IV.
Days and weeks rolled by, and the child still wandered on. He met kindness from the people through whose villages he passed, and food and shelter were given him, else must he surely have died. But though his bodily needs were satisfied, a great hunger of the heart arose within him that was less easily appeased, for it seemed to him that he was quite, quite alone in the world, and that he had nothing to do—no part or lot with the busy life he ever saw about him.
The faces of the workers were happy, but his grew pale and thin. Men and boys sang at their toil, or called cheerily to one another, and the women in the houses laughed as they watched the gambols of their children, and would throw pitying glances on the toil-worn little traveller. He was never turned away from a hospitable door where he craved food or shelter, yet his loneliness grew ever greater and greater, and at last his strength began to fail him, till he ofttimes felt he could scarcely drag himself along the road. Yet he still strove to journey on, he scarce knew why, save that he feared always, if he remained in any place, that he would be made a servant by the good people who befriended him.
This was why he would not stop, though almost too ill to trail himself along, until it came to pass that one day he fell beside the road, and lay there near unto death.
Now the place where he fell was a very lonely one, hard by a great wood, and for a long while nobody passed that way, but anon there came by a man, who, when he saw the child, stopped and looked earnestly upon him, and, seeing that he was very ill, lifted him in his arms and bore him away to his own dwelling, which was in the heart of the great wood itself.
For many days the child lay upon the good man’s bed, and it seemed as though the Angel of Death hovered very near to him; yet God had mercy on the boy, and raised him up from his bed of sickness, and the care of the kind master of the house was rewarded.
Little by little the child was able to take note of the things about him, and to sit up in bed and see what went on; and that which struck him most as he watched the good man of the house was, that he was never idle. What it was that he did the child did not at first know, for he worked outside, and all the boy could hear was the ceaseless sound of tools, mingling often with the music of some song or chant which the worker would croon to himself. It sounded like carpentering work, the child thought, and as his strength returned he began to desire to go out and watch it. So one day, feeling stronger than he had done before, he rose and dressed himself, and made his way out into the sunny garden, glimpses of which he had seen all this while through the open casement of the window.
The garden was very full of flowers, which showed signs of tender care; and to the right was a carpenter’s shed, with all the tools and implements, and certain articles standing about, some only just begun, and others quite or almost finished. The master of the house was not in the shed, but sitting in his garden, and in his hands he held a great piece of wood, fashioned in the shape of a cross, upon which he was carving, with wonderful skill and fidelity to nature, a wreath of flowers, copying these from the blossoms which bloomed around him.
When the child appeared, and timidly drew near, the good man greeted him with a smile.
“What art thou doing?” asked the child, “and wherefore dost thou put such strength and skill into a bit of wood? Is it not hard work to carve it thus? And of what use is it when done?”
With another smile the worker made reply,—
“It is hard work, truly, my child, but it is blessed work too, for this cross is to bear a message of comfort and hope to one who will rejoice to hear it.”
But the child’s face was full of perplexity, and his eyes asked the question which his lips knew not how to frame. The master of the house looked searchingly at him, and then said,—
“Knowest thou not, my child, that the cross is the symbol of all the pain or trouble or toil of this present life, which we are called upon to bear, and to share with Him who bore the cross for us, and who has said, ‘If any man would follow me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me?’ And yet, because He hath borne the cross first, He hath hallowed and sweetened it for us. So that we who carry our crosses for love of Him, seeking to follow in His footsteps, find them so covered with flowers that we grieve not at their weight, but rejoice always in the fragrance of the flowers.”
The child answered nothing, and the man presently spoke again, pointing, as he spoke, to a little wreath of smoke that curled up from behind the trees.
“In yonder cottage lives a sick woman upon whom the Lord has laid a heavy cross of pain and suffering. But she takes it from His hand, and makes no murmur. This cross, covered with the forms of beautiful flowers, I am fashioning for her.”
Day by day, as the sun sank to his rest and the master of the house, putting aside his daily task, took out his cross and worked at the flowers on it, the child came forth and sat beside him, watching him and hearing him talk, and little by little it seemed to him that scales fell from his eyes, and that some change he could not understand was wrought within him.
When the cross was completed, he went with the maker of it to the humble cottage where the suffering woman lay, and he watched the light deepen in her eyes as she beheld the gift, and heard the words which the giver spoke of it.
As they left the cottage together, he stole his hand into that of his friend, and asked,—
“Why does she have that pain to bear? Is it not cruel of the Master to send her such a cross?”
“Nay, child,” answered the good man; “we must not speak thus. The Master knows best. He gives to each his own cross, and blessed is every one who bears it after Him in meekness and lowliness of heart.”
“Have we all a cross to bear?” asked the child. “I love not to bear nor to suffer. Fain would I enjoy my life and be happy!”
“And so thou shalt be, even in the cross-bearing, O child, if thou wilt walk after the Master and serve Him,” answered the master of the house. “Hear His own words: ‘Come unto me all that be weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!’ There is no rest, no earthly happiness that can compare with that which the Master gives to those who come to Him.”
“But how can we come to Him?” asked the child; “and how can we bear our crosses after Him when we know not what they are, nor where to find them?”
But at that question the good man smiled and laid his hand upon the head of the child, drawing him between his knees as he seated himself anew in his garden.
“We have no need to seek crosses for ourselves, my child. The Master gives to each one of us that which He would have us carry. Often it may be no heavier a one than the day’s toil as it comes to us, wrought for Him with the best that is in us. All that we do can be done for Him. He has said so—and blessed be His name! Our daily toil is sometimes hard and cheerless of itself, but borne as the cross after the Master, it becomes sweet and blessed to us. The cross blossoms with flowers beneath His smile. Oh, taste and see how gracious the Lord is. Blessed is the man that trusteth in Him!”
Tears stood in the eyes of the child as he heard these words. He laid his hand upon that of his instructor and said,—
“Suffer me to dwell with thee and learn thy craft, and all that thou canst teach me. I would fain take up my cross and follow the Master. I would work with thee and for thee, and learn to serve others as thou dost.”
But the master of the house looked long and earnestly at him, and answered with tender gravity,—
“No man putting his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” And as the child gazed at him with wondering and uncomprehending eyes, he added, still very gently, “It is not for us to choose our path, nor the cross we think is lightest and pleasantest to carry.”
Then the child’s conscience suddenly smote him, for he remembered the hods of mortar he had left lying in the great city, beside the unfinished church, and great tears rolled down his cheeks as he began to understand that there, and there alone, lay the cross which the Master had given him to bear. But although he wept bitterly, yet his purpose did not falter. He would go back to his appointed task, and seek the cross he had flung away in impatient despite.
So he said farewell to his friend, who gave him a blessing with tears in his eyes, and began his weary and toilsome journey. Long and hard did the road seem, and often his heart wellnigh failed him, but still he pushed manfully on, for he had learned to look upwards for help and strength. He knew who was his Master.
He met many kindnesses to cheer him on his way, and now when food and shelter were given him, he would strive to repay his hosts ere he started in the morning by some simple act of service—cutting wood or carrying water, or even amusing a fretful child while the mother prepared the morning meal. Service was no longer hard and distasteful to him, for he strove to do all for the Master.
Many a time did some kind woman offer him service in a pleasant homestead, and greatly would the child have rejoiced to be saved the rest of that toilsome journey; but the memory of his forsaken task would come afresh upon him, and he resolutely journeyed on.
“Not mine, not mine the choice,” was the cry of his heart; “I must bear the cross the Master laid upon me!”