The seed of the righteous

Contents

CHAPTER page

I. The Cup of Trembling i

II. Beginning Life i8

CHAPTER I The Cup of Trembling SusAN^ dear, my heart is very sore tonight/'

The comely middle-aged wife of Richard Hertford looked up from her needlework in surprise at her husband's words, for they had a most unusual sound coming from him. He and his wife were of the very best type of London working folk, a pair whose lives were a lesson, unconsciously delivered, to those around them. He was a railway signalman at a wage of twenty-seven shillings a week; they had been married seven years and had four children, the eldest a boy of six, the youngest a girl of two.

Dick and his wife were both of the same age when they married, thirty-two, and had kept company " for four years previously. She was then a housemaid in an upper middleclass family, a faithful, quiet servant, not very brilliant, but earnest and hard-working. She had brought with her from her far-away Yorkshire home an intense love for the religious faith in which she had been reared, and prized above all things among her small possessions her letters from pastor and class leader in the grim little village chapel which was to her almost as the temple at Jerusalem was to the devout Jew.

But it was not until she had been in London for a year that she succeeded in finding a chapel to which she might go and feel at home, for her opportunities of getting about were very few, servants in those days, and in such service as she had, being almost prisoners in the house. When at last she did find a Methodist chapel she felt a thrill of joy such as she had never known before, and only then did she realize what her heart-hunger had been. It took some time before she could feel quite comfortable; for the chapel, though humble enough to urban Methodist ideas, was to her simple mind a place of great grandeur, and the worshipers, to her village notions, as yet unsophisticated by her London life, almost too grand for her to associate with.

This lowly attitude of soul she preserved during her whole period of membership at Lyon Road Chapel; and although her class leader and pastor probably thought she was dull and unappreciative, she was really full of love for her souks home and her fellow-worshipers. Then came the second great joy of her life — her meeting with Dick Hertford, who was a member of her class, but who, like her, by reason of his employment, had to be content with scanty attendance. He was her first love ; and from the first time, when on a pelting wet night he offered her the shelter of his umbrella — she having lost hers — until the evening when my story opens, she had never lost the deep sense of delight she had felt in having the need of her humble heart satisfied.

No story of courtship and marriage could well have been more unromantic than theirs. They had no violent vicissitudes, no quarrels; nothing occurred to break the even flow of their lives. They were both orphans, and had no one to consult with reference to their ways ; but both were deeply earnest and sincere Christians, who referred all their doings to a loving Father in the childlike faith that was a part of themselves.

Quite early in their courtship they had decided not to marry until they were able, out of their united savings, to furnish a little home and start life free from debt, of which they both had an inbred horror. But as their earnings were pitifully small, and they both responded generously to the calls made upon them for charity and the needs of the church, it was not until they reached the age I have mentioned that they felt able to marry and settle down in a little home which was all their very own.

Their married life was full of peace, and although Dick's occupation kept him from her side for many hours at a time — and when he was on night duty those hours seemed very long — she was patient and cheerful, always magnifying her blessings and contrasting her quiet, happy life with those of her neighbors in the poor neighborhood in which they lived, where scenes of domestic misery through drink, unemployment, and sickness were painfully plentiful.

But in spite of all her care and frugality the expenses incidental to a growing family, the low rate of wages earned by Dick, and the high cost of living made it impossible for them to save more than was sufficient to maintain the absolutely necessary club payments and to meet the occasional heavy demands made for doctors’ bills — for her health was far from good, and Dick always insisted upon having help from outside whenever she was ill.

Never a word of doubt or thought of fear for the future, however, had crossed her mind until the evening upon which my story opens, when s

Dick, who had returned from duty in an unusually somber frame of mind, suddenly uttered the words recorded at the beginning of this chapter. As soon as she had recovered from her surprise she said :

Why, whatever can be the matter, Dick ? what should make your heart sore? Isn’t everything goin’ on well ? We Ve both got our health, an’ the children, God bless ’em, are doin’ well, too. Your work’s constant, an’ though we can’t save much, we’re far better off than most of our neighbors. But perhaps you don’t feel well tonight,” she added, anxiously.

“ O, yes. I’m all right in health,” he replied, somewhat hastily, but one of our fellows. Bill Hatherleigh — ^you’ve heard me speak of him — died suddenly yesterday in his cabin. He’s left six young children, an’ his wife is not strong; an’ although he was one of the steadiest fellows I ever knew, he hasn’t been able to save a penny more than’ll just about bury him. An’ what’s to become of those helpless ones I can’t think. An’ it come over me all at once as I was walkin’ home, whatever would you do if it should please God to take me off like that ? ”

'' Why, Dick,” she cried in wide-eyed amazement, '' whatever in the world is wrong wi’ ye?

1 never heard ye talking like this before. Where's your faith in God? If ye'd been a spendthrift or lazy or drunken, ye might have cause to worry, but not now, not when ye an' I have lived the life we have. God won't fail us, I know he won't, for he knows how we've lived before him."

Ah, my girl," Dick replied, despondently, you're talkin' as if we'd made a bargain with God. But you know we haven't. We've lived as we have because, thank God, we've been led by him that way, an' we haven't been tempted like other people. An' I think we can say, too, that we’ve lived near him, because we've loved him an' couldn’t be happy without bein' as close to him as we could get. Yet, somehow, that knowledge doesn't keep me just now from havin’ a sinkin' feelin’ at my heart as I think of poor Bill. There's another thing, dear ; livin' where we are we haven't been able to make any friends. We couldn't associate with these people round us, not, God knows, because we’re any better than they are, but their ways an' conversation don't fit in with ourn at all. An' havin' no folks either — well, altogether I confess I don't see what's to become of you if the Lord takes me away suddenly, or, what'd be harder to bear still, gives me a long illness, an’ then takes me away at the end of it. But there’s just one thing about it that’s helpful : all the worryin’ in the world won’t alter it, won’t give me another shillin’ a week to put away or lessen our expenses, so we must fall back upon what we’ve enjoyed for so long — ‘ Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.’ ”

By a tacit consent the subject was not again raised between the pair, except that in their mutual prayers they laid a little more stress than before upon the point of their entire dependence upon God for sustenance in the event of anything happening to the breadwinner. Dimly they realized that all people were dependent upon him for all the blessings of life; but, being human, they could not help feeling that a little nest-egg, had they been able to store one, would have made them much more contented and easy in their minds.

One thing especially made it harder for these simple souls to avoid fears for the future — the necessarily narrow lives they led. They had no recreations, except the one they dearly loved, their attendance at the chapel ; but those attendances were, owing to Dick’s employment and his wife’s heavy household duties, seldom enjoyed together; indeed, they were often at long intervals unable to go even alone. They read very little except in the Bible, and the newspapers not at all; and so, although they were very happy in each other and the children, their horizon was a small circle indeed. Even gossip, that wonderful solace to the wives and daughters of the poor, especially in country villages, had no place in their lives ; they had no time for it.

But Susan did find time to help her poorer neighbors, not indeed with money — for of that she had none to spare — but with what money cannot buy, personal loving service in time of sickness and distress. Very often, after a hard day’s work in her own home, when all the children were tucked snugly in bed and Dick was away on night duty, she would go out to a sick neighbor’s house and do the washing, tidy up the poor place, and get back to her own home so tired that she could hardly drag one foot after the other, but with her heart full of content, the invaluable approval of the Spirit vouchsafed to the Christian who is following closely in the footsteps of the Master.

Of course it never occurred to her that she was doing something very fine, or that her life was full of heroism. She would have said if

The Cup of Trembling g

she had been asked that she acted as she did because she could not help it; it was the irrepressible impulse of the new life within, the Force that does all the real good in the world. And Dick, although he sometimes gravely took her to task for thus overtaxing her strength, realizing how very much lighter his daily ordinary duties were than hers, could not help feeling a glow of sweetest satisfaction when he saw how closely she was following in the footsteps of the Saviour, and strove in every possible way to keep pace with her, while constantly admitting that in spiritual stature she towered far above him.

Unfortunately, since he had given utterance to his fears for the future, he had hardly been able to resist the temptation to look upon these labors of love as deserving of special protection from the mournful events of mortal life, and in discussing this with Susan they did not agree.

He would say : Surely God can’t let us come to grief ; see how faithfully we serve him. It wouldn’t be fair nor just, now, would it, for him to let us come to want, or our children either ? Don’t David say, ' I have been young and now am old, yet never saw I the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread’ ? And yet I don’t know, I feel afraid sometimes — lo The Seed of the Righteous

Then his wife would say, with just a touch of reproof in her voice : O, Dick, you know youVe taught me that we mustn’t make bargains with the Almighty. It may be his way for us that we should come to poverty an’ want, an’ as long as it is not through any fault of ours, be sure there’ll be blessing in it, somewhere, somehow. But I’m quite sure of one thing, an’ that is that it would be wrong of us to think that, because we have lived as close to God as we know how, we’re entitled to the best of everything in this world. I know now it’s wrong to think so, an’ clean against Scripture, too, for there it seems as if God’s nearest an’ dearest, if he has any favorites, which I don’t believe, have had the very hardest time of all his people. No, Dick, dear, don’t let us make that mistake, nor worry ourselves about the future either, but go on livin’ as we’ve always done an’ trustin’ to his goodness an’ mercy to do all for us that is good.”

Such, in brief, was the substance of many conversations between these simple Christian souls, although sometimes it was Dick that comforted his depressed partner, instead of being comforted by her. And so they lived their uneventful lives, giving out in the dark place where they lived a steady light from

The Cup of Trembling ii

above that the migratory population around could not help noticing, although they certainly did not understand it in the least.

At last it came about that one bitter winter, when the eldest boy was eight, Susan, coming home very late at night from doing a sick neighbor’s washing, caught a severe cold, which settled upon her chest, and compelled her to take to her bed for a month. Bravely she battled with her sickness and the natural worry of a poor woman with four young children, but the struggle left severe traces behind it when at last she was able to resume her labors. Dick, too, showed the strain, for not only had the heavy expenses eaten deeply into their little store, but want of rest and the necessity of keeping steadily at his onerous duties in the great signal box had pulled down his naturally fine physique sorely.

But the first evening they had together downstairs they devoted to a little service of thanksgiving and rejoicing that they had successfully battled through the troublous time, and were now ready again to face the world. One thing was especially comforting to them — their children were all well and hearty, and the eldest boy especially was a fine little fellow, thoughtful and helpful beyond his years, besides getting on exceedingly well at school. In fact, as such heroic souls will, they found many things to be grateful for, and, in consequence, they were very bright and happy.

So much so that when one of the class leaders from their chapel called upon them he was agreeably surprised to find them so cheerful; being a man in humble circumstances himself, as, indeed, were most of the congregation, he could easily have appreciated their being very depressed and worried. But instead of that he found himself being uplifted and helped by their example, and when he took his leave it was with a glow of satisfaction at his heart in that he had been privileged to witness a special and significant instance of the triumph of faith.

Such a strain, however, as our friends had gone through is not lightly overcome, and is bound to leave deep marks upon the bodily powers ; and both Susan and Dick felt strangely unlike their old selves, Susan especially being conscious of a queer fluttering at her heart upon the slightest exertion. The knowledge of this, however, she kept to herself, for, womanlike, she wished to spare her husband pain and worry as much as she could, and putting the feeling down as ‘^weakness,’’ hoped that.it would speedily pass off. But it did not, and she made little headway in consequence, being generally only just able to keep about.

One wretched night, very dark, with a fierce blizzard howling, Dick, relieved from his onerous task, eagerly set his face toward home. 1*0 do so he had to cross a wide stretch of metals, which, however, he knew as we know the way about the house, and consequently had no thought of danger. Alas that the old saw about familiarity breeding contempt should so often be justified, and its dreadful results demand recording ! He stepped aside to avoid a passing train, and a shunted truck flying noiselessly past, caught him, flung him under its wheels, and bumped over his prostrate body. One of the shunters stumbled over him soon after, and, groping fearfully about the limp form, dragged it into the six-foot way, and then rushed off for help.

Men came and bore what remained of Dick to a place where medical aid was soon procured, but it only took the doctor a minute to decide that Dick had passed beyond earthly needs. His uniform showed what he was, and after a few inquiries his address was discovered, and one of the porters was sent to break the news to his wife. He reached the house at about 2 A. M., and after some little trouble succeeded in arousing her. She came down, trembling with cold and an indefinable apprehension, opened the door, and, staring wildly at the dark figure standing there, exclaimed : ‘‘ Whatever is the matter? Where’s Dick? ”

The messenger said, thickly : I’m very sorry, Mrs. Hertford, I hardly know how to tell you, but your husband — ” He stopped, not knowing how to phrase his terrible tidings, but she in an unnaturally quiet voice commanded him to go on. Summoning up all his courage, he moistened his dry lips and uttered the dread words : Your husband has been killed.”

She made no reply, but stood staring at him fixedly, as if she had been in a trance for a few moments, then slowly collapsed and sank to the ground before him in a shapeless heap. He caught the candle from her sinking form, set it on the floor, and endeavored to raise her, but unavailingly. Then at his wits’ end — for he was a young bachelor and not very resourceful — he stepped over her and rushed upstairs seeking help, but only found the four children soundly sleeping. There was no one else in the little house. With a dim idea in his mind that the poor woman had fainted he hunted about for some water, with which he went back and tried to revive her, but to no purpose.

Horribly alarmed at the situation, he then laid down the heavy head and ran out, leaving the door ajar, in search of help. At the corner of the street he was fortunate enough to find a policeman, who told him where he could get a doctor, and went at once to the house to mount guard until he should return. He was back in half an hour with the doctor, who, upon examination, pronounced the woman dead, and gave it as his opinion that she had died from shock upon receiving the news.

By this time in some mysterious way a few of the neighbors had become aroused and were profuse in their offers of help. So, since no better could be done, the policeman took the names and addresses of two of the volunteering women, put the house in charge of them, and left them to render the last solemn offices to the dead. Then he and the doctor and porter went their several ways, all considerably shaken by the sad event, for in spite of their experience there were elements of tragedy in the situation which touched them very deeply.

So the grim work proceeded, more neighbors coming in to stare and talk, and — must it be said? — plunder. Unhappily, yes, because of the character of those neighbors. Small articles began to disappear first, then larger.

until suddenly several quarrels broke out, and the once quiet home became a scene of uproarious brawling. In vain did some of the more decent among the invaders raise their voices in protest against this wickedness ; having begun, it seemed as if it must go on until nothing but the bare walls remained. But a sudden diversion was made by the simultaneous awakening of the four children, who, seeing the room full of quarreling people, burst into loud lamentations and cries for mother, all except the eldest boy. He, poor laddie, sat blinking at the strange scene, the dim figures and guttering candles, but uttering not a sound.

Suddenly one of the women, who had been really doing her best, and had taken no part in the despoiling of the poor home, caught sight of the little lad’s white, wondering face and rushed to his side. She flung her arms round his neck with a rough idea of comforting him, but he, trying to push her away, said in a strange voice : Where’s my mother ? ”

At that pitiful question, the woman burst into tears, crying : O, you poor lambs, you’ve got no mother nor father now. How ever shall I make ye understand ? ” Then turning fiercely upon the other people in the room she cried stormily: ‘‘Look here, if this doesn’t shame ye, nothing will. There’s some of ye that’ll carry a curse with ye all yer lives for this mornin’s work, robbin’ the helpless orphans, that the sight of is enough to break one’s heart.” Much more she said to the same effect, while the three younger children wailed pitifully. Mother, mother,” until in some mysterious way the house was emptied of its undesirable visitors, and the two good Samaritans were free to pursue their self-imposed task of trying to comfort the bereaved ones.

But presently both of them remembered that they must be off to attend to their own households, and having first ascertained that the eldest boy was capable of looking after his little brother and sisters for a time, they took their departure, promising to look in again soon. And here my story proper begins.

CHAPTER II Beginning Life

Little Dick Hertford, aged nine, sat up in bed for some time after the two strange women had gone, like a child in a trance. The wailings of his brother and sisters went on incessantly, but they apparently fell on deaf ears. He was stunned, poor little man, for although bright and intelligent and very helpful in the house, he had never as yet felt any need for initiative ; always there had been behind him his mother’s guiding hand or voice. Nor had he ever realized the meaning of death, never had seen a dead person, although he knew theoretically that everybody must die. A more willing child never lived, but just now he felt quite helpless and did not know where to begin, even had he known what to do.

But gradually there came to his mind a picture of that dear mother, whose constant habit it was, when worried or bothered about anything whatever, to say aloud : Ah, I know what I’ll do; I’ll ask the Lord about it.” And many a time he had knelt by his mother’s side listening while she, just as simply as a child,

i8 made known her wants to the Father. The idea flooded his mind until, with sudden energy, he sprang out of bed, dropped on his knees, and cried, shutting his eyes very tight : '' Our Father ’chart in heaven, mother’s dead, an’ I’m here all by myself, an’ I don’t know what to do. Do please help me an’ show me same as you used to do mother when she asked you, an’ forgive us all our sins for Christ’s sake. Amen.”

While he prayed out loud in a trembling voice, the other children ceased their wailing, gazing round-eyed at him kneeling on the floor, but as soon as he had said “ Amen,” the youngest child, Dolly, began to cry again much louder than before.

Without a moment’s hesitation he rose from his knees and went over to her, saying:

Don’t cry, Dolly. I’ll dress you now, an’ if you’re a good gal. I’ll get you a piece of breadnbuttersugar.”

This promise pacified Dolly for the moment, but presently she whimpered again as her clothes were being put on : Where’s my

And that for some strange reason or other loosed the poor laddie’s tears, so that, laying his head down upon the coarse quilt by his lit-

The Seed of jhe Righteous

tie sister’s side, he sobbed as if his heart must break. This outburst quieted while it frightened the other children, for Dick was by no means given to tears, and they hardly knew what it was to see him cry.

At last the paroxysm spent itself, and he resumed the dressing of his sister with only an occasional catch in his breath at intervals. And, although it may appear strange to mention the fact here, that one outburst seems to have sufficed him for life, for he has never shed a tear since. The other children. Jemmy and Susan, were awed into silence, and the dressing continued until they were all ready for the day.

Then, Dick going first, they all went downstairs, to find the usually neat and tidy kitchen a wreck, and to miss at once very many things their eyes had long been accustomed to. But there was food in the cupboard, and first giving Dolly her promised slice, Dick made some tea and laid the breakfast. The ha-porth of milk had been left at the door as usual, so that everything was in order, and the little group were soon seated at their meal, all eating with good appetite except Dick, whose heart was too full. Having seen them all supplied, he stole softly upstairs and into his mother’s bedroom.

looking fearfully at the straight white figure on the bed lying so still and covered with a sheet.

An overwhelming desire to see what had happened conquered the cold thrill at his stomach and through the roots of his hair, and he went on tiptoe to the bedside, gently lifted the corner of the sheet, and gazed upon the dead face. Its hue curdled his blood, but its perfect serenity and peace reassured him; and although his little body felt benumbed he could not be said to be alarmed. But a great awe came upon him, which aged him as well as solemnized him, quenching every other feeling. After standing steadfastly gazing at the dear face for about a minute he quietly, drew the sheet back into its former position and stole out of the room on tiptoe, the scene ineffaceably branded upon his memory.

As he went down the stairs there suddenly came into his mind the thought of his father. How was it that he had not yet heard of this trouble and come home ? It may seem strange that this thought had not occurred to him before, but it must be remembered that owing to his father’s occupation he was often absent from home at irregular hours, so that the children were accustomed to be without his society, while their mother was always with them, and to her they turned in every difficulty. But now, having remembered his father, he longed intensely for his home-coming, feeling that when that happened much of his present trouble would disappear.

Meanwhile he busied himself getting Jemmy and Susan ready for school as usual, as he had seen his mother do, and when that was done he tidied up to the best of his ability. What little he could do, however, was soon done, and then although it was time to leave for school he could not go and leave Dolly, and he could not let the two younger than himself go alone, he having been used to escort them. O, how he longed for his father’s footstep! and yet, feeling that the tragedy of last night was still unknown to him, was afraid of what might happen when he did come.

At last a knock came at the door, and Dick, trembling with excited anticipation, flew to open it. But alas for his hopes! it was only one of the women who had promised to return. She was loud in her expressions of pleasure at his cleverness in doing what he had toward tidying up, and in getting the children ready for school, but her voluble talk was suddenly interrupted by Dick, who, looking as if he had not heard a word of what she had been saying, said quietly : '' Why doesn’t father come

home? ”

For a few seconds the woman stared fixedly at him, as if unable to understand his pathetic inquiry. In truth, she was stricken with amazement, for it had not occurred to her that the boy was as yet ignorant of the completeness of his loss. And then suddenly, with a sort of scream, she burst into tears and snatched the little fellow to her bosom, crying:

O, ye poor lambs, don’t ye know that your father’s dead, too ? This is too dreadful ! And to think that those wretches should rush in and rifle the place at such a time; why, it’s worse than a lot of devils would do. Well, I don’t know what to do for ye — haven’t ye got no friends, Dickie, no uncles or aunts or anybody like that? ”

Dick, having disengaged himself from the woman’s embrace, replied : I don’t know ; I don’t think so. We only had father and mother.”