Margery Hamilton, or Along the Old Road

Front matter

Margery Hamilton " Go tell them also of those dainty things That Pilgrimage unto the Pilgrim brings. Let them acquainted be, too, how they are Beloved of their King, under His care ; What goodly mansions He for them provides, Though they meet with rough winds and swelling tides ; How brave a calm they will enjoy at last, Who to their Lord, and by His ways hold fast." — Pilgrim's Progress. " Be careful you do not send any more."— p. 228. Margery Hamilton (Hi Along the Old Road BY M. H. HOWELL Author of "Through the Winter," "In After lears, <fce. 32- onion Gall and Inglis, 25 Paternoster Square: AND EDINBURGH. PRINTED AND BOUND BV ' GALL AND INGLIS LUTTON PLACE EDINBURGH <M © M W er M W s. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE ROAD CHOSEN, ... ... ... ... i II. IN THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND,... ... ... 20 III. OUT OF THE WAY, ... ... ... ... 3s IV.

FENCED IN, ... ... ... ... 56 V. THE BURDEN DROPPED, ... ... ... 72 VI. THE SPRING AT THE FOOT OF THE HILL, ... SS VII. CLIMBING HILL DIFFICULTY, ... ... ... US VIII. IN THE ARBOUR ON THE HILL-SIDE, ... ... 144 IX IN THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL, ... ... ... 16S X. THE TWO LIONS, ... ... ... ... 184 XI. THE PORTER'S DIRECTIONS, ... ... ... 200 XII. IN THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION, ... ... 219 XIII. HEALING LEAVES, ... ... ... ... 234 XIV. THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, 248 XV. IN VANITY FAIR, ... ... ... ... 259 XVI. IN THE PLAIN CALLED EASE, ... ... ... 273 XVII. BY THE HILL CALLED LUCRE, ... ... ... 2S4 XVIII. OUT OF CASTLE DOUBTING, ... ... ■■■ 29S XIX. IN THE CHAMBER OF PEACE, ... ... ••• 314 XX. STILL ALONG THE HIGHWAY, ... ■•■ ■•• OB JVlong tht ©It) lUai)

Chapter I. The Road Chosen

"Is this the way to the Celestial City?" "You are just in your way." "How far is it thither?" "Too far for any but those who shall get thither indeed." — Pilgrim's Progress. HJ&5wjjMjg| T was a warm, sunshiny, Sabbath after- K^^^^R noon in the month of July. In a large ||ypl|||| boarding-house in Quantuck, a well-known Tisal summer resort on the Atlantic coast, dinner was just over, and the spacious parlours and broad piazzas were thronged with men, women and children laboriously engaged in doing — nothing. A confused sound of voices talking and babies crying, of omnibuses rolling through the street on the way to the beach, and of untrained fingers thrumming on the piano, mingled strangely with the solemn surge of the ocean, the sighing of the summer wind and the low, sweet twittering of nest-hidden birds.

Nature was full of the Sabbath joy, and only the " beings breathing thoughtful breath," for whom that Sabbath was specially meant, seemed indifferent to it, or weary of it. At one side of the house, under some wide-spreading willows, three or four young girls, with the latest summer novels in their hands, were swinging idly in their hammocks. "Oh, dear," sighed one of them, as she twirled over the leaves of her book and glanced at its closing words, " oh dear, there is about as much sensation in this book as there is in an Egyptian mummy. The author certainly has a genius for stupidity; and, as yet, I haven't discovered a genius for anything else." " Then why do you read it, Laura ? " asked one of her companions. "Why ? Oh, because I am stupid too, I suppose. I am sure I do not know any other reason, for really it is as hard work to read it as it is to drink poor coffee without cream or sugar.

But if I have been stupid, I'll be stupid no longer. Lie there, you witless thing;" and Laura tossed the despised book far off into the grass. "And may he who finds you think more of you than I do. Girls, come ; I want something fresh : let's go to the beach." " To the beach ? " echoed two or three sleepy voices. "Oh no, Laura; it is too warm." "Then stay where you are; only please excuse me from remainining in your interesting society any longer." And springing from her hammock Laura Stanton crossed the lawn and entered the house. "Margery," she called from the foot of the wide stair-case, " are you in your room ? " "Yes," answered a pleasant voice. "What is it, Laura ? " " Don't you want to go to the beach ? " " With you ? Yes, if you will wait for me : I'll be ready in five minutes." And in little more than that time a young girl ran down the stairs and joined Laura, who was impatiently walking up and down in the hall.

"Have I kept you waiting?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but I'm ready now, Laura. Are we going alone ? " " Yes, I hope so," Laura answered, in a decided voice as they left the house. "I've seen enough of the other girls for one day : they are all as sleepy and stupid as if they had just dined on poppies." Margery laughed a little, but at the same time she said : " How little patience you have with anyone who isn't bright and lively, Laura! I am afraid you will be tired of me before our walk is over, for, to own the truth, I am very far from feeling as brilliant as a diamond to-day." " I haven't always patience with bright things either," Laura said, fretfully, as she opened her parasol. '' I do wish that sun would hide some of its superfluous radiance behind a cloud. It is perfectly intolerable."

"You must remember it is mid-summer," Margery answered. "The sun in shining is only doing its duty, Laura.' "Very well; I'm sure I have no objection; only I wish it would not let its duty interfere with my comfort," Laura said, in a peevish voice. "Perhaps it would not, if we were doing our duty, too," Margery said, with a little laugh that ended in a sigh. "I am not perfectly sure that our duty calls us to the beach this afternoon; are you, Laura?" "Don't begin to preach, I beg of you," Laura said, with quick impatience. "One sermon a day is all I am willing to hear." "You haven't heard even that to-day," Margery answered. " No. And I am glad I haven't. It is one of the pleasant things about going into the country for the summer that one is not expected — for propriety's sake — to go to church at least once every Sabbath."

"I do not really suppose, though, that the fact that we are in the country is any good excuse for our living like the heathen," Margery said, in a sober voice. " Nonsense," Laura answered, scornfully. " What is the use of talking in that sanctimonious way ? You are no better than the rest of us, Margery. Come now, confess. What have you been doing all day?" " Doing ? Oh, I've been writing letters," Margery acknowledged with a careless laugh. "It is a for tunate thing for me that every seventh day is Sunday — my letters would never get answered if it was not." " There, it is just as I told you," Laura said, in triumph ; " we are all alike. There ought to be a new commandment written for us, and this is the way it should read; 'Remember the Sabbath day, and do all your extra sleeping, and novel-reading, and letter-writing in it.' Now if that only was the fourth commandment, I think we would have no difficulty in keeping it perfectly."

Margery's bright face looked for a moment very serious. "I am afraid we are worse than the heathen, Laura," she said; "they do not know the command ments, but we do know them, and yet do not obey them." "There, you are preaching again," Laura said, re proachfully. "Truly, Margery, I hardly know you to-day, you seem disposed to take such serious views of such trifling matters. The ant-hills" — and she poked irritably at one in the path with her parasol — "are all Alps to you this afternoon, I believe. Hark! What bell is that?" she asked in a changed voice, as forth on the still, sweet, summer air came the pleasant tone of a church bell. "Why, it is that chapel bell, I suppose," Margery explained, pointing, as she spoke, to a neat white chapel just opposite to them. " What can it be ringing for at this hour ?

" "For Sunday-school, probably. Don't you see the children going in at the gate ? " Laura glanced across the street at the groups of smiling, prettily-dressed children with a contemptuous expression on her young face. "What kind of a Sunday-school do you suppose they have in this out-of-the-way place ? " she aske'd in a scornful voice. "I don't know. In truth, I don't know much about Sunday-schools in any place. Do you, Laura ? " "No. I do not know that I ever went to one in my life." "Nor I. Suppose by way of variety, we go to day, Laura." "Go to Sunday-school! What for?" Laura sharply demanded. "Why, I thought I told you. Just for variety's sake. But then, seriously, Laura, it cannot harm us to go once, and see what a Sunday-school is like." " No. And, like some highly-recommended medicines, that will probably be its chief virtue.

If it cannot harm us, it will not be likely to do us much good, either. However, Margery, I don't care. We'll go, if you want to. The day is dull, and I'm duller; and this Sunday-school will probably be best de scribed by the superlative degree of that amusing adjective. So it will all be 'much of a muchness,' and I do like things to harmonise." " Always ? " laughed Margery. " The sharper the contrast the better in this case, I should say. But cross over, Laura, and we'll go in. Maybe we will find a cure for dulness here. Who knows ? " "No one, I suppose," Laura said, indifferently, as she followed Margery across the dusty street. And, without a thought of the One who was watching them, and who had guided their steps to that quiet chapel, the two girls entered it and took their seats. It was still early ; and with curious eyes Margery watched the children, as, with their bright, expectant faces, they came in, some singly, some in little smiling companies of two or three, and passed quietly to their classes.

Especially she noticed the Bibles that, with few exceptions, were carefully carried in their little hands. "Laura," she whispered soon, "suppose some one here should ask us if we ever read the Bible ? " "I should answer, I should tell them, No; not in vacation. I prefer novels," Laura answered, carelessly. Margery did not smile as Laura expected she would; instead, she looked still still more disturbed. "I feel ashamed of myself when I look at these children, Laura," she whispered again, in a few moments, " and I wish I had a Bible here now." "It is but a few steps to the hotel," Laura said, "and if a Bible is so necessary to your happiness, you might run to your room and get your own." "I might go to my room I know, Laura," Margery replied '. " but I should not find a Bible there, be cause — I did not bring one from home."

"You packed only useful things in your trunk, I suppose," Laura said, without the slightest sympathy for Margery's serious mood. "Well, to be be candid, so did I. Something has usually to be crowded out of every trunk, you know, as well as — according to Mrs. Whitney — out of every life. And so I left out my Bible to make room for my novels." For the second time that day Laura's thoughtless words seemed to trouble Margery. "Hush, please," she said, pleadingly; "they are going to begin." The brief opening exercises of the little school were soon over, and with a face full of interest, Margery was watching as the classes near her turned to their lessons, when a voice beside her said : "Good afternoon, Miss Hamilton; I am glad to meet you here to-day." In great surprise Margery turned to the speaker, a pleasant-faced, gray-haired, old gentleman, who smiled kindly as he met her astonished eyes.

She recognised him then as Professor Carter, a man of wide reputation in literary and scientific circles, and, like herself, for the last few weeks a sojourner in that quiet sea-side hamlet. Only a few mornings before, on the beach, Laura and herself with several other young girls, had listened with eager attention while Professor Carter had talked to them of jelly and star-fishes, and explained the wonderful construction and marvellous beauty and adaptation of means to an end, in even the least and simplest of God's creations. There had seemed nothing strange in seeing and hearing him then; why was it, Margery wondered in even that first moment of recognition, that his presence in Sunday school should cause her so much surprise ? Whatever the reason, it was certainly not because a Sunday school was a new or a strange place to Professor Carter.

"Are you interested in Sunday-schools as well as star-fishes, Miss Hamilton ? " he asked, pleasantly. " I am. No studying I have ever done in other books has afforded me the pleasure and profit I have gained from the study of my Bible. And now, that B I am an old man, I still find an ever-fresh enjoy ment in eoinp* over these Sabbath-school lessons and getting new insights into their meanings." Professor Carter's kind words only deepened the strange sense of humiliation under which Margery was suffering that afternoon. She felt very unwilling to acknowledge just then that she knew nothing of Sunday-schools and their lessons; but, whatever her other faults might be, Margery possessed at least one queenly virtue : she was truthful. Not even to secure Professor Carter's good opinion would she pretend to be better than she really was.

And so now, as he waited for her answer, she said, with humble sincerity, — " I am afraid I do not know much about Sunday schools, Professor Carter. I do not think I was ever in one before." "There has been a sad omission, then, in your education, I fear, Miss Hamilton," Professor Carter said, kindly. " But because a thing has been delayed or omitted, it by no means follows that it is never to find a place in our heart and life. Suppose, since we have met here now, and seem to be the only strangers present, we go over the lesson for to day together ? " "You are very kind," Laura said, as Professor Carter looked at her. " Oh, I should like it ever so much," Margery said, in a glad, interested voice ; " but," and her bright face sobered a little, "I am very sorry, but I have no Bible." "We started for the beach, Professor Carter," Laura interposed, thinking she would place both Margery and herself in as favourable a light as possible.

"We did not know then that there was a Sunday school. Of course, if we had thought, when we left the house of coming here, we would have brought our Bibles with us." "I am not telling a falsehood, for we could have borrowed Bibles," the girl whispered to her re proachful conscience as she finished her little speech. But Margery's truthful spirit was alarmed at once. Laura's words certainly implied that they had Bibles in their rooms, and Margery could not consent to be painted in any fairer colours than she deserved. " Even if I had intended coming here, it would not have made any difference in my case," she said, humbly. "I am ashamed to own it, but I left my Bible at home." What a contrast in character those two girls were, Professor Carter thought, as he listened to them. And for a moment he sighed, as he reflected how often the world would applaud the fair-seeming of the one and frown coldly on the sincerity of the other.

But he only said, — " You left your best friend behind you, then, I think, Miss Hamilton; but I do not believe you will ever make such a mistake again, and for to-day, fortunately, I can supply your lack," And he handed Margery his own well-worn and evidently much read pocket Bible, and showing her the passage selected for study that day, began the lesson. Had Margery ever before in her young life had just such a lesson, or just such a teacher, as she had that Sabbath afternoon in that little chapel by the sea ? She did not think so. Professor Carter taught like one who thoroughly understood his subject, and who was also thoroughly interested in it; and Margery listened as the pupils of such teachers are wont to listen. Even Laura was charmed out of her indifference, and drawing nearer to Margery, looked over the Bible with her and followed the verses as Professor Carter, in clear and forcible w*ords, explained them.

It was a new w*orld into which he was leading his young listeners ; and to Margery it seemed a world she would never tire of exploring. " How much there is in the Bible ! " she said, earnestly. "So much that is hidden, and that we, who just read the words carelessly, never see. I thought this lesson a very plain and simple one when we first read it over ; but now it seems to me like the geode I once saw in a mineral cabinet. It looked like nothing, but a dull, round stone, as I held it in my hand; but the geologist opened it for me, and took it to the light, and then I saw that it was full of gems that glowed with beautiful fire. Oh, I am glad I came here to-day, and I am sure I shall never forget this lesson, Professor Carter." " I hope you will not," Professor Carter quietly answered, and then he paused.

It was not enough — though it was much — to have interested those young girls in the Bible as an attractive study. He would fain reveal it to them as a lamp unto their feet and a light unto their path. How, he silently questioned, should he do so? How apply its deep, spiritual lessons to their hearts, and touch their consciences with its solemn truths ? It was Laura who gave him the clue he wanted. "I think this has really been a very interesting lesson," she said, breaking the silence that she sup posed indicated that the teacher had finished his work; "but there is just one thing, Professor Carter, that I do not understand, and that is, why, in all religious teaching, so much stress is always laid upon faith. It seems very unnecessary to me. I think most of the [people we meet believe the Bible.

I am sure I do. And yet it is the burden of all the sermons we hear, as well as of the Bible itself It is always 'Believe, believe.' Why is it, Professor Carter?" With kind, but penetrating eyes, Professor Carter looked at the young girl. " You say that you believe," he said, kindly. "Now, will you tell me just what you mean when you make that assertion ? " Laura hesitated a little. "Why I mean — I mean — I suppose I mean I don't doubt," she said, des perately, at last; "The Bible says a thing is true, and I believe it is, of course." "Just as you would believe me, if I should tell you that at this moment, as I look from that window, I see an ocean steamer outward bound for Europe sailing past the beach ? " "Yes, sir, just so," Laura said, in triumph, satisfied now that she had established her position, and proved beyond question that she believed.

"Very well," was the quiet answer, "that belief is good — as far as it goes, But, tell me now, would your faith in that steamer carry you to Europe if you never took passage on it, and never placed your foot upon its deck ? " " Why, no, sir, of course not ; " Laura said, while she secrectly thought that, for a wise man, Professor Carter certainly asked very foolish questions. "Then your faith in that steamer is simply the mere careless assent that you give to an assertion of mine in which you feel little or no personal interest, and that does not in the least affect your life. Is it not so ? " "Yes, sir," Laura said, slowly, and with a growing conviction that though Professor Carter's questions might be foolish, they were, none the less, very uncomfortable questions to answer. "Yes, sir, I suppose it is.

And," she added, a little defiantly, "I do not understand how it can be anything else." "No, perhaps you do not. But now let me ask you one question: Does your faith in the Bible — the faith you say you possess, and that allows you to leave that precious book at home unread — seem to you any more real and personal than your faith in that steamer? Will that faith bear you in safety through all the storms and perils you must encounter on life's ocean ? Can you trust it to sustain you when you come to the dark river we must some day cross, and to lead you through it all in triumph, a redeemed child, home to your Father's house in heaven ? " Very low and unsteady felt forced to give, — came the answer Laura " I — do — not — know." "And do you think a faith that cannot give a decided answer to these solemn questions a trust worthy or soul-satisfying thing ?

Do you not, in your heart, feel that there must be something better, something you have not yet grasped, not yet felt in your life ? " "What would be something better?" It was Mar gery who spoke now, and the tone of her voice showed how earnest and interested she was. "The faith that a Christian has in the promises of his God; the confidence of a trusting child in the protection of its father." Something in those words sounded at once very strange and very beautiful to Margery. "I am not sure," she said, slowly, "I am not sure that I understand just what you mean by a Christian, Professor Carter ? " A beautiful light illumined Professor's Carter's noble face as he answered: "I should call a Christian one who loving Christ as his Saviour, is willing to obey Him and is not afraid to trust Him."

"It must be hard to be such a Christian," Laura said. " Hard ? Perhaps so, save as love makes it easy." "And do you think there really are many such Christians ? " Laura asked, in her secret heart anxious to change the conversation and make it less per sonal. " What have the many to do with you and with me ? " Profesor Carter asked kindly, but very gravely. "This is the question for us to ask, Miss Stanton, "Are we such Christians, are we willing to be such?" " How can I be ? " The low question — the most solemn, perhaps, that in all her life she would ever ask — came from Margery ; and, with trembling lips and moist eyes, she waited for Professor Carter's answer. " By following Christ," he said, gently ; " there is no other way." " But I do not know how to do that ; " and the tears Margery could no longer restrain, fell now on the Bible in her hand.

"Prayer and your Bible will tell you how." "But I dont know — I don't understand," Margery said again, in a tearful, pleading voice. "It all seems so dim, so far away ; I cannot grasp it, and I want something living, something real to cling to." " Then draw near to Christ," was the tender answer. " The woman who touched but the hem of his garment knew how real he was." There was a little stir all about them just then. The lessons were ended, and the children were rising to sing. Margery brushed her tears away, and, closing the Bible, handed it to Professor Carter. He took it, and took at the same time the little hand that offered it. "I am to leave Quantuck to-morrow," he said, "and I may never see you again, Miss Hamilton. Before we part to-day, will you give me a promise that will make me very happy ?

Will you promise me to be a Christian ? Will you read your Bible, and pray until the way that leads to heaven grows plain, and then will you walk in it ? " Yes," Margery humbly promised; "I will if I can. "Then I shall think of you in the future with none but pleasant recollections and bright anticipations," Professor Carter continued ; " for I know you can if you will. There is an old and wonderful book, Miss Hamilton, — not much read in these days of trashy, sentimental novels, I am sorry to say, — that describes a journey of a pilgrim on his way from this world to heaven. That grand old pilgrim is but a type of all Christians. Life cornea to each of us with different gifts, and yet it is but a pilgrimage for us all. What its end will be depends entirely upon the guide we follow, the road we choose.

That you may choose the one that, whatever its windings, will conduct you surely and safely inside the gate of the Celestial City, is the best prayer I can offer for you now, as I bid you good-by." " Where are you going now, Margery ? " Laura asked, when, a few minutes later, the two young girls stood once more alone in the street. "I am going to heaven," Margery answered, in a dreamy voice, that showed that her thoughts w*ere still far away from the scenes around her. " What ! " Laura exclaimed in astonishment ; " have you lost your reason, Margery ; what do you mean ? " Laura's sharp question recalled Margery to the consciousness that she was living in a world that was not very apt to strew the pilgrim's road to heaven with roses. Laura's tone did not promise her much sympathy; but she was too much in earnest to be silent.

" I mean just this," she said, in a low, tender voice ; " I mean to be a better girl than I have been. Laura, I mean to be a Christian. And I want you to be one, too. Laura, dear, we have been together all our lives. Come with me, now, and let us go to heaven together." "I am very well content with this world at present," Laura answered, with cool indifference. "I am not at anxious to exchange it for another." Margery's eyes filled; but neither tears nor gentle pleadings would avail with Laura then. And so in a silence that was full of solemn meaning, the two young girls, who had come that Sabbath after noon to one of life's mysterious turning-points, where a deliberate choice, that would influence all their future years, must be made, walked home to their hotel.

Chapter II. In The Slough Of Despond

"Cut when Christiana came up to the Slough of Despond, she began to be at a stand."— Pilgrim's Progress, Part II. ARGERY'S first impulse, when, once more in her room alone, she had locked her door and taken off her hat, was to sit down and review the events of that afternoon. How strange they all seemed ! Only three hours before she was simply a bright, pleasant girl, careless and thoughtless, like the rest of her young friends : doing nothing that she supposed to be very wrong, but yet not consciously trying in all things to do right : not always satisfied with herself, per haps ; but still very far from condemning herself, or from feeling that any great and radical change was needed in her heart and life. And now she sat there pledged by her solemn promise to Professor Carter to be a Christian.

Did she really want to be one ? She had thought so, while in Sunday-school; she had felt sure she did, in fact, until something in Laura's cold unsympathetic manner had chilled her enthusiasm, and reminded her that she might have to renounce much that the world called good. if from that hour she set out to walk heavenward, Could she renounce it ? She was not sure. In truth, she had a very hazy, indistinct idea of what the Christian life really was, and of what, as a Christian, she ought to do and be. She could not be just as she had always been, she supposed; but just how she was to be different she was puzzled to decide. She was the only daughter of wealthy, worldly parents, who lived for fashion and power; and who, in their absorbing interest in this world, forgot the solemn truth that there was another and more en during world for which they ought to be prepared.