Chapter XXII: Kindled

"AUNT RUTH," exclaimed Jean, "do come and sit down by this fire. See! I've blown it into such a lovely blaze, because I know you love blazes."

Aunt Ruth laughed. "Where did you find that nice pair of bellows?" she asked. "I never saw them before."

"I should think you hadn't!" said Jean. "I was searching in the garret this afternoon for something mother wanted in that old chest of hers, and I came upon them, wrapped up in a sheet of old-fashioned paper, as yellow as yellow."

"Among her treasures?" asked Aunt Ruth.

"Yes; she would hardly let me use them, they were such a treasure! But I told her they did nobody any good up there, hidden away, and if I left them there they would be forgotten for another twenty years—"

"Where shall you keep them?" asked Aunt Ruth.

"Handy!" returned Jean, emphatically.

With which words she began blowing up the wood fire with fresh energy, enjoying the effect to the full, as who does not?

"Go it!" said Tom, coming behind, "Or let me."

"Oh! Here you all are!" said Aunt Ruth.

"Yes, just ready for a nice twilight story," said Rose. "They are getting the tea, and there is just time."

Aunt Ruth was always willing, though she seldom suggested a talk unless they did. Often she seized upon a little lesson from what was passing at the moment, which the children were grateful for, and did not forget.

"Well, come along, settle yourselves quickly," she said, "for if Rose is right about the tea, there will not be much time."

They all gathered round her affectionately.

"Well, auntie?" said Oswald, by way of a beginning.

"Well," she responded, "it struck me as if by a flash when I saw Jean fanning the fire into that beautiful flame, how the dull fire was typical of our dull hearts, cold and dead, the spark of love and faith nearly extinguished by adverse circumstances—"

"Yes, auntie," said Tom eagerly, "what then?"

"Then comes a force outside ourselves, and with the breath of living power, He fans the little sparks till they brighten and grow warm, fanned by the love of God, and the breath of the Holy Spirit."

"I don't understand much about the Holy Spirit," said Oswald, in a low tone, "it always seems too high a subject for me."

"Yes, I can understand that, but if we think of the Holy Spirit as 'He,' not 'it,' we shall better understand that He is a Person; not only an influence, but Someone we may speak to and love."

"Does that make a difference?" asked Rose.

"I am sure it does. We can pray to Him, if He is a Person—unseen, indeed, but very near and very real. When we pray to Him, the first effect I think that we shall find, will be that the little spark of love which we had to Jesus will brighten and glow."

"Oh! Now I see!" smiled Jean, thinking of her dull fire.

"And then as the Holy Spirit becomes more to us—more of a living reality—the spark of our love to Jesus will grow and glow, and at length burst into a bright flame, so that others will see in our faces a beam of His holy love and holy life!"

"And we shall be warm and happy," sighed Jean, in a comfortable rested tone.

"Well," said Oswald, hesitating a little, "that's too difficult a subject for me."

"I don't think it is, when you think it over," said Aunt Ruth, looking up. "I heard a celebrated preacher once speak on this very subject. He pressed his hearers very earnestly to make a decision then and there; to say 'Yes' to the Holy Spirit, and let Him enter their hearts. In the solemn pause which ensued, the little girl next me seemed very earnest, but it was not till afterwards that I knew about the great transaction that had taken place in her life in that quiet church."

"As we were sitting in the train going home, her hand lovingly within my arm, and her face close to my shoulder, I whispered, 'What answer did you give, darling?' And she squeezed my arm earnestly, as she whispered back, 'I said yes.'"

"Since then, children, that girl has been a devoted servant of Christ, and has done much for Him."