CHAPTER IV

Telling

NONE of us had umbrellas, and though we girls buttoned up our jackets and pulled the rugs well over our knees, we got soaked through. And then, as a vivid flash of lightning flashed upon us, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, our horse reared, then bolted.

The trap swayed from side to side. Pat muttered between clenched teeth, "Sit still, and hold your tongues!"

And still as death we sat, gripping hold of the back of the seat, and expecting every moment to be upset.

[Illustration: OUR HORSE REARED, THEN BOLTED.]

"Am I ready to die?" flashed through my mind; and again I sent up an agonizing cry,—

"O God, forgive, and save me!"

We dashed on; the hedges seemed to fly past us; but the road was a straight and even one. Gradually the horse's pace slackened, and at last, with a tremendous effort, Pat was able to pull up. Then we looked at each other. Honey was as white as a sheet; Pat was wiping the perspiration from his brow; and Taters was the only one who laughed, but her laugh was an hysterical one.

"A near shave for us!" was Pat's comment.

And not another word did he say till we reached home, for we were all considerably sobered by our adventure.

I crept away to my room as soon as I could, and thanked God on my knees for having preserved us. I felt, if He had heard and answered one prayer, He would another; and I went to bed that night a little comforted.

The next morning I ran in next door to ask Miss Moffat for a book she had promised to lend Honey. I found her writing letters in her snug little sitting-room; but she turned round at once and made me sit down by the fire and have a chat with her. Somehow or other I soon found myself telling her all that was in my heart. She had a way of getting everything out of us, and I could never be reticent with her.

"And do you think you have now got the 'one thing lacking,' my dear?"

"I don't know. What do you say was the one thing lacking with that young man, Miss Moffat?"

"He lacked union with Christ," Miss Moffat said softly. "He could not make up his mind to link his life on to our Lord's; and, believe me, Mary, you will never be able to live a happy Christian life unless you get in touch with your Saviour."

"I don't think a Christian life can be a happy one," I said gloomily; "it is life with all the enjoyment taken out of it. But I've promised to live it, and I can't go back from it."

Miss Moffat looked at me with something like tears in her eyes.

"Oh, child, child, what a wrong start you are making! You say you have asked God to forgive you and save you. How can He do it, when He has said no sinner shall come into His presence?"

"I suppose," said I thoughtfully, "He will do it because Christ died for sinners—Christ died for me."

As I said the words a strange sense of peace crept into my heart.

"Yes," Miss Moffat went on; "you have the right foundation. But if you have just been received into the fold, and have obtained forgiveness of sins, and the gift of eternal life—if you have been made an heir of glory—whom must you thank for it?"

"The Lord Jesus Christ," I said slowly.

"And doesn't your heart glow with the thought of all His love for you? Have you no word of thanks to Him? You talk as if you are to live a Christ-like life without Christ! The thing is impossible. Open your empty little heart to Him, and He will come in and flood your life with joy and gladness. A Christian life a gloomy one! Oh, how little, how very little, you know! Get linked on to Christ, my dear; get to know Him as your personal Friend, and you will find you love Him better every day you live—ah! And you'll get to understand a little of His mighty love for you!"

Miss Moffat spoke enthusiastically. I could only stare at her, for her words then were above and beyond my comprehension.

Then I sighed, though a spark of hope sprang up in my breast.

"Do you think God has answered my prayer?" I asked.

Miss Moffat turned over the leaves of her well-worn Bible.

"'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.' Faithful—for He never breaks His word; just—because Christ has suffered instead of us. What do you think, Mary?"

I did not answer for a minute; then I said, "But I don't feel any different."

"Let your feelings alone; rest on this verse. Run your finger along it every day, and say, 'God says this. I'll believe it, though I don't feel it.' If you keep on at that, the feeling will come. But your salvation does not depend on your feelings."

I got up to go, and kissed our little friend enthusiastically.

"You're a dear, Miss Moffat! You've comforted me a lot. And you don't think God wants to take away my pleasures if I'm a Christian?"

Miss Moffat smiled.

"He loves you, my child. He loves to see you happy. He will fill your life with blessing, if you are willing to let Him."

I walked back to our house thinking. And then a few minutes after I burst into the schoolroom. The boys were cooking toffee; Taters was dressing our black cat in a paper frock and cap; and Honey was trying vainly to write a letter to mother. I flung Honey's book on the table.

"I've something to tell you all!" I said.

[Illustration: I TOOK UP THE SOFA CUSHIONS, AND FLUNG THEM WITH ALL MY FORCE AT THE BOYS' HEADS.]

"Hulloo! Anything grand? Why, Li is quite excited! Out with it; your eyes are nearly starting out of your head!"

I stood erect, and faced them all.

"It's something very good for me. I'm a Christian."

A shout of laughter from the boys.

"Just found that out? What are we? Heathen?"

I was not disconcerted.

"I tell you I'm quite different to what I was a few days ago. I found out the answer to Miss Moffat's question, and I'm going to be really and truly religious."

Pat tapped his forehead significantly.

"Poor Li! She has been rather queer the last day or two, but I didn't think it would come to this!"

"Li pious! If you lived to be a hundred, you couldn't be: so don't you come here trying to green us!"

Exasperated by these jeers, I took up the sofa cushions—our favourite implements of warfare—and flung them with all my force at the boys' heads, exclaiming hotly—

"I am! I don't care what you say, and how you laugh! I know myself better than you do, and if I choose to be 'pious,' as you call it, I shall!"

[Illustration]

And then, dashing out of the room, I rushed to our bedroom, and flinging myself on my bed, burst into tears.