THE CHARCOAL BURNER'S STAR.
(Concluded from page 9.)
Alfred was struck mute with surprise. Even the guide seemed astonished at this unexpected welcome to the hut.
It was not until a minute or two after the voices had ceased that they ventured to approach the entrance. When they did, they saw the charcoal burner standing at the end of a rude table, formed of one broad deal plank, supported by four legs, along one side of which were ranged three boys between twelve and fourteen years old. Books and paper, with an inkstand and pens, were lying on the table. It was a forest school.
The intruders again paused at a sight as unexpected as had been the melody they had just heard. But their footsteps had caught the ears of those within the hut.
"Who goes there?" asked the man, in a calm voice.
"Friends," replied both Alfred and the guide, and the latter added—
"Good evening, Gervais. It is only your friend Michel. I have brought you a gentleman who is very anxious to see you."
"What is your pleasure with me, sir?" asked the charcoal burner, taking off his woollen cap.
"First, to wish you a good evening, Monsieur Gervais; and next, to apologize for my visit."
"Is there anything you wish to say in private?"
"Nothing very important; but——"
"These boys are in your way?"
"Oh, pray do not let me interrupt you! My business here is not of sufficient consequence."
"We have done, sir. Indeed, our evening studies, and more particularly our Scripture readings, have been prolonged rather beyond our usual hour. We have only one more duty to fulfil, which we never omit. You will excuse it, sir."
Without waiting for a reply, Gervais assumed a serious air. The boys knelt down before the wooden bench on which they had been sitting. Alfred, and even the guide, followed their example, and the woodman offered up a brief, but solemn evening prayer; after which he pressed affectionately the hands of the young herdsmen, and dismissed them with a kind remembrance to their employers.
"Good-night, Monsieur Gervais!" said the boys cheerfully, and in an instant they were all leaping up the heights beyond the fir trees, which soon hid them from the sight of those who remained behind.
"I expected to find you alone, Monsieur Gervais," said Alfred, "and I wished to put a question to you which is now very plainly answered by the scene I have just witnessed. Two hours ago, I was with a party of friends in the plain below, at some distance from this mountain. At nightfall, when we saw the light of your furnace beginning to shine, we said among ourselves, as we looked, with no small degree of interest, upon this earthly star, as it seemed to us, 'What can the man be doing who is watching by the side of this fire?' You see, sir, that I am young, and you know that, at my age, good-humoured frolics are not uncommon. 'I will soon know,' I said. Well, I mounted my horse immediately, and rode at full speed to the foot of the mountain. And now that I am here, I find that I have reason to rejoice in my freak, Monsieur Gervais, since it has made me the witness of a most interesting scene. These pens and paper, and these books—this one in particular—afford sufficient evidence of the manner in which you have passed the evening. Here, to my surprise, I have found, at this late hour, in the deep recesses of the woods, on a wild and lofty mountain, a school for useful learning in general, but more especially, as the closing of the scene has informed me, for the most important of all knowledge—that of the Creator who made, of the Son who redeemed, and of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies us. You pass your evenings in pointing out to these boys, who might otherwise be running wild along the mountains and through the forests, like the beasts that perish, the only way that leads to everlasting life. May I ask if you have any particular interest in them? Are they your children, or are they employed by you in your business?"
"No, sir," said the charcoal burner; "I am neither their father nor their master. Alas! they have but one Father, which is in heaven. They are orphans, sir, and are employed by the herdsmen. They remain here for several months in the year, to assist in tending their cattle and their goats, which are kept during the summer in the mountain pastures. They are therefore serving an apprenticeship to the line of life for which they are destined. But there are other things which are needful for them, as well as learning to look after cows, and sheep, and goats; and one thing more needful than all the rest, which they might learn to neglect, were they left to themselves, without some one to lead them in the right path, and to speak to them of the faith and love of the Lord Jesus. It is true they are here far removed from the temptations which they would meet with in towns, and even in villages; but Satan has his snares in all parts—in the wilderness, where he dared to tempt the Son of God Himself, as well as in the city, where, they say, his traps are set so thickly that it is impossible to avoid them, unless the light of God's Holy Spirit is shining on our path. But even here, had he no other means of leading them astray, they might fall, by his devices, into the worst of sins—the forgetfulness of God, and all they owe to Him. The condition, then, of these poor boys has interested me very greatly. I have prevailed upon their masters to let them come to me for two hours every evening, as soon as the cows and goats are milked, and the sheep are in the folds, when I endeavour, with God's help, to teach them to read and write, and cast up an account; but, above all, to seek to find out the Lord in His holy Word, and to pray to Him. For myself, too, it is a profitable as well as a cheerful occupation in this solitude. I wish, indeed, that I were able to have them longer with me each day, but that our labours will not allow of. On Sundays, indeed, they have rather less to do, and we take advantage of this to devote more time to the service of God."
"Rather less to do on Sundays!" said Alfred. "Is the Lord's Day, then, made only partially a day of rest?"
"Sir," replied Gervais, "there are works of absolute necessity which require our attention, here in the mountains, nearly as much on the Lord's Day as on the other days of the week. We do not cut wood on the Sabbath Day, but my fire must not be allowed to go out. It must be kept constantly burning till the operation is complete. So far, indeed, it affords a lesson of holy instruction to my young pupils as well as myself, and shows us the necessity of the flame of Christian love, and faith, and hope being kept alive in our hearts, even when pursuing our daily occupations. Then those who have the charge of cattle and sheep must attend to their wants, or the poor creatures would suffer sadly by their neglect. It takes up a large portion of the day to milk the cows and the goats, and I dare say you can understand that, to say nothing of the loss their owners would incur were this omitted, the poor beasts themselves would suffer bitterly from bodily pain and disease."
"I ought to have thought of this, as I am myself learning to be a farmer," observed Alfred. "But do you not draw any spiritual improvement for your scholars from this?"
"Oh, yes, sir! I show them how Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is constantly feeding and caring for His flock, watching over them, and keeping the young lambs from going astray; carrying them in His bosom, and giving them the bread of life to eat, and the waters of everlasting comfort to drink."
"And are your kind instructions confined to these three boys?"
"Not altogether, sir. Most of their masters, when their necessary work is done, come with such of their servants as can be spared, on the evening of the Lord's Day; and, as we have no pastor up here to teach us in the way of holiness, we join together in prayer. We sing 'psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs,' and we 'search the Scriptures,' and nourish our souls with the holy Word of God. Most of them, I assure you, sir, are very seriously disposed, and love to hear me talk to them of the Lord Jesus, and tell them of all He has done to save sinners, to take away their sin, to give them repentance, and everlasting life after death."
"And it is thus you have been passing your time," exclaimed Alfred, "when some of my thoughtless young friends below fancied you might be drinking or smoking while you were watching your fire. Happy man! These solitudes are no solitudes to you. How far more profitably, how far more pleasantly, are you employed than the greater number of those who live in the world! I must entreat you to pardon my having intruded upon you, I am ashamed to say, from a motive of mere curiosity. But see how God often causes even our follies and weaknesses to turn out to our profit. I have learned a lesson that I trust, by His grace, I shall never forget. It has taught me that every godly man has a part assigned to him for others as well as for himself, to show forth the great salvation that Christ brought upon earth. You are diligently fulfilling your part. You have prayed for work, and our great Master has mercifully provided it for you. You are laying up treasure for yourself in heaven, while many of those who would be inclined to pity your worldly position are wasting their lives in idleness and sin, neglecting the work they might do, and burying in the earth the talent committed to their charge. Numbers there are in the world who are attempting to secure to themselves a memorial among posterity, by erecting hospitals and schools, while you are consecrating this little hovel to God in a way that might never have been known in this world, but which will not be forgotten by the Lord 'in the day when He maketh up His jewels.'"
As he said this, Alfred cast his eyes round the hut, and fixed them upon an open chest which stood in one corner, supported upon one or two short beams of wood, to preserve the contents from the damp.
"You are not unprovided with books, I see, besides those that lie on the table."
"We have indeed a little library there, sir," replied Gervais. "It is very small, but quite equal to our wants. You would find there 'The Histories of the Old and New Testaments,' 'The Imitation of Jesus Christ,' 'The History of France,' 'Robinson Crusoe,' and a few others. Would you like to look at the writing of these boys, sir?"
Alfred examined some copy-books lying on the table, and could not help expressing his surprise at the progress the lads appeared to have made in three short months. Then, looking at his watch, he said—
"I fear I have overstayed my time, but before I go I have yet a duty to perform. While I congratulate you most sincerely on the success with which God seems to have blessed your endeavours in behalf of these destitute youths, I must add that the interest which the idea of your isolated situation excited among the party I left in the plain below was such that they said I ought not, without some good reason, to intrude upon you, and desired me to bring this little offering to you, begging of you to accept it, in token of their good-will."
Vainly, however, did the young man press the offering upon the charcoal burner. He absolutely refused it.
"Money!" said he; "for what? From whom does it come? Excuse me, sir, but you must recollect that you are quite a stranger to me. I do not even know your name."
Alfred looked greatly disappointed, but replied that his name was Alfred de Blénal.
"What! the son of Madame de Blénal, of ——?"
"The same."
"You are no longer a stranger, sir. Your excellent mother's piety and benevolence are well known to all the country around. Well, sir, as you seem distressed by my refusal, I will accept your liberal offer, but not for myself. I will only take it as trustee for these three boys, to be applied to their future maintenance, till they are able to support themselves."
"Excellent man!" replied Alfred, deeply affected. "This sum will hardly be sufficient for your benevolent purpose, and it will give us pleasure to make it up to such an amount as may be required. I have promised to return to the persons who are expecting me by midnight, and I fear they will be uneasy at my prolonged absence. Take it, then, Monsieur Gervais, and whenever you require a little more money for the good works you may find occasion to perform in your neighbourhood, do not fail to put me under contribution. I shall tell my friends all I have seen and heard, and be assured that they will envy me my good fortune. Farewell, and remember that, by applying to me when you want anything, either for yourself or others, you will only prove that I have inspired you with sentiments of esteem and friendship."
Saying this, Alfred gave the charcoal burner a cordial embrace, and departed.
The thoughts of Michel, the guide, as he descended the mountain, were very different from those with which he had gone up. He was an altered man from that night.
Midnight had passed. The supper was waiting at Madame de Blénal's. The guests were beginning to be impatient, some from hunger, some from curiosity, but more from anxiety. Had he miscalculated the distance? Had he mistaken the way? Had he met with an accident? The former conjectures were spoken aloud; the latter was only whispered by some who were not within Madame de Blénal's hearing. She herself remained silent, but perfectly calm. We do not say that the mother's heart was free from anxiety, but there was a remedy within it which served as a preventive against all idle and unnecessary fears. The eye of God was upon her son, and she knew that his own trust was fixed upon His saving arm. She knew, too, that, although full of the spirit and buoyancy of youth, he would avoid the sin of running into needless danger. If an accident had detained him, it was permitted as a trial of her faith, and she was prepared to submit.
The impatience of the party was just beginning to reach its height, when the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. Every eye was turned to the door, which was soon opened, and Alfred stood before them, smiling, cheerful, and uninjured, though in a condition that at first occasioned some alarm, but soon excited a burst of laughter.
"Here is ocular proof," cried one, "that he has seen the charcoal burner."
"And been at close quarters with him," said another. "He is covered with soot."
"Why, Mr. Alfred," said a young lady, "one would think you had embraced him!"
"I have, mademoiselle, and I am not ashamed of owning it. Had you seen what I have, you would have done the same, without considering your dress."
"Why, what have you seen?" was asked by more than one.
"I have found a preacher of righteousness, 'a teacher of babes,' in the forest—one who is an example to us all—and I have learned that, whatever our station in life may be, we may do good service to our Lord."
Alfred then gave a full detail of his adventure.
"So then," said the old lady who had decided the question about the money, "while we were indulging in foolish conjectures, and idly jesting about this worthy man, he was engaged in the pious task of teaching young boys to read God's holy Word, and the eye of that God was upon us all. My dear young friends, this is a lesson which I trust you will never forget. I see by your looks that it has produced its effect, and given birth to serious thoughts in your hearts. God has caused your inconsiderate frolic to turn out well, and I suspect that this will be a happy day for the pupils of Gervais. The orphans will not want protectors. Now let us go to supper. Our friend Alfred must be hungry after his ride, and he has well earned his meal."
These words, together with the circumstances that gave rise to them, made a deep and salutary impression upon the hearers. The supper passed cheerfully, and the conversation turned upon what could best be done for the charcoal burner and the poor orphans. Many plans were proposed, and at last one was suggested which met with general approbation.
The young men, in consequence, all visited the mountain forest and the hut, which, under their exertions and superintendence, soon disappeared, and a comfortable châlet rose in its place, in which Gervais continued for many summers to pursue his useful labours, and more than one or two successive generations of boys owed their teaching to him, and their establishment in the world to the care of the patrons whom Alfred's visit had, by God's mercy, raised up for them.