CHAPTER V.

Silver Turned into Gold.

TOM's sleep was, however, troubled, and did not last very long. He awoke feeling restless and thirsty. He wished to call for some milk and water, but the room was so still that he fancied that Susan must be asleep, and if she were at all like Betsy, there would be no use in trying to awaken her. The candle had been put out, only the tiny night-light was gleaming, casting long black shadows from curtains and bed-posts upon the nursery wall. Nothing was heard but the ticking of the clock, and to the nervous ear of the boy it seemed to tick strangely loud.

Conscience was awake in Tom's heart, and in the stillness of night, its voice was louder than usual. The child softly drew back the curtain of his crib, and looked towards the corner where he supposed that the young nurse was lying asleep.

He saw Susan kneeling before a chair, her head bowed down on her clasped hands; in the quiet hour, when she believed that her charges were slumbering, she was pouring out her heart to her God.

The boy watched, but did not dare to disturb her. Even he, young as he was, could feel that real prayer made that room a more holy place. Susan was speaking to One who could hear, to One who was near; the answer to the young servant's prayers was already seen in her life.

When Susan arose from her knees, Tom softly called her by her name. In a moment, the nursery-maid was by the side of her charge.

"Did you want anything that I can give you?" she gently inquired.

"Were you praying for me?" asked Tom, in a low and earnest tone.

"Yes; I should not be easy about the children under my care, unless I often prayed for them," the nursery-maid replied. "I am afraid that you went to sleep without asking a blessing for yourself, and so there was all the more need that I should ask it for you."

To Susan's great surprise, the child's arms were suddenly thrown round her neck, and in the voice of one struggling against a sob, he exclaimed, "Oh! Susan, I'm sorry—so sorry that I hurt you so much!" His rough little head was on her shoulder, and her dress was wet with his tears.

Gently and tenderly Susan forgave, and tried to soothe the boy. She did not, however, as in mistaken kindness some might have done, tell him that his fault was nothing, that he need not trouble himself about it. But she assured him how freely and gladly she forgave it, and told him to seek forgiveness from God, and ask from Him that grace by which alone he could conquer his temper in future.

Susan then brought milk and water to relieve the feverish thirst of her charge, beat up his pillow, and made him as comfortable as it was in her power to make him.

Tom was in a nervous excited state, and wished Susan to stay by his bedside.

"I feel so hot and restless," he despairingly said, "I never shall get to sleep."

"Shall we pray the Lord to give you sweet sleep?" asked Susan.

Tom looked at her in surprise. "Can we pray about things like that?" he inquired.

"Oh! Yes, we can bring all our little troubles and trials to our Lord," replied the young maid. "It is He who giveth rest both to the soul and the poor weary body."

Perhaps the first time that Tom Fairley had ever asked anything from God with a desire and hope of having what he asked for, was when he prayed on that night for sleep. When he had done so, he thrust his little hand under his pillow, pulled forth his silver crown-piece, and tried to force it into the hand of his nurse.

"This is for you—you shall have it for your own, it's to make up—" cried the boy.

"No, Master Tommy, no indeed—I thank you all the same," said Susan, drawing back her hand with decision.

"Take it for the hungry children, then," persisted Tom.

"Not now, dear, certainly not now; you are tired and sleepy, you have had no time to think over the matter," said Susan, who would have deemed it wrong to take advantage of the excited state of the child, even to help a charitable cause. "Turn round and go to sleep now, dear boy; perhaps you may think in the morning of some quite different way in which you would like to spend your money."

Tom was too sleepy to reply; his mind was growing calm and his eyelids heavy. The touch of Susan's soft hand was lulling him to rest, with the sound of her soothing voice as she repeated a simple but beautiful verse—

"This night I lay me down to sleep, I give my soul to Christ to keep; Wake I soon, or wake I never, I give my soul to Christ for ever."

The young nurse did not quit Tom's side till he had sunk into deep, sweet slumber.

Susan had expected that Tom would change his mind in the morning regarding the way of spending his crown; but she had done the boy injustice. The heart of Tom Fairley was like rich and generous soil which had been covered with a thick growth of weeds: there was much that was noble in him, but it had never till then been drawn forth.

Tom was heartily sorry for having struck and bitten the gentle girl who had so carefully and tenderly watched over his comfort. He was resolved to make what amends he could, and as Susan would accept none of his money for herself, he insisted that every penny of it should go in the way which he knew would please her most. Tom refused to taste his breakfast till Susan should have carried his crown-piece to Giles to increase the number of invitations to be sent to destitute children.

"Well, to be sure, I never knew money grow like your shilling!" exclaimed Giles, when Susan, with pleasure beaming in her eyes, brought him the crown-piece to add to the little collection.

"Master Tommy gives it, and with all his heart. May he never know, dear child, what it is to want a meal!" cried Susan.

Giles smiled good-humouredly as he turned the crown-piece round and round. "Four shillings and five make nine," he muttered, "that's an odd number, and would buy an awkward lot of stamps to send in a letter. I'll do the handsome thing myself—and follow this new fashion set in the nursery; 'tis but one shilling more to give—I'll turn all the silver into one little bit of gold, and send it safely in a registered letter to Exeter Hall. We'll have a grand dinner-party amongst us, and invite forty young folk at once."

It was keen delight to Susan to feel that her little offering of one piece of silver had been—as it were—changed into gold; that where she had meant to give food to four, she had been the means of spreading the table for forty!

But far more important than the extension of this little work of charity in the dwelling of Mrs. Fairley, was the good which Susan's influence was silently working around her in the hearts of those who could watch the "tiny night-light" of her example. The little Fairleys were learning lessons of piety and love which were likely to make them, when they should grow up, holy and happy Christians, influencing in their turn, perhaps, hundreds of their fellow creatures.

Let no servant of God, in however lowly a state, think that "one talent" may safely be buried, or the feeblest light safely be hidden. Especially let those who live amongst children remember how great the power of their own influence may be for evil or good. Those who have showered blessings on thousands may have received in the nursery their first impressions of religion. A servant girl of whom the world never has heard, may be found on that day when all secrets are known, to have helped to form the character of a Wilberforce or a Howard.

To some Christians whose lives have been very obscure, may yet be fulfilled that glorious promise, "they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever." *

* Daniel xii. 3.

A THANKFUL GUEST

OR,

A CHRISTIAN IN COMMUNION.