"WILT TA KNUG?" (KNEEL).
A man came one evening to Abe's house, knocked at the door, then opened it a little way, thrust in his face and said, "Is Abe in?" It was a most unusual thing to see that man there, for he was a wicked, drunken character, a trouble to the neighbourhood where he lived, and often a terror to his poor wife and children. Many a time Abe had tried to induce him to go to the Lord's house and begin to lead a new life; but sin had such a hold upon him that he only made light of everything good, and, in his ignorance and hardihood, professed to disbelieve in God and His Word.
"Is Abe in?" asked the face at the door.
"Yes, I'm here," replied the little man in question, looking up from his Bible, and peering over the lamp on the table to see who the speaker was, "Come in, mon; open th' door and come in."
And in a little further came the face and head, followed by a pair of broad shoulders and a huge body, whereupon Abe saw who they belonged to, and rising from his seat he noticed that the great hard face was clouded and softened with sorrow. Ah, it is a hard heart that does not melt sometimes.
"What's ta want?" asked Abe, in a kind tone.
"Arr bit bairn 's badly," replied the big man, "and th' missus wants the' to come and sprinkle it."
"Th' missus want me does she,—and what does thaa want?" said Abe, looking meaningly at him. "Does thaa want me to come?"
"Ay," responded the man, looking rather humble, and feeling that Abe had obtained his first victory by that confession.
"Well, I'll goa wi' the'," and, putting on his hat, they went out together, and betook themselves to the dwelling of the visitor. Arriving there Abe beheld a painful yet by no means uncommon picture. A room miserably furnished, and not the ghost of comfort anywhere; several little ragged children stood grouped together, and in the midst of them was the saddest figure of all—"the missus," the wife, the mother, in tears, and on her lap, wrapped in an old faded shawl, was a dying infant. The woman tried to smile amid her tears as Abe came in, just the shadow of a smile, and then her poor face settled again to that look of anguish it had before, as if all her meagre joy were slowly dying with that little creature that lay feebly gasping on her lap. It was so like a woman to remember amid her grief, to give a sign of welcome to her visitor.
"Aye, my lass, I'm real sorry for the'; thaa has a mother's heart, I see, and thaa'd loike to keep thee bairn, I knaw thaa wad; but thaa mun remember God has first claim on 't, and if He wants it, thaa'll be loike to let Him ha' it. He can tak' better care on 't nor thaa can; bless it, it'll sooin be better off nor ony on us—don't fret, my lass—th' Lord comfort the'." And so in this way Little Abe went on talking, softening, comforting, and strengthening the bitter heart of that poor woman; at length he said, "Thaa wants me to baptize th' little un, I reckon."
"If yo' pleeas," she replied. "Jack," added she turning to her husband, who stood all the time with his back to the table, trying hard to keep his eyes dry and swallow down a lump that was continually rising into his throat, "get a basin o' watter, my lad." It was said so sadly and yet so kindly, that if Jack had had to go through fire to fetch that basin of water he would have got it. In a minute or two he came with the basin in his big broad hand and stood close up to his wife's side, looking down on his dying child.
"This is a religious service," said Abe, "and I want yo' to understand that." He had his doubts about the man, notwithstanding his evident effort to control his emotions; he knew the man's sinful character, knew his hostility to everything religious, and now that he had him to something like an advantage, he wanted to make the most of it. "I'm baan to baptize that bairn in God's name, and we mun kneel daan and pray for it;" and then looking at the father he said, "Wilt ta knug" (kneel) "daan with us?"
The man made no answer, but still kept by his wife's side, looking down on the infant.
"Wilt ta knug with us, Jack?" he repeated; "it's thy bairn, and it'll sooin be gone." Still there came no reply; a conflict was going on in the breast of that strong man, the wicked man of the world was contending against the father.
"If thaa will n't knug beside the' wife and bairns, I'll go haam agean," said Abe.
The man was conquered; the devil was strong in him, but the father was stronger. He could not bear the thought of paying a slight to his dying child. "I'll knug," said he, and that instant he full on his knees. Abe baptized the child, and then all of them knelt together, while he poured out his soul in earnest supplication to God for the child and the family; but especially for the father who was now, almost for the first time in his life, found humbly kneeling at the throne of grace. It would have been very gratifying if we could say that this was the turning-point in that man's life; but here our knowledge of the case ends. It is, however, not too much to hope that the memory of that sad night, coupled with the loss of the little child, would have a good influence on the subsequent life of the man, and perhaps be the means, under God, of leading him to seek that grace which alone could afford him hope of meeting his child again in the kingdom of glory.
Whether this was so or not, the incident shows the high esteem in which Little Abe was held by the people among whom he lived. We see that he gained a decided advantage over the hardened sinner when he constrained him to kneel before the Lord; and it also shows that when scoffers and so-called unbelievers are brought into the shadows of death, their unbelief forsakes them, and like devils, "they believe and tremble."
It was no uncommon thing for Abe to be called out of the mill to conduct the burial service at Salem, in place of the minister, who perhaps had never been informed of the funeral, or even of the death. No matter, poor man, he has sadly lowered himself in the opinion of the family and friends by not being present. He might have known he would be wanted, and at what time of the day, and in what place, and it is very unkind of him not to be there. Where is he? Poor innocent, he is tramping off to a distant country appointment in simple ignorance of the misdemeanour of which he is guilty. A minister ought to know everything—know who is well and who is not; ministers are different from all other people, and more is expected from them. If, for instance, any one is ill, the doctor must be sent for; but the minister is expected to come without being requested. It is his duty to attend to the sick of his flock. It is no matter whether he knows of the illness or not, he ought to know of it; a pretty shepherd he must be not to know if any of his sheep are ill; he should make inquiries for himself among the people. Are any persons dead here, or any sick? any to be prayed for? or are there any disaffected parties waiting to be coaxed into a good humour? any croakers in want of a good subject to vent their bile upon? or anything at all in the general ministerial way that wants doing? A man could easily find out what is going on, and what is going off, with a little ingenuity and perseverance; and it would save all the trouble and expense of a post card to the minister asking him to call. Let us hope, therefore, that in future there will be no misunderstanding upon these important matters, because every place in the land is not favoured with such an able, willing, and acceptable substitute as the people of Berry Brow had in Little Abe.
Reference has already been made to the esteem with which he was regarded by his fellow-work-people. As years went on this regard was, if possible, intensified, and it was beautiful to see how the younger men in the mill would strive to lighten his work, and make his duties as easy for him as possible. Nor was this kindly feeling confined to the mill operatives; his masters, gentlemen of high position in the locality, held him in great esteem, for they knew him to be a honest, upright man, and a faithful servant. He had, in his latter days, many liberties and favours which could not be permitted to their employes generally; often one or another of his masters would come into the mill, and have a few minutes' conversation with him about his work as a preacher, and his religious zeal, enlivened by his irrepressible humour, almost invariably sent the master away with his face covered with smiles, and his good opinion of the Little Bishop confirmed.
CHAPTER XXII.
Used Up.
As time went on, and year after year was added to his age, Little Abe began to show, by unmistakable signs, that he was becoming an old man; and although his lively temperament enabled him to hold up against his infirmities for some time, the day came when he confessed he was an old man and stricken in years; he began to speak of himself as being "used up," "worn aat," "done for," and the like. All the marks were upon him; his hair was snowy white, his face was furrowed with age, his sight was dim, his step was slow and feeble, his voice tremulous, and the signs were plainly seen that the Little Bishop was drawing near the end of his journey.
One day he was unexpectedly called to go into his master's office, and immediately he made his way there, when something like the following dialogue took place. "Well, Abe," his master began, "I am sorry to observe that you are getting so infirm that you cannot do a day's work now. I have seen this for some time, yet did not want to turn you away, but now I am sorry to say you will have to leave the mill, and I must put another man in your place."
This coming so suddenly from the master was enough to stagger a stronger man than Abe, and certainly he felt a little troubled at what he had heard, but he could put his trust in God.
"I'm vary sorry to laave, maaster, but I knaw I am gettin' owd and used up."
"And what will you do for a livelihood, Abe? I'm afraid you would not be likely to get employment anywhere else at your age, what will you do?"
"Well, I don't knaw what I mun do, but I'm sure my Father will niver see me want; 'I have been young and now am old, yet have I never seen the righteous forsaken or his seed begging bread.'" This beautiful triumph of simple faith in God was soon followed by its reward; his master had carried the test far enough, he saw once more his old servant was a man of God, his face broke out into a smile which showed he had only been playing with Abe: "We have arranged to give you a weekly allowance sufficient to keep you and your wife as long as you live."
"Praise th' Lord!" exclaimed Abe, "I knew my Father would not see me want." So from that time our old friend received his weekly allowance, and was kept from want. The Lord takes care of His own children that trust in Him, and He often does so through the agency of some other individual, yet whomsoever he be, he shall have his reward. "Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward" (Matt. x. 42).