CHAPTER VIII

Children of Light

IT was a little hard on the children, when they went home to tell their tale of the strange light in the church, to find that no one would believe them. Aunt Cordelia was inclined to be angry, and said:

"Whoever heard of a light in the old church? They shouldn't make up such stories!"

Stephen's father only laughed, and told him he must not think of it again; little boys fancied strange things sometimes. Even Granny Robin seemed to imagine that their being out late, and their having felt rather frightened, had something to do with it.

But Stephen and Audrey knew better, and, without saying a word to any one, they would creep out night after night, and would climb upon the fiat tomb that they might look for the sight.

But day after day of that week went by, and they never saw it again.

"Perhaps it only comes on Sunday," said Stephen.

"We must wait and see," said Audrey. "I do hope it will come, and then we will fetch them to see it, and they will all believe it."

Meanwhile the two children had another talk with Granny Robin.

"Did you ever get into the Kingdom of Light?" little Stephen asked her.

"Yes, my child," said the old woman, "I did."

"And how long did you stay there?" said Audrey. "Weren't you sorry to come away, Granny Robin?"

"I never came away," said the old woman; "I'm there now!"

"There now?" repeated Stephen; and he looked round the room, which was fast growing dark, and was full of the shadows of the trees outside. "Did you say you were there now, Granny Robin? I don't think it's very bright now; and then you're blind, you know, and couldn't see it if it was."

"It's always bright in the Kingdom of Light, and I can see that sunshine, Stephen," she said.

"I think Granny Robin means her soul can see," said Audrey.

"Quite right, dear child," said the old woman; "it is my soul, and not my poor old body, that is in the Kingdom of Light."

"I wish I was in the Kingdom of Light," said Audrey.

"You must cross over, Audrey," said Granny Robin.

"How can we cross?" asked little Stephen.

"Just as I did," she said. "You can't walk over or swim over; there is only one way."

"What way is that?" asked Audrey.

"The bridge," said Granny Robin quietly; "you have several bridges over your river—I have only one over mine."

"Is it the pay bridge?" asked Stephen.

"No, it's the free bridge," said Granny Robin, smiling—"'without money and without price.'"

"What is its name, Granny Robin?"

"Christ Jesus," said the old woman reverently. "Did not He say—"

"'I am the way; no man cometh unto the Father but by Me?'"

"Tell me how you got across," asked Audrey.

"I came to Jesus," said the old woman. "I said to myself, 'My Lord is not far away in heaven; He is close beside me in this room, standing by my side, waiting for me to come to Him. I cannot take myself across into the Kingdom of Light, but He can take me. He died on the cross that He might be able to take me. I will trust myself to Him. Hundreds of others have crossed by this bridge, and have crossed safely; I will cross also. I will come to Christ to be saved by Him alone.' And, children, I did cross, and here I am," said the old woman, smiling again.

"I want to go into the Kingdom of Light," said little Stephen, laying his small, thin hand on Granny Robin's.

"Trust yourself to Him this night, Stephen," she said; "you and Audrey, both of you. Tell Him you want to come to Him, just now, that He may be your bridge, and take you safe over from the Kingdom of Satan to the Kingdom of the dear Son, the blessed Kingdom of Light."

And with a child holding each hand, the old woman knelt down and prayed—

"O Lord, Thou art close beside us, and we come to Thee. We want, each one of us, to belong to the Kingdom of Light. Little Audrey and Stephen are coming to Thee now; Thou art the way to God. We trust ourselves to Thee to be saved. Thou hast taken many others out of the darkness and into the light. Lord, we believe Thou wilt take us, just now, just as we are. As we kneel here, hand in hand, we trust ourselves to Thee. Lord, take us now, we do beseech Thee. Amen."

And then, as they sat beside her, and as she went on with her knitting, Granny Robin sang softly—

"Out of my bondage, sorrow, and night, Jesus, I come—Jesus, I come! Into Thy freedom, gladness, and light, Jesus, I come to Thee. Out of my sickness into Thy health, Out of my want and into Thy wealth, Out of my sin and into Thyself, Jesus, I come to Thee!"

"Now, Audrey and Stephen," said Granny Robin, "if you have come into the Kingdom of the dear Son—the Kingdom of Light—you must remember what you are."

"What are we, Granny Robin?"

"Children of Light," said the old woman, smiling. "Isn't that a beautiful name?"

"It sounds like an angel's name," said little Stephen.

"And the Children of Light must never do the works of darkness," said Granny Robin. "If you are tempted to be cross, or disobedient, or untruthful, you must say to yourself, 'I am a Child of Light; I have crossed over the bridge, and all those deeds of darkness must be left behind in the Kingdom of Darkness.' Will you remember, Audrey and Stephen?"

Just then Aunt Cordelia's voice was heard calling for Audrey to come to her at once. It was an impatient, angry voice, and Audrey said, as she got up reluctantly to go—

"What a bother! There's Aunt Cordelia calling, and she's as cross as two sticks!"

"Children of Light, remember, Audrey," said Granny Robin softly, as she jumped out of the window.

It was Friday, and Aunt Cordelia's baking-day. And if there was one day in the week when Aunt Cordelia was more cross than usual, that day was baking-day. Standing over the large oven and the scorching fire, baking cakes and pies and buns for her shop, with the perspiration streaming down her face, it was no wonder that Aunt Cordelia's temper was tried.

"Come along, Audrey, you lazy child!" she cried, as she took a tray of cakes out of the oven. "Here am I, slaving away this hot day, and you doing nothing but waste your time. There's that shop bell been tinkling as if it was mad this last hour; and how in the world am I to get my baking done, if I'm running backwards and forwards every minute!"

Audrey was just going to say that she had been at school all day, and it was very hard if she couldn't have a bit of play when she came home; but she remembered Granny Robin's words.

"I am a Child of Light," she said to herself; and was quiet.

And when Aunt Cordelia called after her, as she was going into the shop, "Audrey, put a clean pinafore on! Audrey, I never saw such a dirty girl as you are! You're not fit to be seen!"

Audrey went quietly upstairs without a word, changed her pinafore, and came down with a bright and pleasant face to take her place behind the counter.

It was wonderful how happy she felt, even though she knew it was the time when she and Stephen watered the graves, and he would be waiting for her outside. And at tea-time Aunt Cordelia put one of her best cakes on her plate, telling her that she had been a good child, and she might go and play after tea.

That evening Stephen and she talked a great deal about the Children of Light; and Stephen said he wondered if the angel's, when they came to look at the graves to-night, would come and look at them as they lay in their little beds.

"Because you know, Audrey, I think if we are Children of Light, we must be their little brothers and sisters—don't you think so, too?"

When Sunday evening came, the children were very anxious to watch the old church. They sat for a long time keeping a strict look out on the gate, for they fancied that old Maria must have some special business in the church on Sunday, and that they might see her come in.

But though they watched carefully for more than an hour, no one came to turn the rusty lock; and at last, when darkness came on, the children crept somewhat tremblingly to peep into the church.

Yes—there was the light again, flickering as before in the chancel; and yet they could see no sign of any one in the church.

"Now," said Audrey, "we'll make them believe us. You fetch Mr. Robin, Stephen, and I'll fetch Aunt Cordelia; she hasn't gone to church to-night, and we'll show it to them."

Aunt Cordelia refused to come; she was wearing her Sunday dress, and would spoil it, scrambling on those dirty stones, she said.

But Mr. Robin put on his cap, and came with Stephen as quickly as he could.

"Now you will see, Mr. Robin," Audrey whispered to him, as he climbed on the flat stone and looked in at the window. "What do you think it can be?"

"I can't see anything," said Mr. Robin; "it's all dark inside."

The light had entirely vanished—not the faintest glimmer was to be seen; and poor Audrey and Stephen were as far as ever from convincing those at home that it had ever appeared, except in their imaginations.

"It all comes of wandering about amongst those graves," said Aunt Cordelia. "It isn't good for children. But what can we do with them? We can't turn them out into the streets to play."