Chapter XVI: The Ingathering

"Look again! the fields are whitening,
For the harvest time is near."

AGAIN the Lord seemed about to bless his church at Westville in the outpouring of his Spirit, in deepening the experience of those already Christ's disciples, and in leading others to grasp his offered hand.

The week after Willy Loring's death, his sister Louise glided into the Thursday evening prayer-meeting and took her place beside Mabel; again she came; then she slipped into the young people's meeting, where she found her voice to speak of the new hopes that were growing up in her heart out of the great peace that had fallen upon her life.

Next Mr. Loring came to church with his daughter upon a Sabbath evening, much to the surprise of all who knew him, for he was one of those who ignored religion in his life and conversation. But there he sat listening to Mr. Earle's sermon. Now, had the good pastor known that Mr. Loring was coming to church he would have preached a very different sermon. However, the Lord must have known it; and as Mr. Earle had both in public and in private asked the Lord whom they worshipped to take the direction of the day's services, it may be supposed that it was just the sermon needed, especially as Mr. Loring afterwards remarked that it was that sermon which led him to think seriously upon the claims of Christ. He continued to attend church, and one evening, he arose and said—

"My friends and neighbours, you have known me for an irreligious and worldly man. I hope henceforth to be known as a humble disciple of Christ. I have much to learn. Bear with me if in weakness and ignorance I stumble, and pray that strength and wisdom may be given me."

What a thrill ran through the little company met in sadness for prayer. In sadness because Christ had seemed to withdraw from them, and lo! He was here in their midst. What wonder that a voice took up the glad song—

"Thine, O God, be all the glory."

This was the beginning of a glorious revival. Night after night the people came together—Christians to pray and tell the wonderful story of Christ's love, and many came to listen; some who had heard the story again and again without realising its meaning for them; to others, who came drawn by curiosity, the story had almost the freshness of a now and unread book. There were many who, hearing the Spirit's call, yielded at once, and quickly found their way into the kingdom, while others hesitated upon the very threshold, drawn back by sin's strange power, and only entering after repeated struggles.

The whole church was awakened, ready and eager for work. Men stopped in the street or gathered at the corners to talk of the meetings, to say how the work was going on, to urge attention to the soul's interests, and to plan how best they might reach those yet outside the blessed influence. Women ran in to spend an hour in each other's parlours or kitchens, as the case might be, forgetting that there were such things as ruffles and ribbons, charades and tableaux, while their talk ran upon the love of Christ and the ways of doing his work.

For many weeks the people lived in an atmosphere of prayer, and there was a glorious ingathering. The anxious teacher who had been waiting so long for God's blessing upon her work hoped that now the time had come when the rest of her class should enter the Master's service. It seemed that now when so many were entering in, these could not stay out; and yet, though she watched and prayed, there were no signs of their coming!

Duncan had found the new home life very pleasant. No reproaches (except those of his own conscience) had met him, and his visit to New York was scarcely referred to. For this, he endeavoured to show his gratitude by exemplary conduct. He refrained from grumbling with Jenny, and storming at Nancy when she forgot to keep his breakfast warm; he was oftener prompt in coming down to breakfast, in time for breakfast, in time for prayers; his reports from school were of a higher grade, and so marked was the general improvement that Judge McNair said to his wife—

"You have no idea how that boy has improved. I am quite hopeful that he will turn out well."

"Are you?" replied Mrs. McNair. "I was never otherwise than hopeful of him. But I am very anxious to see him a Christian. I cannot feel at all satisfied with any improvement that falls short of that."

"Can't you persuade him to attend the meetings?" asked her husband.

"I have thus far failed. If I understand his disposition, it will not do to urge him very much—that would drive him the other way. He always has some excuse. I heard Jenny ask him tonight if he didn't want to go with her and Julia Bradford, and he refused flatly."

Mr. McNair looked troubled, but quickly brightened, saying—

"Well, there is One whose pleadings are more powerful than ours, and who knows how to find a way into his heart. We will ask Him to come and plead with our boy."

Oh, what earnest prayers went up from those anxious and waiting hearts! At that very hour, while these were praying for him, Duncan was in his room. He had not had such a fit of ill-humor in a month. He had snapped at Jenny because she asked him to go to church; he had kicked his dog because of Jenny's suggestion of church, and growled at Nancy for the same reason, and here he was snapping and growling at the walls or window curtains, without any earthly excuse for doing so.

When his growls shaped themselves into words, he said, "I won't go to meeting! There! Everybody's at me about it. I can't walk along the street without hearing somebody say, 'Go to church tonight.' I think the folks here might be satisfied with the new leaf I've turned over; but it seems they are not. So they have got Jenny and Jule Bradford to do a sharp thing. Now that's what I call a sharp dodge! I sha'n't go! I heard a man say to-day that there was no use in resisting. If a fellow once got into one of those powerful meetings, he'd be carried right along up to the gate of the kingdom in spite of himself. I don't want to go to heaven that way. When I get ready, I'll step in all by myself. My! What would Joe say to the idea of my turning saint? I know just what he would say. He'd make use of his favorite—; but his ugly words wouldn't sound well in this pretty room; with the old matting and dingy walls they might have corresponded. It was a capital idea of the new mother's, fixing up this den. But as for those meetings, I won't go!"

Duncan had paused directly before the little table under the gas-light, and at that moment, he saw a bit of folded paper lying beside the Book. Taking it up, he read, "Duncan, will you refuse Christ? It is his call." Just at that moment the church bell began to toll, and to Duncan every stroke was equivalent to the words, "He calls!" "He calls!"

For a moment he stood still, then he went swiftly down the stairs, took his overcoat and cap from the hat-rack, and joined the group in the sitting room, who were putting on their wraps.

"Come, girls, hurry up, if you are going under my escort."

Can you account for his sudden change of purpose? Does any one think it strange that the little note left there for him should attract his notice just as the church bell was about to strike. Remember, they had been praying for him down-stairs, committing him into the hands of One who understood his words and knew how to time the double call.

Duncan knew very little about the character or order of the meetings. If he thought about it at all, he supposed that they were going to a preaching service in the church, instead of which he found himself in the lecture room and parlour adjoining. Dr. Myers came towards him, and taking his hand in both his, said earnestly—

"Duncan, I'm glad to see you here! Suppose you go into the parlour. You'll find Mr. Earle there."

Now Mr. Earle was the very last person in the world whom Duncan McNair wished to find just then; however, somewhat bewildered, he obeyed the suggestion. As he entered, he heard Mr. Earle say, as in response to some one who had been speaking—

"Blessed news! Another wanderer brought home!"

Then, as he saw the newcomer, he continued—

"Ah! Duncan, we've been waiting a long time for you. We are very glad you've come at last. Will you take this seat?" indicating a chair near his own.

The boy went forward wondering. This was not at all his idea of a prayer-meeting. Both rooms were nearly filled.

Deacon Griffin had charge of the meeting in the outer room. His father and mother, Dr. Myers, Mr. Clarke, and others, were there, singing praises and rendering thanks for the gifts already bestowed, seeking the continued presence of the Spirit with its renewing power, and speaking words of instruction and counsel to some of the young converts who were there, ready to take up the Master's work, only asking to be shown how.

In the room where Duncan was seated were Willy and Helen Knapp, Alice Trafton and Mr. Trafton himself, besides many more of Duncan's schoolmates and acquaintances.

"'Well, Mr. Trafton," Mr. Earle said, turning back to continue the talk Duncan's entrance had interrupted, "I think you quite understand the step you have taken. I hope that you will join the working force at once. We need you. If you will stop a minute after church, I have a hint to give you to start on. And so, Willy, you, too, have quite made up your mind to belong to Christ?"

"Yes, sir; but I don't know what to do."

"What to do," repeated Mr. Earle, smiling kindly. "Why, my boy, you've nothing to do. Christ has done it all. He takes you just as you are. You have but to trust in Him."

"Yes, I know," returned Willy. "I don't mean just that. He has forgiven me and made me his own, and now I am different, I ought to live different. I mean I don't know how I ought to live. It is just as you said, sir. I want to do something to please Jesus, but I don't see anything that I can do."

"I understand you now," Mr. Earle replied; "and I think I can help you. Suppose that to-morrow morning when you fill the wood-box and sweep the paths, or bring the pail of water, you go about it with the thought that it is the work Christ has given you to do, and do it promptly and cheerfully. I think the Saviour will be pleased with the service. Then I suppose, like all school-boys, you like to play tricks on your mates—now, if you remember the rule Jesus gave, you will drop the paper ball before you send it flying across the school-room, aiming at somebody's nose; you would not like to be in the place of that other boy, nor of the teacher. These are little things, but if you are faithful, God may call you to do greater work for him. And how is it with Helen?" turning to the little girl.

"Oh, sir, I am very happy. I asked Jesus this morning to help me to be good-natured this day, and I think he did. I told mother that Willy and I hoped we were Christians, and she said she was very glad, and she wished she was one herself. I am praying for her and for father."

"We will all pray for them. Well, Alice, there was a very sad-looking little girl sitting in that seat last evening; but I see a very happy face tonight. What has become of the sadness?"

"It has all gone out of my heart, and that's the reason it don't show in my face, I suppose."

"Yes. Have you any idea what drove it out?"

"Yes, sir," Alice replied. "I think it was Christ himself. I felt so bad last night that I cried all the while you were preaching. Helen sat with me, and she was so happy, and that made me more miserable. I thought I was left out. When I went home, I went straight to Henry's room, and told him all about it. Then I knelt down by his chair, and he prayed for me, and I think Christ heard him, and that he has forgiven my sins; and with the sin all washed out, I couldn't be sad, you know!"

Duncan listened in amazement. Here were these children, three or four years younger than himself, rejoicing in sins forgiven, and starting out in the Christian life. When Alice spoke of her sins being forgiven, he said to himself, "Whew! If that little innocent puss had sins to forgive, what kind of a reckoning would I have?"

There were others to testify for Christ, and some who had not yet heard the sweet, gentle voice, saying, "Fear not, I have redeemed thee." Behind Mr. Trafton sat a young man who was greatly agitated. While the rest were singing, Mr. Earle went over and sat beside him.

"Nicholas," he said, "don't you find Christ yet?"

"No," returned the young man, choking with emotion, "I can't find Him, and if I could, I don't believe it would do any good. He wouldn't pay any attention to such a wicked fellow as I am."

"I'll agree to that, if you will find any account of his turning away from anybody."

"Are you sure He never turned anybody away?" asked the poor fellow. "May be they didn't tell of it."

"We have his word for it:

"'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'"

As Mr. Earle went on repeating the precious promises, Duncan leaned forward to see who he was talking to, and, to his utter astonishment, discovered that it was Nick Turner!

He began to take in some idea of the extent and power of the work that was going on. True, he had heard many details, or might, if he had listened to conversations that went on around him, but he had failed to comprehend more than that there were meetings which a great many people called very interesting.

He felt something of the solemnity that rested upon all present, and when Mr. Earle knelt and prayed for Nick, he found himself wondering how he should feel if it was himself that was being prayed for. He listened eagerly to all that followed, until fearing he might become interested in spite of himself, he resolutely set about turning his thoughts away from the place. Suddenly the bell rang out for the preaching services. Mr. Earle laid his hand upon Duncan's shoulder to detain him, then, turning to Willy and Helen, he said—

"If you feel so anxious about your parents becoming Christians, I suppose you are willing to make some sacrifice for it. Are you not?"

"Yes, sir," said Willy.

"I think so," Helen said thoughtfully.

"Well, suppose that to-morrow evening you two offer to stay with the two little ones, and let your father and mother come to the inquiry meeting. Don't decide now, but think and pray about it. Good night."

To Duncan, "Well, my boy, is your decision made?"

"I haven't made any decisions lately," was the reply. "I didn't even decide to come here tonight."

"Ah! But since you are here you are not sorry?"

"No—I guess not."

"And you'll come again?—Will you?"

"I don't know—perhaps I will."

"Duncan, will you, if God permits, meet me here at a quarter before six to-morrow evening? We shall be alone then, and I would like to have a long talk with you. You may bring a friend if you like. Will you come?"

Duncan could not refuse, and gave his promise, which he wanted to take back the next minute. Mr. Earle's sermon that evening was a solemn appeal to the hearts of those who still refused Christ's invitation, and Duncan felt that the truths presented reached him—he saw his guilt and danger—indeed, I am not certain that he had not seen it before—but hitherto he had been quite determined to resist for the present. Now he was not so certain; perhaps it would be better to settle the matter now, if he only could.

It was so awkward to start; he had made a good many remarks about the "revival they were getting up," and it would seem queer to come around now and join in with the rest. He couldn't do it. As yet, his class at the seminary had not been broken into; they all stood out firmly against the call, and he wouldn't be the one to break the ranks. But then he had been to an inquiry meeting. What would they say to that? And he had promised to go again! Then, again, it might be, as Mr. Earle had said, that this was his very last opportunity. He remembered Willy Loring, and thought, what if he had waited for this time! He began to see where he stood, but was unwilling to take the step that would plant him upon the rock.

The next day a spirit of insubordination ran through his class-room, and it was plain from what corner it emanated. Never had Duncan McNair seemed so full of fun and frolic. He was quite determined to forget and make everybody else forget the position into which he had been led. Lessons were failures, ridiculous notes and outrageous caricatures were slyly handed about, causing subdued explosions of laughter. Had Professor Mills had charge of that department, serious trouble must have ensued; but Professor Harris understood the boys better than they understood themselves, and quietly watched and waited. Toward the close of the day's session, Duncan captured a note intended for his neighbour, reading it with a flushed and angry face.

"I must prevent an outbreak there," thought the teacher. "That boy has been in a state of excitement all day, and he won't stand much more."

A little while after, he said—

"McNair, I have discovered the error in your work. If you will stop a moment and make the correction, we will overlook the mistake, as your statement is correct."

Then, when the work was done, "Duncan, if it is not a breach of confidence, will you tell me what was in that note that made you so angry at Clarence Golden?"

"It was an insult to one of the best friends I have in the world," answered the boy, flushing again. "I'd fight any day for Dr. Myers's honour, and Clarence knows it. I think he will keep out of my way, and he'd better, too."

"Duncan, would you fight for your Saviour's honour?" Receiving no reply, Professor Harris continued, "Dr. Myers cannot be a better friend to you than Christ has been, and yet you do not hesitate to offer Him a gross insult, despising and rejecting his friendship, without which you are lost."

The conversation was not prolonged. There were others waiting to speak to the teacher, into whose ears he was sure to drop some word of warning or encouragement. Duncan walked slowly home. All the fun and frolic gone, his heart was burdened with a sense of his sin. It was true; all that Dr. Myers had done could not be compared with Christ's sacrifice.

And yet that very day he had ridiculed Christians and scoffed at things that belong to Christ's kingdom. How it all appeared to him now! Could he hope for pardon—might it not be too late? In his own room, he waited for the hour which Mr. Earle had set for their interview, for which he was now as anxious as he had been averse. Half-past four! An hour and a quarter to wait, when he was not sure of a minute. Inconsistent follow! Yesterday he had scorned the idea of any help whatever, thinking to make his way alone to the mercy-seat, when he should decide to start; and now he was depending entirely upon Mr. Earle. Why didn't he kneel right down there and give his heart to Jesus? This was the very thought which presently occurred to him.

And when, an hour later, he met Mr. Earle, and that gentleman said, smiling, "Well, shall I talk to you, or you talk to me?"

He replied—

"I have not much to say, only to answer your question of last night as to the decision being made. I think, sir, that I have made it. I do not feel sure that Christ has forgiven and received me, but I am very sure that I want to be his."

Again the glad pastor said fervently, "Thank God!"