CHAPTER IX

A BOND OF UNION

In spite of weariness, human frailty, and, sometimes, lack of faith, Margaret's ministry for the King Whom she loved was a real one. She was conscious of unworthiness, and had a sensitive dread of being considered one who talked religion, and posed as a religious person. She knew only too well that she herself was among the sinners who have all fallen short of the glory of God; but she believed in the greatness of the Saviour's redeeming power, and His willingness to accept as His servants all who turn in repentance to Him. Frances Ridley Havergal's lines just expressed her need, and the faith He asks of all of us:

"Jesus, I will trust Thee, Trust without a doubt, Whosoever cometh Thou wilt not cast out."

She could never have quite said when she first believed that. Gradually the knowledge of God's love had come to her; from His own Word rather than from any other source she had found the truth as it is in Jesus. He Who had stood before the great Galilean crowds of men, boys, women, and young girls, and cried, "Come unto Me all ye that are weary and are heavy laden," so calling all the world to find their happiness in Him--had called _her_--and as a young schoolgirl she had responded to that call, giving Him back the answer He asked: "Jesus, I will trust Thee, help me by Thy Holy Spirit to be Thy faithful servant."

She needed no priest to intervene, but, like the woman who met the Lord by the well of Samaria, she found her Saviour alone, and He spoke through His Word to her heart. The natural and only outcome of that meeting of sinner and Saviour was a desire to henceforth live to His honour, and again, like the Samaritan, she felt the desire to tell others of the God Who had won her love by His own.

Someone had asked her once to explain what was the difference between the professing Christian and the kind, good-living man or woman who did not profess faith in Christ.

"To me it is like this," she had answered. "Before I became His servant, when I did wrong I did not particularly care unless it brought trouble to me personally, but after, when I consciously sinned, I was miserable, because I felt and knew I had dishonoured Christ. As we read of Peter, after his denial of his Master, he went out and wept bitterly--that last word 'bitterly' shows the meaning, I think; his tears were not for his own trouble, but they were tears--bitter tears of shame and regret that he had failed towards the One Who had loved and trusted him."

Margaret's explanation had silenced the critic. The true followers of Christ repent their failures, while their grief is often hidden from the eyes of man. But the Lord lifts up the fallen and gives strength for the needs of the battle, not only for to-day, but until the warfare is over, and then the servant of God enters into the presence of his King, and in _His righteousness_ is presented _faultless_ before His Father's Throne.

It is just a wonderful religion--glorious, all-satisfying to the inner cravings of every restless heart--so Margaret Woodford had found it, and her little work of gratitude and returned love just went on day by day, like the stone which is cast into still waters, and causes the ripples to extend and overlap until they come to the edge of the surface, and touch the land. Thus the little words, little actions, done for Christ's sake will pass on and on until they find their consummation in eternity, in that country from which comes the promise, "I will not forget your work and labour of love which ye have showed for My Name's sake."

And this message of love and mercy Margaret carried in different ways to all the inmates of Oaklands, even into the seclusion of Mrs. Medhurst's life.

It was not an easy matter to approach the latter, but, finding her one day in an abandonment of grief, Margaret knelt down by her side, and with real sympathy just drew her towards the secret of eternal rest.

Mrs. Medhurst had listened to all she said and had not been offended, and from that day onwards it became a little added work to spend half an hour, or sometimes an hour, in reading and talking to her employer of the things she loved.

"And you can forgive me? Forgive what I did, and come to me like this!" had been Lucille Medhurst's astonished cry. "Miss Woodford, if ever I can believe as you do, it will be because I see your religion is a _reality_," she had said.

"It will be by the power of the Holy Spirit, Mrs. Medhurst," was Margaret's answer, "for we cannot come unto God except by Him, and He draws all who are willing."

So the little work of a daily ministry went on at Oaklands.

* * * * *

"Miss Woodford, may I show you something?" said Bob, as he entered the schoolroom one day at the close of a cold winter's afternoon and found Margaret and Ellice busy working, sitting by a lovely log fire which spluttered and sent out lively sparks as the flame travelled up the chimney.

"Oh, I say, it is jolly warm here!" exclaimed the boy, as he flung himself down by the hearth. "I am tired, I can tell you. It's a big trudge up the hill after the train gets in."

"Oh, yes--don't I know? I remember my first drive here. Shall I ever forget it?" laughed Margaret. "I wondered whenever I was coming to the end; it seemed a tremendous distance in the dark. But never mind that, you said you had something to show us----"

"Yes, what is it?" broke in Ellice eagerly.

"This," answered Bob, drawing from his pocket a triangle design worked in silks within which a unicorn ramped, a Latin motto pressing its feet.

"Oh, Bob, your colours! How splendid! I am glad--and First Eleven too! Won't your father be proud of you?"

"Don't mention it to him, please," said the boy, colouring. "He thinks me such a rotter at work, and he may be vexed--and think I waste my time at games----"

A bright smile lit Margaret's face as she replied.

"You have no eyes, old boy, or you wouldn't say that. Didn't you ever notice your father reading the cricket news in the summer? Don't make any mistake, I'm nearly sure he's a sportsman, and don't you doubt for a moment but he'll appreciate your success. A boy doesn't get his first 'eleven' colours without some trouble, perseverance, and grit. Just show this to Mr. Medhurst, and see if I am not right?"

"Shall I go and tell him about it?" said Ellice, springing to her feet.

"No--no, child, it's your brother's news; let him have that pleasure."

At that moment there was a tread of footsteps outside the room, and then a knock, followed by the opening of the door.

"May I come in, Miss Woodford?" said Mr. Medhurst, as he entered. "You sound lively in here."

"Oh, yes--daddy, come--Bob's got----"

"Hush!" interposed Margaret, shaking her head at the eager child, who immediately stopped short in her sentence with, "Oh, I am not to tell."

"Bob's got, what?" asked Mr. Medhurst, turning to his son, with interested face, from which the thunder-clouds of old days were absent.

Bob coloured furiously, then rather shyly drew out his trophy.

"Only this, father," he said awkwardly, placing it in Mr. Medhurst's outstretched hand.

"What--colours! Yours? First Eleven? Well done, Bob! I _am_ pleased! I congratulate you; it's something worth having--reminds me, too, of old days," he finished, with a laugh.

"Why, did you play cricket, daddy?" asked Ellice.

"Well, little lady, I suppose I did; was School Captain one season; if I remember rightly, just missed my blue at the 'Varsity by a bit of bad luck."

"_Father!_" exclaimed Bob, his eyes shining, "do tell us about it?"

The two, father and son, in many ways so much alike, forgot all their old reticence towards each other, and were soon deep in the stories of old triumphs of the field, henceforth bound together by a great sympathetic bond never to be broken.

Margaret sat and listened with a double interest, watching life-barriers broken down, barriers which had so nearly wrecked the happiness of a home.