Stories.

By CATHARINE SHAW

Author of "Sunday Sunshine," "The Strange House," "At Last," etc.

John F. Shaw & Co., Ltd.,

3, Pilgrim Street,

London, E. C.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. A TICKET FOR EACH

II. WHAT THE SHEPHERD KNOWS

III. FOLLOWING

IV. KEPT AT HOME

V. ROBBIE'S CHRISTMAS EVE

VI. THE FLOWER OF HOPE

VII. MILICENT'S MUSIC

VIII. SERVES HIM RIGHT

IX. NELLIE'S HINDRANCE

X. THE EARWIG

XI. LOST ON THE COMMON

XII. BLACKBERRYING

XIII. THE STOPPED WATCH

XIV. THE MIDNIGHT A, B, C

XV. VERA'S CONTENT

XVI. A SEARCH FOR VIOLETS

XVII. SUMMER DAYS

XVIII. BECAUSE

XIX. THE HAUNTED ROOM

XX. AGATHA'S STORY

XXI. UNDER THE STARS

XXII. KINDLED

XXIII. TOM'S PERSUASIONS

XXIV. A MESSAGE FROM AMERICA

XXV. HOW TO FIND

XXVI. WORTH WHILE

XXVII. MID-WINTER

CHAPTER I.

A TICKET FOR EACH.

"COME along, Auntie! The tea will not be in for a few minutes, and the fire is bright and the curtains are drawn. Just sit down and give us a twilight talk. It is New Year's day, and of course we want something to help us on our way."

Their Aunt smiled. She had come to stay with them for a long visit. The four gathered round her knew that she had passed through deep trials, and they also knew that she had come out of them nearer to the Celestial City, like "Christian" from "The Slough of Despond."

They did not guess that their love and sympathy helped her very much too.

"Well!" she said, brightly, "I was thinking this morning about God's promises, and I made up my mind to take one each day this year to live upon!"

"How do you mean?" asked Rose.

"Every morning to take some distinct promise, or assurance, out of the Bible, and think about it whenever I could, and remind God of it whenever I was in any difficulty. I'm going to call it my ticket!"

"Your 'ticket,' Auntie?" said Oswald, affectionately. "I do not believe you want a ticket to get into God's presence. Is that what you mean?"

The others smiled, and Aunt Ruth laughed a little.

"Well—it's just as well to have a ticket! The other day, do you remember? I went to a large concert. Inside was light and music, and friends; outside was cold, dull weather, and policemen and hall-keepers jealously guarding the way.

"I was glad to have a ticket then, I can tell you; and it struck me this morning that there is nothing Satan likes better than to say, as those hall-keepers did: 'This is not the way! Where's your ticket?'"

"And how is that like God's promises?" said Tom, bluntly.

"Like this. In God's presence is light and warmth and music. Satan would keep us outside; but when we can say to him 'God said so,' he has not a word to answer, and is obliged to let us pass!"

"I see!" said Tom.

"Let us all try this year to have a promise, or an assurance, every morning. I am sure it will bring happiness."

"Have you got one for to-day?" asked Jean, shyly.

"Yes," said Aunt Ruth, looking up. "It is 'Certainly I will be with thee.'"

"That's a ticket to a very good seat!" said Oswald, with his eyes shining. "I think your 'tickets' are a good idea, Auntie. We'll each see if we can't get some for ourselves."

"But are the promises always applicable?" asked Rose.

"I think I may say I have always found them so," said Aunt Ruth, "for when by a promise we get into God's presence, it is wonderful what a feast He spreads for us, 'enough and to spare'; worth all the trouble of getting in."

"Is it easy to find promises?" asked Tom, "For I should never know where to look."

"You would soon get used to it, especially as there are quite 30,000 promises in the Bible."

"Are there, Auntie?"

"Yes. Did you never hear the story of the old woman who put T.P. on pretty nearly every page of her Bible? Some one asked her what T. P. meant, and she said, with great satisfaction—'T. P., Tried and Proved. I've tried and proved every one of those promises, and found God faithful!'"

"I like that!" said Oswald. "Now let's get a promise each for to-day!"

"How would you like to have the same as mine?" said Aunt Ruth, "And to-morrow you can each get a fresh one for yourselves?"

This met with great approval, and Jean wrote on a strip of paper and slipped it into her Bible—

"Certainly I will be with thee!"

CHAPTER II.

WHAT THE SHEPHERD KNOWS.

AUNT RUTH sat in the chimney corner. It was a cold, snowy day, and the children had come in from a walk, and said it was bitter.

They gathered close to the fire, and all seemed inclined to stop there, rather than seek for employment or amusement.

"The fields looked so bleak," said Rose, warming her hands for the twentieth time. "We saw a shepherd leading home his sheep, Auntie!" said Jean.

"Did you? How interesting! Not driving them, then?"

"No, that was what I noticed and I thought you'd perhaps have a twilight talk over that?"

Jean smiled as she said it, and Aunt Ruth smiled too.

"So you are beginning to look-out for spiritual lessons from everyday things?"

"I like that sort of lesson," said Jean, "so much better than geography and history!"

"Ah! But we cannot properly learn the spiritual, unless we are in touch with Christ in the everyday things!"

"Can't we, Auntie?" asked Tom, soberly.

She shook her head. "Well," she said, "directly Jean told me she had seen a shepherd leading his sheep, I thought of one of my favourite texts."

"And that was?" asked Oswald.

"'My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.'"

"Children! The sheep hear; and He knows them, each one; and they follow; and He gives. There is a world of meaning in every one of those short sentences. Many children and grown-up people, too, hear, and follow, and forget the clause that comes between. Do you remember what that is?"

"'I know them,'" said Rose, gently. She had been learning the whole verse, and could repeat it perfectly.

"Yes—and what do you think they miss by forgetting that clause?"

The children did not know, so they looked up earnestly.

"They miss assurance. The first clause and the third belong to themselves, 'they hear, they follow'; but the second clause is all Christ's, 'I know them.' Here is safety and peace."

"Once there was a revival in a large school that I knew of, and one of the naughtiest girls was brought to Christ. Most of the mistresses thought it impossible that Lizzie could be really converted, and laughed much at a younger teacher, who believed that there really was a change in the girl. This young teacher at last was driven into a corner in defending Lizzie's conversion, and said, in desperation, 'Well—Christ knows.' Very soon after the holidays came, and the young mistress left the school."

"But at the end of a year, she paid her friends there a visit; and when she was hearing all the news, one of them said, 'You remember Lizzie, who was such a naughty girl? Well, she is totally changed. Instead of being the most tiresome, she is the brightest of all the little Christians!"

"Then the mistress took heart, and remembered how she had said, 'Christ knows'?"

"Yes, dears, He knows His sheep, and they follow Him. And in proportion to our realising that He knows, so shall we be strong to follow Him closely!"

"That's very nice," said Tom. "Thank you, Auntie."

"Another day we will have 'following,' for I think it will help us."

They looked up gratefully. They did want to learn more of Christ, and this dear Aunt Ruth had learned in His School, and could help them because she had been close to Him herself.

CHAPTER III.

FOLLOWING.

"WHAT are you looking at, Auntie?" The children crowded out of the French window, and stood on the verandah by her side, the stars and the deep twilight sky sending a sort of thrill to their hearts.

"I was watching that old woman and her grandson on their way home. What do you think I heard the boy say as he passed the hedge?"

"What?" asked Rose, curiously. Auntie always had something pleasant to say.

"'I can't see the way, grannie, it's so dark!' he complained; and then a gentle voice came out of the gloom, and I heard these words: 'If you keep close behind, and follow me, we shall soon get into the light!'"

"And I thought, children, that here was our promised twilight talk about 'following' all ready to our hand!"

"Now it seems to me that little Ted Jones is a picture of us."

"There are often places in our everyday lives which are dark and mysterious to us ignorant ones; sorrows, or trials, misunderstandings, difficulties, sins, temptations—you can all put your own special difficulty into the story, and call it 'darkness.' The question often comes to each of us, how are we to get out of this dilemma, or this difficulty, or this bad temper, or temptation?"

"I know well that it seems very real and large and overwhelming to us. But the Lord Jesus bids us follow Him closely, assuring us with tenderness that is wonderful, 'He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life!'"

"But," said Oswald, pressing closer to her side, "there are so many things that are so small, Auntie, and yet they worry you no end! Perhaps you've had a lesson to learn, and you've had a headache, or somebody has thrown you over, and made it ache, and so your lesson isn't half prepared, and you get up in the morning feeling that the world is dark and you cannot see any way out of the bother. Oh, there are heaps of things! That's only one! What can we do in such a case?"

There was a pause for an instant. Aunt Ruth was trying to put herself into Oswald's circumstances, and thinking how to bring her great Remedy down to his need. To make him understand that Jesus Christ is a remedy for all ills.

"I think," she said, slowly, "the best plan would be to go to God, our Father, and tell Him just how the difficulty came, and then ask Him definitely 'in the name of Jesus,' to make some way out of it—"

"And then?" asked Oswald, eagerly.

"Then I should do the next most obvious thing. Either look over the unfinished lesson if there is time, or go quietly into class if there isn't, and wait to see how God will help you. The answer may come in some very simple way, but if you look for it, it will surely come, and you must thank Him."

Oswald pressed her arm. Aunt Ruth was so comforting.

"Every one of us has our own special difficulty, and what is 'darkness' to Oswald may not appear at all bad to Tom!"

Tom could hear a smile in his Aunt's voice as she turned towards him.

"The timid child who hates to go upstairs after dusk, feels itself quite safe if father is in front! So little Ted Jones could not see the way to go, and he felt afraid in the dark lanes lest he was not going right. But grannie knew! She had been that way before too many times to mistake, and if little Ted would only keep close to her, and trust her, she would lead him safely home. Presently the cottage door would open, there would be a flood of light, and little Ted would be at home!"

"How nice!" said Jean, with her eyes shining in the darkness.

But Aunt Ruth was speaking again. "Jesus says 'He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life. If any man serve Me, let him follow Me, and whither I am, there shall My servant be!"

There was a moment's pause, and the children were looking up to the starlit sky.

"But, sometimes," said Tom, in a low voice, "the path seems difficult, and we lose sight of the Guide, perhaps, and cannot be sure He is there—"

"Yes," said Aunt Ruth, "I know that; but I think then the best way is to speak to our Guide. Tell Him we find the way rough and lonely, and ask Him by his Spirit to reveal His presence to us. As surely as we do, we shall get a comforting assurance that He is there; that He knows the way, that He has been through all our temptations, and that He is safely leading us Home! Oh, the rest of being sure that Jesus knows the way, children!"

"I suppose," said Rose, "that if we were more sure about Jesus we should not be half so afraid!"

"'Sure,'" echoed Tom; "how do you mean?"

"I mean," hesitated Rose, "that if we had more confidence in the way He was leading us we should be more satisfied with our circumstances—"

Rose had touched upon one of the great problems of life. The others did not know it, but Aunt Ruth did.

"Have I ever told you about the Alpine guide?" she asked suddenly.

"No, I think not," said Rose, wonderingly.

"When people want to make an ascent of a difficult mountain, the first thing they do is to secure the services of a guide."

"This guide must be thoroughly qualified, strong and reliable, have climbed that particular mountain many times before, and must be ready to undertake the charge of the traveller—"

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Jean.

"And then, when the traveller and the guide have made the compact, the traveller gives himself over to do exactly as the guide says, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," said Tom.

"And they start together, and the guide goes before in all the difficult places. He cares for the traveller; he holds him up; he assures him that he knows the way. As they mount higher, the guide cuts each step in the ice, and the traveller must put his foot where his guide's have been, with unquestioning faith: herein is his only safety."

"Will he grudge his confidence when the summit is reached, and they stand beneath the vault of heaven with nothing between?"

"So we, children, shall thank and praise our great Guide for His faithfulness, and shall know those words true by and bye—'He that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life'!"

CHAPTER IV.

KEPT AT HOME.

TWO girls sat at a window in a cosy bedroom overlooking the snowy prospect; a bright fire burned in the grate, and a little table was spread with afternoon tea.

"I wish you could go out and skate, Mary!" said the elder of the two, laying a gentle hand on the other's white one, and looking in her face.

Mary shook her head with a little half-smile.

"I suppose I ought not to have said so," Dorothy went on, "for I expect it only makes you long the more—"

"No, it doesn't," said Mary. "You see, Dorothy, I'm willing, and that makes it so much easier."

"Easier to sit up there and mope, instead of going to parties, or skating, or even church? And then in front of you, perhaps, an operation in which you may lose your foot—"

And as she said the words, Dorothy buried her face on Mary's lap and gave a sob.

Mary's little hand stroked her hair tenderly. "Yes—all that," she said, "and yet I love God's will better than my own, and am sure He will allow nothing that He will not give me strength to bear."

Still Dorothy sobbed, and Mary went on in the same tender, even tone, which had come to her because her heart was at rest in the heart and will of God.

"I'll tell you what comforts me, Dorothy, most of all. I've two texts that I live on just now; would you care to hear them?"

Dorothy nodded, and sat up, drying her eyes. "I've no business to depress you!" she exclaimed. "Only I am so sorry!"

"I know," answered Mary, "but now listen to my texts and get comforted. One is the down-hearted text, and the other is the triumphant one. Listen! This is the down-hearted text—I mean when Satan tries to make me down-hearted:—'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee!'"

"And the triumphant one is this,—'I will trust, and not be afraid!' Which will you have, Dorothy?"

Dorothy smiled at her tone, and Mary said, "Will you take the comfort that Jesus wants to give you about me, and be sure He is doing His best for me? I'm at the triumphant text to-night, you see!"

There were bright tears glittering in her soft eyes for all that, and Dorothy kissed her almost reverently.

"Well—I'll take one of your texts, if I can't take the other!" she said, "At present!"

"God must teach you Himself," said Mary, "and then you will be able!"

CHAPTER V.

ROBBIE'S CHRISTMAS EVE.

"WHY, Mother, it is almost as light as day!" said Robin, as the two came out from the shade of the trees close to the village church. "I was never out so late before. Look at the church clock, it's just upon a quarter past eleven."

"Yes," said his mother, trying to quicken her tired footsteps; "and we'll soon be home now, Robbie."

"I don't care," said Robin, a little sadly. "I was never so old as this before, and I thought Christmas was always a happy day to everybody, and I'm sure it won't be to us to-morrow, Mammie! We've got nothing to keep it with, and then there's father so ill, too."

"Yes, Robbie, I know that—" she assented, settling her great bundle of sticks more firmly in her arms, "but the Lord has been speaking to me while I've been picking up the sticks in the moonlight, and I feel less tired."

"Has He?" asked Robin in a voice of awe. He had been a very wretched little boy all that bright, crisp, Christmas Eve; like Christian and Hopeful, he had got into Doubting Castle, and Giant Despair had been beating him about cruelly! He had looked round on his circumstances, and had decided they were too hard to bear. There was mother with that tired face working for them all, and tidying up "for Christmas," as she said, waiting on their sick father, and washing and mending their threadbare clothes once again. He had looked in the cupboard and not a bit of fresh food for Christmas fare appeared to be there. He had peeped in the corners of the kitchen and shed, but no surprises lay anywhere that he could see.

"I did try to be a little Christian," he had murmured, "but what's the good? Other people have a good Christmas, but we haven't. God has forgotten all about father being ill, and mother and us not having enough to eat!"

So when his mother had called him softly to come out with her and gather sticks for a Christmas fire, he had come with sorrowful steps, being still fast held in Doubting Castle.

And now his mother was telling him that the Lord had been talking to her! and Robin felt almost afraid, for he had been turning his back on the Lord in his heart all that long Christmas Eve!

"Yes," his mother went on, squeezing his hand, "and what do you guess He said to me, Robbie? He said, 'Don't you think, little mother, that I love you, and know how tired you are? Don't you think that I know how father's groaning goes to your heart? Don't you think that I have looked into the cupboard in the kitchen and know there is only one loaf there to go round for all the children? Don't you think I see that there's but a bit of tea and a mite of sugar, and no meat nor pudding nor anything?'"

"And I said, 'Yes, dear Jesus, I know you have seen it all.'"

"And He said, 'Haven't I told you that I will make a way of escape that you shall be able to bear it?'"

"And I said, 'Yes, dear Jesus, you have.'"

"Then, Robbie, I began to think about the shepherds watching their flocks and the heavenly Host singing so long ago because Christ the Lord was born, and I raised my head and wiped away my tears, and I said to myself, 'I've got my Saviour still,' and He has said to you and to me, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.'"

Robbie's little heart gave a thrill of happiness, and straight away, he got out of Doubting Castle. The key of God's promise had opened the gate!

When they got to the cottage door, a great hamper lay in the moonlight on the white step.

Warm clothes, apples, oranges, beef and groceries, crackers and nuts for the children, and a great pudding.

And on slip of paper was written:

"Unto you is born a Saviour which is Christ the Lord."

CHAPTER VI.

THE FLOWER OF HOPE.

ALL is bare in the garden! The wind blows round in gusts; the snow lies thick wherever the wind has not lifted it; the cold seems to have taken possession.

Daisy looked out of the window on a dull February afternoon. The weather outside matched the chilled little heart. An arm came round her shoulders, and a gentle voice said, "Well, little one, what is that head of yours so busy over?"

"Oh, I don't know, Auntie! I was looking at the snow, and thinking—somehow—the winter seems never-ending!" There was great sadness in the young voice.

"Yes—you have had a hard time of it, Daisy," said her aunt, lovingly.