The Black Forge Mills

by William P. Chipman

"I tell you, Ned," he said to Edward, when they went to their room that night. "I have the biggest undertaking on my hands for to-morrow I ever had, but I shall not shrink from it. What I dread most, however, is that some may remember their old prejudices of four or five years ago, and refuse to listen to the message I bring."

"I do not believe there is any of that old and foolish prejudice left in the whole town," Edward answered. "Mr. Carleton told me that he had not arranged this plan of work for you without consulting the officers of the church, and that the proposition had first come from them to have you come here when he might be away. I believe you will have a full house to-morrow, and that they will listen to you with even a deeper interest than they would to an entire stranger."

The morrow proved Edward right, so far as outward appearances could indicate the hearts of the people. They filled the whole house, and gave Ray the most courteous and marked attention, both morning and evening.

He chose for his text in the morning the words found in John 11:6: "When he had heard therefore that he was sick, he abode two days still in the same place where he was." Why God delays in answering our requests was his theme; and he suggested three reasons, each of which found its illustration in the experience of those sisters of Bethany. With a wealth of illustration from the history and experience of God's people that was hardly to be expected from so young a preacher, he developed his theme, speaking also with a simplicity and earnestness that held the undivided attention of his hearers to the close.

But it was the evening discourse that made the strongest impression upon the First Church people. An audience larger if anything than that of the morning had gathered. Ray's text was from John 13:8: "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," and his theme was: "Christ a necessity of humanity." Its need of cleansing, its inability to cleanse itself, and therefore the absolute necessity of its resorting to Jesus Christ, "who taketh away the sin of the world," were the three points he presented with real earnestness, freshness, and power.

Ray came down from the pulpit to receive the hearty commendations of many who, previous to this, had never been especially demonstrative toward him. Slowly he made his way to the vestibule to find a number of his old school friends waiting to speak with him. He delayed a few minutes to return their greetings; then he said to Daisy Lawton, who was among them: "Miss Daisy, shall we go now?" She at once took his arm, and they entered the street. His act gave occasion for many significant looks and remarks from those who had witnessed it. "I wonder if they are engaged?" "What a handsome couple?" "And so suited to each other!" passed from lip to lip. Meantime, he and Daisy, utterly unconscious of the train of remarks they had set in motion, were going slowly up the avenue toward the cottage. She was telling him how she had enjoyed that sermon, and with the familiarity of an old friend was suggesting here and there an improvement in the thought and utterance of the young preacher. As he listened to her, there suddenly came over him the consciousness that not only his happiness, but his greatest usefulness depended largely upon that fair girl's walking by his side through life. They had now reached the cottage porch, and turned for a moment to look off toward the hills rising quite abruptly just back of them. Then a sudden resolve came to Ray. He would settle this important question before he returned to Wenton on the morrow.

"Daisy," he said, "I have not been upon the hills for several years, and to-morrow, before I return to Wenton, I believe I will go up there. Could you arrange to go with me?"

Was there something in his tones that revealed the purpose hidden in his heart? Or had that address, "Daisy," instead of "Miss Daisy," as he had always addressed her before, suggested to the young girl why it was he asked this favor? They are wrong who say, "Love is always blind." Love is sometimes keen-eyed, and detects readily what other eyes have not begun to discern. It was so now. A great hope came to that young girl at his words, simple as they were. Her heart was thrilled with a joy that no words could express, and a great light came into the eyes that looked up into his, as she answered, so tremulously as not to escape his notice: "Certainly, Ray, if you wish it." And then she turned, and quickly fled into the cottage.

As early the next morning as the walking through the fields would permit—for there had been a heavy dew—Ray and Daisy started up the hillside. It was a long and fatiguing tramp, but Ray helped his companion over the more difficult places; and not far from an hour after they started, they reached the plateau near the top of the hill overlooking the town and the bay. They rested a few minutes here, and then, at Ray's suggestion, passed around the edge of the hill until they reached a large, shelving rock, from which they could see not only the village and the water, but the site of the Black Forge Mills. Here they sat down, and gazed about them for a time in silence. There were the ruins, about to rise, phœnix like, from their ashes; for the smelting company had already purchased the property. Yonder, in the distance, was Long Point farm, where Ray had spent so many happy hours, and where he had begun his upward course toward an education and his life work. Right at their feet, seemingly, was the First Church, where he had first confessed Jesus, and where he had preached the day before.