Poor Johnson’s life was now a very weary one. He had hope indeed to cheer him—a better than any earthly hope, a hope full of immortality. Still he was but a beginner in the Christian life, and had hard work to struggle on through the gloom towards the guiding light through the deep shadows of earth that were thickening around him. Betty tried to cheer him; but, poor girl, she needed cheering herself. Her brother’s flight; the uncertainty as to what had really become of him; the hope deferred of hearing from him which made her heart sick; and now the dreadful death of her unhappy mother, and that, too, so immediately following on their last miserable conversation;—all these sorrows combined weighed down her spirit to the very dust. She longed to flee away and be at rest; but she could not escape into forgetfulness, and she would not fly from duty. So a dark cloud hung over that home, and it was soon to be darker still. Ned Brierley was appointed manager of a colliery in Wales, at a place a hundred miles or more from Langhurst, and a few months after Alice Johnson’s death he removed to his new situation, with all his family. A night or two before he left he called upon Johnson.
“Well, my lad,” he said, taking a seat near the fire, “I reckon you and I mayn’t meet again for many a long day. But if you’re coming our side at any time, we shall be right glad to see you, and Betty too, and give you a hearty total abstainer’s welcome.”
“I’m afraid,” said Betty, “that fayther nor me’s not like to be travelling your road. I’m sure I’m glad you’re a-going to better yourselves, for you desarve it; but it’ll be the worse for us.”
“Ay,” said Johnson despondingly; “first one prop’s taken away, and then another; and after a bit the roof’ll fall in, and make an end on us.”
“Nay, nay, man,” said his friend reprovingly, “it’s not come to that yet. You forget the best of all Friends, the Lord Jesus Christ. He ever liveth; and hasn’t he said, ‘I will never leave thee nor forsake thee?’”
“That’s true,” replied the other; “but I can’t always feel it. He’s helped me afore now, and I know as he’ll help me again—but I can’t always trust him as I should.”
“Ah, but you must trust him,” said Brierley earnestly; “you must stick firm to your Saviour. And you must stick firm to your pledge, Thomas—promise me that.”
“Yes; by God’s help, so I will,” was the reply; “only I see I shall have hard work. But it’s no odds, they can’t make me break if I’m resolved that I won’t.”
“No, fayther,” said his daughter; “and they can’t go the breadth of a thread further nor the Lord permits.”
“That’s true, Betty, my lass,” said Ned; “so cheer up, Thomas. I feel sure—I can’t tell you why, but I do feel sure—that the Lord’ll bring back your Sammul again. He’ll turn up some day, take my word for it. So don’t lose heart, Thomas; but remember how the blessed Book says, ‘Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”