So I went in with him. They were two ministers from the neighbourhood; both older than Ebenezer Holman; but evidently inferior to him in education and worldly position. I thought they looked at me as if I were an intruder, but remembering the minister’s words I held my ground, and took up one of poor Phillis’s books (of which I could not read a word) to have an ostensible occupation. Presently I was asked to “engage in prayer”, and we all knelt down; Brother Robinson “leading”, and quoting largely as I remember from the Book of Job. He seemed to take for his text, if texts are ever taken for prayers,
“Behold thou hast instructed many; but now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest, it toucheth thee and thou art troubled.” When we others rose up, the minister continued for some minutes on his knees. Then he too got up, and stood facing us, for a moment, before we all sate down in conclave. After a pause Robinson began,—
“We grieve for you, Brother Holman, for your trouble is great. But we would fain have you remember you are as a light set on a hill; and the congregations are looking at you with watchful eyes. We have been talking as we came along on the two duties required of you in this strait; Brother Hodgson and me. And we have resolved to exhort you on these two points. First, God has given you the opportunity of showing forth an example of resignation.” Poor Mr Holman visibly winced at this word. I could fancy how he had tossed aside such brotherly preachings in his happier moments; but now his whole system was unstrung, and “resignation” seemed a term which presupposed that the dreaded misery of losing Phillis was inevitable. But good stupid Mr Robinson went on. “We hear on all sides that there are scarce any hopes of your child’s recovery; and it may be well to bring you to mind of Abraham; and how he was willing to kill his only child when the Lord commanded. Take example by him, Brother Holman. Let us hear you say, ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!’”
There was a pause of expectancy. I verily believe the minister tried to feel it; but he could not. Heart of flesh was too strong. Heart of stone he had not.
“I will say it to my God, when He gives me strength,—when the day comes,” he spoke at last.
The other two looked at each other, and shook their heads. I think the reluctance to answer as they wished was not quite unexpected. The minister went on “There are yet” he said, as if to himself. “God has given me a great heart for hoping, and I will not look forward beyond the hour.” Then turning more to them,—and speaking louder, he added: “Brethren, God will strengthen me when the time comes, when such resignation as you speak of is needed. Till then I cannot feel it; and what I do not feel I will not express; using words as if they were a charm.” He was getting chafed, I could see. He had rather put them out by these speeches of his; but after a short time and some more shakes of the head, Robinson began again,—
“Secondly, we would have you listen to the voice of the rod, and ask yourself for what sins this trial has been laid upon you; whether you may not have been too much given up to your farm and your cattle; whether this world’s learning has not puffed you up to vain conceit and neglect of the things of God; whether you have not made an idol of your daughter?”
“I cannot answer—I will not answer.” exclaimed the minister. “My sins I confess to God. But if they were scarlet (and they are so in His sight),” he added, humbly, “I hold with Christ that afflictions are not sent by God in wrath as penalties for sin.”
“Is that orthodox, Brother Robinson?” asked the third minister, in a deferential tone of inquiry.
Despite the minister’s injunction not to leave him, I thought matters were getting so serious that a little homely interruption would be more to the purpose than my continued presence, and I went round to the kitchen to ask for Betty’s help.