The train of thought thus started seemed to go on in his mind, after we had set to the serious business of luncheon. "You see, young gentlemen," he presently continued, "we're to remember that all the good things He sends us come from the same hand that sends us our disappointments too; and though we don't always see it, it's true that the troubles and trials are amongst the good things. Many a time I've kept a-thinking of that verse which says, 'He that spared not His only-begotten Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not, with Him, also freely give us all things'—the all things there meaning, you see, the troubles and losses as much as the gains, and successes, and pleasures. And I think it's the same with children as with grown people; their trials, which are small to grown-up people, are great to them, and they don't come by chance. And, when we are able to feel this way, young gentlemen, it's easier to bear up when the wind seems dead against you, and to say, when things go wrong, and there's a deal of beating about, and a shipping of heavy seas, as you're taught to say in the Lord's prayer, 'Thy will be done.'"
I forget what was said after George finished this homely, but practical and excellent children's sermon; but I can remember that Aleck's face looked somewhat lighter; the words seemed to have touched some inner chord, and to have met his troubles more than they did mine. My load, on the contrary, lay all the more heavily on my conscience; as I realized that I was entirely shut out from such consolations as George tried to offer, so that I became more rather than less gloomy.
The old man resumed the thread of conversation soon again.
"It seems strange now," he said, "to think how we're grieving over this bit of a toy ship, and then to think of how one's felt seeing, as I did once, a good ship with her crew, men and boys, clinging to the rigging, and going down before your eyes, and you not able to help them, though they kept a-screeching out and a-calling to you all the while."
"Couldn't you do anything?" we both exclaimed, our interest now fully awakened; "did you try to help them?"
"Oh yes, sir," George answered, and I could see the tears standing in his eyes; "God be praised, we didn't see 'em go down without doing what we could for them; and I'm glad to think of it, though my life didn't seem worth the having for many a long day afterward."
"Oh, why?" asked Aleck, eagerly; and I, in spite of our being upon terms of not speaking, caught myself whispering to him, "Don't you know?—Ralph's father was drowned."
But George went on, with his eyes fixed on the water, as if the great sea which had swallowed up his dead were a book, and he were reading from it.
"His father"—and with a turn of the head he indicated Ralph—"was with me; he was but four-and-twenty, and as handsome as handsome; a young fellow such as there was not many to be seen like him; and he was a good son—a good son to his mother and to me—and a child of God, too, Heaven be praised! 'Father,' says he, 'we must try to save them;' and, with the sound of those poor creatures' cries ringing in my ears, I dared not say no, though the odds were fearful against us, and I was careful over him, though I'd not have minded for myself. Well, sir, two others joined us, and we succeeded in getting off; but just before we reached the sinking vessel, a heavy sea struck us, and in a moment we were all struggling in the water. I thought I heard Ralph—he was Ralph too—I thought I heard him just say, 'God have mercy on my poor Betsey!'—she as you know, Master Willie—and then I knew nothing until I woke up in a room where some kind people were rubbing me with hot flannels, and offering me hot stuff to drink. So soon as I could speak, 'Where's Ralph?' I says, looking round for him; and then I saw in their faces how it was; and they came round me, treating me quite tenderly like a child, though they were rough sailors. And one of 'em, a God-fearing man, who had spoken a bit to us many a time when we'd no parson, was put forward by them, and he comes and whispers to me, 'You'll see him again, George, when the sea shall give up its dead. You'll meet before the throne of God and of the Lamb.' Well, sir, I was but a poor frail mortal, and my senses left me again, and I was long of coming round. But ever since then, as I look at the wide water, I seem to hear a voice saying, the sea shall give up its dead, and we'll meet some day before the throne of God and of the Lamb. Yes; I'm not afraid of the open Book for him, poor boy, for long afore that day I knew he'd taken his sailing orders under the Great Captain. 'Father,' he's said to me, 'I know Jesus Christ has died for me; I must live for him.' And when the poor body was washed ashore, there was his little Testament in his pocket, all dripping with the sea water. I dried it, and found it could still be read, and even some of his marks; there's not another thing I prize so much."
Old George took the little unsightly-looking volume from his pocket, and gave it reverently to us to look at, and Aleck and I bent over it together, and deciphered on the title-page, in crooked lines of round handwriting, the name, Ralph Groves—his book; and underneath was a verse of a hymn, evidently remembered and not copied, which must have been one of those sung amongst the Methodists on that part of the coast where, as George told me, Ralph used to attend their meetings.