Before the appointed Sunday arrived, Padre Logan and Ghopal together, with thankful surprise, counted out the money which had been poured by rich and poor into the treasury of the Lord. The coppers and the silver together, and cowries also, that were found in the bag, amounted to a goodly sum; and when the last rupee had been counted, Padre Ghopal lifted up his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, “God be praised! He hath answered our prayers even beyond our hopes. There is lying before me in these heaps half of the money required to build up our church!”
“And Manton Sahib will double the amount,” said the joyful Padre Logan. “He is a man who will never flinch back from keeping his promise.”
Padre Logan was right; nor had the commissioner the slightest wish to flinch back from keeping his promise. Manton Sahib rejoiced to help those who were helping themselves. Never had the Englishman written anything with more pleasure than when he dipped his pen and made out a cheque on the Bank of Bengal for the remainder of the sum required to complete the building of the church.
Fast went on the work of building; the church seemed to grow rapidly, as rice when the water rises around it. Every one in the Christian village rejoiced to see its progress, and many who could give no money gave a helping hand to the work.
“This is our own church,” the people would say; “we need no more money from England. We ourselves, with the Commissioner Sahib’s help, have built our house of prayer, and we will support our minister also. It is a good thing to offer freely and joyfully to the Lord. ‘God loveth a cheerful giver’” (2 Cor. ix. 7).
Before the rainy season arrived the little church was built and roofed in; and there was a glad gathering of all the people to celebrate the opening of the holy house with prayer and songs of praise. Gunga Ram and Ya’kub were there; the one had left his hospital, the other had been dismissed from jail. Gunga Ram had a pale cheek, and a deep scar left by a wound; and poor Ya’kub could scarcely lift his eyes from the ground, for shame covered his face. These two poor ryots joined in the prayer, but their voices were not heard in the songs of joy.
After the meeting was over, Gunga Ram and Ya’kub joined Isa Das, who was standing a little apart, his hands clasped, his face bright with happiness, as he looked at the beautiful building standing where only ruins had been.
“Ah, my brother!” cried Gunga Ram, “this is indeed a day of rejoicing for thee. Behold God hath heard thy prayer, and hath greatly prospered thy work.”
Gunga Ram spoke from the heart, for during the time of his sore sickness and pain God’s Holy Spirit had spoken to his soul. Gunga Ram had resolved that out of his little earnings a tenth part should always henceforth be devoted to holy uses, the support of his pastor, and the relief of the poor. Gunga Ram would seek to lay up for himself treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal.
“I am as joyous as if I were sultan of the world,” said Isa Das, “when I look on that house, in which I hope that the gospel will be preached from generation to generation.”