The Black Forge Mills

by William P. Chipman

First of all, there was the Black Forge Mission, for that had really been established. Some months before Mr. Bacon had called on him, announcing in his off-hand way the good news:

"Well, pastor, our directors have decided to fit up a room down at the mills for a chapel, and offer it, rent free, to the First Church people as long as they care to sustain a Sunday-school and religious services on that field."

It was a nice room, too, large and well adapted to its purpose. One-half of a large storehouse on the main street had been partitioned off, making a room forty by sixty feet. This had been plastered and frescoed, a belfry put on the roof with its bell, and a library room arranged beside the entrance, while four large windows on each side gave ample light.

Then the First Church people had furnished the room tastefully and comfortably. There were four rows of nice settees, a platform and desk with its large Bible, Scripture mottoes on the walls, books to fill the library shelves, and a Bible and singing book for each scholar. When the fall months came, two good stoves were added, and thus the room was made warm and attractive for all.

The school had been successful, too, from the outset; for there were nearly two hundred scholars on the roll, with an average attendance of an hundred and fifty. The preaching services and prayer meetings had not been as well attended, it is true, nor had there been any indication that souls were anxious to find Jesus. But there was nothing strange in this. How long have some of our missionaries toiled on their fields before there was any indication of the Spirit's convicting power? Not months, but years. The conditions we are considering were little different. Black Forge Mills, when the mission was first established, was morally as dark as were some of those heathen lands. Still, had Mr. Carleton taken the trouble to have questioned Mr. Bacon even, he would have learned that there was less drunkenness and brawling and Sabbath-breaking among that people now than six months before, and had he only watched the children as he went among them, he would have noticed that they were less rude; and he knew, had he only taken the trouble to recall the fact, that he was much more welcome than at first in those Black Forge homes. God's work was surely being accomplished among that people: the faithful seed-sowing in the Sunday-school and from the pulpit was not to return unto the Master void.

Then there was Ray Branford. How Mr. Carleton and Miss Squire had labored and prayed for his conversion! He had kept his promise. Each Sunday had seen him in his place. He had each week reported to his teacher his readings, and had astonished her with both his questions and his answers. Sometimes she had been obliged to confess her own ignorance, as his thoughtful and far-reaching interrogations were propounded, and had been obliged to refer him to Mr. Carleton himself. They all noticed, too, the boy's improvement in appearance and morals. Less complaint came to them now than formerly of his mischievous pranks and petty pilferings. He came and went among them as one whose place was assured. He had in many ways been a help to them at the mission chapel, and his influence had been heartily given for the suppression of all disorder in their services whenever it seemed likely to occur. But more than this could not be said of him. His conversion seemed as far off as ever, and while attached to Mr. Carleton and his teacher, he in no way indicated a desire to know more intimately their Master and their Lord.

Still, had not the changes in the lad been very great—as great perhaps as they could reasonably expect? There were many scholars in the First Church school better favored than this poor lad, and with the best of home influences, and yet there had not been so marked changes in them as in him. Why be discouraged? Rather, why not be profoundly encouraged at the sure manifestations of God's presence with that boy? Now, Mr. Carleton, sensible fellow that he was, knew all this, and had it been any one but himself who was so dejected, he would have thought of it, and with triumph manifest in his tones, he would have called their attention to it, and with them have thanked God for it. As it was, he just bowed there on his hands troubled in spirit, and cried out, "How long, Lord? Wilt thou hide thyself forever?"

He arose after a time and went to the window, looking out upon the rain as it drove itself heavily against the panes.

"Here it is the night for our prayer meeting, and I'd like to know how many will be out in such a storm as this," he muttered, half aloud. "A mere handful in that little back room, when I was counting on so great a number."

"In other words, Rev. Ralph Carleton thinks he could have arranged the weather better than his Lord, and because it does not suit him he must needs find fault, and be woefully put out about it," said a voice behind him.