Chapter XIII: The Circle Broken

"Jesus, when my soul is parting
From this body frail and weak,
. . . . Thine, my Saviour,
Be the name I last shall speak."

"WELL, Herbert, what are you going to do now?" asked Mr. Earle sometime during that winter. "Are you going to fit for college?"

"Oh, no!" replied Herbert. "I am going to become a merchant, of course. I shall not give up for one failure. Father is on the look-out for a position for me."

"Study the matter carefully and prayerfully, Herbert. The Lord sometimes thwarts our plans to try us, sometimes to turn us."

"Of course I make it a subject of prayer," replied Herbert.

Mr. Earle, though he had his plan and hope for the boy, did not think it wise to say more at that time, and his slight hint was quite unnoticed. Herbert, like a great many other people, had first made up his mind, and afterwards asked God to guide and direct him, which meant, if he had but known it, to help him on in the way he had chosen. But older and wiser Christians often do the same thing.

As Mr. Bradford had predicted, it was not easy to secure another desirable situation in Westville. Mr. Wynn was popular, and the other merchants thought, if they did not say it, "There must have been something back of that story. Of course, Mr. Wynn would shield the son of his friend, and they have hushed up the matter."

After one or two trials, Mr. Bradford gave up the idea of getting a place at present, and decided to send Herbert to school. Herbert was disappointed, and begged to be allowed to go to the city, where a friend had offered him a position; but his mother was an invalid, and pleaded so hard for a year or two more at home, that the offer was declined. He was a good scholar and fond of books, but had never inclined to a profession; his father wished to make him a lawyer, but he had a decided repugnance to that profession.

"A year or two longer at school will do no harm," said his mother, "and perhaps something will offer by that time."

And as it seemed the only thing to do, he pursued his studies in the same classes with Lewie and Arthur. If nothing more of good had ever grown out of his dismissal from Mr. Wynn's store, the advantage which Arthur Knapp derived from Herbert's companionship would of itself have shown that there was design in what seemed only a misfortune. Arthur's associates had hitherto been of a different stamp. He had never been placed alongside of one whose life was ordered by Christian principle. He had no idea that a boy who was trying to follow Christ could be such a pleasant companion. Gradually Herbert gained an influence over him, and his disputes (which were sure to be angry ones) with the boys grew less frequent, and he had less trouble with the teachers; rather they had less trouble with him. And as school-life grew more tolerable, the home life was less tempestuous, and frequently Arthur carried home so much sunshine that it lasted all the evening.

Then the months rolled away with few noticeable changes until the third year of Miss Wynn's connection with the class was ended. Once in the time, Herbert had gone into a store in a neighbouring town, but was soon recalled by the alarming illness of his father, and before he could be spared from the invalid's side, the vacancy was filled. But his city friend had again offered him a position, his mother had consented, and he was going soon.

Affairs had so far brightened with Mr. Knapp that he had been able to keep Arthur in school a year longer than he had expected, but he had now been some months away working at a trade.

Greater changes were coming. Things never stay long in the same position even apparently. The Lorings had just returned from the seaside, where they went in June with Willy, who was failing in health. At first there seemed to be an improvement. He sent pleasant, boyish letters to his "dear Miss Wynn," telling her of his returning strength—letters that were running over with a quiet happiness, a happiness that had its foundation in a childlike trust in the dear Saviour.

Later, he had not been so well. A note from his sister informed Mabel that "Willy wished to thank her for her kind letters, but he was not quite strong enough to write."

At last they brought him home, and Mabel, calling as soon as she learned of the arrival, was met by Miss Louise, whose sad pale face told of nights of watching and of hope almost gone.

"The doctor says he may linger until the leaves fall," she said, in answer to Mabel's inquiries; then with a passionate outburst, "O Mabel, it is cruel, cruel, to take away our darling! This is your kind, loving God!"

Mabel sat down beside her friend, offering no word of reply, no attempt at consolation, knowing too well how worse than useless are words when the soul first tastes the bitterness of death, remembering her own hour of darkness, for once in Mabel Wynn's young life, death had come very near taking away a bright earthly hope. So she waited until Louise grew calm and spoke again.

"Willy has several times said he should not get well, but we thought it a fancy, until this morning Dr. Myers told us the same. But I won't give up yet. He must get well."

"Louise, dear friend—" began Mabel.

"Oh, I know what you are going to say. You Christians talk about submission to the will of God, but I don't see that the most do not rebel quite as often as we do."

"Does Willy?" asked Mabel, softly.

"No; but he is unlike any one I ever knew. The darling! I cannot give him up. You need not talk resignation to me."

"I will not," returned Mabel. "You mistook my intention. Until you look upon God as your friend you cannot say, 'Thy will be done.' I think you will grow to feel differently; but just now I only wanted to say that in your grief, you must not forget what awaits him, how he will be welcomed in the other world, how more than all you have hoped for him here will be realized there. He is very dear to me. I have watched him ripening for the time of his ingathering, and I feel sure that he is Christ's very own."

"I know, I know he is!" exclaimed Louise. Then with sudden vehemence, "I wish I were, I wish I were!"

Mabel was startled. The bitterness with which Louise had spoken of God's dealings and her rebellious mood had seemed to indicate that she was far from desiring to have aught to do with Christ. Louise felt the want of a strong arm, and she knew that Jesus did support his followers in their hours of trial. She knew that Willy and Mabel had a source of strength which she had not, and a sudden longing to possess it came over her.

"'Come unto me,'" repeated Mabel, "'Every one.' 'Whosoever will.' You see there is only acceptance, and you may step into the kingdom and take your inheritance of love, peace, comfort and strength."

"Will you go up and see Willy now?" asked Louise, presently.

It was a quiet but cheerful interview. Willy said—

"I am glad you have come. I wanted to thank you, while I have strength, for all you have done for me. You made the way to Christ so plain that I think I found him two years ago. I have been trying to follow ever since. The white line leads to a bridge, and I have almost reached it. Sometimes people talk about the dark waters of the river of death. But Christ's love stretches all the way across. I think it is strong enough to carry me over," he said, smiling.

Mabel was not the only one who went out from the presence of the dying boy comforted and strengthened. He lingered a month or two, until dark, chilly November, and while he had strength to speak, his constant theme was Christ. Once, when his sister Louise had performed some little service for him, he said—

"Thank you, Louise. I shall not need that many times more."

"Oh, my darling!" she returned. "Why must we give you up?"

"Because Jesus wants me," he answered. Looking wistfully at her, he continued, "Ever since I learned to know Jesus, I have been praying for you particularly. I did not forget the rest, but my great longing was for you. It seemed as if you needed Christ so much."

Tears and sobs almost choked the words which Louise whispered.

"And, Willy, I sometimes think I have found Him. A great peace has lately come into my heart. I have hardly dared to hope that it is the peace of God; but it seems to grow out of a trust in His love."

"O my sister! And you'll never give up until they are all brought to Christ?"

One morning a message came. Willy was failing rapidly. Would Mabel come?

"We felt that we could not be alone to-day," said Miss Loring. "Mamma is quite overcome, and my sisters are so unused to care. If you will think for us, we shall be grateful. Send for anybody you choose."

So it happened that Mabel Wynn, who had always been friendly with the Lorings, but not intimate, stood by her beloved pupil at the last, wiped his damp brow, responded to the faint request, "Sing of Jesus," supported the fainting mother; and, finally, when Willy had fallen asleep, planned, arranged, and executed numberless minor details that somebody must always attend to when death is a guest in the house.

During the next day, she stood for a moment beside the young sleeper, when the door opened and Louise came and stood beside her.

"He was young to die," said the sister sadly.

"Yes," said Mabel. "But do you know, Louise, I cannot connect the thought of death with him. It is as though he were sleeping now, and by-and-by 'twill be as though he had just gone out of sight, and was waiting somewhere ahead for us. Dear child! He need to ask a great many questions as to what I thought about heaven. I remember one thing seemed to trouble him; he did not know anybody there, and it would all be so strange—he would feel so shy.

"I said, 'But, perhaps, before you go, you may have a great many friends there.'

"'Perhaps so,' he said.

"Then I told him that any way Jesus would be there, and he asked, 'Do you suppose that Jesus would notice a little fellow like me?'"

"Darling!" said Louise, bending over her idol. "You've received your welcome!"

The circle was indeed broken! Willy gone! Herbert and Arthur away from home. Henry rarely able to be present, and Perry coming only occasionally. Only Lewie and Duncan were regularly and promptly in their places. But, except the one for whom she had now no need to labour, Mabel still counted them hers, still sought to bring them all to Christ.

When Herbert and Arthur went away, they carried notes of introduction to Sabbath-school superintendents, and frequent letters testified of her continued interest in their welfare. Calling on Mrs. Knapp one day, that lady said,—

"Arthur writes that he hears from you sometimes. I am very glad that you take the trouble to write to him. I am sorry to say that Arthur is not as steady as we could wish. I hope he will improve, and I depend a great deal upon your influence over him."

Poor woman! She had not yet learned to depend upon Christ, and Mabel said—

"My dear Mrs. Knapp, my letters, my influence are worth very little to Arthur, compared with what a praying mother would be to him. And the rest of your children—you need Christ for them."

"I know it," said Mrs. Knapp. "There was a time, a great many years ago, when I hoped I was a Christian; but I don't know. It is a long while since I have had any religious privileges, and with so many cares, I got in the way of neglecting prayer, and reading the Bible, and now I suppose I'll just go on so."

"I hope not," said Mabel, quickly. "I come in to-day on purpose to invite you to the afternoon prayer-meeting in the church parlour. I will come around to-morrow afternoon with a friend who will take you, and I will stay with the children."

Thus smoothing the way, she gained her point. It was after spending a few hours with those ungoverned children that Mabel said (talking to herself), "How much that family need Christ!"

This was precisely the remark she had made after calling upon the Lorings. Yet the Knapps and Lorings are not the only people who turn away from Him who would supply their great need!