MABEL WYNN

OR

"THOSE BOYS"

BY

FAYE HUNTINGTON

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LIMITED

BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. THE CONSECRATION

II. WORK

III. OPPOSITION

IV. THE WATCHWORD

V. CONFLICT

VI. SURRENDER

VII. A REFORM

VIII. A PRAYER ANSWERED

IX. FRAGMENTS OF TALK

X. HERBERT'S TRIAL

XI. THE BOY'S MEETING

XII. A LESSON OF WAITING

XIII. A CIRCLE BROKEN

XIV. DUNCAN FOLLOWS HIS OWN DEVICES

XV. DOCTOR MYERS "LENDS A HAND."

XVI. THE INGATHERING

XVII. ALMOST WITHIN

XVIII. TROUBLES

XIX. A BATCH OF LETTERS

XX. LEWIE AMESBURY'S CREED

XXI. DECISIONS

XXII. SOWINGS

XXIII. WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT IT

XXIV. WHERE WE LEAVE "THOSE BOYS."

MABEL WYNN.

CHAPTER I.

THE CONSECRATION.

"My all is on the altar."

WESTVILLE had a new sensation. Deacon Griffin, earnest Christian man as he was, ever ready to use tongue, hand and money for the cause of Christ, shook his head, and said he didn't know about these things. There was so much danger of falling into the ways of the world; the Church must be wary of innovations.

Then good Mrs. Culver had opposed the plan, and determined to stand aloof. What was the use in making a stir! They had gone on for years without such an affair, and for her part, she didn't believe in new-fangled notions.

However, in spite of strong opposition, a few brave hearts persevered and carried the matter forward, and Westville had its first "Sunday-School Institute." These few feeling the want of more labourers, sensible of their own want of knowledge as to the best mode of carrying forward the work, invited one whose life is devoted to the cause to give a course of instruction upon topics connected with the work, hoping to be themselves better fitted for their duties, and trusting that others might be led to enter the same field of labour.

Many, like Deacon Griffin, looked upon Sunday-schools as especially for children; some, like Mrs. Culver, clung to the old ways. As a child she had recited her seven verses Sabbath after Sabbath, without question or comment on the part of her teacher; brought her penny for the mission fund, and carried home a library book, or perhaps a copy of the "Dayspring" or "Messenger," and had about as much idea as a kitten what all or any part of it meant; and she taught her class in very much the same way. True, in maturer years, the precepts and promises stored in her mind had an influence upon her heart and life. As if Christ's precious words were not for little children to carry in their hearts as well as in their memories!

In those three days, much work was done for the Master. With instruction, discussion and earnest talk were mingled many prayers and much praise. The interest growing, the audience increasing in numbers, until at the last session, the great church was filled to its utmost capacity, and many hearts were throbbing with emotion. New thoughts had found their way into the minds of gray-headed old men, and to some of them it now seemed a grand thing this idea of a whole congregation coming together for the study of God's word. And old men and women almost through with church-going, the middle-aged, busy fathers and mothers, and the young, enthusiastic and eager, pledged themselves to the work and joined in the consecrating hymn. It was grand and solemn, that chorus of hundreds of voices. Many of feeble faith were encouraged, slothful souls were quickened, while to some, it was the hour of a new and entire consecration to Christ. As the song died away, the voice of the leader, smooth and clear, filled the house.

"Father in heaven," he prayed, "we thank thee for this evidence that thou hast been with us, directing and guiding us by thy Spirit. We know not what vast results may grew out of our efforts to advance thy cause, and we are content to leave the knowledge with thee. Thou hast heard our solemn consecration. Wilt thou enable us to keep the vow? May we all feel its solemnity and importance, and may each of us be faithful to our promise. Wilt thou bless these thy children, who work together here? May they work hand to hand in Christian love and forbearance, illustrating in their lives the truths they teach. May they be patient and persevering, untiring and full of the spirit of devotion. May they have all needed wisdom and every Christian grace, and may thy blessing so crown their efforts that multitudes shall throng the streets of the beautiful city led into the upward way by these thy servants. And though we no more meet together here, at last, dear Christ, we shall be together and always with thee. Amen."

CHAPTER II.

WORK.

"O thou whose call our hearts has stirr'd! To do thy will we come."

"I'm here," began Mabel Wynn, in her bright way, presenting herself promptly the next Sabbath at the superintendent's desk. "You know I am a fresh recruit. I shall make a poor show, but I'm ready for drill. Where shall I go?"

Mr. Clarke looked at her earnestly for a moment. He knew her only as the daughter of the richest man in Westville, a man who was prompt to serve Christ with his money, but whose time, strength and influence were given to the world. He knew that Mabel came to church regularly, dressed handsomely, and was a sort of a leader among the young ladies. He knew, too, that she was a professed friend of Christ, but he did not know the earnest and unselfish purpose of her heart to work for the Master. Mrs. Wynn called her daughter odd. "One of Mabel's freaks," or "just one of her odd whims," she would explain to her friends.

If to live for a purpose, if to do one's work with earnestness, if to seek out opportunities for doing good, if to carry the spirit of Christ into every day's living—in short, if to be a sincere, consistent Christian, if this is to be odd, then Mabel was odd. As a child she had been a Sunday-school scholar, but as she grew up, she had yielded to her mother's persuasions and discontinued her attendance.

"It was such an inconvenience," explained Mrs. Wynn. "So tiresome to remain after service, and such a trouble to send back the carriage. Thomas did not like it at all."

But now Mabel determined that circumstances must yield; fortunately Thomas had departed, and a very obliging Michael reigned over the stables.

Thus she stood ready and willing, while Mr. Clarke deliberated a moment. His first impulse was to send her to Dr. Eaton's class of young ladies, and this was just what she expected—indeed she had at first intended to take her place there at once, but some of her mother's teachings in regard to observing the proprieties under all circumstances, impelled her to report herself at headquarters. But they were short of teachers; so many of those who had come in for the first time, had asked for a scholar's place, that old classes were overflowing and new ones had to be formed.

While Mr. Clarke deliberated, a scene of confusion across the room attracted his attention. A thought struck him. "Who knows but she may be able to do something with those boys? Anyway they must have a teacher to-day." And with a smile for the eager face before him, he nodded in the direction of the five unruly boys.

"Mr. Clarke," began Mabel, then stopped suddenly.

"Well?"

"Nothing. I forget that it is my business to obey a superior officer. I'll go."

As the opening exercises went on, Mabel had time to still her throbbing heart and lift her soul to God for help. She had not thought of becoming a teacher at once, and what to say or do first, was a puzzling question. She tried to remember what they did in those days so long ago when she went to Sunday-school. Then she tried to recall some of the instructions of the past week, but she could think of nothing that would exactly fit the case. Dissimulation was no part of her nature, and when the time came, she turned toward the class; but what a class it was!

Five bright-looking boys, combed and brushed and neatly dressed, but the element of quietness seemed entirely wanting. There they were—five bobbing heads, five pairs of elbows pushing this way and that, five pairs of shuffling feet, five pairs of eyes and ears, open and eager to take in any sight or sound that might be turned into fun. Evidently they understood all the boy-tricks in the catalogue. Now and then a head would be thrown back with a peculiar spasmodic jerk, and when the cause was looked for, another boy's arm would be found quietly resting upon the back of the seat, thrown lovingly around his neighbour's. Of course the owner of the arm had nothing to do with it. Suddenly the small boy at the end of the seat found himself on the floor, a concerted pushing along the line having brought about the catastrophe. There were pinching and nudging and treading upon toes, and winking and laughing, and much whispering. Altogether a scene of disorder. And these five active, eager minds were to be fed—those five souls to be

led to Christ! What a work for some earnest disciple! No wonder that Mabel's heart almost quailed. But she said, simply and frankly,—

"Boys, Mr. Clarke has sent me here to be your teacher to-day, but I am not prepared to teach the lesson, and I don't know the ways of the school. You will have to teach me, I guess. How many have learned the lesson? All of you?"

There seemed to be something remarkably fun-provoking in the question, for the boys were very merry over it.

"Dear me, how they do act!" thought Mabel. "What shall I do with them?" But she kept all signs of her dismay out of her face, and put the question to them individually.

Perry Morse "hadn't looked at it." Henry Trafton "had not been there in a good many weeks, and didn't know what the lesson was." Lewie Amesbury had learned it. Herbert Bradford and Duncan McNair had only looked it over a little.

"Very well, Lewie, then you are the one to lead off. The rest of us will open our Bibles and do the best we can with reading and looking out the references."

But it turned out that there was no Bible in the class, except Mabel's. Here was a new trouble—no lesson, and no books to refer to! The next expedient was for the teacher to read a paragraph, and request the class to repeat it in concert; but their attempt to do this created much merriment, and seemed to attract the attention of those around them; so that plan was abandoned, and she simply read over the whole lesson, and tried to give a paraphrase of it. Then to Lewie,—

"What struck you most in the lesson?"

At this Henry giggled and whispered.

"Say, Lewie, do you hit back when you are struck? Fighting ain't allowed here."

Lewie gave a reproving nudge at his neighbour's sides, and looked steadily at his boots. Evidently he had not learned the lesson with reference to ideas, and Mabel was obliged to make her own points, and, as she afterward said, they were too hastily whittled to be very pointed. Yet the time slipped away pleasantly, and Mabel's parting word was—

"Well, boys, I'm glad I came. We've had a nice time; at least I have. Now, won't you study up the lesson for next Sabbath, and be sure to bring your Bibles?"

Mr. Clarke always kept an eye on those boys, and as he glanced towards them now and then he saw that they were a trifle less restless than usual, and that one or two seemed somewhat interested in what the teacher was saying. That was all he saw. He had been praying for a teacher for that very class, all the while trying to pick one according to his own idea of fitness, and one after another had failed until he almost despaired. As yet he had no thought that God had sent this young girl as the answer to his prayers, and during the week that followed this first Sabbath of Mabel's teaching, he sought out one whom he fancied would fill the place, and urged him to take the class, but was met by a decided refusal; and so it came about that another Sabbath found them teacherless. They were all prompt. Three of them had their Bibles. Perry Morse had forgotten his. Henry Trafton never owned one.

"I wonder who we'll have to-day?" said Perry.

"I don't know. Maybe Professor Mills," answered Duncan, while a laugh went round at the Professor's inability to cope with their fun-loving propensities.

"I wish we could have Miss Wynn," said Lewie.

"Oh, yes!" said Henry, sneeringly. "You like her, of course. She praised you a little."

"She didn't do any such thing. I'll leave it to the boys if she said one word that sounded like it," answered Lewie, with some spirit.

"Well, she looked it, anyway; but you needn't get wrathy over it. I don't care if she did, you are welcome."

"Don't quarrel," said Herbert; "I liked Miss Wynn because she didn't put on airs and pretend to be so very wise. She just talked pleasant, and the kind of talk that a fellow could understand. I vote for Miss Wynn."

"Well, Herb, go and ask Mr. Clarke, before he picks out somebody with a face as long as your arm and a voice to match."

Mabel had chanced to meet Dr. Eaton at the door and accepted his invitation to take a seat in his class, and here Mr. Clarke sought her.

"Dr. Eaton," he said, "those boys want Miss Wynn. I am sorry to take her away, and glad, too."

The colour mounted quickly to Mabel's forehead, and she exclaimed,—

"Why, Mr. Clarke, I really don't know how to teach."

"Can't help that! They want you, and if they can't have what they want, they won't stay."

"Miss Wynn," said the superintendent, when Sunday-school was over that day, "you'll have to keep that class!"

CHAPTER III.

OPPOSITION.

"I am with you alway."

MABEL'S friends exclaimed and protested against this new freak. Her father and mother insisted that her health was insufficient; that the tax upon her nervous system would be too severe; that she already had duties enough at home and in society to fill up her time. Mr. and Mrs. Wynn belonged to that large class of professing Christians, who, whenever the call comes for more labourers in the vineyard, talk largely of home duties and influence in society, the demands of their position, and the like, excusing their worldly-mindedness with this sort of twaddle about "the claims of society."

As for Mabel's health, an incessant round of parties, picnics, pleasure excursions, making calls and entertaining company, was never supposed to overtax her nervous system. It was only when she was compelled to step outside the world of fashion that her parents' anxieties were awakened. They never connected the days of languor, headache, and lassitude with late hours and excitement. The "claims of society" never overtax body or mind!

"But, father," said Mabel, "I think this is one of the duties I owe to society—to help those boys into right ways, if I can, so that they may be its ornaments when they get to be men."

"That's just what I object to!" interposed Mrs. Wynn. "Those boys! If you had chosen a class of sweet little girls, it wouldn't be quite so bad. But those rough, uncouth boys! Why, they'll hang about you, step on your dress, use your fan, handle your parasol, speak to you in the street, and annoy you in a dozen different ways."

Mabel smiled at her mother's list of the unpleasant features of the case. It would be such a terrible thing to have Herbert Bradford or Lewie Amesbury lift his cap gracefully, as either of them knew how to do, and accompany the act with a smiling, "Good morning, Miss Wynn!"

Then, too, she remembered that young Mr. Cranson had stepped upon her dress at the picnic, and tore off a yard or two of ruffling, and Dr. Myers had played with her fan, as one or more broken splints would testify, and her mother had not seemed to look upon either as unpardonable offences. But young Mr. Cranson was the son of a millionaire, and Dr. Myers was—ah! Well, he was Dr. Myers! Perhaps he will speak for himself.

Mrs. Wynn continued, not noticing Mabel's amused look—

"Besides, you won't be able to manage them. I've heard Mr. Clarke say it was the worst class in school. They have had I don't know how many teachers within the last six months. The last was Professor Mills. I shouldn't think you would undertake where he had failed."

It was true, that class of bright-eyed, eager-faced boys had the reputation of being the most unmanageable set in the school, and Mabel know it. She answered—

"Mother, I did not choose—" She hesitated. Should she speak of the entire consecration she had made of her young life to the cause of Christ? Would they understand her if she told them that she believed God had called her to that very class? It was only a moment: then she went on—

"If I give myself to the Sabbath-school work, or any other work for the Master, it is not for me to choose the place. If I am called to this post, I shall, in some way, be made equal to it."

"But, Mabel," continued her mother, "it will be so very inconvenient. You cannot walk home, and Michael will not like driving back for you. If you persist in this absurd notion, I suppose I shall have to give up going to church, for I cannot endure the fatigue of remaining to Sabbath-school."

"O mother! It won't be so bad as that. The church is only half-way to the seminary, and I used to walk to school and home again every day in pleasant weather, and I ought not to have grown so delicate in two years as to be unable to walk a quarter of a mile. I do it very often now when out calling or shopping."

"Yes, I know; but there will be rainy Sundays, and besides the dinner hour will interfere. Dear me! I do wish you would give up the ridiculous notion. Everything will be turned upside down if you persist."

Mabel was slightly amused at the idea of her mother's well-ordered establishment being so easily reversed. Then she looked grave as she thought if it were a music lesson, or a dancing lesson, or a croquet club, at any hour of any week-day, breakfast, dinner, or supper would speedily adjust itself to the arrangement. Of so much more apparent importance were these things than the grand work of saving souls, of training the young for the life in this world and for that which is to follow, and which is eternal! Dinner or the Master's work—which shall take precedence?

"Mother," she said, calmly, "there are always difficulties in the way of any undertaking of importance, and I suppose that it is a part of our business to overcome or push them aside. As for rainy Sundays, you and father very seldom go out in unpleasant weather, and I think Michael will help me over that difficulty. As for dinner, I'll take a lunch and wait for supper."

Mrs. Wynn had other objections to urge, or thought she had.

"How obstinate you are, Mabel! I don't want you turned into a prim young woman, going about with your arms full of Testaments in black covers, and Tract Society publications without any covers at all, mixing up with all sorts of people, and getting put on committees and appointed as delegate to conventions, and all that sort of thing. And then if one of those horrid boys gets the measles or mumps, he will be sure to send for you to visit him instead of the minister. Don't be a fanatic, I beg of you."

Mabel made no reply, and her mother continued—

"I don't want to be understood as being opposed to Sunday-schools. I think them a very good thing in their way, and you know that your father is very liberal in giving for the cause. But there are plenty of people to carry them on—people who have nothing else to do—people who are not in society, and who make the concerts, excursions, and such things a sort of substitute for the entertainments of our circle. For them it is all very well, but as for you—"

"As for me, mother," interrupted Mabel, "I beg your pardon for rudeness, but I want to finish that sentence. As for me, I believe that I ought to help. It is Christ's work, and I have no real excuse for standing idle. I want you to consent, just as you would if I proposed to join Professor Mills's Greek class. Let me try it for a few months. It may not be so annoying as you think."