boastful as ever.
He was not in the same place, he told me (passing
over the reasons he had for leaving it), but he had
got another quite as good, only not in that part of
THE VOICE OF MY OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 55
the town. He intended to set up in business for
himself some day. His father had promised to help
him, and he should soon get to the top of the tree.
I listened to all this rattle with very different
feelings from what I had first experienced. His
' looks seemed to belie his words, and I suspected
that in reality he was neither prosperous nor happy.
Indeed, I found out afterwards that his father liad
become too much impoverished, by the habits of his
son, to be in a position to fulfil his promise, if indeed
he ever made it.
At any rate, I could not hold my peace when he
alluded to the memorable day of the Sunday excursion,
and began to say how foolish I had been to shut
myself out from it,— that "youth was the time for
pleasure," — and that "we came into the world to
enjoy ourselves," — and such-like remarks. I could
not forbear asking him whether his real welfare, his
health, or his peace of mind, or even his worldly
position, was advantaged by these Sunday pleasures
in which he took so much delight }
"As to that," he said, but he hesitated a little, "as
to that, I lead a merry life enough, and if I get run
aground, and find myself at the last sixpence, I just
write to my mother, and she helps me through."
"But is it always convenient for her to help you
through ? " I asked.
" I know nothing about that ; " and he laughed.
"I know she keeps a hoard of money in an old
stocking in the corner cupboard ; I suppose she helps
me out of that."
" That hoard may not last very long," I said, for
54 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
the idea of takincr it struck me as somethinGf like
o o
robbery ; " and you have often said that your mother's
health is failing."
" Oh, there is always something or other the matter
with her," he replied, carelessly; "but she is a good
mother, and would rather go without herself than let
me come to grief,"
" If I were you," I said, earnestly, for I was pained
more and more, " I would not touch a farthing of the
money. I would begin to save, and have a stocking
of my own."
He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
" I never was stingy, like you ; and I must have
my holiday," he said. " Sunday was given us to do
as we like with ; all the lads say so."
" But is what the lads say to be set against what
the Bible tells us 1 " I asked.
"The Bible! Who thinks of troubling about the
Bible, at our time of day "i It is only for people who
have nothing else to do, — or, perhaps when one gets
old"
"No, Peter," I said; "the Bible is for you and for
me, — and for us Jioiv, when we have our way to make
in life, and to choose the good, and avoid the evil.
It may perhaps be too late when we are old and
hardened in sin."
" What a preacher you have become, Harry ! Well,
I am content as I am. I mean to have a precious
deal more fun before ever I turn religious ! And I
must be off and write to my mother if I am to catch
the post. Good day to you ! Good luck to you
with your new master ! "
THE VOICE OF MY OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 55
So saying, he went whistling away as though he
were light of heart. But in reaHty his mirth was lil-x
the crackling of thorns. I learned afterwards that at
this very time he was in debt, and hardly knew which
way to turn, or what he should do, if his mother
refused to answer his letter.
How different would it have been if he had acted
on the advice often given to me by my good master !
" Begin by saving, not by spending," he used to say ;
and he had even induced me to put some of my
earnings into the savings bank. " If you keep adding
to your hoard," he would continue, "you will find
that it keeps adding to you ; and, in the end, you
will get up the hill, instead of always remaining at
the bottom."
I had not time, however, to go much into this
question. The shrill whistle of the train was followed
by the sound of wheels, as the omnibus came rattling
down the street. My new master would be here
directly.
CHAPTER IX.
THE GOLD AND THE DROSS.
F I had felt strange before, I felt doubly
so now. It is true that my master and
mistress were good-natured people, and
spoke kindly to me. But I could not
expect it to be the same as when I
welcomed back my dear old master and
Ruth. Then I was one of the family, and there was
as much to hear or to tell as if we had the same
interests and had been the nearest relations. Now,
after a few words of greeting had passed, I felt almost
like an intruder, and Avas glad to retire to the shop,
and busy myself there. I was sad at heart, and
thought the place would never be the same again.
But I fell back on one of my father's excellent
maxims : "All you have to do is your duty," he had
said, "and no harm can happen to you." "Besides,"
I reflected, as I polished away vigorously, " I shall
soon feel at home with them. It only wants a little
56
The cold and the dross. 57
time. Ill a week or two we may be the best friends
in the world."
It did not take long to be at home with my master.
He came after me into the shop, and bc^^an to look
about him, and to examine what he called, "the old
stock," much of which was left. And here it was
apparent from the beginning that his ideas and those
of Andrew Gibson differed.
"Ah," he said, scanning the chairs and tables, and
other articles, " they are not quite in my style. I
want something run up quick for sale."
I looked at him with surprise.
"Yes," he said, nodding good-naturedly; "that's
the kind of thing I want," and he pointed to a showy-
looking chiffonier, one of the new articles sent in.
"People don't care to lay out over much money in
furnishing ; they want something cheap and smart,
and which makes a show."
"That chiffonier would not wear more than a
couple of years," I replied, examining it with an eye
that was now somewhat practised ; " the wood is not
seasoned."
" Never mind, let them come again. They can
\)ave two pieces of furniture for what one of Andrew
Gibson's would cost."
This plan of selling cheap inferior goods did not
Suit my taste. It savoured too much of the ^' may
do," instead of the "tc/// do." However, it was no
business of mine to argue the point with my master.
I rather determined to exert myself more than ever,
and, as far as in me lay, turn out the goods* in a
better style. I could not endure the idea of the
58 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
honest old business losing its character for producing
articles substantial and good ; and becoming noted
for what was only showy and pretentious.
And here I must pause to remark, that it was the
greatest blessing to me that I had become decided
for God. No other principles, but those based on the
religion of Jesus Christ, could have kept me steady
and firm in the difficult times that were coming.
Mere human strength would soon have given way,
and I should have drifted along with the stream.
I was anxious to know what kind of Sundays would
fall to my lot in these new days. Nothing could be
allowed to interfere with the deep and holy rest which
I began at this period to enjoy — a rest which gave
vigour to the whole man, quickened me in every
duty, and gilded the week with a mild and blessed
radiance.
But hitherto, the outward circumstances of the
Sabbath had been so happy. The bonds of Christian
fellowship had knit us together as in one heart and
one mind. The day was marked by order, quietness,
and regularity. I feared the opposite would be the
case, when I rose on Sunday morning, and there was
no symptom of any one stirring. It is true, the week
had been a busy one, and my master and mistress
had gone to rest fatigued. But no preparations had
been made for the Sabbath. There had lacked all
those allusions to it which had been so welcome; and
I had missed that short solemn prayer offered by
my dear master at the close of the week, and which
seemed to shut out the world, and cause the sacred
hours to begin before their time.
THE GOLD AND THE DROSS. 59
Every moment I expected my mistress to appear ;
but she did not, and I partook of the solitary break-
fast, the bells ringing for church all the time.
J list as I was about to start, she came hurr}'ing
down.
" I am so sorry," she said good-naturedly. " I hope
you have had your breakfast. Of course it is too late
for Its to think of going to church."
" I am afraid it is," I replied, as I brushed my hat
and took up my Praycr-Book,
"Ah, well ; wc don't often go in a morning," she
resumed. " It's too much to expect from working
people. IVIy husband likes to lie and rest, and we
have a bit of a holiday. Shall you dine at liome,
Harry?"
" I always have done so," I replied, rather surprised
at the question.
She saw my perplexity, and hastened to say
kindly —
" I don't want to turn you out ; you must make
yourself quite at home with us. But I thought you
had friends in the town, and would perhaps like a
little pleasure on the Sunday."
It was very curious, I thought, as after some slight
answer I walked hurriedly to church, that such a
speech should be made to me. Thank God the
temptation was not put before me a year earlier ! I
should then have swum eagerly with the tide ; for
God had not revealed to me those higher pleasures
compared with which holiday-making on the Sunday
is a grievous toil.
These reflections returned to me as I sat and
6o HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
listened to the preacher. He was one of those good
men who know how to bruig heavenly things forcibly
before the mind. The atonement of our Saviour, the
work of the spirit of God in the soul, the necessity of
leading a holy life, and the happiness of the world to
come, were themes of which his hearers never tired.
I make little pretence to education beyond the
simplest kind ; but it seems to me that if every
preacher were to do the same, and avoid, as a rule,
topics which plain men cannot understand, more
sinners might be converted to God, and believers
built up in their most holy faith. At any rate, these
sermons were to me like hidden manna, on which I
could feed through the busy toils of the week.
I was little inclined to exchange the inward peace
and satisfaction left by the Service for any other Mnd
of pleasure. And yet on my return, the very treat
I had once grasped at so eagerly was again offered.
This time it was only offered to be refused. I felt
not the slightest wish to join a party on the river ; I
preferred keeping house by myself, and reading my
Bible, and thinking over the topics which interested
me so deeply.
No thanks to myself that I w\is thus enabled to
refuse the evil and choose the good. The decision
arose simply from the grace and power of God
working in me, and opening my eyes to behold a
better portion.
Who would refuse the gold and choose the dross, if
he could rightly distinguish between them ?
CHAPTER X.
TO-MORROW IS THE DAY.
HE business which had been carried
on for nearly half a century by
Andrew Gibson had known but few
fluctuations. "Steady and sure"
might have been its motto. And
the custom lay among substantial
but rather old-fashioned persons, who had come
again and again, and their children after them.
All this was changed. I was not surprised to find
that by degrees our old customers left the shop. I
did all I could to keep them. I worked as though
the whole responsibility of the concern were upon my
shoulders. I was at my post early and late, for I
found to my regret that my master was not famous
for his attention to business. He w^as a careless,
good-tempered man, a merry companion, and sang a
capital song at a dinner or a supper. He had a great
deal of cleverness, but he lacked the steady perse-
verance which never fails to ensure success.
6i
62 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
And the materials with which I had to do were
altogether of another class. Cheap fancy articles
were supplied that had no durability about them
They found plenty of customers. In place of our old
friends came many new faces. We sold the goods
as fast as they were made. There was no positive
deception in the matter. The price asked was low,
and could not be expected to insure the same amount
of wear. I ventured sometimes to expostulate, but
was met by the reply, always pleasantly spoken —
"We must go with the tide; people don't care for
that cumbrous style of furniture in these days. It
has been superseded."
Not in my opinion. Indeed I grew so dissatisfied,
that but for my attachment to the place, and my
desire to keep things together, I verily think I should
have gone away. But I could not bring my mind to
do so, and I went on striving and struggling, month
after month, and as it happened, year after year.
I very soon found out that everything depended
upon me. My master was rarely up when the shop
was opened in the morning ; and the vigilant eye so
necessary in a house of business, was, as far as he was
concerned, wanting. He would trust all to his work-
people, and as a natural consequence, they took
advantage. Indeed, as time passed away, I began to
fear that if this state of things went on, in spite of
our brisk trade, we should come to ruin.
Within the house it was not much better. No one
could be more good-natured than my mistress, and
the house was better furnished, and the meals more
abundant ; but the cleanliness and order and quiet,
TO-MORROW IS THE DAY. 63
that once made the charm of my daily Hfc, were
absent. My mistress was fond of dress and company,
and though she had a wish to do her duty, the habit
of steady careful industry v/as lacking. "Take care
of the pence, and the pounds will take care of them-
selves," was a motto little regarded either by herself or
her husband. Indeed, I felt sure that in spite of out-
ward show, and an appearance of prosperity, they
were getting poorer instead of richer.
One Christmas-time, I began to grow so uneasy
that I pressed the matter on my master's attention.
It was desirable, I told him, " to go over the books
and take stock. Money seemed to go out faster than
it came in."
"Ah!" he said, more gravely than usual, "my
expenses are very great But what can I do ? How
can I curtail them } "
I had been his right-hand man so long that I was
able to speak with the utmost freedom.
"I think," I replied, — "and do not be offended
with me for the remark, — if you stuck closer to
business "
" I never could," he said carelessly ; " I was not
cut out for it. Besides, you are always on the spot.
The men look up to jon more than they do to me."
" I am not the master," I began to say ; but he
cut me short
"We'll talk the matter over another time, Harry.
My wife and I are going a little jaunt into the
country. To-morrow will be the day for looking over
the books."
That period, so often promised, did not seem in-
64 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
clined to come. First one excuse was offered, and
then another. I could not persuade my master to
go steadily into his affairs. And yet I knew that
in spite of my efforts they were becoming more and
more complicated.
In the meantime, there marched full upon us an
evil for which even I was hardly prepared. There
came a very hard winter, such as the oldest man in
the place had never before experienced. I cannot
but pause to recall it. The snow lay thick on the
ground for weeks, and the river was frozen as hard
as iron. All kinds of trade and business suffered a
check, and the distress was very great. Indeed, there
happened a kind of panic, and many of our neigh-
bours were unable to stand their ground, and had to
close their shops and become bankrupt. These dark,
sad days made me tremble ; and they brought my
master, in some degree, to his senses. The company,
and the fine dressing within doors, ceased. My
master grew thoughtful and depressed. Indeed, he
mi"-ht well do so, for but few customers came to the
shop, and but few orders were sent in.
As the year advanced, the panic in trade did not
pass away. Things grew worse rather than better.
Wc were obliged to dismiss the workmen. There
was already more stock than we hoped to get rid of,
and we could not afford to pay money out when none
was coming in. Those of our men who had been
saving and thrifty suffered the least. They had some
Httle hoard to fall back upon for a rainy day. Others
had lived freely and saved nothing ; on these the
blow fell heavily indeed. We did all we could to
TO-MORROW IS THE DAY. 65
soften it, for my master was thoroup,hly kind-hearted,
but the shoe was beginning to pinch ourselves.
Nearer and nearer came the grim shadow that we
dreaded to look at. It crept into the home; daily
we saw symptoms of want in the empty till and the
bare cupboard, and the disappearance of first one
article and then another.
"You had better leave the ship, Harry, before she
goes down," said my master to me one day ; " we
never can outride this storm ! "
l)ut I could not find it in my heart to do so. I
clung to them in their distress ; I had saved a little
money, and the old business might right itself It
would never have been at this low ebb but for mat-
ters beyond my control. Carelessness and indolence
had made the vessel leaky ';ven before the tempest
began. But this was no time for reproach, and I did
not utter a single word.
«
CHAPTER XI.
AN ORDER ! THE WORD HAD A WELCOME SOUND.
I SEASON of adversity is met in
;^ different ways by different people.
Those who are under the influence
of Divine grace find it a wholesome
discipline. "The bitter is sweet,
the medicine is food." Others taste
no drop of healing in the cup.
Affliction on them has no salutary effect. On the
contrary, it hardens and embitters them. The latter
was the case with my master. His gay good-humour
seemed to forsake him. Indeed, to use a homely
expression, he went " from bad to worse."
Having no resource for the hours of leisure that
were forced upon us, now our usual employments
were suspended, he sought the company of those who
were as listless and unoccupied as himself, and would
be absent from morning till night. Often, he did not
66
AN ORDER.' 67
return till after I was in bed ; for Mrs. Wilkins would
never allow any one to sit up for him but herself. I
partly guessed the reason of this ; for now and then
the sound of angry voices and loud unseemly language
would make its way up into my attic ; and the next
morning I\Irs. Wilkins would appear at breakfast, her
eyes swelled up with crying.
What little remained of the business must have
gone from him if some one had not stood in the gap.
There was no one to do this but myself.
"If you forsake us, Harry," said my mistress again
and again, " I cannot think what will become of us."
I had no wish to leave, though I was out of my
time, and might have done so ; and to tell the truth,
I began almost to despair. It seemed hard that my
master, in spite of the lesson taught him by this
painful crisis, still refused to attend to his own
interests. It was impossible for me to avert the evil
that must come should these practices continue.
One thing dwelt much on my mind. But for a
restraining influence from above, I might have been
in the same position. If that downhill step had once
been taken, what would have been the result ? Surely
it had been good for me to "hold fast by my
Sundays."
One day my master came into the shop with a
brisk step, and more cheerful than I had seen him for
some time.
" Harry," he said, " we need not quite give up ; see,
I have had an order come in."
An order ! The word had a welcome sound with
it. It had not been spoken among us of late.
6S HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
"Yes," he continued, "a famous order, too. One
of the best I ever had in my Hfc. It is for a complete
set of furniture, made in rather a cumbrous style,
and a little after Andrew Gibson's fashion. But the
gentleman is an oddity, and is going to be married,
and he wants the goods in a hurry."
" I suppose we can do it," I said, glad enough to
hear such a piece of news.
" There is not much time given. But the question
of ready-money turns upon our supplying the goods
by a certain day. He is going abroad, and we shall
have to wait till he comes back if we don't keep time.
Now, it is just that ready-money, or the loss of it,
that will make or mar us."
I quite agreed with that. I knew well the im-
portance of this order to us, and how far it was
beyond our expectations. Of course, we would set
about it at once. We had had quite idle time enough
to last for years.
But, from the beginning, I knew that it would be
a toudh business to complete the order by the day
appointed. I warned my master of this, but he made
light of it. " We have never been more certain of
anything than of getting the goods off," he repeated
again and again.
To do him justice, he applied his whole mind to
the work in hand. He was up early and late, and
scarcely allowed himself time to eat. But the details
were rather tedious. I had learned to carve and gild,
and had brought the art to some perfection, and my
master expressed himself well satisfied with what I
had done.
AN ORDER/ 6-)
"l)ut cannot you get on faster?" he often asked.
" Not to do it well," was my reply.
I was resolved on the " wl/l do" come what might !
We had but few men on the premises, and that
crippled us. In spite of our exertions, the work
seemed to grow beneath our hands. We put on
"steam," as Mr. Wilkins called it, and often sat up
far into the night. My mistress would con>e in to see
how we were getting on, and to bring us our meals.
She herself was as busy as possible, for she had taken
up her old trade of dressmaking, and her stitching-
machine was plied at all hours. In fact, both indoors
and out, we were on the full stretch.
It was an exciting period to us. Time passed
quickly by, and the appointed day came very near
indeed. With all our efforts we could not quite
compass the end. We could not finish the goods,
not even with the extra help we had been obliged to
procure. Gradually, this fact stood out before us in
the strongest light. Monday was the time for sending
the furniture and receiving the prompt pa}'ment
which had been held out as an inducement to all this
extra labour. But it would not be possible to pack
and send off the goods bcforeTuesday, — a day too late.
My master wrote to the eccentric gentleman, and
explained how we stood, and asked for the extra
time. It was freely granted ; but in that case the
payment must stand over till the end of the year,
and this was just what we dreaded. My master
looked terribly crest-fallen, and threw down his tools
in disgust. For myself I knew not what to say or to
do.
70 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS
All at once, my master brightened up, and turned
quickly round to me : —
" Harry, we need not give in. What day is it ? "
" Friday," I replied.
" Then there are two full days before us. We can
finish in two days."
"There is but one day," I replied. "The goods
have to be packed on Monday morning. There is
but to-morrow, Saturday."
"And Sunday?"
He let out the word cautiously, and with some
hesitation. Finding I did not speak, he repeated it
boldly and with emphasis, —
"And Sunday — you forget Sunday. That will
just turn the scale. We must, for once in our lives,
work on the Sunday ! "
-JS>
CHAPTER XII.
I LOOKED AGAIN AT THE MOTTO.
' OME time before, when my principles
^^ were unsettled, the proposal would
f^^^^^-^ '""o*^ have shocked mc. I might have
'i\\J*-^'^'*\T had a stinjj of conscience, but in the
end I should have j'ielded. I should
have argued that the case was one
of neccssit)', and that the sin would
not lie at our door. But I could not blind the light
that was in me by any such device. I had left the
shop and everything behind, and was standing in my
room, looking full at the motto.
There it was, distinct and authoritative as ever. It
admitted of no excuse or evasion. It bade me, under
every circumstance, " Hold fast by my Sundays ! "
For the moment, I had felt some uncertainty. My
master's interests were at stake. All we had to hope
for, came, in a great measure, from the prompt pay-
ment for the labour expended. If we did not receive
it, the result would be disastrous. But the very
7»
72 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
uncertainty ceased to exist, as I looked at the motto.
Man might point out one way, but here was the voice
of God bidding me to go in another. I could have
no doubt which way to take. At any cost, come
what might, I would " Hold fast by my Sundays."
A tap at the door disturbed me, and the anxious,
harassed face of my master was thrust in. He had
guessed why I had left the shop. It was to gain time,
he thought, for reflection, and he said, hurriedly, —
"God requires us to show kindness to each other,
Harry. I am sure you will not fail me just at the
last."
" We must not delay a moment," I replied ; " come
let us to work ; " and I ran downstairs.
He followed just as quickly, and in a few seconds
we were plying our respective tasks. He had hoped
that my silence gave consent : that I was intending
to yield. But this was far from being the case. I
was only debating in my mind what I should do.
Would it be possible, by any means, to finish the
work in time ; that is, without trespassing on the
Sundav ?
There were certain cases, for I had turned the
matter over in my mind, in which Sunday labour
might be a necessity. Such cases had been put
forward by our Saviour, that there might be no
mistake. There were things to be done on the
Sabbath-day in times of sickness and of peril ; but
our work did not come within the bounds of these
exceptions. For if the matter had been fairly sifted,
the need for prompt payment ought not to have been
so pressing. Neglect of duty, long indulged in, had
/ LOOKED AGAIN AT THE MOTTO. 73
led up to a certain crisis. It would not be consistent
with the Divine command, in this instance, to work
on the Sunday. But — and again I debated the point
— ho\V would it be possible to avoid any loss to my
master }
I did not come to a conclusion till the close of the
day. Then, as the men were about to leave, I made
them a proposal : — The times were very desperate,
and a little extra money would be acceptable.
Would they stay over-hours } — nay, would they work
with me through the night .-'
" You can go home," I said, " and take a few hours
rest, as I am about to do. But I shall be in the
workshop again by ten. I mean to pull through by
Saturday night."
The men hesitated at first ; but I found it would
be a matter of pay. Happily, I had my savings to
fall back upon, and I was resolved to carry my point.
After a little further parley we came to an agreement,
and then the men went home ; and I made a hasty
meal, and hurried to my attic to snatch the rest I
needed.
I felt very peaceful and happy. There were no
doubts or an.xious questions of right or wrong to
perplex my mind. I threw myself, dressed as I was,
upon the bed, and was asleep in a moment. Three
hours of hearty sleep took the tired feeling out of me.
I woke up, just as I heard the men knocking at the
door of the workshop.
I was quickly on the spot, but the door had been
opened by Mrs. Wilkins. She turned on the gas, and
made up the fire. I saw nothing of my master : he
74 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
was gone to bed. My mistress did not intend to go
to rest. Long after, I saw the light in the window,
and knew she was plying her machine ; but at last
the glimmer went out and all was darkness.
It was a cold starlight night, and very still. Not a
sound was heard, except when the heavy tread of the
policeman came down the street. Our workshop was
warm and light, and we toiled on almost in silence.
Now and then one of the men would hum a tune, and
sometimes we spoke a word or two, as if to beguile
our weariness ; but, on the whole, we worked on in
the utmost quici-ude.
At length a streak of daylight was seen in the east,
and presently it made its way into the shop, and fell
on our pale and rather haggard faces ; for we were
thoroughly tired and could scarcely handle our tools.
Indeed one of the men began to grumble and to give
signs of falling off. " It would have been better," he
said, " to take Mr. Wilkins's advice, and work on the
Sunday."
I found myself in rather a difficult position, and
that I must again have recourse to increased pay.
This soon did the business, and the men went home
to breakfast and to rest. At nine o'clock, they
promised to come back. As for myself, I lay down
to sleep on a bench under the window.
That Saturday was the hardest pull of all. I shall
never forget it as long as I live ! I was getting tired
out. My head and arms and feet ached. I was
dizzy for want of sufficient sleep. And yet, as the
day wore on, it was apparent that I should attain the
end for which I had been striving — that there would
/ LOOKED AGAIN AT THE MOTTO.
be no occasion to work on the Sunday. It would
again be a case of sitting up late ; but this time my
master did not leave us. He had caught the spirit
of the race with time, for such it was, and he kept
on bravely.
Ten — eleven o'clock struck, with a booming sound
from the great church close by. Very little remained
to be done; and the set of handsome furniture was
completed, and had a noble appearance. It pleased
me more than any work I had ever undertaken. The
men gave a hearty cheer when the last stroke was
finished ; and as they did so^ boom again went the
clock — it was twelve.
The week had ended, and the Sabbath had begun !
;^. i"^')
CHAPTER XIIL
A GOOD EXAMPLE IS WORTH
FOLLOWING."
E were glad enough to lay aside
our tools and go into the house.
Wc found my mistress sitting up
for us, and a comfortable supper
prepared. It was one of the
pleasantest meals of which I had
partaken since I had been under their roof They
expressed the utmost gratitude to me for the effort I
had made ; and my mistress cried for joy to think
that some of their difficulties were over, and that the
ruin she had feared might never come to pass.
Late as it was, we sat a little time talking together
in a kind and friendly manner. And it seemed as it
some new link were established between us — a link
that almost reminded me of the days of my old
master and Ruth.
I need not say that I slept well that night. Late
as it was, I glanced at my motto ere I lay down tf
rest.
16
"A GOOD EXAMPLE IS IVORTII FOLLOW I NGP 77
" It is you," I thought — speaking to it, as though it
were a friend and counsellor — " it is you that have
kept nic out of danger, and have hedged me in on
every' side." And I went to sleep with the very
motto on my lips, " Hold fast by your Sundays."
NeJit morning I was roused by the chiming of the
early bells. It was later than usual ; and I dressed
in haste and went down, expecting that no breakfast
would be prepared. This had been a matter of course
on a Sunday morning; but a change had taken place.
There was the table spread by the cheerful fire. All
was neat and orderly in the room, and my master and
mistress had already seated themselves to begin.
" Harry," said my master, in a more serious tone
than he was wont to use, "I have been thinking
that a good example is worth following. Somehow I
feel glad to-day is not to be spent in the workshop.
How if we set about, late as it is, my wife and I, and
try to hold fast by our Sundays ? "
"You could not do a better thing," I replied,
joyfully ; and then I found that both my master and
mistress were intending to go to church.
Yes ; it was almost like the old days. My mistress
made haste to clear away and set all to rights ; and
then she put on her bonnet and cloak, and we went
together : Mrs. Wilkins locking the door and carry-
ing the key in her pocket, as Ruth had done.
We walked all three to church as we had never
done before. Happy Sunday ! It seems as fresh in
my mind as though it were but yesterday ! It was
indeed a day of rest; the toils of the week had
ceased. The workshop was empty and deserted.
78 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
The tools we had been handhng so busily lay
neglected. There was a higher matter cai hand ; a
business not of this world, but in which the utmost
industry and care were needed ; a race to be run ; a
prize to be gained ; and, to quicken our zeal, we had
given us these Sabbaths, coming in regular succession.
— like summer and winter, seedtime and harvest, and
never failing ! What a blessing to be able to hold
fast by these !
The next morning we might be said to have risen
with the lark. The goods had to be packed and sent
off by rail, and I was to go with them and see them
delivered. I was, besides, to receive the payment,
which, as my master said, was the pleasantest part of
the story.
It was a cheerful morning in the Spring, The
frost and snow had long since departed, and things
were assuming a brighter aspect. At one of the
stations where the train stopped, an old acquaintance
of mine came hurrying up and got into the carriage.
I recognised him at once as Peter Clarke.
He was much smarter than when I saw him last,
and he wore a flower in his button-hole, as though
he were going upon a holiday excursion. And so he
was ; for he began to tell me that he was the most
lucky person in the world, and was about to get
married.
"A very smart girl she is," he said, "and has a bit
of money too ; so I am going to set up in business
for myself in the best part of the town."
I soon found that his disposition had not changed
in the least. He was as boastful as ever, and talked
"A GOOD EXAMPLE IS WORTH FOLLOWING:' ^:)
about the fine plate-glass window he had ordered for
his shop, and the stock of goods that was to come
down from London.
To listen to him you might fancy that his wife's
fortune had no limit.
At the next station he left the train, and I had
an opportunity of seeing the young woman he was
intending to marry. She was on the platform with
her sister, and was smart enough as regarded the gay
colours of her dress, and the long ear-rings she wore,
and the ribbons and the flowers.
I must confess she scarcely pleased me. There
was a quiet staid girl in my own village, whom I had
known from a boy, — a girl whose plain dress and neat
bonnet would have formed a contrast to the finery of
the other : but whenever the thought had occurred
to me of a settled home and fireside of my own, it
was linked with the remembrance of Susan Dale ;
and this little conversation with Peter Clarke made
me resolve, at my next visit home, to lay before her
the state of my mind. The bad times were eettinsf
over, and I might with my savings begin life on my
own account : not in a grand new shop, but in a
humble plodding way, and by degrees getting up the
hill. ,
It had always been sweet to me to think of a time
like this. I was little given to building castles in the
air, but as the train whirled along I did paint a little
picture in my own fancy of what might, one da}', be !
CHAPTER XIV.
MORE CHANGES STILL.
HEN I reached the end of my
journey, I did just as ]\Ir. Wilkins
had directed me. When the van
of furniture was unloosed from
the train, I waited by it till horses
were brought, and it was slowly
dragged to the gates of the house where the eccentric
gentleman lived. Some old servants, who looked as
if they had lived in the family for years, came out to
receive the goods ; and I was asked into a kind of
ante-room to wait until the master of the house could
speak to me. I had waited perhaps three-quarters of
an hour, when he came in. He explained the delay
by telling me that he had been superintending the
unpacking of the furniture, and that he was satisfied
with the way in which his orders had been executed.
He was quite ready with his payment, and I received
a cheque for the full amount which we had expected.
" It was a great convenience to me to have the
80
MORE CHANGES STILL. t\
furniture in lime," he said; "and you will have lost
nothiiifT by your civility. I have a large circle of
friends, and I shall recommend some of them to pay
your shop a visit."
I was glad enough of the promise. Indeed, I never
felt more light-hearted in my life than I did on my
return home. I was carrying back a plentiful return
for our labour, and a hope for the future. And better
than all, there would be no broken Sabbaths to rise
in judgment against us.
When I returned home, I found my master dili-
gently engaged in looking over his books. It was
time, he said, to take to the business in earnest, and
he intended for the future to do so. " And now let
us see what you have brought," he continued as he
closed his book.
Glad enough he was when I put the amount into
his hand. It would set us quite straight, he said ;
and when the tide had fairly turned, he should have
a proposal to make to me.
The tide was not long in turning. Trade began to
revive, and orders to come in, — many of them from
entire strangers ; so that we greatly extended our
connection. Then, what was better still, my master
turned over a new leaf, and became as diligent as
before he had been careless. He worked hard, and
gave up those continual pleasure jaunts which had
taken up so much of his time and thought. His wife
continued her dressmaking and added to the income:
so that we began to be quite prosperous.
Still, amid all this, the thought was often in my
mind that I should like to rise a step higher in the
F
S2 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
world. There was but one difficulty. I was unwilling
to leave the old business, aixl I had scarcely saved
enough to make any great venture. And although I
felt sure that Susan returned my attachment, I dare
not openly speak to her on the subject until I could
offer her a home equal in comfort to her own. These
thoughts perplexed me, and I used to turn them over
and over in my mind. All at once, however, the way
was made plain before me.
One day, — it was my twenty-fifth birthday, — my
master asked if I remembered his saying that when
the tide turned he should make me a proposal.
"Things are now in a very different state," he
continued; "trade is brisk, and the business what it
has never been before. I date all my success from
that Sunday ! "
We were both silent a few minutes ; then he went
on, —
" I feel as if you ought to fill a better place than
that of foreman. The business will maintain us both
in tolerable comfort. What say you to becoming a
partner ? "
My heart seemed to leap into my mouth. No
proposal could have been more welcome, — all my
difficulties would be solved.
" I tell you what, Harry," resumed Mr. Wilkins ;
" my wife and myself have been discussing the matter
a good while. We owe you a great deal, more per-
haps than we can ever repay."
" Don't talk of that," I interrupted him by say-
ing-
" But I ivill talk. That Sunday business seems
RIO RE CHANGES STILL. Z\
to have made all rii,dit wilh me. I have been like
another man since I v.ent regularly to church, and
gave up pleasuring. It is wonderful the effect of
keeping Sunday upon us working men. I could
write a book about it if I were a scholar. My head
is clear and cool on the Monday morning, and I feel
rested and ready for the week. There is something
else, I know, behind all this, but I have not felt my
way to it yet."
''There is more in the Sunday than yon think!'''
The words spoken long ago by my mother, recurred
forcibly to my mind. There was indeed more than I
thought! Rest — peace— joy; the hidden manna, of
wliich if a man eat, he shall never hunger ; and the
water of life, of which if he drink, he shall never
thirst ! What docs the Sabbath-breaker gain, I
thought ; or rather, what does he lose, by his snatches
of unholy pleasure, boasted of from time to time?
Fatigue, dissatisfaction, loss of bodily vigour, and the
harvest reaped by the hand of the diligent. And
worse than all, loss of that better Sabbath whose rest
will be complete and eternal !
My master's proposal was now again made to me,
and we held a good deal of conversation on the
subject. I need not say that his offer was thankfully
accepted, and it fitted in with the scheme I had been
lately planning. I was about to pay a visit to my
parents, and that would be the time for speaking
the important words which had been considered
again and again. That would be the time to ask
Susan if she was content to share my humble lot
and be my wife.
84 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
The arrangements connected with my change of
position were all pleasant and easy. At first Mr.
Wilkins proposed that I should continue to live under
his roof; but when I shook my head, he smiled as
though he guessed my secret.
"Ah ! you are like the rest of the world," he said ;
" I suppose you are thinking of setting up house-
keeping for yourself .-' "
When I confessed that such was the fact, both he
and his wife entered into the matter with all their
hearts. The close and confined situation of the
house did not suit my master's health ; and, as
matters stood, he was glad of the opportunity of
leaving it. Within the last few weeks a small legacy
had come to Mrs. W' ilkins ; and this, with the im-
proved state of the business, gave them the right to
choose another place of residence. They were not
attached to the old place as I was ; and it Avas
proposed that I should live at the shop, and that they
should remove to a short distance where the street
was wider and more airy. I was not afraid of the
step, as far as Mr. W^ilkins was concerned. I felt
convinced that the old days of sloth and inattention
would not return. And the old-fashioned house in
which Andrew Gibson had passed so much of his
life was amply sufficient for me. It was early in the
day to think of a better situation. Years after, that
might be !
But, before any final arrangements were made, I
must hear from Susan's own lips if she was willing to
come. It would never do to put off the important
question any longer ! To-morrow was Saturday ; I
MORE CHANGES STILL. 85
would have my little holiday trip, and return in time
for business on the Monday.
This time I did not choose the old mode of con-
veyailce — the carrier's cart. I went by train to
within a few miles of my native village, and then I
walked through the cool of the summer evening. My
heart beat a little at the sight of the well-known
spire rising up from among the trees ; for this was
the most important visit I had ever paid. But I
quickened my pace, and was quickly at home. There
was the neat trim garden in which my father was
working; and I caught sight of my mother's spotless
cap as she stood at the window. Within the cottage
all was in order for the Sabbath. The room was
clean, and not a thing out of place. The Sunday
shoes stood in their place, ready blacked ; the clean
clothes were airing by the fire ; the Sunday coat
brushed and laid ready. Nothing remained to be
done but the preparation for the evening meal, and
the solemn prayer and reading of the Word of God.
I had been used to these pious, well-ordered
customs, from my childhood upwards. They were
always dear to me. Happy the cottage home where
they prevail ; where homely virtues reign ; and above
them, the fear of God rules supreme, and reaches to
the very thoughts and intents of the heart.
[!l£K>^-
CHAPTER XV.
A SUNNY SPOT IN MY LIFE.
^^/-f/y HEN my father saw me, he threw
down his spade, and cam.e towards
me ; and I soon felt my mother's
arms round my neck. But much as
I enjoyed that happy meeting and
the pleasant chat at the cottage door,
I was not quite at my ease. The gist and purport of
my journey home did not altogether lie here. I knew
I could not sleep until I had spoken to Susan.
I think my mother suspected my state of mind, for
she gave a knowing look at my father when I said
presently that I should stroll a little farther. Some-
how I felt very shy and bashful about mentioning
names, and did not like to say openly that I was
going to call upon Susan.
I knew exactly in what state I should find Susan's
home : that, on rather a better scale, it would be a
counterpart of my own. When I saw it, my heart
86
A SUNNY SPOT IN MY LIFE. S7
beat faster still. There it was, the snow-white cur-
tains shading the windows, the carpet on the floor,
the trim bookcase — for Susan was considered quite a
scholar — the geraniums and mignonette on the win-
dow-seat ; and, better than all, Susan herself sitting
at work in the doorway. I must pause a moment to
describe her, the faithful companion of my life, the
helpmeet through many years, the dear and loved
one, who, I trust, awaits me beyond the grave !
I see her now, as she was that evening, in her quiet-
looking dress, without the least pretence to ornament
or finery; her smooth brown hair neatly braided; her
kind and sensible face, and friendly eyes. I thought
her, at the time, and I well know her now, to have
been all that a woman professing godliness should
be : clothed, not with the outward adorning of gold
and silver, but with that " meek and quiet spirit "
which is beyond all price.
I was glad when she told me she was alone. Her
father and mother had gone to market at the nearest
town, and would not be home at present. This would
be a golden opportunity for telling her what was in
my mind, and I did not intend to let it slip.
She seemed very pleased to see me ; indeed her
manner had always been cordial and pleasant. She
crave me a chair and sat down again to her sewing.
. Every little incident connected with that evening
IS imprinted on my momory. I recollect that men
were carrying hay in the field opposite, v/orking late
to secure it against the weather. The scent of hay
was wafted to us as we sat. And I remember the
distant hum of the village street, and the clear note
83 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
of the thrush as it sang in the tree opposite ; and I
recollect the ticking of the clock, and the nervous
sensation in my throat when I tried to speak.
At length I blundered out the purport of my visit,
and the question that had been on my lips so long.
I had been attached to her, I said, for years ; and
then came the old story, repeated again and again,
in all classes and conditions of life, but which never
loses any of its interest.
And then Susan's busy fingers stopped, and her
work was dropped on the floor ; and by-and-by she
was soberly picking it up, her eyes moist, and a bright
colour in her cheeks, and she and I were cngrgeJ to
be married.
There are some sunny spots in life which shine out
through the past, and never lose their lustre. This
visit home was one. I stayed with Susan until her
parents returned, and then came the business of
asking their consent. This was quickly over, and I
stepped briskly back to my own cottage, my heart
light as a feather. Then came the evening meal, and
the short solemn prayer, ere we retired to rest.
The Sabbath morning broke with the chiming of
the bells. There was the cheerful breakfast, the
welcome hour of worship, and the quiet walk in the
summer's afternoon. Susan and I wandered by the
brook, and over the meadows, and up by the green
copse, all in its leafy beauty. And better still, there
was the pleasant converse, and the happy thoughts
of the future, and the consciousness that we who had
so lately pledged our troth to each other were of one
heart and one mind, having the same hopes and aims
A SUNNY SPOT IN MY LIFE. Sg
and purposes as regards this world and that which is
to come.
It was a Sunday long to be remembered in my
simple history, but it passed away as such da)-s must.
The last note of psalm or h}mn died out, and the
village was hushed in repose. For a long time I did
not sleep, my heart was too full of joy and thank-
fulness ; for the hopes of early years arc bright, and
there seemed scarce a cloud upon my sky.
When I did sleep it was to dream of a home with
Susan !
The next morning I did not go straight back to
my business. When I had talked the matter over
again with my father and mother, and heard them
approve of my choice, and tell me they had suspected
it all along, and that Susan had declined many offers
of marriage — " no doubt," as my mother observed,
" for my sake," and when I had said farewell to Susan
herself, I took a little trip farther to call on my old
master and Ruth. It was a long time since I had
seen them, and I wanted to tell the important news,
and invite them to the wedding. The weddincr would
take place before the summer was over; for there was
nothing to wait for, and the sooner Susan was mistress
of the house the better.
Andrew Gibson had a pleasant place in the country.
There was a field, and a cow grazing in it, and there
was a large garden stocked with fruit and vegetables.
Ruth kept the house, as she used to do, only she had
servants to look after, and wore a silk gown on high
days and holidays. But she was the same dear good
gentle Ruth as ever.
90 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
They were very glad to see me, and soon we sat
talking just as \vc used to do; and then Ruth showed
me her poultry-yard and her dairy, and the stack just
got in from the meadows, and all the treasures they
possessed.
I felt just as bashful as ever when I began to tell
the purport of my visit and to talk about Susan. But
I contrived to get it out at last, and Mr. Gibson and
Ruth seemed delighted to hear of my prospect, and
wished me all kinds of happiness.
" I am glad you are going to stick to the old busi-
ness, Harry," said Andrew Gibson. " I feel it will be
safe in your hands ; and Ruth and I will be sure and
come to your wedding."
By-and-by my dear old master took me aside to
talk about his son.
" Harry," lie said, " something always tells me that
my poor boy will come back some day. I may not
be alive, but it comforts me to think you will be in
the old place. He'll be sure to find his way there, for
he knows nothing of our removal ; will you promise
for my sake to be kind to him t "
" You may rest assured of it," I said hastily ; and
I fully intended what I said.
"It comforts me to hear you say so," and the old
man wiped his eyes. " I know, at least I fear, that
he will come ragged and beggared and an outcast,
like the prodigal son. I leave him to you, Harry, to
give him succour for the sake of the old friendship
that has been between us."
Again I promised. I had thought often of that
outcast son, about whom many particulars had been
A SUNNY SPOT IN MY LIFE. 91
told mc ; and it had run strangely in my mind that
he might some day return. But the subject was
dropped for the present, or rather it gave place to
happier topics ; and soon after I took my leave.
The next time my kind friends and I were to meet
would be at my wedding.
c
CHAPTER XVI.
THE TWO WEDDINGS.
ND now came an exciting period, —
happy, but not settled by any means.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins in due time
vacated the house, and settled them-
selves in another, at a very little
distance, and I was put in posses-
sion.
Proud enough I was to have a house of my own ;
nor did I feel the least envy on passing the fine shop
in the Market Place about to be occupied by Peter
Clarke, His house was large and grand compared to
mine ; and the windows were wide open, for it was
being done up from top to bottom, and flashy-looking
papers being hung, and a great deal of painting and
whitewashing going on. I was quite contented with
my humbler abode. I had it well cleansed and put
in excellent order. I chose neat-looking papers, such
as I k-new Susan would like, and furnished the house
92
THE TWO WEDDINGS. 93
plainly, but as well as I could. To tell the truth, I
made sundry little articles in over-hours to give a
better effect ; and I took care to have a new illumi-
nati6n hunL,^ up o\-cr the sitting-room fireplace, by
way cf ornament, and to keep us always in remem-
brance of my favourite motto, —
" Hold fast by your Sundays."
Time passed quickly on; days and weeks glided
by ; and at length every arrangement was made, and
I started off one fine morning to fetch Susan. We
were to be married at the village church, and the
wedding was to be a very quiet one.
On the way, however, I had a glimpse of a much
grander affair than mine. At the station where Peter
Clarke had on my previous journey left the train, a
carriage with white horses and postilions were stand-
ing, and the village bells were ringing merrily. I had
a passing glance at the wedding party, at the bride
in silks and furbelows, and with a white veil and
white satin shoes, and as dashing as you please.
• Peter himself, too, I saw, very smart and important
in his white waistcoat and gloves, and the bouquet in
his button-hole. The glance was a very momentary
one, and on we rushed, leaving all behind.
That gay bridal party dwelt in my mind for some
time. It stands out now in vivid contrast with other
scenes to be recounted in the life of Peter Clarke.
B-'t my own wedding ! That most important epoch
ii. my history. Bright cjid fair it rises before me :
the pleasant morning in the early autumn, with a
crisp coolness in the air, and the dew scarce dried
94 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
from the grass, and the cottage home done up in its
best array, with new white curtains in the window
and flowers on the table ; and my dear old master in
his Sunday suit, and Ruth in white ribbons and a
grey dress made in honour of the occasion ; and my
father quietly happy and content, and my mother
brisk as ever ; and then the bride, modest and un-
pretending, and just what a working-man's bride
should be.
Happy group ! I see it now, through all this lapse
of years ; and I date from that marriage-day the
best and sweetest happiness that can be known on
earth !
We walked to church attended by many friends
whose smiling faces seemed to make sunshine around
us ; and the church was crowded to see Susan Dale
married.
I think we both entered fully into the service. I
think our hearts united in solemn prayer as we knelt
together, — prayer that God would be with us through
the untried scenes of our future lot, and that the pillar
of cloud by day and of fire by night might go before
us. And as a gleam of sunshine streamed through
the window and fell lovingly upon us, we felt as
though it were reflected in our hearts, and we rose
up glad and hopeful.
What a day of quiet happiness it was for all of us !
There was no boisterous mirth or revelry, but merely
a gathering of those friends we loved and valued.
When breakfast was over, Susan and I started for a
few days' holiday ; and when these had sped quickly
by, I brought her home.
77//; TIVO WEDDINGS. 95
I'luit bringing Susan home was the best of all. I
had been afraid the place would look dark and
gloomy after her country life, and that she would
miss' the green fields and the pleasant sights and
sounds to which she had been accustomed. Ikit she
never hinted at anything of the kind. She was
pleased with the house, and the furniture, and the
rooms, and all belonging to them. In fact, she was
as brisk and cheerful as a lark ; and a more frugal,
prudent wife could not have been. My home-life
was indeed a happy one, — order and good manage-
ment reigned, and my affairs might well prosper.
All day we were busy with our several duties, but
the evening was our own. The evenings began to
close in early now, and I was glad enough when the
time came to shut up the shop and go to my cheerful
hearth. The lamp would be lighted and the curtains
drawn, and bc)'ond our fireside comfort we seemed
to want for nothing. I used sometimes to read to
Susan while she was busy with her sewing, for she
had a little library of her own which she had brought
with her. Sometimes the book was religious, and
sometimes it contained information about many
things, and served to improve the mind and raise it
above the little cares of everyday life. So content
was I with these evenings, that I envied no one,
however rich or great ; nor did I wish for any other
amusement or recreation than what they afforded.
Such was not exactly the case with my old
acquaintance, Peter Clarke. When we had been
home a few weeks, he and his bride called upon us.
She was a fine-looking girl, but very showily
96 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
dressed, and had a way of talking and laughing
loudly that was a contrast to my quiet Susan. Nor
were her notions at all in harmony with those of
Susan. She meant to enjoy herself, she said, now
she was married, and to make Peter take her to
places of amusement. She had no idea of a hum-
drum life. She wondered how my wife contrived
to exist in such a dull situation. I must say I felt
rather sorry for Peter. He was thrown into the
shade by his wife, who talked incessantly and boasted
even more than he did. I found they kept two
servants, and were living quite in style for such
kind of people ; and I wondered how much money
she had brought him.
" It is a capital place for business, where we live,"
she said to Susan. " I wonder you don't persuade
your husband to break up here, and take a shop in
the Market Place. Peter will have enough to retire
upon in a icv; years."
I did not clearly understand hov/ that could be, for
I perceived that Peter's goods were ticketed at lov/
prices, and I knew that rents and payments in that
part of the town were very high. And I knew also,
for Peter confessed as much, that he was constantly
making holiday ; and I wondered how long this state
of things would last.
They were both anxious that we should return the
call, and I could not well refuse. Susan shrank from
the acquaintance, but I felt sure the intercourse
would be a very casual one ; and as for visiting, I
set my face steadily against it. We were working
people, I said, and had no leisure
THE TWO WEDDINGS. 97
But we did call upon them one holiday afternoon.
We found the house full of cheap showy furniture ;
but very disorderly, and without the least comfort
in it. Mrs. Clarke was dressed up like a lady, and
talked as fast and as loud as ever. But Peter,
I thought, looked rather careworn and harassed.
" Business," he said, for we began to talk on the
subject, " was a hazardous game to play at ; " and
he added that a new shop had been opened which
was likely to injure him.
He said this privately to me, while his wife was
talking to Susan. I did not think he was very
happy. They were scarcely ever at home in the
evening, and I fancied his wife was a bit of a terma-
gant. I felt sure that Susan thought so too, only she
held her peace.
After this visit we saw very little of the Clarkcs
for more than a year. But one day, as I was walking
down the street, I caught sight of Peter on the op-
posite side. He crossed over at once to shake hands.
" I am afraid you are going to drop us," he said ;
" and I shall be very sorry for that."
Then he told me how he wished my wife would
use a little influence with his wife.
" The truth is," he said, " we are living too fast. I
want to hold her in, but she won't hear a word of
that."
" She thinks, perhaps, she has a right to do as she
likes," I replied, hardly knowing what to say.
"That is just it. She brought me some money,
but it was all swallowed up in furnishing. I have
nothing but the business to depend upon."
98 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
"But if the business is a flourishing one-
I beean.
-fc."
" I hoped it would have been," he interrupted
me by saying ; " but I have been taken in. I am
selling ahiiost at prime cost, and that sounds Hke
beggary ; don't it ? "
" If you laid the matter before Mrs. Clarke "
I began again.
" That is of no use. She won't believe me. Women
know nothing of business, and seem to think that
their husbands are made of money."
Susan did not think so, but I forbore to make any
comparison ; only I called to mind a text of Scrip-
ture that said, " A good wife is of the Lord."
I was sorry to see Peter so sad and crestfallen.
He walked with me down the street, and came into
our neat little room. The tea was on the table, and
he took a cup with us.
After tea, Susan brought out her work, and the
lamp was lighted as usual, and the fire made up and
the curtains drawn. When he took his leave he
gave me to understand that I had by far the best
of it.
CHAPTER XVII.
"WHAT HAS THE SABBATH-BREAKER
GAINED ? "
FTER a time my cosy parlour lost for
a while its brightest ornament.
Susan was upstairs, and a little
^■^^ daughter lay by her side — a
i^\^ treasure, it seemed to me, beyond
^/ ^ all price. How I kissed the soft
velvet cheek, and played with the tiny hand ! I low
I hune over the innocent babe with all a father's
rapture ! Susan and I thought that now our cup
of bliss was full.
Just at this epoch, and w4iile I was having solitary-
meals, Peter Clarke came more frequently than ever.
I wondered that his wife would permit his absence ;
but he talked very little about her. I knew the state
his home had slipped into. I knew that the smart
cheap furniture was dirty and shabby already, that
99
loo HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
all was disorder and waste, and that his wife's temper
was driving him from his own fireside. I never
begrudged him a place at my hearth.
One of our conversations I must try and record. I
remember the night well. It was Saturday, and the
next day Susan was to come down stairs. Thanks
to the handy little servant my wife had trained, my
situation had not been very forlorn. My room had
been kept neat, and the meals served with comfort.
But still there had been an absence of those niceties,
if I might call them so, which marked the presence
of the mistress. I had, besides, never thoroughly
enjoyed the meal when I sat down to it alone. There
had lacked the friendly converse and the pleasant
smile which made so much of my daily happiness ;
and though my leisure time was passed with Susan
in her room upstairs, there was a sense of loneliness
when I came down again, I was thinking this as
I poured out my cup of tea, when a figure went by
the window and a tap came at the door.
I went to open it, for I knew that my old acquaint-
ance had dropped in for a call.
He came in silently, and I was struck with the
change in his appearance since his last visit. He
looked worn and haggard, and sat down with an air
of dejection. I asked him to take a cup of tea ; but
he refused, and remained for a little time silent,
without speaking a word. All at once he cast his
eye upon the motto over the fireplace.
"Ah ! " he said, mournfully. " It might have been
better for me if I had done the same ! Do you know,
Harry " (he always called me so), " I date all my
" WHAT THE SABBATII-DREAKER GAINS." loi
troubles and vexations from that wretched Sunday
spent on the river ! "
I was glad enough to hear him confess the evil of
Sunday excursions, but I said nothing.
"All is not gold that glitters," he went on, "and
somehow everything has gone wrong with me since."
" In what way?" I asked.
" In all ways. One thing I am certain of," he
continued, still looking at the motto: "those who
promote Sunday pleasuring are no friends to the
working-man. I have scarce spent a quiet Sunday
for years ; and it takes till the middle of the week
to get over the fatigue."
" Yet God gave the seventh day for a day of rest,"
I remarked.
"I know; but pleasure is not rest. I have found
it out, Harry. It is grievous toil. Your partner
]\Ir. Wilkins, see what his Sundays have done for
him ! Ever since he took to keeping Sunday every-
thing has gone well with him."
"Because," I said, "his head is clear, his mind
refreshed, his body rested. Monday morning finds
him right and ready for work, not wearied and jaded
and wanting the rest he has omitted to take."
"I think you are right, Harry; indeed, I know you
are, now it is too late."
" Why too late, Peter } Besides, we are only
speaking of Sunday as regards the bodily rest it
yields ; there is more behind, far more. Indeed, the
very gist and meaning of the Day points to things
unseen, and by many unrealized."
"It is too late!" he said, not noticing my speech.
I03 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
" We have been going, step by step, in a downhill
com'se. I can't retrieve it. I wish I could. I have
come to you to-night, because you are the only friend
I have in the world."
I dreaded what he was going to say. There had
been rumours afloat for some time respecting him,
and now my fears were realized.
"The fact is, Harry," he went on to tell me, "I am
close upon being a ruined man."
" That is very serious," I replied, hardly knowing
what to say.
" And you are my only resource. I was deceived
about the money my wife was to bring me. It was
not nearly so much as I expected."
" But your business," I said ; "your business .-*"
" It was a moderate one. I don't say but it might
have been better, had I paid more attention to it ;
but it gets less and less. People complain of the
goods, and my shopmen are not in my interest. A
great many customers have gone away, and I cannot
get them back."
" All this is sad," I replied, " but it can be remedied
if you put your shoulder to the wheel and get the
business together again. Nothing can stand before
industry and steady perseverance."
"Ah ! " he said again ; " but it is too late, unless — "
and he paused.
I made no remark, waiting till he should finish the
sentence.
At last he told me that his stock of goods had
been all on credit, and so had some of his household
furniture. And his creditors threatened him with
« Jl^J/AT TtlE SADBAtn-BRiLAliER CAlNS." 103
an execution in the house ; indeed, unless some one
gave security for him, all would be over in a few
days.
I confess I was rather staggered to hear this revela-
tion, and I could guess what would come next. He
would ask me to give security for him ; and this was
what I was resolved never to do.
His wife, he said, knew nothing of what was
conn'ng. He had tried to alarm her by hints and
warnings, but she would not take them. She only
called him a stingy fellow, and said that when a girl
married she expected never to want for money.
I told him he was wrong to conceal anything.
He ought to be open as the day, and explain the
exact state of affairs. " It will be much worse for
your wife," I said, "if the misfortune comes without
notice."
" It cannot come if you befriend me," he replied
quickly ; " indeed, you are the only person I can ask.
If you will give security foi me, the danger may be
warded off, and I will work night and day to right
myself. You shall never repent having helped a poor
fellow in his extremity."
I shook my head, but he was not deterred from
asking me again and again. And he pleaded so
earnestly that it made my heart ache.
" Just go upstairs," he said, " and consult your
wife. Women are very tender-hearted, and she will
be sorry for me. I will take no refusal till you have
talked it over with her."
I knew Susan would think as I did, but I went
upstairs to pacify him. Susan was sitting by the
\04 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
fire, and singing in a low voice to her infant as she
lulled it to sleep.
" Harry," she said, "come and look at our treasure;
she gets dearer to me every day."
I stooped to kiss the dimpled face, and for a
moment forgot my errand. But this would not do,
and I told her what had happened. I was very sorry
for Peter. I had half-relented as I went upstairs.
But Susan had a stock of prudence to eke out with
when mine was gon*
"On no account, Harry," she said firmly; "we
must do nothing of the kind : we have another to
care for besides ourselves."
" I know, I know. I will send the poor fellow
away," I replied, turning from her.
" Stay, Harry, we may be kind if we must be just.
We will do all we can for Peter and his wife. If they
are turned out of house and home we can give them
shelter."
"But you don't like Mrs. Clarke," I said hastily,
and looking back into the room.
"We must not think of likes and dislikes now," she
replied gently, " but of what we can do for them."
I stepped back and kissed her. I knew the good-
ness of her heart, and what a treasure I possessed in
Susan. But I was grieved for my old acquaintance,
and scarce knew what to say to him.
He looked up eagerly as I came in, to see what
news I was bringing. I think my face told the tale,
for he got up hastily and took his hat.
" All is over with me," he exclaimed.
I repeated what Susan had said, but he did not
"IF/IAT THE SABBAIII-DREARER CAINS." 105
pay much attention. He pulled his hat over his eyes
and went away.
I vvas sorry to my heart, and was half-inclined to
fetch him back. Ikit Susan's opinion liad weight
with me, and I forbore. A few days after, I had
occasion to pass the sliop in the Market Place, and
found it closed. This part of Peter's career had
come to an end. lie was a bankrupt.
'>H-<"^Nf'^ ''■'
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE WATCHWORD OF MY FAMILY.
i<ojilE next day Susan was about again,
as usual, and the home- life went on
with its accustomed order and re?u-
larity.
Indeed, month after month and year
after year slipped away with the utmost
rapidity. I saw no more at this juncture of Peter
Clarke, and I heard that he had left the town.
At the time of the failure, my wife Avent to the
house to offer all the assistance in her power, and to
invite Mrs. Clarke to stay with us till affairs should
be settled. But the foolish woman refused every
overture. She was rude and angry, and said "the
misfortune was her husband's fault. She had brought
him money, and had a right to enjoy it. It was the
worst day's work she ever did, to marry him." And
much of this was said before Peter's face.
io6
THE WATCHWORD OF MV FAMILY. 107
My wife came away shocked and distressed, and
leaving the miserable couple squabbling in the half-
empty forlorn room they called the drawing-room,
and which had not a particle of comfort about it.
After that, I went myself; but Peter came to the
door and told me he could not ask me in. They
were going away, and would be able to pay half a
crown in the pound. Even then, a spark of his old
boastfulncss was in him, for he talked of liis wife's
rich relations, and said he should get them to ad-
vance money, and set up in business somewhere else.
Whether they did or not I often wondered, but Peter
and his wife were now lost to us.
As years rolled on, I became a thriving, prosperous
man. There is an old adage, that a man is to ask his
wife how he is to live. The question in my case was
fully answered. Susan's thrift and industry helped
me forward in every way. I had long ago returned
to the old style of furniture, and was treading in
Andrew Gibson's steps. Our house of business had
a good name both in the town and country. I feel
a glow of pride when I think of it — honest pride, I
hope, for the success was fairly earned.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins continued our best friends.
But Mr. Wilkins, after a time, became more of a
sleeping partner than an active one. I lis health was
not good, and he began to talk of retiring. It seemed
probable that in the end the business would be
entirely my own.
My father and mother were still living; but the
toils of labour had ceased, for they had saved enough
on which to live in their old age, and were now
lo8 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
reaping the fruits of a life of industry and persever-
ance. For the harvest of good is as surely gathered
in as the harvest of evil.
Andrew Gibson had reached a great age, and was
tottering on the brink of the grave. But the more
nearly he approached his final rest, the more anxious
he became about the fate of his son. Whenever I
saw him, this was the theme upon which he dwelt.
Many changes had been brought about by circum-
stances. The old place was too small for the business
that was now doing, and it was injustice to myself to
reside there any longer. By this time, also, the house
was strait and narrow. I had six children : and
more accommodation was required for our health
and comfort. It was proposed to remove to one of
the handsome shops in the Market Place, where the
business would in all probability be doubled.
This scheme was well digested before it was put
into practice ; and it never would have been thought
of had I not by this time been possessed of capital —
that bulwark of prosperity.
But Andrew Gibson shook his head. He had
nothing to say against the prudence of the step, or its
expediency ; but the idea was still uppermost in his
mind that his boy, as he called him, would one day
return. " He will come to the old place as sure as
can be, and find none but strangers," was his cry.
This difficulty, however, was met. When all came to
be finally settled, it was thought wise to retain the
old premises as a kind of warehouse, in which to
store the goods. Our foreman, who filled the place
I vacated on becoming partner, was to reside there;
THE WATCHWORD OF MV FAMILY. 109
and I proposed that the words "Late Gibson" should
not be erased from the position they had so long
occupied over the door of the shop. This arrange-
ment pacified my dear old master. He should die,
he said, in peace, if he thought that one kind hand
would be stretched out to the wanderer.
Every time I saw Andrew Gibson I feared it would
be the last. On sunshiny days he would sit by the
door enjoying the fresh air, for he was cheerful and
contented as ever. He could no longer read in the
old Bible, for his sight was almost gone ; but Ruth
spent much of her time in reading to him, and
ministered in every way to his comfort. It was a
peaceful ending to a good and pious life.
" I am not without resource, Harry," he would say,
when I paid him a visit, as I often did. " I am very
happy. This seems to me the land of Beulah, to
w^hich the pilgrims came before they went over the
river." And then he would speak of the presence of
his Saviour with him day after day, and the light and
joy and peace shed abroad in his heart.
I used to return from these visits more than ever
built up in a faith which can thus sanctify the whole
life, and cause it to end in peace and the sure hope of
coming glory.
*' This is what religion does," I used to think ;
" and nothing can stand in its place, or stretch to its
boundless limits. Every other resource or stimulus
fails, save only this, which is not of man, but of
God."
My own career had been a striking instance that
" Godliness " has the promise of this life and of that
no HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
which is to come. The opposite might have been
the case — the counterpart of Peter Clarke's sad
experience. I trust I was truly thankful, and re-
membered Who had made me to differ. Not of
myself could I have climbed these bright steps. No
resolutions of my own could have withstood the
solicitations of the world and of the tempter. It was
the Divine Hand stretched towards me from above,
the power given me by the Holy Spirit, which had
won for me the victory. Not unto myself but unto
God be all the praise.
The various changes at which I have hinted as
likely to happen, took place in due course of time.
Mr. Wilkins retired altogether from the business, and
the whole concern was in my hands. A new shop
was also taken and carefully stocked. The house
adjoining it seemed large and handsome to our
moderate notions ; but we brought thither the old
furniture, making the change as little expensive as
we could. It was an airy house, and had a strip of
garden behind, and the windows at the back looked
over the river. Susan was delighted with her new
home, and we settled into it with the greatest com-
fort.
I soon found that the step I had taken was a
success, for the business received an impulse, and I
sold off my stock more quickly than I expected. My
new position raised me up in the social scale, and I
took my place in the town as a substantial and
thriving tradesman.
I must not forget to mention that I took care to
fix over the fireplace in the sitting-room, so that all
THE WATCHWORD OF MY FAMILY. ni
who came in might see it, a newly iUunilnated copy
of the motto — the watchword, I called it, of my
family —
"Hold fast by your Sundays."
CHAPTER XIX.
THE wanderer's return.
Y life was now a very busy one.
I had a family to bring up, an
extensive concern to manage, and
public offices to fill in the town
where I lived. At this juncture,
great watchfulness and care were
needed, lest anxiety about worldly matters should
choke and hinder the growth of the good seed within ;
lest, in passing through things temporal, I should lose
the things which were eternal.
And now, I perceived more and more the value of
the Day of Rest. The greatest check to a careless
frame of mind wa^ found here. During the sacred
hours which intervened between the close of the six
days of labour and their beginning again I could
pause and reflect. I could obtain, by secret prayer
and by public devotion, the strength I needed. Here
the Christian armour could be brightened, the weary
soul refreshed, and the things which are unseen
realized.
iia
THE WANDERERS RETURN. 113
Happy Sundays ! I repeat tlie expression, —
Happy Sundays ! Bright seasons scattered, like
jewels, along my path ! Wells of water in the desert,
springing up into everlasting life ! Ever, with God's
help, would I hold fast by these !
At this period, busy as it was, I used often to
ponder over the fate of Andrew Gibson's son ; for the
subject was in some sort forced upon me by my old
master himself. The nearer he approached his end
the more anxious he became to hear some tidings.
He made many inquiries, and even inserted advertise-
ments in the newspapers, which he hoped might lead
to a discovery. But at present all was in vain. Not
a scrap of information had been obtained from any
quarter. He still clung to the idea that if his son
returned he would find his way to the old place of
business. The eager questioning look he used to
give me when I went to see him was very touching.
I would have given much to be able to say, " Yes ; he
has come at last ; " but no such thing had occurred,
and I could not utter a word.
As time passed on, I began to give up all hope.
" He is dead," I thought, " or if not, he refuses his
father's overtures, and will never return."
Still I was always, to a certain extent, upon the
watch. If any forlorn-looking person stopped to
look at the old place, and I was there, I noted the
circumstance narrowly. I regarded the words, " Late
Gibson," as a kind of beacon, and would not have
removed them on any account whatever ; but as far
as the wanderer was concerned, they seemed to
remain there in vain.
H
C14 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
One Saturday evening, — I well remember it, — iJ-
was midwinter, and flakes of snow were beginning to
fall, — I had closed my shop, and was enjoying that
domestic peace and quietude which had ever been my
delight and, I might add, my safeguard. We were all
gathered round the cheerful fire. My elder children
were reading or working, and the little ones were on
my knee. Susan, the careful mother and loving wife,
was plying her needle, looking up from time to time
on the happy group with a contented smile.
The doors were closed, as it seemed, against the
outer world. But it was not so to be ; the world had
not quite done with us. I was summoned out of the
room to speak to one of my workmen.
" Sir," he said, " I thought it right to name it, as
you have charged us so often : there has been a
shabby-looking person "
" Well } " I said quickly, for the thought of my old
master's son rushed to my mind.
" He has hung about the place all day," continued
the man, "going and coming. I tried to speak to
him once, but he moved away as quick as could be,
— but not so quick but that I saw him looking at the
words. Late Gibson^ as if he wanted "
" Is he there now } " I asked hurriedly.
" Happen he may be. He don't seem as if he
could find it in his heart to go."
I put on my great-coat and hat, and stepped hastily
back to the sitting-room. Brightly blazed the fire,
fcnd the home circle looked more cheerful than ever,
But I did not hesitate. If I could only be the means
of bringing back the outcast to his home, I cared
THE WANDERERS RETURN. 115
nothing for the snow and slcct outside. Susan looked
up at me inquiringly.
"Are you going out.''" she said. "What is the
matter ? "
" I shall be back very soon," I replied, raising the
little 'one in my arms, and kissing it; and then in a
few words I told her what had happened.
The tears were in her eyes. " Oh, go," she said
earnestly ; " by all means go ! "
Susan was not a woman to hold back her husband
from doing his duty. There was none of the spirit
of weak indulgence about her.
In a few minutes I was walking down the street, so
fast that my companion could scarcely keep up with
me. " It may after all be a mistake and a disap-
pointment," I thought ; " but no matter. I will not
let the slightest chance slip through my fingers, if
only for the sake of my dear old master."
We were soon at the old shop. I walked up and
down the street, but could see no one. Indeed, it
was so bleak a night that scarcely a dog would care
to be abroad. I went into the kitchen and stood by
the fire. We agreed to watch, one at the back and
the other at the front of the house. There was a
great uncertainty as to whether the stranger would
come any more that night; but we would give him
the chance. " If not," I thought, " I will watch all
day to-morrow."
The snowstorm had a little abated by this time,
and as the clouds rolled away, the moon struggled
out and threw a feeble ray upon the pavement. I
was still standing by the fire, which had been heaped
?i6 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
up with fuel, when I heard a sound outside the
window. Then, close to the glass, I saw a face
peering anxiously and timidly in. It was a worn,
haggard face, quite unknown to me, but I felt sure
by a kind of instinct that it was the face of the poor
outcast, Andrew Gibson's son.
I was on my guard. I stole noiselessly from the
house, keeping in the shadow, so that he might not
see me. And in a {q\v seconds I was close beside
him, — nay, I had hold of his arm.
" My friend," I said quickly, " who is it that you
want ? "
He seemed alarmed, and would have slunk away,
but that I kept my hold.
" There is no one here," he said at length ; " the
people are all dead and gone that I came in search
of"
" Do you mean Andrew Gibson ? " I asked ; " and
Ruth .? "
I felt his arm tremble. He looked at me with an
eagerness I shall nev^er forget, but did not speak.
"Come in," I said, "to the fire. It is too cold
standing here outside. I will answer any question
you like to ask. I have the business now, and am
the master."
He followed me into the house and sat down by
the hearth. He looked thin and ill, and as though
he had met with rough usage in the world ; but I
felt more than ever convinced he was the man I
wanted.
He would not yield me his confidence as I had
hoped. I told him that Andrew Gibson was living
THE WANDERER'S RETURA. 117
some few miles off, and that Ruth still kept house
for him. I spoke as though he knew them as
a matter of course ; and in spite of his silence and
reserve the expression of his face was not to be mis-
taken. Indeed, the tears began to trickle down his
face. I was resolved not to let him go. In a
moment of fear or shame he might set off and no
trace of him be discovered any more.
It was still early in the evening, for we shut up a
couple of hours sooner on a Saturday. I made up
my mind what to do. I would solve every doubt
and make sure of the matter. I would leave the
stranger in charge of my workman, take my good
stroncf horse and ride over to Andrew Gibson. A
five miles* ride would soon be accomplished, and I
should sleep all the sounder after I had consulted
Ruth, and heard what she would advise.
This hasty journey would not have been needed
but for the state of my dear old master's health.
For the last few weeks he had been sinking fast,
and we could hardly reckon on one day after
another. How I longed that, before he went to
his rest, he might be permitted to embrace his
son
I
CHAPTER XX.
A SUNDAY NEVER TO BE
FORGOTTEN,
HEN I opened the door of my
parlour, the same pleasant home-
scene again presented itself. I
had however been missed, for there
was the look of welcome hi every
face — ^just the look that is so dear,
and that a man likes to meet with by his own
fireside.
" Well, Harry !" said my wife, in a tone of interest,
and laying down her work.
" Well, Susan ! " was my reply. " But no ; I must
not sit down," — for she had drawn my chair to the
fire, — " I must be off directly."
" What ! to-night, in the snow ? Is it necessary ? "
she asked, anxiously.
When I told her how it was, she made no opposi-
tion. All through our married life we had been as
hnsband and wife should be — of one heart and of one
iiS
A SUNDAY NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 119
mind. Susan felt an attachment to Andrew Gibson,
and took a deep interest in the fate of his son. She
would not have withheld me from going on any
account. And in a very short time I was cantering
along at a quick pace towards Andrew Gibson's
house.
He had been kccpnig his bed for the last few days,
and there would be no difficulty in seeing Ruth alone.
Indeed, to see Ruth alone, was the gist and purport
of my visit.
It was striking nine by the village clock as I rode up
the street and opened the gate leading to the house.
There were lights in the windows ; and as I wished for
the present my visit to be kept secret from Andrew
Gibson, I slipped off my horse and proceeded on foot,
letting myself quietly into the kitchen.
I startled Ruth, who was stooping over the fire
preparing some kind of food for her uncle ; but I
signed to her to be quiet. I had something, I said,
that I wished to say privately ; and I beckoned her
as noiselessly as I could into a little room at the
back, w^here I thought wc could not be heard. It
was ever on their minds, this topic of the lost son's
return ; and the first word she said, as she closed the
door behind us, was, —
"Have you heard? Do you know anything.-' Is
that why you are come } "
"Ruth," I said eagerly, "tell me whether you
should know him again, now all these years have
passed .-' "
" Yes," she replied ; " though he was a mere boy
when he went away, I should recognise him, I am
I20 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
convinced. I could pick him out among a thousand,
let him come home as he might."
Then I told her what had happened. She listened
with the utmost eagerness, and the tears started to
her eyes,
" What are we to do } " I asked her. " What could
you advise } "
" Oh, he must come ! " she exclaimed. " You must
bring him, Harry, to-vwrroiv!^
She laid an emphasis on the word to-morrow, the
reason of which I knew too well. I knew that time
was getting short, and death marching on apace.
Her uncle was scarcely conscious then, she said, but
he might rally once again.
" Come to-morrow, early," she repeated. " And
God grant it may be as we think ! "
An eventful Sunday that would be, I thought, as I
rode home after my interview with Ruth ; but per-
haps the happiest in my life, if so be that the prodigal
is welcomed to his father's home.
" My place at church must be vacant.'' Susan
smiled as she heard me say so.
" Yours is a labour of love," she said ; " and though
absent from God's house, the Sabbath blessing will
be upon you."
As soon as our early breakfast was over, I had my
horse put in the gig and drove to the other end of
the town. The stranger had, by my express orders,
been carefully watched to the place where he lodged,
and a guard kept on his movements. He was sitting
by the fireless grate when I entered the room, his
face buried in his hands. I had to touch him before
A SUNDAY NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 121
I could rouse his attention. As he looked up, I
fancied I could trace a likeness to my dear old
master. The expression, it is true, was different ; in
the one case it was all peace, in the other disquiet
and remorse. One spoke of religion with its plicid
and satisfying joys, the other seemed to proclaim
that the way of the transgressor is hard.
"Friend," I said, standing by him, " j-ou wish to
see Mr. Gibson ; this is why you lingered about the
place yesterday. Well, I will take you to him noivy
He shrank back with evident reluctance.
" Noiv" I repeated firmly; "because every day is
of importance ; to-morrow may be too late."
I can scarce recall every particular of the conversa-
tion. I know it lasted but a little time; and then
he was beside me in the gig, and we were bowling
along.
Just as we quitted the town, I recollect that the
Sabbath-bclls rang out through the frosty air. Blessed
sound ! I seem to hear it now. It comes upon my
ear like the music of another world.
The weather had cleared up, and the winter sun
shone cheerily. We had a silent ride. My com-
panion appeared dejected, and at times agitated. As
for myself, I was more and more satisfied that God
had heard the prayer so long offered in faith and
earnestness, and was sending an answer of peace.
As we approached the house, I got out of the gig,
and fastened the horse to a gate. Then I walked
forwards, the stranger by my side. I could perceive
that he was more and more affected, nay, that he
trembled violently. A figure was in the doorway. I
122 HOLD FAST BY YOUR SUNDAYS.
knew who it was, and that Ruth was on the watch.
As soon as she saw us she came to meet us, I shall
never forget the suspense of that moment. But it
was quickly passed. She gave one searching look at
the stranger, and then she took his hand in hers and
called him by his name. She had recognised him, as
she said she should, in an instant.
I stepped on before. I thought they might wish to
have a few words together : that Ruth might wish to
prepare him for what was coming. As I entered the
kitchen, a woman who had been assisting to nurse,
and who had sat up with the patient, met me.
" Mr. Gibson is awake, sir," she said, " and wants to
see you. He knows you are come, for he heard the
sound of the gig."
I went softly up stairs, my heart full to over-
flowing. The same eager wistful look met me as I
stood by the bedside.
" Harry, you must not deceive me. You were here
last night, and you are here again this morning. Is
it about my boy .'' "
I took the poor wrinkled hand in mine. I was
obliged to proceed with the utmost caution on ac-
count of his feebleness, but by degrees I told him
everything. One fact after another slipped out, and
ere I had finished, I heard voices in the room below.
He heard them too.
" Let him come, Harry, Let him come. I must
see him before I die ! "
And he was dying fast : I saw it in his face.
I did not return home till night. It was an event-
ful Sunday — one that can never be forgotten. It was
A SUNDAY NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 123
the last day that my dear old master had given him
to live. For a few hours he rallied, and they were
alone — the father and the son. No one cared to
break in upon the sacred retirement of an interview
such as that.
He was very happy when at last we were sum-
moned to his bedside. Almost with his last breath
he repeated the well-known words which were being
sung in the village church close by : " Lord, now
Icttest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according
to Thy word." And in the quiet of that Sabbath
evening he entered into rest.
THE END.
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VI. Hymns of Joy.
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VIII. HymnsforSuflrcrers(C(?«i'/«M<^.
IX. Seven Clerical Hymn Writers.
X. Mission Hymns.
XI. Mission Hymns (^continued).
Chap. Prefatory Note. — Introductory.
I. The Rev. W. Pennefather's
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WORKS BY THE REV. CHARLES BULLOCK, B.D.,
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11. Christmas Invitation.
12. Jacob's Retrospect of
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13. \ Family Worship, its
14. i Divine Obligation
and Exercises.
6. Rebekah's Tempta-
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8. The Gain of Godliness,
g. Christian Usefulness.
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Works by the Rev. CHARLES BULLOCK, B.D.
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V. Faith's Rock of Rest.
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NEW SERIES. FOURTEENTH YEAR.
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" Xlbe mews : "
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» «
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THE TOPICS INCLUDE—
The Week: at Home and ii. Reformation Principles.
Abroad.
2. Leaders on Prominent Ques-
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3. In Parliament : A Digest.
4. The Parish at Work.
5. Press Opinions on Current
Events.
6. The Temperance Reform.
7. The Mission Field.
8. Every-Day Heroism.
9. Popular Recreation.
12. Social Helps and Hints.
13. Notes on Church Seasons.
14. Science Progress.
15. Our Church and the Masses.
16. Men of the Age.
17. The Question Box.
iS. New Books and Magazines.
19. The Modern Pulpit.
20. Family Life.
21. The Rest Day.
22. A Serial Tale by a well-
10. Landmarks of History. | known Author.
The Editorial arrangements are under the supervision of the
Rev. Charles Bullock, B.D., Editor of Zf<?;«£ Words.
London: "HOME WORDS" OFFICE, 7. Paternoster Square, E.Q
12
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