“Well, thank God for that,” said Bradly. “He’s bringing good out of evil already, as he always does,—bless his holy name for it! And now, I’ve just to tell you, girls, why I’ve asked you to tea, and given you the messages and the photographs in this fashion—I daresay some of you can guess.”
“I think we can, Thomas,” said one of the elder ones.
“Well, it were just in this way,” he continued: “I’m jealous about our dear vicar’s character, and about dear Miss Clara’s, and I’m sure we all ought to be. Now, if I’d given you her message in the Sunday-school, even if I’d had your class by yourselves, ten to one some of the other scholars would have got hold of things by the wrong end, and it would have been made out as Miss Clara had been doing something very wicked, and her mother had been taking her away in consequence. Now, you see how it is: Miss Clara’s done nothing to disgrace herself or her family; she’s been following a lawful thing, only she’s been following it too closely; but she’s found it to be only like chasing a shadow after all. And now that the Lord has humbled her, he’ll raise her up again; she’ll come out of the furnace pure gold; she’ll be such a teacher when she comes back as she never was afore, if the Lord spares her. So now that I’ve got you here in this quiet way, I want you all to promise me you’ll not go talking about what Miss Clara sent me to tell you, but you’ll keep it as snug as possible; it ain’t meant for the public, it’s meant only for yourselves. The world wouldn’t understand it; they’d think as there was something behind. And the devil, he’d be only too glad to make a bad use of it. So promise me to keep our dear young lady’s lesson to yourselves in your own hearts and memories. You can show the photographs to the other scholars, and tell them as they was Miss Clara’s parting gifts to her class, and that’s all as they need to know.”
The promise was cheerfully given by all; and then, before they left, all knelt, and in their hearts joined in the fervent prayer which Thomas Bradly offered for the vicar and his family, and specially for the invalid, that she might be spared to return to them in renewed health, and be kept meanwhile in perfect peace.
The evening after this little happy tea-party, Thomas Bradly called in at William Foster’s. He found the young man and his wife studying the Bible together; but there was a look of trouble and anxiety on the husband’s face which made him fear that there was something amiss. He was well aware that his former foe but now firm friend was but a weak and ignorant disciple; and he expected, therefore, that he would find it anything but smooth sailing at first in his Christian course. Still, what a marvellous change, to see one so lately a sceptic and a scoffer now humbly studying the Word of Life!
“Anything amiss?” asked Bradly. “Can I be of any service to you, William?” he added, as he took his seat.
“Well, Thomas,” replied the other, “I can only say this—I had no idea how little I knew of the Bible till I began to study it in earnest. I see it does indeed need to be approached in a teachable spirit. But I have my difficulties and perplexities about it still. Only there’s this difference now,—I’ve seen in my own home, and I see daily more and more in my own heart, abundance to convince me that the Bible is God’s truth. So now, when I meet with a difficulty, I see that the obscurity is not in the Bible but in myself; in fact, I want more light.”
“Yes; and you’ll get it now, William; for the Bible itself says, ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.’”
“I heartily believe it, Thomas; still there is much that is very deep to me—out of my depth, in fact. But there is one thing just now which is a special trouble to me. They don’t chaff me so often at the mill now, but this evening Ben Thompson came up to me, and said, ‘Do you think it’s any good your turning Christian?’—‘Yes, Ben, I hope so,’ I said.—‘Well,’ he went on, ‘just you look in the Bible, and you’ll find that there’s what they call the unpardonable sin—there’s no forgiveness for those who’ve been guilty of it; and if there’s truth in that Bible, there’s no forgiveness for you, for you’ve been the biggest blasphemer against the Bible in Crossbourne.’ Thomas, I hadn’t a word to answer him with; his words cut me to the heart, and he saw it, and went off with a grin full of malice. And now, since I came home, Kate and I have been looking through the Gospels, and we’ve come to this passage, in our Saviour’s own words,—‘Verily, I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: but he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation: because they said, He hath an unclean spirit.’ Now, I’m afraid I’ve committed that sin many times; and what then? Is it true that there is no forgiveness for me?”