Duty.
Mary Stansfield and Grace Willerly were sitting together, about three weeks after the above conversation, in an arbour in the garden attached to Lady Willerly’s house. Miss Stansfield had come to spend a day or two by special invitation, by way of getting a little change, which she much needed; her aunt having spared her without a murmur, and having accepted the services of a former domestic in her place.
“How very kind of your aunt to spare you!” said Grace to her friend; “I hardly expected it, knowing how much she depends upon you.”
“Oh yes!” was the reply: “you cannot tell, dear Grace, what a wonderful change has come over my dear aunt. And it is all owing, under God, to the loving faithfulness of our kind friend Colonel Dawson. I scarcely ever get a harsh word or a hard look now; and when I do, my aunt at once calls me to her, and asks me to forgive her. Oh, is it not wonderful? I am sure I blush with shame to think how little I deserve it.”
“Yes, it is very wonderful, dear Mary. Certainly our new neighbour is a most earnest and useful man; and he has shown his discernment, too, in getting hold of yourself to work for him in Bridgepath. But I am afraid you will find it very up-hill work; you’ll want the strength of a horse, the patience of Job, and the zeal of an apostle in such a place as that.”
“Certainly, I shall want the grace of an apostle,” said the other quietly; “but the work is very delightful, and is more than repaying me already for any little trouble or self-denial it may cost me.”
“It is very good of you to say so, Mary; I am afraid the work wouldn’t suit me. I don’t mind making sacrifices—indeed, I think I can truly say it is one of my chief pleasures to make them; but there must be something very depressing in the jog-trot sort of work you are called on to do. I don’t mind anything, so long as it has a little bit of dash in it; but I am afraid I should soon grow weary of a regular grind like yours.”
“Oh, but you are quite mistaken about my work at Bridgepath,” said the other, laughing. “There is nothing dull or monotonous about it; and it is such a happiness to see the light of God’s truth beginning to dawn on dark and troubled hearts. And there is one particularly interesting family—I mean John Price’s. You have heard, I dare say, that he was steward to the squire, and that he lost almost everything by his poor master’s extravagance. Poor man, he is bed-ridden now, and I fear had little comfort even from his Bible, for he seemed to have learned little from it but patience. But, oh! How he has brightened up, and his wife and daughter, too, now that they have been led to see that it is their privilege to work and suffer from salvation instead of for salvation.”
“I don’t understand you,” interrupted Miss Willerly.
“Don’t you? Oh, it makes all the difference. Poor John Price has been reading his Bible, and bearing his troubles patiently, in the hope that at the end he may be accepted and saved through his Saviour’s merits. That is what I mean by working for salvation.”