CHAPTER XVIII
GOD, MY EXCEEDING JOY
A heavy cloud hung over the house for days. Mr. Gray was silent and sad. All attempts to renew the conversation of that painful Thursday morning were waived aside. Hubert was at a loss to know how to proceed with his project, but he and Winifred gave themselves to diligent prayer. As to the latter, sharp as was her grief at the thought of parting with her brother, her love for God was stronger, and she did not hesitate for a moment in her consent that he should go.
"I do not know any other answer to give to God," she said. "Surely I have nothing too precious for Him, when He has given all to me. And you know," she said with a radiant smile, "Hubert and I can never lose each other! We cannot lose what is in Christ!"
She made these remarks to Adèle Forrester, to whom the matter of Hubert's call to foreign service was communicated. Her friend listened very quietly.
Adèle had been steadily growing in God's grace since the day when His way of salvation dawned so brightly upon her. She was the same merry-hearted young woman as before, but a certain womanly sweetness, never really lacking beneath the gay exterior, developed in ever-increasing winsomeness. A capacity for intense enjoyment found new sources for its filling in the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and she pursued faithfully and happily the ways she saw of serving Him. To-day she received Winifred's news with evident sympathy, but with a reserve of feeling not expressed.
"Our Bishop preached a splendid missionary sermon two weeks ago," she remarked. "He made things very plain indeed. I think we all felt that we had been almost traitors in not rallying to the Lord's standard better than we had done. Even Dick paid some attention, for he said after church—you know what a tease he is—'now I hope you see where you ought to be!'"
"Oh, Adèle," said Winifred, "I haven't thought to ask you in months how the choir is getting along. The mention of Dick reminds me. Do you still enjoy your singing?"
Adèle laughed. "My 'occupation's gone,'" she said. "We are supplanted by a boy choir. The present minister likes that better. A saucy little fellow who brings our evening paper and fights his business competitors once in a while is one of our successors. He looks quite cherubic in a surplice."
"And you?"
"I sing praises in the congregation, and what is left over I sometimes offer in the mission."
"So you still keep up your service at the mission?"
"Oh, yes!"
Adèle did not add how much appreciated were those services, nor how she had added visitation amongst the families represented at the mission to the evident blessing of not a few.
Their conversation drifted back to the subject of Hubert's leaving, and Adèle entered a compact of prayer for the right development of all things relating to it.
Gradually the Spirit of God wrought in the heart of Robert Gray. He was led to think of the darkness of unbelief out of which his son had been brought, and to consider how fitting a thing it was that a life thus renewed should be held at the command of God. But it was hard to think of him as a foreign missionary! Mr. Gray had believed theoretically in the cause of missions and had given a yearly subscription to the society representing it. But to give his son—ah, that was a different matter! At the first shock of the thought he had recoiled, and a naturally stubborn heart kept the question at bay for a time. But he could not long fight with God. The fellowship lost while he steeled his heart against the unwelcome demand was too great a price to pay. Gradually it came to him that the greater weight that bowed his soul and took the joyous spring from life was not Hubert's proposed leaving, but the hiding of God's face.
"In thy favor is life," he prayed. "Any bereavement would be better than for Thee to hide Thy face from me."
And the Face shone out again as his softened will loosened its tenacious grip of that it held. But still he was a man of strong opinions, and slow to be convinced that his clear-headed, business-like son was the one to follow the still hazy-seeming, far-off life of a missionary.
It was a happy day when the ban was lifted from the subject and Hubert was free to discuss it with his father and arrange business matters for a separation. A new element in the matter taxed the sympathy of the hard-headed business man, when it became apparent that his hitherto practical son intended not only withdrawing his active partnership from the firm of Robert Gray & Son, but to sell his interest in the concern, liberating the proceeds for the use of God.
"What folly!" said the elder man frankly.
"Do you remember our discussion of the Scripture about it?" replied Hubert, smiling. "I think I submitted to you the conclusions drawn from a study concerning it. I might as well act upon my convictions, or I shall lose them. You know what James says about the 'hearers only' of the word?"
"Yes, I know what he says," said his father a little testily. "But about this money question there must be a sensible middle course somewhere between a fanatical giving away everything you have and a close-fisted holding on to it all. Give to the Lord of your first fruits, certainly. That is a good thing. But a man ought to look out for himself."
"Yes," said Hubert, "I believe there is a rational course to be followed, and perhaps the Lord may not wish to hereafter provide for me miraculously that which I now have in hand naturally. I do not see all the details clearly yet. But certainly over and above my own necessities—which will be simple—there is something to lay at once at the feet of the Lord. I am glad I have so much for Him."
"Don't let your enthusiasm run away with your common sense. Try to be practical."
"I think I am practical," said Hubert, smiling again, "although it is hard for a man to judge his own actions. It seems to me the practical way to give is to give. The people whom I consider impractical are those who, having an abundance for themselves, dole out pittances for the Lord and regret they are so little! The poor, perplexed ladies in the missionary society vex their brains in planning how to 'raise' something for Him. They take mite-boxes themselves, and they encourage the gifts of the poor, the children, the babies—and even the dolls, I am told! It is very pathetic. But why does it never occur to them—to those who can afford it, I mean—to give? That is what I should call practical. I suppose Mrs. Greenman did not find much difficulty in 'raising' enough money to pay for her swell reception the day after the missionary meeting, I saw the street lined with carriages and heard an orchestra playing inside as I passed. We can imagine the decorations and the fine gowning. Now that was practical. What she wanted was a fine display, and she practically put her hand in her pocket and paid for it. But she says they cannot all do what they would like for missions! Why do they plead poverty there? Mrs. Greenman would not like to have her husband poorly rated in Bradstreet's, and I am sure she did not wish to have her guests the other day think of poverty. But before the Lord—ah, maybe that is what they think it is to be 'poor in spirit!' But if they would be honest! If she should say, now, in the missionary meeting: 'The amount raised is not what we might have given, but it is all we really wish to give in view of the luncheon parties, fine dresses, and all that sort of thing, that we find more important,' I think that way of putting it would be practical, and honest withal."
Mr. Gray actually laughed, and the sound was music to his son's ears.
"Very good, Hubert," he said. "You had better give them a lecture."
"Had I not better give them an object lesson?" Hubert suggested instead.
"There is one thing you cannot do," Mr. Gray said with a sly triumph. Hubert looked at him inquiringly. "You cannot give away your mother's legacy. The terms of the will provide for that. The property cannot be alienated."
Hubert looked at his father blankly for a moment. The fact stated he had quite forgotten.
"You are right," he exclaimed. Then his brow cleared of its blank surprise and he laughed. "That settles it about the rest," he said. "The income from that property will amply support me and any poor interests a humble missionary may have."
"Just so," said his father. "Or it might maintain a poor fool who had missed his calling and was sent home."
Hubert laughed again. "Quite so," he assented.
And so the clouds broke away from over the house of Gray. A restored mutual understanding gave relief amounting to joy even in the face of coming separation.
Hubert's enterprise, like a great ship, could not be launched hastily. Months of preparation passed in which the business matter was finally settled and other affairs adjusted. It was finally concluded that the entire business of Robert Gray & Son should be sold, as the senior partner did not wish to carry it on without his son.
"It is not a question of the poor-house if you do give it up now, father," Hubert said to him, and he assented.
The missionary-to-be found himself called to many places to speak on behalf of the cause, and he did so with great readiness. His intense ardor caused his words to burn their way into many hearts. Again and again his own heart was overwhelmed within him by the greatness of his theme. Cold figures became burning facts as he looked at the wide areas untouched by the Gospel. The slighted wish of his Lord became an anguish in his soul. That men and women should call themselves by His name and still live unto themselves, never grieved by His message undelivered, His errand of love undone, was a shame intolerable. Sometimes when the passion for his Lord's will swept his soul, and he beheld in contrast the idle hands of the church, paralyzed by pleasure or filled with self-interests, in secret he cast himself upon his face and wept as only a strong man, unused to tears, can weep.
The heart of Robert Gray turned with increasing fondness to his daughter who still saw her place to be at his side. A great comfort was she to him in these days of trial. For herself, Winifred was finding out afresh "the sweetness of an accepted sorrow." The joy of the Lord was inexpressible. She could scarcely understand the gladness that filled her soul after sacrifice "more than when their corn and their wine increased."
"Why are you so radiant?" Adèle asked in one of their many conferences.
"I do not know," she answered, blushing at being surveyed so admiringly. "But do you remember that Psalm, Adèle, that says:
"'O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me,
Let them bring me unto thy holy hill'—
"that is getting very near to God, Adèle—
"'And to thy tabernacles.
"That is nearer still; but listen to that that comes next:
"'Then will I go unto the altar of God,
Unto God my exceeding joy.'
"I think this is the reason why I am so happy. His light and His truth have led me to His holy precincts and I have gone to His altar—to the altar of burnt offering. And, Adèle,"—her eyes filled with tears of an inexpressible gladness—"it is there we find Him to be our 'exceeding joy.' I cannot explain it—I cannot even tell it—but He is 'my exceeding joy!'"
"I know," said Adèle, her own eyes filling. "I have found Him there. And I think one reason why so many Christians seem to have no joy is because they have not come to His altar in the sense you mean. Perhaps they have seen Christ there for them in some sense, but have never quite taken their place there with Him. Do you remember, too, Winifred, that it was when the burnt offering began on that great occasion in Hezekiah's time that 'the song of the Lord began also?'"
"Oh, yes!" Winifred responded. "'The song of the Lord!' It has surely begun here, Adèle."
And so it had, indeed. That evening as Hubert returned from a busy day in town he found his sister singing;
"'O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.'"
"Singing, little sister?" was his greeting.
"Yes, Hubert. That has been much of my occupation to-day."
"That is good," he replied. "By the way, I heard some news in town to-day." He endeavored to speak carelessly, but looked at her apprehensively.
"Yes? What is it?"
He walked to the window and examined a flower with apparent interest.
"I hear that George Frothingham's engagement to Miss Randolph, the banker's daughter, is announced."
"Yes," said Winifred calmly, "I saw that in the morning paper. You need not have been afraid to tell me, Hubert. His engagement is a matter of perfect indifference to me."
"Thank the Lord!" Hubert exclaimed impulsively.
"Amen," she responded, still calmly.
On another evening Hubert returned with still another piece of news. He had gone to the Cleary Street Mission to speak, and was late in returning. Winifred, who loved to hear accounts of all his meetings, waited up for him. She was in her little sitting-room when he returned. He came straight to her door and answered her ready "come in" with a light step and glowing face. He plunged at the special matter of joy at once.
"Winifred," he said, "I am not going to China alone."
The color changed in her face at the sudden announcement.
"Who—who is it, Hubert? Is it—?"
"Adèle."
"Oh, Hubert, I am so glad!" she cried joyfully, and kissed him in warm congratulation.
Then suddenly the thought of her own loss intruded. Must she give her up also? Her eager gladness turned to a burst of tears. How swept of all whom she had loved, except her dear father, seemed the home scenes now. She would gladly have restrained herself for Hubert's sake, but the sudden grief was uncontrollable. She sobbed convulsively, as when years ago some childish grief had broken in storms upon her and Hubert had stood by in tearless but painful sympathy, suggesting boyish consolations, ready to sacrifice any plaything or possession that might mend her broken heart. Now he stood helplessly before this passionate outburst.
"Forgive me, Winifred," he said contritely, "it is cruel of me to take her away."
"No, it isn't," sobbed Winifred. "It is just—what I—wished. Only—I shall—miss her so!"
"Of course," he replied pitifully.
The storm subsided, and Winifred looked at her brother apologetically.
"I am ashamed," she said, still with long catches in her breath. "I couldn't help it. I am not sorry—she is going—I am very glad!"
"You are very brave," he said.
"But it's true," she persisted. "It's all over now, Hubert. I shall not cry like that again. Let us talk about it."
They talked about it till the small hours came. Winifred's face cleared of every trace of sorrow, and she loved to think of the cheer and help that Hubert would have in the far-off land. No braver heart of all they knew could have been found to share his pilgrimage; and they imagined how Adèle's keen sense of humor might turn many a sorry happening into mirth. Also she had served an apprenticeship here among the poor and outcast whom she had come to love and who loved her well.
"Winifred," said Hubert suddenly in the midst of their conversation,
"Gerald Bond is to preach for Dr. Schoolman next Sunday."
For some reason best known to himself he watched her countenance narrowly as he made the announcement. But her fair face showed only sweet unconsciousness.
"Really?" she said. "I am very glad."
"We must have him with us if we can. I long to talk with him about these new things."
"Certainly. You must invite him, Hubert."
"Winnie," said her brother, "I seem to have a spirit of prophesy upon me to-night. Almost I can see the path before us with some of its lights and shadows. Oh, there will be compensations for all sorrows!"
"I know it," she said earnestly.
"You will say it is my own great joy that God has given that makes me prophesy. Perhaps it is. But I see this, Winnie; He will never be in our debt when we yield our all to Him. Sweet surprises, unlooked for joys, will be thrown in all the way. Goodness and mercy shall follow us all our days!"
"I believe it, Hubert, and then—we shall dwell in the house of the
Lord forever!"
He drew her to the low open window, and they stepped together into the balcony. The lights of the city were still burning, but in the east a flickering star was proclaiming the not distant advent of a greater light.
"Do you see the parable in lights, Winnie? See how brightly the street is lighted. No one need lose his way or bemoan the darkness, though it is night. But yonder is a prophet of a fuller light. He is saying, 'The sun will come.' Here is my parable: It is night, surely, while our Lord is still away. But He gives us light. No way will ever be cheerless for you and me, little sister. I know He will give me as I go numberless pleasures, fresh interests, and boundless consolation in Himself for all that is left behind. And for you, Winifred, I almost see some rare, sweet blessings over your dear head, just ready to fall upon it."
"Yes," said Winifred, "I am sure it's true. I have been singing to-day,
"'Glory to Thee for all the grace
I have not tasted yet!'"
"These are like the lights in the city, Winnie, but there is a day-star in our hearts that is foretelling the perfect day. Presently the grace of the journeying shall give way to the eternal glory—to the homecoming! Look, sister, do you see that impulse of the dawn, as though the darkness pulsated with premonition of its coming?"
"Yes," said Winifred, with deep gladness in her voice. "The coming of the Lord draweth nigh."