And still, with all my resolves, I was conscious I failed in the most important, point. Did I love the Saviour as he did? Did I as closely follow Him?
Winter passed, and spring blossomed into beauty. Robert Lovell was again with us. There was more study; examination was coming, and all were anxious to make a good appearance. My room-mate was more studious, and Harry Gilmore was trying to redeem time. Out of school my time was taken up with gardening; and much pleasanter it was than making paths in the ice and snow. True, I had never done any thing of this before; but although a little awkward at first, it soon came easy. Besides, it brought me in continual contact with Mr. and Mrs. Harlan; and their remarks were not only pleasant, but profitable. In the room of feeling despondent, as I had now and then done during the winter, I was cheerful and happy; and without enjoying my books the less, I did enjoy my labors more.
“It is strange how quickly the weeds grow,” I said to Mrs. Harlan as I was thinning out the early vegetables.
“I never look at the weeds without thinking of my own heart,” she answered. “Goodness, patience, humility, and faith are here to be cultivated with constant care; while selfishness and passion spring up almost imperceptibly, and their seeds are, like the thistle-down, borne on the lightest breeze.”
“There is one comfort with the weeds,” I answered; “we can cut them up by the roots; but the evil in our hearts, the foolish and wicked desires that so often strive for the mastery, are not so easily managed.”
“Not by ourselves, Marston; but there is One that can help us in this. Like the careful gardener, that lops off and prunes the vine till it seems, as it did to you the other day, that it would die cut down so closely, so God deals with us according to the condition in which we are placed, lopping off a branch here and there, taking away a support, replanting according to our needs and necessities, and all to improve the growth and life, that the fruit may be more abundant. You remember in January, when the shade-trees were trimmed, you thought they were ruined, and exclaimed against it.”
“Yes, I thought they were cut too closely, the last year’s growth almost entirely cut away, leaving little but the bare trunk.”
“And you see now how they are putting forth new and vigorous branches. They had branches and leaves last year, but no beauty; and there was too much top for the roots; hence the necessity of cutting them closely: watch them, and you will see how much more beautiful and fruitful they will be for such severe pruning.”
“If we could always keep this in mind,” I answered; “but it is so easy to grow despondent when we cannot understand the why and wherefore of our trials.”
“The plants do not ask why and wherefore, but put forth all their energy in the direction to which they are guided,” was the reply.