The hidden treasure

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

The stranger shook his head. "The trial is sure to come in one way or other," said he. "It may not be in the way of persecution, perhaps it may come in the opposite direction from the temptation of this world. In these days the seed is perhaps as likely to be choked with care and riches and voluptuous living as in any other way. But in whatever way the temptation comes, we shall need all the strength which our Lord hath to give, to fight the battle of life withal. But the hour waxes late, and I must needs rise early and go on my way."

Jack gave up his own bed to the visitor, and slept on the great wooden settle by the fireside. His sleep was not sound, and toward morning awaking suddenly he heard, as he thought, some one speaking earnestly as though pleading for, some great boon, and willing to take no denial. He stole softly to the foot of the stairs and listened. The voice was that of the stranger guest, and Jack presently perceived that he was engaged in fervent prayer. A feeling of delicacy prevented him from listening; but, as he lingered for a moment, he caught the words:

"Not this one, Lord, not this one! If there must needs be a sacrifice take the old tree, broken and withered in thy service, but spare the young and tender plant."

Jack's reverence deepened into awe as he perceived that Master Fleming was praying for himself, pleading with God as a child with a tender parent, that he might be spared the horror and pain in which the "gospellers" too often ended their lives.

Jack stole back to his bed and sat thinking for a long time. He remembered how he had ventured to pray in somewhat the same way for sight of the Scriptures, and how his prayer had been answered in the sense and realization of God's presence at the time he was praying, as well as in the apparent chance which had brought the stranger to his uncle's house. Would Master Fleming's prayer be granted in the same way?

Or would he be called to witness for God at the stake and on the rack, like some of those confessors of whom he had lately heard? And if so, would strength be given him according to his needs?

And what would become of him afterward? Should he be taken to paradise or to purgatory? Was there any such place as purgatory? Was he fit for heaven? How could he make himself so?

Master Fleming had seemed to speak but slightingly of penances and pilgrimages and such like exercises, and had intimated that there was another way, sure and easy. What then was that way?

These were but a few of the questions which rose in the boy's mind as he sat in the chimney corner under the slowly dawning light. He was a grave and thoughtful lad at all times, sober beyond his years to a degree which had often troubled his father, and made old Cicely declare that her nursling was not long for this world. The religious teaching he had received had been mostly given him by Sir William Leavett and had been of a character unusually spiritual and pure for that time.

Then his uncle had taught him a great deal concerning the Bible during his residence at Holford; and altogether his soul was like a watered garden, ready to receive the seeds of eternal truth and to bring forth fruit to everlasting life.