“Yes, I do; and every one who comes appears satisfied and pleased. I thought we should have had Mr. Knight with us again before this.”
Tom did not mention a letter which she had in her pocket at that moment, and which had given her some pleasure as well as amusement. This was the letter—
“Dear Miss Tom,—As you said I must rite a leter to you all by meself I will, and Sissy helps me. We like what you sent us verry much, and Sissy says the appels are nicest of all, and the pares and filbuts too. Mother thort we should be ill, but we wasn’t, not a bit, nor we sharnt be if you send us some more. We mist you when you went away, and it wasnt nice without you; so plees come back as soon as you can. Mister Nite come to-day. He brort me a book, and Sissy a nedlkase, but she likes my book best, and says I may have the nedlkase because she pricks her fingers; but I don’t warnt it. Mother says Mister Nite looks tired; and I heard her say to Miss Margrit that he expekted to find you here. I told Sissy, and she arsked him was he sorry you gone, and he said ‘Yes’; but he says he is com to see you, only she must not tell, because it is a secrut. Sissy loves Mr. Nite, so she give him that prutty pictyer you made, and Mister Nite says he shall keep it for ever-never. It rained that day, so praps the pictyer got wet; but Sissy says Mister Nite wuddent let it. I speld that word rong. I carnt spel verry well, so pleese xkuse it; com agan to see us soon.—Your fekshnut,
“Geoff.”
Mr. Knight did not go to Darentdale as soon as Geoff’s letter led Tom to expect. But they were all very greatly stirred by the visit of Mr. Macdonald. He went to Darentdale and to Scourby, and addressed the people, who were only too glad to have the opportunity of seeing and hearing him. His mission was the means of a spiritual revival in England, and Scourby and Darentdale shared in it. His appeals to those who already professed to hold the Christian faith and live the Christian life were exceedingly impressive. His cry everywhere was to the Church, “Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord hath risen upon thee.” In his own way, and to the members of his own Church, he delivered much the same message as that of Arthur Knight; and the two were evidently sent of God to meet the great need of the time. There is a picture in that unique collection of pictures, all by the hand of one painter, Wirtz, in Brussels, which frequently served him as a sort of text. It represents the Man of the Future curiously contemplating the things that interest the people of the present. He is a big man, and there is nothing little about him, but he holds in his hand a flag, a cannon, a pile of money, and a few other things which represent the poor little aims of so many of the men and women of to-day. He cannot understand where their power and charm lay. So, said Mr. Macdonald, will it be with those who realise Christ’s ideal; and he pleaded that it was not worth while for the Christian to trouble himself about any of those things.
For a week he stayed at the Whitwells, every day speaking at some meeting. Tom was profoundly impressed. Day after day she accompanied him and her father, and she listened to him with the deepening conviction that she was herself living on too low a level. He stirred the very depths of her nature, and it was as if she experienced a new conversion. She had the opportunity of frequently talking with him, and she learned to revere the man as if he were a prophet. He seemed to know so much and to understand her so thoroughly that she half shrank from him even while she was attracted to him. Among the members of her church religious things were seldom talked about. She could not remember, since her confirmation, that the clergyman, whom she yet trusted greatly, had asked her any personal questions, or had any direct conversation with her respecting her Christian life and experience; but Mr. Macdonald could not talk with any one for ten minutes without bringing in the subject of personal consecration. Tom felt sometimes as if her soul were bared before him, and he knew all about her. He was a good guide—for there was nothing of the priest about him—and he had an intense realisation—as all must have who can arouse others—of the power of the living Christ; so that his visit to Darentdale was the means of lasting good.
“It is as if the very house has been consecrated by his prayers,” said Mrs. Whitwell. “We have never had as good a man within the walls before.”
And, indeed, all the members of the family were the same. Mr. Whitwell, as he parted from his guest, expressed what the others felt when he said: “You have brought a spiritual blessing to us all. It is good of you to visit our small place when you are wanted in all the big towns.”
“It has been a pleasure to me to visit you, Mr. Whitwell,” he said. “I had heard of your family from my friend, Arthur Knight, and you have given me a time of peace in the midst of strenuous labour. I am glad to know your family too.”
“They are well worth knowing, especially my youngest, with the masculine name. She is not by any means a Tomboy, is she?”