CHAPTER XX.
THE HAY-LOFT.
"ONLY four days more, and here is a soaking wet one!" exclaimed Ada dolefully at breakfast one morning. "What shall we do with ourselves, Arthur?"
"I can't conceive," said Arthur; "what can you suggest, mamma?"
"Have you thought of the hay-loft?"
"Ah, capital!" exclaimed Arthur. "And Mrs. Ross said we might go there when we liked, but we have only been once."
"Well, mind, if you do, you shut down the trap-door safely; and I shall have to come and see the little ones safely up and down the ladder."
"I'll do that," said Walter; "when you are all ready to go up, I'll come."
They were soon assembled, with two balls and several books; and Walter helped them whisk across the dripping wet rick-yard, and helped them all carefully up the ladder.
"Now," he called, "if any of you get tired and want to come in, Arthur is to fetch Nellie or mamma; mind! I am going down to the reading room."
A grand romp was the first excitement in the hay-loft, and the enraptured children climbed up the hay, first up, one following another in clambering, and then sliding down the steepest place they could find—one after another, one after another, some feet first, some head first, some rolling and tumbling in wild frolic. Dolly soon got into the wars, and had to be comforted by Ada before they could go on playing; but when her tears ceased to flow, they set off again, and shouts and screams were all that could be heard.
At eleven o'clock, Nellie made her way across in the rain with a large jug of milk, and began calling at the foot of the ladder. Bump, bump, bump, went the feet overhead; shout, shout, shout, went the voices. It was of no use; she set down her jug and went back to the house.
"I can't get them to hear; you never heard such a commotion in your life, mamma; what shall I do?"
"Take the bell," suggested Mrs. Arundel.
So Nellie again set forth, and this time with more success. A tinkle of the bell was heard between the up and down rush, and Arthur hastened to the trap-door and looked down.
"Hurrah!" he shouted. "Here's lunch, I do declare, and dear Nell."
"Yes; here it is! And a nice dance you have led me," she answered good-naturedly. "Now is anybody tired, and wishing to come down?"
"Oh, no!" answered everyone. And several very flushed and rosy faces peeped cautiously through the trap-door.
"That's all right," said Nellie. "Now here is a stock of bread and butter, and plenty of milk; and it is of no use your wanting more, for you won't get it!"
With these words, she handed the jug to Arthur, who had descended a few steps to reach it, and then the bread and butter, and a mug, and nodding at them, she turned away, telling them to remember their rule.
Lunch was very acceptable, and the children found that they were both hungry and thirsty. They all sat down on various comfortable trusses of the sweet hay, and began to find out that they were also tired as well as hungry and thirsty.
"I shan't play any more," said Ada, when lunch was finished; "it's too hot; but we have had a jolly game."
"Lovely; but what can we do?" said Arthur.
"I'll read to you?" said Ada.
"No; tell us a story."
"Oh, Ada, do!" exclaimed the little ones.
"All right; then you must all lie down and be very still, and I'll shut my eyes and begin."
[Illustration: They soon settled themselves; even Arthur was not sorry to hear a story.]
They soon settled themselves; even Arthur was not sorry to hear a story, because, as he said, "he had read all their books through and through; but this was sure to be something quite fresh."
Ada's Story
"I saw in my dream a lovely valley. The mountains on either side were grand and picturesque. The rocks, ferns, and trees filled the eye with beauty and freshness. I heard the sound of splashing water, and turning round to see where it came from, I perceived a waterfall, and by the side of it a boy, stooping to drink of the clear stream.
"'This is an exquisite spot,' I said to him; and he raised his eyes and looked at me surprised.
"'Do you not like it?' I asked.
"'I do not care about it,' he said, sighing; and turning rather abruptly, he walked on.
"I noticed in my dream that he appeared not to be as straight and beautiful as I had first thought; for his back seemed misshapen, and I wondered if that was why he looked so sad.
"Just at this moment a little girl came in sight leading a baby-child. She was pulling it along roughly, and every now and then she gave it a little shake. 'What a plague you are,' she said angrily; 'I wish I could do anything else but lead you.'
"The child sobbed and moaned, and then began pushing away the hand that so rudely hurt it. 'I am tired,' it said wearily, 'and I can't get along. Why do you pull me so, sister?'
"The girl moved vexedly, and as she moved, I saw that she too seemed to have something on her shoulders under her dress.
"'What can it be?' I thought.
"A young woman now appeared, and besides the baby on her bosom, I saw she too had a burden to carry.
"A burden! Ah, that must be it! Poor things! Poor things!
"I was not near enough to ask them about it, so I still went on thinking. By-and-by two boys came up. They, were very disfigured by their burdens, and yet they seemed not to be troubled about it themselves, but were chatting gaily.
"'We will have a bath in this stream,' they said. So they cast aside their clothes; but, to my horror, I saw that each one carried his burden into the water with him—they could not take them off.
"My heart bled for them; so I drew nearer, and when they came out of the stream I said—
"'Have you no means of laying down those burdens, even for an instant?'
"They laughed carelessly. 'Burdens? Nonsense; we were born as we are, what need to change? We don't care; let us be happy while we can.' They hastened away, and I fell to musing deeply.
"Presently a lovely lady and a girl came in sight, and I noticed at once that the lady appeared to have no burden at all, while the child's was large and heavy.
"'Do not walk on the stones, my dear,' I heard the lovely lady say in a gentle voice, 'you will hurt your feet.'
"'I do not think I shall,' answered the girl, not altering her course.
"'I am sure you will, my dear,' answered her mother—for I took them to be mother and child.
"In a few moments the girl stumbled and fell; and her mother, full of tenderest pity, raised her, comforted her, and did what she could for her. But I noticed that somehow the burden always seemed in the way, and when the lady would have drawn the girl to rest on her bosom, the burden got between them, and the girl hastily pushed herself away. Then the mother went to the stream and fetched some clear water, and bathed her child's bruised foot, and by-and-by was so successful that the girl fell asleep with her head resting on a grassy mound. Then I ventured to speak.
"'You have no burden,' I said softly; 'how is it that all I see here have them?'
"She sighed deeply, and glanced at her child. 'They need not,' she said.
"'Is there a way to get rid of them, then?' I asked.
"'Certainly; did you not know?'
"'I am a stranger here.'
"'Yes, they can get rid of them,' she resumed, 'there is one way to do it.'
"'How is that?' I asked; 'and why do not all?'
"'It is very strange they do not. There is a stream not far from here; they have only to plunge in it, and the burden falls off, melts away. Only the way to it is narrow, and does not look inviting; but, oh, it is very different when you get to it!'
"'Really? And did you plunge in it?'
"'Yes, indeed. The King of this country has made it so. These burdens were fastened on at birth by His enemy, and as we grow they grow; and each year we carry them they get heavier and heavier, so that sometimes a very large burden has to be carried by a very weak person. No water that was in this land could cause these burdens to melt away; for it must be dyed with blood.'
"'With blood?' I asked.
"'Yes, with the blood of His own Son. But the King had pity; it was so sad to see the poor people living all their lives with these great burdens; and as the Son was willing to shed His life-blood, the King gave Him up.
"'So the stream I speak of is dyed with blood. Many shrink back for this very reason, and will have nothing to do with it; but when one thinks it is the only way to get rid of the burden, and that bathing in it gives an entrance to the King's palace at the end of the journey here, and that it is given to us at such a price—'
"'Of course, there is every reason to accept it; gratitude alone would be enough.'
"At this moment the girl woke. 'My foot hurts me,' she exclaimed, fretfully, 'and I cannot lie comfortably because of my burden. How I hate it!'
"'My dear,' said her mother soothingly, 'let us go to the stream; you could lose it there, if you would, in a moment.'
"The girl shook her head. 'I don't see how,' she said, 'and the stream looks so cold and dark. Let us go on our journey, mother.'
"So I saw that the mother could not put her in without her own consent; she could only lead her to it.
"When I next saw the travellers, it was in a different part of the King's country. Before me was a turning, narrow and steep, that led down to a dark water. 'This must be the blood-dyed river,' I thought.
"A voice said to me, 'You can follow them, and look.'
"This narrow way was very short, oh, very short indeed so near that no one could think the journey too hard, that the most weary feet could have no excuse. It was only one step, but still it was narrow.
"First the boy, who had drunk at the stream, got to the place, and he read, engraved on the rock at the entrance, 'Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest;' signed with the King's name. He looked at the words earnestly, then he shifted his burden upon his shoulders, and was just turning away, when he thought he would read them once more. He did so; they were very sweet, and he stepped into the narrow path and stood at the edge of the water. When there, he could not help hearing some words which a King's messenger kept on repeating over and over, 'He was wounded for our transgressions, and with His stripes we are healed.' So he plunged in, and, lo! The water which had looked so dark before seemed to be a silver stream, giving life, and health, and peace.
"Then he felt on his shoulders for the burden, and found it had melted all away.
"'I could stay here for ever!' he exclaimed joyfully.
"'Go and tell others,' said the messenger.
"The boy hastened to obey, and when he reached the valley, he soon met the girl and the child.
"'Go and bathe there,' he said, pointing; 'you will not be tired any more.'
"'Yes I shall, I expect,' said the girl; 'but come along faster, child, and let us see.'
"And she read the words; then she remembered the radiant look of the boy, and knew there must be something in it, and she turned down to the stream.
"'I want not to be tired,' said the weary little child; 'may I dip too?'
"'I suppose so,' said the girl; and with her aching heart, and her cross temper, and her heavy burden, she dipped, and came back relieved of all.
"The little child too stepped in—for it is never too deep, and never too shallow.
"'Who made the stream?' it asked.
"'The King,' answered the girl.
"'He is kind,' said the baby-child, plunging under the refreshing wave; 'I love Him!'
"My dream seemed to change here, and I could not see. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the young mother walking on, still with her babe and her burden: she had not been to the stream, alas!
"Soon the two boys came up. 'Who ever heard of such a thing?' they jeered. 'We do very well as we are!' And they passed on, and I saw them no more.
"At last I noticed the lady who had no burden come close to where I stood looking. Her daughter's was such a heavy one, she could hardly get along. She limped with her sore foot, and her burden had grown quite twice the size since I saw her last. She was pettish and cross; but she excused herself because her burden was so heavy, and made her more miserable than ever. She came near too, and read the words.
"'I am heavy laden,' she said; 'and now I have come again so close to the stream, I really must plunge in and lose my burden, for it is heavier than I can bear.'
"So she stepped into the narrow way. Her loving mother was close to her—so patient, so good! Her burden pressed hard; she heard the words of the messenger, and believed they were true; so she too plunged in. When she lifted her head from that wave of blood, her burden had slipped off for ever."
* * * * * * *
Ada paused. The children were gazing on her face, for they saw her eyes were full of tears.
"Children," she said softly, "that girl was Ada Arundel. Her burden was Sin, and the blood of Jesus has taken it all away! Will you not plunge in the stream too?"
"I will!" said Netta, looking up earnestly.
"And so should I like to," said Isabel. "Can we, Ada?"
"Everyone can who has got a burden. Ah, do, dears; I wish I had sooner!"
Arthur got up from the hay, and walking straight over to Ada's side, laid his hand on her shoulder with unusual solemnity. "Ada," he said, "we will set out on the journey together. I did so hope and pray that you might as well as I, and now you have."
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