THERE'S TIME ENOUGH.

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, 56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard, and 164, Piccadilly.

CHAPTER I.

A SHIP AT LAST.

HIS has been a hard month for me," thought Morley Scott, the pilot, as he stood shading his eyes from the sun, and gazing anxiously out at sea. He hoped to have caught a glimpse of ships in the distance, for the winds had been very contrary lately. Many ships had been obliged to pass by the harbour, unable to get in, and the pilots had found very little to do.

"That looks well," he thought, brightening up, as he saw a busy little steam-tug puffing along with a ship in tow; he knew a pilot would soon be wanted to bring it safely into the docks. He had not stood many minutes, trying to make out the ship, when he heard his name called, and turning round, he saw a boy running towards him.[Pg 4]

"Here's the Refuge at last, Morley Scott," said the boy; "they want you on board directly, because they are coming in to-night."

Morley Scott put his hand in his pocket, and gave the lad the customary sixpence for his good tidings. "It's almost the last," he said with a smile, pointing to the sixpence; "but still the news is cheap at that."

"I should think it is," said the boy, as he ran off laughing.

Morley Scott walked quickly along the pier until he came up to a row of boys, who were sitting on the edge of the wall, fishing. He stood for a moment to watch them with an expression of amusement in his good-natured face. They sat perfectly still, afraid to speak or move, and scarcely daring to breathe, lest they should frighten away the fish; each boy watching his own and his neighbour's line with feverish anxiety. Suddenly one little fellow, in a state of great excitement, began tugging at his line.

"Now then, Charlie Scott," called a big boy, who seemed to be the head of the party, "what are you pulling in that line for again? That is the third time in less than ten minutes; how is it likely we can catch anything?"

All the boys joined in a low chorus of "Yes, indeed!" "A pretty fellow he is to fish!" "Serves us right for letting him come with us." The fact was, the boys had been very unsuccessful that afternoon; they had taken nothing, and it was a relief to have some one to lay the blame upon.

"I am sure there's something this time, though,"[Pg 5] said Charlie, still pulling away. His manner was so confident, that the boys became interested in spite of themselves, and several nearly lost their balance, craning out their necks to see beyond each other.

At last up came the hook, with a jerk that sent Charlie backwards; it had been entangled in a large piece of seaweed, that gave way suddenly just as he got it to the surface. "It's very strange," he said, as he examined the hook minutely, longing to find something alive, no matter how small. "It's very strange; I'm always feeling something, and yet I never catch anything."

"I tell you what it is, young Scott, if you don't mind what you're about, you'll both feel something and catch something soon that you won't like, perhaps," grumbled the big boy.

"Here, Charlie," called Morley Scott, seeing there was likely to be a quarrel, "I want you to run on an errand for me."

Charlie looked round, and seeing his father, he jumped up readily. To tell the truth, he was not sorry of the excuse to give up his fishing; he had been thoroughly tired of it for the last quarter of an hour, although he did not like to own it to the other boys. He was a bright, happy-looking little fellow, about eight years of age, with light, waving hair, merry blue eyes, and sunburnt face.

"What is it, father?" he asked.

"I want you to run and find uncle John; tell him that the Refuge is lying off at sea, waiting for us. Ask him to come with you, because they want to be into the docks to-night."

Away ran Charlie with his message, and soon[Pg 6] returned with uncle John. All three then made their way to the docks, where a number of small boats were moored.

"Do take me with you, father," pleaded Charlie, as the two men jumped into one of the boats and prepared to push off.

"No, no, Charlie, not this time," said his father; "remember you have your lessons to learn; besides, I dare say you have not had your tea."

"Oh, I can learn my lessons when I come back, and I've got a large bun here," he said, lifting up his jacket to show it; "uncle John bought it for me as we came along. Please do let me go, it's so miserable now, when you are away; I never like to go home, Mrs. Wood is so cross."

"Well, jump in then," said his father, with a sigh; he knew how the boy missed his kind, gentle mother. She had been dead nearly six months, and since then Charlie and he seemed to have been without a home. When his wife died Morley Scott scarcely knew what to do for the best. He had no relation who could take charge of Charlie and of his house, so he thought it would be best to sell his furniture and go to lodgings. It seems he had not been very fortunate in his choice, for according to Charlie's account Mrs. Wood, the landlady, was often ill-tempered.

The two men took their oars, and began to pull in the direction of the ship that was lying out some distance from the harbour. Charlie had found himself a snug little corner in the stern of the boat, and was enjoying himself thoroughly in a quiet way, catching at the bits of floating seaweed[Pg 7] and chips, spreading his fingers out like the arches of a miniature bridge, and letting the water rush through them, occasionally munching at his huge bun by way of variation.

For a wonder Charlie's busy tongue was still; he saw by his father's countenance that he was not in a mood for talking. It wore a troubled, saddened expression; he was living over the old sorrow that Charlie's words had called up. His uncle, too, seemed in deep thought, and rowed on in silence; although they were unconscious of it, perhaps, there is no doubt that all three felt the influence of that beautiful calm summer evening.

The rich hues of the setting sun were gradually fading out from the sky, yet wonderful shades of crimson, rose colour, and gold, still lingered lovingly amongst the clouds, and rested upon the waters. All the bustle of the town had been left far behind; there was nothing to break the silence but the measured plash of the oars, and the soft rippling and murmuring of the water as the little boat rode lightly over the waves.

As Charlie gazed up at the glorious sky, he began to wonder where the sun went to every night, and how it was that there were always such lovely colours in the sky just where it disappeared; at last he came to the conclusion that the sun went into heaven, and that beautiful golden and rose-coloured light streamed out when the door was opened.

Charlie liked this idea so much, that he was quite disappointed when he learned afterwards that it was not the case.

"What a grand place heaven must be!" thought[Pg 8] Charlie, remembering what he had heard at Sunday school. "How splendid God's angels must look, floating about in that beautiful light, with their white robes and crowns of gold!" Charlie went on thinking and thinking much in the same strain, until at last the ship was neared.

Morley Scott brought in his oars with a sudden movement, and springing up in the boat, hailed the ship, "Refuge ahoy!"

CHAPTER II.

GOING HOME.

T is more than hour since we left Morley Scott hailing the Refuge. How is it that the ship has not been moved yet? And here is the little boat turned homeward, and strangers have the charge of it.

Is Charlie asleep, that he lies there so pale and still? he has not moved once since we looked. And that something lying in the boat, covered by a ship's colour, what can it be? The night air is damp and chill, and the sea looks grey and deadly in the twilight.

One of the sailors leans forward to look at Charlie. "Poor little one," he murmurs, in a kind but sad tone.

"I wish we were yonder," said the other sailor, moving his head in the direction of the town. "I don't like the look of that boy at all; it may only[Pg 9] be fainting, but it looks to me more like death than anything else."

It was almost dark when they reached the harbour.

"You stay with the boat," said the sailor who spoke just before, "and I'll go up into the town and see about help."

A man who had noticed their arrival sauntered up, curious to know if anything was the matter.

"Morley Scott and his brother are drowned."

In answer to the man's anxious questions, the sailor told him that when Scott's boat came along-side the ship a rope was thrown to them as usual to be made fast, and, unfortunately, both Scott and his brother sprang forward to catch it; the boat gave a violent lurch, and in a moment they were plunged into the sea, Morley Scott's head striking the ship's side as he fell. His brother was never seen again; they supposed he must have come up underneath the ship, and so met certain death.

Morley Scott's body they recovered, and had brought with them in the boat.

The sad news that two men had been drowned soon spread, and before long many anxious, awe-stricken faces were gazing down into the boat at the object which lay terribly still, covered by the ship's colour.

When poor little Charlie was lifted up, many a mother, with tears in her eyes, love in her heart, and thoughts of the little ones at home, pressed forward with offers to take the boy. One woman was even more eager than the rest: "Let me have him," she said; "he is like my own child that[Pg 10] I lost last year come back again," and trembling with, emotion, she took poor Charlie, who was still unconscious, in her arms.

"I'll carry him home for you, Mrs. Heedman," said one of the men, kindly; "it's a good way to your house, and you'd find him heavy before you got there."

When Charlie awoke, as he thought, from sleep, he found himself, to his great astonishment, in a neat little bed with white curtains and counterpane. A small table stood near, with a glass, and bottles of medicine, such as he remembered to have seen when his mother was ill; and opposite his bed hung a picture of the finding of Moses.

It was very strange: Charlie rubbed his eyes, thinking he could not be quite awake, surely, and looked again; but the things were still there. Then he tried to remember what happened before he went to sleep, but his head felt so weak and light that he could not think. He put his hand out and felt the curtains; they were real enough. Just as he was making up his mind that he would try to sit up and look about the room, the door was gently opened, and a pleasant face peeped in. Charlie remembered at once that it was good, kind Mrs. Heedman, who used to come and see his mother when she was ill.

She seemed surprised and glad to see that he knew her, and coming quickly up to him, gave him a kiss, put his pillow to rights, and told him he must not get up yet.

"I feel very tired, Mrs. Heedman," said Charlie languidly; "have I been asleep long?"[Pg 11]

"You have been very ill, dear," she answered, gently, "so ill that you did not know any one for a few days. Are you glad I brought you here to this nice little bed, to take care of you?"

"Oh yes, thank you," said Charlie, earnestly. Mrs. Heedman saw that he was thinking and trying to remember something, so to change the current of his thoughts she poured out his medicine, and handed it to him. "Now drink this up, like a good boy," she said, "then I will bring you some beef tea soon."

Charlie rather unwillingly, and with a wry face, drank the mixture. As he gave her back the glass, his eye rested on a picture that had been hidden before by the curtain; it was a ship and some small boats at sea. In a moment the something that he had been trying to remember flashed upon him, and burying his face in the pillow to shut out the picture, he sobbed out, "Oh, father, father!"

Mrs. Heedman stood quietly by, waiting until the first burst of grief was over, and asking in her heart for the help of God's Holy Spirit to teach her what she had best say to comfort him. Presently the heavy sobs almost ceased; but Charlie did not move or speak. She took his hand in hers smoothing and caressing it, as if to assure him of her sympathy.

"Charlie dear," she said gently, "it is very sad, and very hard to bear, is it not?" Charlie did not speak. She sat down beside him, still keeping his hand in hers, and went on speaking.

"Last year, when my own dear little boy died—you remember Tom, don't you, Charlie? Well,[Pg 12] when he was taken from me, I thought my heart would have broken; it seemed as if I should never be happy again. I felt sad and ill, and weary of everything, just as you feel now." Charlie turned towards her, and looked interested. "For some weeks I was very unhappy, and thought no one had such a trouble as mine; but afterwards I learned how wrong it was of me to find fault with God's will; and when I began to count up all the blessings I had received, and remembered all that my dear Lord Jesus Christ had done and suffered for me, I felt sure that He who loved me so much would not let me suffer any pain or sorrow that was not necessary for my good."

Charlie was listening attentively; he quite understood all Mrs. Heedman said. His mother had often read to him out of the Bible, and spoken to him of the Saviour.

Mrs. Heedman went on: "You must remember, Charlie, that you are now one of God's very dear children. We are all His children, but He has especial love and care for those whom He has been obliged to leave without any earthly parents. God promises in His own holy book, the Bible, that He will be 'a Father to the fatherless;' that He will relieve the fatherless; that He will help the fatherless; and that if the fatherless cry unto Him, He will surely hear their cry. When you are stronger, I will find the passages and read them to you, and many others that are very comforting. Now it is quite time that you had your beef tea; I will get it for you, and then we can talk again."

Charlie thought the beef tea was delicious; he[Pg 13] was already beginning to feel that relish for savoury food that most fever patients experience when they are recovering.

"It's very nice," he kept repeating; and every now and then Mrs. Heedman met his blue eyes gazing into hers with a thoughtful, inquiring sort of look. At last he said, "Mrs. Heedman, do you think it was God who put it into your heart to bring me here and be so kind to me?"

"Yes, Charlie, I am sure of it."

"Then I'm quite sure that God loves me," said Charlie, energetically. "I can't help crying when I think about father," as he burst into another flood of tears; "but," he added, "I will try not to think any more that it was not kind of God to let him be drowned and leave me by myself. I was thinking so a little while since;" and dropping his voice, he went on, "I want you, please, to tell me all about it—where father is, and uncle John. I saw them lift some one out of the water, dead, but I forget what happened after."

Mrs. Heedman told him as gently and as kindly as she could about his father's funeral; who arranged it, and where he was buried, and that his uncle's body had not been found. "When you are better, Charlie, we will go and see the grave, and you shall set some flowers on it."

"When I am a man," burst in Charlie, "I shall buy a beautiful tombstone for it."

"Very well," said Mrs. Heedman, getting up. "Now you must try to sleep a little. How very good and merciful God has been to you, Charlie, to spare your life in this illness! If it is His will,[Pg 14] I trust I shall be able day by day to teach you how to devote the life He has given you to His service."

"Am I going to be with you always, Mrs. Heedman?" cried Charlie, opening his eyes very wide.

"Yes, I hope so," she answered. After a little more talking, principally on Charlie's side, who confided to her his private opinion of the cross Mrs. Wood, and his pleasure to think he was not going back to her any more, Mrs. Heedman left the room, and Charlie went to sleep.

CHAPTER III

ADELAIDE ROW.

HE house of the Heedmans was the end cottage of a long row, built for and occupied by the miners employed at the colliery that you might see in the distance. There were several rows of these cottages, but Adelaide Row, in which the Heedmans lived, was certainly the best in appearance. It was farthest from the mines, and was sheltered from the coal dust by its less fortunate neighbours. The houses looked cleaner and brighter altogether, and the little gardens flourished better.

John Heedman's garden was the pride of his heart, and the admiration and envy of the rest of "the Row." It certainly did look very gay and pretty. There were bright China-asters, sweet-[Pg 15]scented stocks, French marigolds, rose bushes laden with blossoms, little clusters of candytuft, Virginia-stock, mignonette, and many other flowers, contrasting well in colour, and grouped in such good taste.

If John Heedman took a pride in his garden, Mrs. Heedman certainly took a pride in her house. Not that their furniture was more expensive than that of many of their neighbours, but it was in good order and neatly arranged. Nice white curtains were up at the windows; a few sweet-smelling flowers stood in a glass; and in a corner were some bookshelves, made and painted by John Heedman himself, after work-hours, and very well stocked with good books; altogether there was an air of cleanliness, comfort, and refinement over all that made you wish to know the owners.

Mrs. Heedman often said in answer to her neighbours' remarks "that she must spend a deal of money over her house."—"It costs me nothing but a little thought and extra work. The poorest of us may indulge in order and cleanliness indeed, when you come to think of it, dirt and disorder cost the most, because your furniture gets soiled, and knocked about, and destroyed."

After Mrs. Heedman left Charlie, she began to prepare her husband's tea in the next room; and nicely she looked, as she moved lightly about in her clean light-print dress and white collar, her dark hair smoothly and plainly arranged, and a smile on her face. It was a face that made you look twice. Her eyes were so calm, so full of peace, you felt instinctively it was that peace which[Pg 16] God alone can give. Some people do not believe that Christianity can make them happy; that is, because they have never felt it in their hearts. It is a peace which passeth all understanding. She was thinking of Charlie; how he would learn to love her, and please God; what a scholar he would be, and how carefully she would train him. She was trying to picture what he would be like if he lived to grow up, when John Heedman opened the door.

"Tea will be ready in a minute, John," she said, looking up; "I've been sitting with that dear child, and the afternoon has flown I scarcely know how. He got a turn for the better about one o'clock, and woke up quite conscious and sensible;" and stepping softly to the door, she beckoned him to follow. They both stood looking at Charlie as he slept. He was very pale, traces of tears were still on his face, and one little thin white hand hung listlessly over the side of the bed. John Heedman stooped and touched it gently with his own rough, strong hand. "Poor little one!" he murmured.

That night, as John Heedman and his wife sat at tea, they determined to adopt Charlie, and make him as their own.

"I think," said John Heedman, "we ought to accept this child as a sacred charge from God, sent to us to be taken care of and trained for Him. Our duty seems plain enough; it is true we shall not be able to save so much, but perhaps there was a danger of our getting too fond of our bit of money; and God has seen this and sent the child, that, through it we may lend the money to Him. We[Pg 17] shall have our treasure in heaven, instead of laying it up on earth."

"That is true," said Mrs. Heedman. "We shall be no poorer for what we spend on the child; and as for our old age, we will trust to the Lord—He will provide."