FIRST-FRUITS

VERY long and weary were the days that followed, and Rhoda's faith and patience sadly failed. Even Hannah was surprised at the change in her bright, light-hearted young mistress. Sometimes her irritability and impatience would thoroughly dishearten the old servant, and then those phases would be followed by others of the deepest depression of spirits.

"I suppose I must have utterly failed in carrying out the work given to me, or I should not have been so laid aside," she said to Hannah one lovely morning in May, as she lay on her couch looking out into the sweet, soft sunshine, and vainly trying to restrain her longings to be out in the midst of it all.

"It's a fresh class you have been promoted to," said Hannah, sagely.

"If only I could know the reason for it! Just to happen when my long, trying winter's work was over, and I was beginning to see some results! Look at our Sunday afternoon services—increasing week by week; the last Sunday I took it there were twenty-five, and promises of more, now the weather is improving. And then suddenly it has been brought to a standstill. Was I getting too uplifted, Hannah? I tried not to be. I think and wonder as I lie here, and though with my lips I say, 'Thy will be done,' my heart is not in accord with it. I have been wondering whether it is the devil's doing, whether he determined to upset the work when it seemed most promising. Do you think it can be?"

"He could not work without God's permission, mum," Hannah said slowly. "The seed has been sown, and God maybe can water and tend it without you for a time."

"Oh, I know all that," and Rhoda's tone was impatient. "I know I am not wanted at present, or I wouldn't be lying here. I have heard from my uncle suggesting my coming to his house in town till I am better. I am half inclined to go. A cottage upon the moor is very pleasant when one can get about, but it is simply unbearable when you have to lie still in the same small room day after day. There! I see from your face how I shock you by my impatience. I think my illness may show me what a vile temper I have when things are not according to my liking. The last time I went to see that young Mrs. Brown, she was fretting at not getting on faster after her attack of rheumatic fever. I preached patience and resignation to her with the greatest self-complacency. It is a very different matter to preach it to oneself. Do you think any one will ever come and see me here? Oh, what sympathy I shall have with those who are lying sick after this experience of mine! I think what makes me mind it most is the insignificant cause. A sprained and broken ankle! If I felt really ill, too ill to care for anything, the time would pass quicker. But my health is capital, and I am just panting to have a good run across the moor. Don't go, Hannah; I must grumble, it does me good. Say you're sorry for me—say it's very hard."

"I am sorry, mum, but nothing would make me say the Lord is hard upon you, for I know better."

And these words brought a feeling of shame to Rhoda's heart, as she realized against whom she was grumbling.

Hannah had hardly left the room before there was a timid knock at the door, and upon Rhoda's calling out "Come in," Jess appeared, looking very shy.

"I thought you'd excuse my calling, miss, but I did want to know how you were, and mother said she thought as how you would understand."

"Why, Jess," Rhoda exclaimed, holding out her hand to her, "I'm delighted to see you. I was only saying to Hannah just now how I longed for a visitor. I really think God must have sent you just to cheer me up. Come and sit down by me, and we will have a nice talk together. You don't know how lonely I have been feeling."

Jess took a seat by the couch with a look of infinite, satisfaction. "We've missed you dreadful on Sundays," she said, "but Jim he got your message to keep the service on if possible, and so we have plenty o' hymns, and Jim he reads a chapter, and Hal Brown he led in prayer last Sunday. He said he used to think a deal of such things years ago, only he had fallen away like, and it had brought it all back agen to him. He got up and he said a few words last Sunday, and he spoke very nice. He said he was a-makin' a fresh start, and mother she set to a-cryin' when he was talkin', and we had a grand time."

"Thank God!" breathed Rhoda to herself, almost afraid to trust herself to speak.

Jess was at no loss for conversation, and had so much to tell about her home life, and Mrs. Brown and her family, who were still a great interest to her, that Rhoda could only lie still and listen and wonder, as she noted the brightness in her face at the change from the sullen Jess who had so obstinately resisted the idea at first of having a service at home.

She kept her to lunch with her. But after it was over, Jess lingered, and showed so plainly that she had something on her mind, that Rhoda asked her at length,—

"Have you anything else to tell me, Jess?"

"Yes," she said, hanging her head.

"Don't be afraid to tell me. Are you in any trouble?"

"No."

Rhoda waited. Then, with a little burst, Jess came out with,—

"I thought perhaps you'd like to know, I see it different now to what I did. I—I couldn't get out of my head what you said to me months ago."

"What was that?" asked Rhoda, gently, though her heart beat quickly as this revelation was made.

"It was the Sunday I came here, and went to sleep when you were talking to me. You said—I mind the very words—

"'He died for you, He loves you, and He wants to have you in His fold.'

"I couldn't get them out of my head, and I was miserable, and when you gave up having me here on Sundays, I said to myself it was no use tryin' to be better, for there was an end of it all. And then you come and took me off to Mrs. Brown, and when I was a-nursin' her I felt if it was me I shouldn't be ready to die, and I got more and more anxious like. And then I wondered if your words were true, and I got my Bible one night when I was watchin' her, and I come across that verse in the beginnin' of Revelation,—

"'Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood.'

"I thought over that for a long while, and I prayed every night that I might belong to them that could say that. And then, that Sunday when you told us about Naaman, I seemed to see it clearer. And last Sunday, hearing Hal Brown speak up, I saw what he had I could get, and I—I went to my little room after, and asked to be washed and taken into the Fold. And, miss, you don't know how happy I am, for I feel He really has done it."

"Oh, Jess, I am thankful! I have prayed so much for you."

They talked a little longer, and then Jess took her leave.

But directly she was gone, Rhoda put her head down amongst her cushions and burst into tears.

"How good of God!" she sobbed. "How little do I deserve it! It is overwhelming, when I think of my ungrateful and impatient grumbles against Him. And all the time, He was preparing this great joy for me."

An earnest prayer for pardon, mingled with thanksgiving, went up from her heart.

And when Hannah came in later on, a glance at her mistress's softened, radiant face led her to expect some good tidings.

Only those who know the joy of seeing a careless, unawakened soul enter into the Kingdom, and receive the gift of eternal life, can realize the happiness that filled Rhoda's heart.

Hannah did not hear a murmur pass her lips for many days after, but she was not surprised when she said to her, "I have refused my uncle's invitation, Hannah. I feel I cannot leave. Jess is coming over every Saturday to have a little Bible reading with me, and practise some hymns. God is going to give me some work to do, I think, and I will not run away from it."

Rhoda's next visitor was Miss Frith. She had got some one to take her place, and though it was a considerable effort on her part to do it, she had conquered her feelings of reticence, and arrived one afternoon at three o'clock.

Rhoda, of course, was delighted to see her, and spoke to her frankly of her difficulties in bearing her confinement with fortitude and patience.

"I have failed so miserably," she assured her. "I know it is all my own fault, for God has sufficient grace for all our needs. But it is a fight with me, and I thought at one time I had got past fighting. I think it shows one how much hidden depths of sin is buried within us; it only needs certain circumstances to bring it out. I remember, when you were laid up, I could not understand your restlessness; but you were a saint compared with me!"

"Ah, no," Miss Frith said, gravely. "You are of too bright a disposition to be as soured and rebellious as I was."

"Indeed, you don't know me. I feel I could fling my cushions at Hannah's head, sometimes, in sheer temper. I have never been patient, and I think I have had my own way pretty much through life. Even in my work here, there is no one who hinders or opposes me. It is the first real check I have received, and I am beginning to see now that I have had a lesson set before me that I sadly needed to learn. But I won't talk about myself the whole time. How is your sister?"

"She has been rather poorly the last week or two with a bronchial attack. I don't think so much of that, as she has often had them before, but she seems so depressed with it. She says she knows she is going to die, and that isn't like her."

"I am sorry. Excuse my asking you, but have you ever spoken to your sister on serious subjects?"

"Never," said Miss Frith, setting her lips together firmly; "it's the life, not the lips, must teach. I don't approve of preaching."

"There is a verse that has been a great help to me in my life. I wonder if I may give it to you. Would you mind handing me my Bible? I should like to read it to you. It is in Isaiah, and the marginal reading is so striking, I think. Here it is:

"'Ye that are the Lord's remembrancers, keep not silence.'

"I remember when it first struck me. It seemed to come as an inspiration. Don't you think it means we must testify with our lips?"

Miss Frith did not answer.

"I know I am not as old a Christian as you, but it seems to me that God does use us again and again as His mouthpiece. I could tell you of one quite lately who has been truly converted, I hope and believe. Some words of one person first set them thinking; God continued the work. But they were brought to decision by the words of quite an ignorant man, who was testifying in his simple way of what the Lord had done for him. Don't you think we may miss opportunities by keeping our mouths shut?"

"I think," said Miss Frith, with deliberation, "if a person is anxious to hear, then is the time to speak. My sister would neither care nor understand, and least of all would she listen to me. If you were able to come and see her, it would be different—she's always asking after you. Do you think you could manage it soon?"

"I will if I can, but I wish you would try. Will you read her a verse or two from the Bible?"

Miss Frith shook her head, and changed the subject.

Rhoda kept her to tea, but when she was wishing her good-bye she put her hand on her arm gently, and said, "Don't be angry at my persistency.

"'Ye that are the Lord's remembrancers, keep not silence.'

"Think it over, won't you? And send me up word how your sister is by Jock when he calls for my letters."

Three days after, Rhoda was startled and shocked by the tidings of Mrs. Thatcher's death. She had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and died one night, when only her sister was with her. Rhoda longed to go down and offer comfort and sympathy to Miss Frith, but this Dr. Bedford forbade her to do, so she had to content herself with writing.

"Now, I wonder," she said to Hannah, "if there was opportunity of speaking to her; she seemed quite laid upon my mind when Miss Frith was here. I suppose no clergyman was sent for. I do so wish now that I had tried to reach her more. I don't think I ever found it more difficult with any one than with her."

There was no word or sign from Miss Frith, but knowing her silent, reserved character, Rhoda was not surprised, and for the time being she was kept in suspense.

Other people came to visit her in her convalescence; Miss Montague came several times, and certainly enlivened her by her flow of conversation. And one day Miss Rokeby came over in the brougham, accompanied by her brother. They had been very kind in sending over books and flowers, and occasionally a present of game, but Rhoda felt that Miss Rokeby's visit had cost her some effort, and appreciated it accordingly.

"My dear," she said, on leaving, "I think you have a charming little retreat, but you ought not to be living alone here. I do not want to be curious, but I cannot help wondering what has induced you to come and bury yourself alive on this moor. If you want to work, there is plenty of scope in the large towns and cities all over England. Our hard-worked clergy are always calling out for workers. Is not that more natural and fitting a sphere for you to be engaged in?"

"I know most people think so," rejoined Rhoda, earnestly, "but the people in the towns live in a blaze of light compared with the country people in such parts as this. Workers get in each other's way, and one denomination hinders the work of another. I have talked it over with my brother, who is a curate in the East End of London, and though of course workers are wanted everywhere, I do think the country wants them most. Christians always congregate in towns; they want scattering; and I determined not to form one of their number. It always seems to me that the ground in the town is over-tilled, whilst many parts in the country lie fallow and waste."

"What is your work here?" asked Miss Rokeby, with interest.

For an instant Rhoda hesitated; then she said simply, "Trying to make people see and believe the reality in religion, and how it can become part and parcel of our everyday lives."

"But that is the work of the clergy."

"There are no clergy here. No minister of any denomination visits the small farms about the moor."

Mr. Rokeby had been listening in silence, but now he said, "And how is the Sunday service getting on? I hear grand accounts from Brown, who goes to it. I believe he will end by being a preacher of some sort before long. Since his wife's illness, he has come out in quite a new light. I was having a chat with him the other day in the wood, as he was cutting down some trees, and he turned round and asked me a very pointed question as to my spiritual state. Do you train them to preach, Miss Carlton?"

"No," she said, meeting his quizzical glance very gravely, "but I suppose those words are true,—

"'Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.'"

There was no more said, but as Miss Rokeby left the house, she said to her brother,—

"It is a strange life for a young girl, and such a good-looking one, too! A vein of eccentricity in her nature, I suppose. I wonder her relatives allow it."

"A more wholesome life than pining in useless luxury for occupation, or steeped in the frivolities of town dissipation," responded her brother, drily.