"Oh, that's it? Well, Herbert, I must say I am a little surprised. I thought you were always ready to do whatever you were sure you ought. Did you want to milk Mrs. Brown's cow every day for a fortnight while she was laid up with a sprained ankle?"
"No; but you know I was partly the means of her getting hurt, and I thought I ought to help her."
"Exactly. And I suppose you don't always want to obey the rules at school, but you know you ought to do so; and judging from the public reports, you do what you ought, not what you want to do. I saw you at the wood-pile last Saturday. I don't imagine that you wanted to do it, for I never saw a boy who liked to saw wood, and I am pretty sure your father did not compel you (you see I know his way), but you knew you ought. Isn't that all true?"
"Yes, but this is different."
"Different? Yes, in a sense." And now Mr. Earle's voice grew deep and solemn. "It is an act for eternity, an act that decides the colour of all your future, an act that ranks you with the sons of God or with the children of wrath! It is different! A priceless gift—life everlasting, a mansion in the beautiful city of our God, a pure heart, a crown of glory, all freely offered! And you turn away, saying, 'I know I ought to accept all these, but I really don't want them.' Suppose you say to your father, 'I know I ought to be very grateful for all you do for me; I ought to be glad to honour you, but I don't want to be called by your name.'"
"But, Mr. Earle," said Herbert, "I've been called by my father's name always. I belong to him, and have always had his care."
"And haven't you always had God's care? Haven't you always belonged to Him, body and soul? Refusing to take the glorious gift of free pardon through Christ doesn't change that at all. Though you grieve Him by rebellion, you belong to Him. And if you are not called by his name, it is because you will not own Him as your God and Saviour. But, Herbert, why not be a Christian?"
"Oh, there are a good many reasons," answered Herbert. "For one thing, I don't like to begin right here where I have always lived. If I were going to a new place, I could take a stand without its seeming queer."
"If somebody should offer you a splendid fortune," said Mr. Earle, "I suppose you would say, 'I don't want this known here where I have always lived. It would seem queer if I should have or do anything different from the old way. I think I had better wait until I go somewhere else before I accept the gift.' Nonsense, Herbert! You are not that sort of a boy. Now I know you pretty well, and I can give the why note about as accurately as you could yourself. You have an idea that to be religious is to be dull.
"Why, some of the most earnest Christians I know are among the most merry-hearted people I meet. To be a Christian is to be at peace—to have joy and gladness in the heart. Then you are looking too far ahead, thinking there is this or that cross that you can never take up, this or that duty that you can never perform. You look up at the mountain and think, 'I cannot scale these heights: there is no use in starting.' You forget, rather, you have never experienced, the love that lightens the burdens, smooths the hard places, and gives strength for every hour. Take up the work that lies before you to-day, and do not worry about what may be required of you to-morrow or next day. I trust that you will find your way to peace, but it will not be by shaking off your serious thoughts.