My good Lord’s been here,
And blessed my soul, and gone.
Seeker, where were you
When my good Lord was here?”
“My good Lord’s been here,” said Tom softly to himself, and then he kneeled down and thanked God humbly and gratefully both for the opportunity he had given him, and also for this night’s victory. No pride of the task assigned him entered his mind; and when, after curious questioning in Aunt Margaret’s cabin as to the result of his visit to the mansion, he told them that Mr. Sutherland wanted some writing done by him, he had no pride in the announcement; and when he saw, as he could not help seeing, how he rose immediately in the estimation of his questioners, he was very glad, only because it might help in his work for Jesus.
It was Tom’s plan to start a little Sunday-school after a while. He felt very timid about it, and although he had taken no decided step in the matter, he had gradually won his way to the hearts of the people on the place, and by frequent acts of kindness was becoming rather popular among them. As I said before, this was very dangerous. He might forget for whom he was working, and learn to think only of himself. This could not be yet, however, for he still looked to Jesus for help and strength, and while he did so he was secure.
As soon as it was noised abroad that the master needed Tom’s services to write for him every night, the respect for Tom increased, and put him in the way of more work. The people who, like Tom, had come to the plantation for the summer, came to him to have letters written and messages sent to their absent friends, so Tom’s hands began to be quite full; and always intent as he was upon his work for Jesus, he would send a message or a bit of advice or counsel to the friends of those for whom he wrote, and so his influence became widespread. How much pleasure he took in answering the two letters which had brought him so much comfort was best known to himself, but his face was brighter and his step lighter for days afterward.
There was one face, however, which was steadily set against his growing popularity from the first. This was Jimmy, his school-mate in Huntsville and his room-mate here. After a few evenings, he gave up study and withdrew himself from his friend more and more. He knew almost as much as Tom, but he cared nothing at all about it, except to be envious of his friend’s position. “I can write as well as he,” he would often say, but when asked to send a letter, he would always refuse. So he continually boasted of the amount he knew, but would never show his knowledge. Their rooming together had been pleasant at first, but of late there had been scarcely a word between them. Jimmy shunned him on every occasion, and when forced into his company would say sneering things with regard to Tom’s “great learning,” as he called it. Yet still Tom was uniformly kind and polite, and when those around would silence Jimmy in some one of his insolent speeches, his replies came always mild and gentle. This conduct gained for him more friends and more kindly attention to the words he spoke for Jesus than anything else could have done. It does not take learned minds to know when those around them live according to their profession.
Not a word of all this reached Martha; and when, months after, he told her of the struggle of these days, she knew that only the strength given him from above had enabled him to bear it. No, the letters that came as a piece of freshness and unbounded pleasure to Martha were full of whatever Tom could find of love and cheer to put in them. Of his efforts in the work for Jesus he told her, with a longing to do more, but there was no mention of trials or difficulties, and the letters were read and put carefully away with just the feeling of joy and thankfulness which Tom had striven for when he wrote them.
