{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_77088/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_77088","id":"gutenberg_77088","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77088","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Short Stories","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","New Year -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\n\n\n                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM\n\n                                 [AND]\n\n                            [JOE'S LETTER]\n\n                        _[A New Year's Story]_\n\n\n                              BY A.L.O.E.\n\n                  _Author of \"The Claremont Tales,\"_\n                     _\"The White Bear's Den,\" &c._\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n                        MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.\n\n                          LONDON, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n                              CONTENTS.\n\n                               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nPAUL HARLEY'S DREAM\n\n   CHAPTER I. PAUL\n\n   CHAPTER II. THE DREAM\n\nJOE'S LETTER\n\n   CHAPTER I.\n\n   CHAPTER II.\n\n\n\n                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM\n\n                              BY A.L.O.E.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"It stops all fun!\" cried Paul.]\n\n\n\n                          PAUL HARLEY'S DREAM\n\n                                A Tale.\n\n                                \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_PAUL._\n\n\"I DO think it, and I will say it!\" cried Paul Harley, with impatience.\n\"Of all days in the week, a Sunday is the worst for New Year's Eve.\nIt stops all fun, all larking, all hope of adventure. The New Year\nsteals in like a thief when one is fast asleep in bed; unless, like\nthat stupid fellow James Barton, one goes to some midnight service in\nchurch, to pray in the New Year, as he says. As if one had not had\nenough of that sort of thing all the Sunday!\"\n\n\"My dear boy\u2014\" began his grandfather, Silas Harley, an aged man, who\nsat with his arm leaning on the table, and his Bible before him.\n\nWhat Harley was going to say I cannot tell, for his grandson cut him\nshort. Paul had been to school, and had learned many things there, of\nthe knowledge of which he was not a little vain. But one thing, worth\nmore than mere book-lore, he had not learned, which was to honour his\nfather and his mother, which includes grandparents also. Paul was\npuffed up with pride, as a balloon is puffed out with gas.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe stood erect by the table, grasping the back of a chair, and looking\ndown on the venerable man before him, whose white hair Paul should have\nhonoured, with a saucy look, which seemed to say, \"I don't want advice\nfrom you!\"\n\n\"I wish that I could do this year what I did on last New Year's Eve,\"\ncried Paul. \"A lot of us young fellows got on the top of a coach, and\nwere off to Enfield for a spree at a farm. How the horses plunged\nthrough the snow; we were upset as nearly as could be!\"\n\n\"No great fun in that,\" observed Harley.\n\n\"We had no end of snow-balling each other at Gale's farm, as long as\ndaylight lasted,\" continued Paul; \"and when night came on, we had\ndancing 'under the misletoe bough.' Ah! That night, what a merry one\nit was! We were just in the midst of a dance, hands round and down the\nmiddle, when the clock struck twelve, and in came the New Year!\"\n\n\"And Sunday too,\" observed old Mrs. Harley, who was seated by her\nhusband. \"I hope, Paul, that you left off your dancing?\"\n\nPaul only, in reply, gave a saucy laugh, which pained his good\ngrandparents. They had brought up the orphan boy ever since he had been\na helpless baby, and had now, in return for their loving care, but\ndisrespect and disobedience.\n\nOn the year of which I am writing, the thirty-first of December fell\non a Sunday, and it was on the evening of this Sunday that Paul stood\ntalking to his grandparents in the little parlour of their home, in one\nof the suburbs of London.\n\n\"We were sorry not to have you with us at church this morning, Paul,\"\nobserved Harley. The old man and his feeble wife had with no small\ndifficulty made their way to the house of prayer, to praise their Maker\nfor mercies received through the closing year, and to ask for His\nblessing on the year so soon to open. The New Year to one or both of\nthem, as they thought, was likely to be the last, but neither of them\nfeared to \"go home\" to the rest prepared for the people of God.\n\n\"I don't care to go to morning service,\" replied Paul, bluntly; \"I take\nmy ease, and lie late in bed on Sundays, at least in such freezing\nweather as this. But I mean to go to-night to seven o'clock service;\nfor I like to see the church all lit up, with the gas-lights flaring on\nthe evergreens and the wreaths with which it is decked. I like, too,\nthe hymn which is to be sung, it has such a pretty tune.\" And without\nthe least reverence of manner, Paul rather bawled out than sang the\nfirst lines of a well-known hymn\u2014\n\n   \"'A few more years shall roll,\n      A few more seasons come,\n    And we shall be with those who sleep\n      At rest within the tomb.'\"\n\n\"Hush, my dear child, hush!\" cried Mrs. Harley, with a shocked look.\n\"You don't seem to think of the meaning of the words which you are\nsinging.\"\n\nPaul took no notice of the gentle reproof. \"It's time for me to be off\nto church,\" said he; \"it must be just on seven; I think the bells have\nstopped their ringing. Don't stay supper for me; I'm going to Uncle\nSam's after I've been at church; he's to have lobster salad for supper\non New Year's Eve, and I like that a deal better than your porridge. I\nmean to stop the night at Uncle Sam's, and get some fun with his boys\non New Year's morning.\"\n\n\"Take your comforter!\" cried the grandmother. \"You're not the lad to\nstand sharp cold; remember that you nearly died of rheumatic fever last\nMarch!\"\n\n\"I'm not going to coddle myself like an old woman!\" exclaimed the boy.\n\"Cold only catches those who have to creep like snails!\" Paul took down\nhis cap from its peg as he spoke, and went off to church, certainly not\nin a mood either to praise or to pray.\n\nThe church was not full on New Year's Eve, for the weather was so\nextremely cold that some persons who would otherwise have come, dared\nnot brave the piercing night air. Paul took his usual place in a dark\npart of the church, where he could see without being much seen. He sat\nduring the prayers, and stared about him. Paul looked at the wreaths\nand the gas-lights, noticed the fashion of the ladies' bonnets, and\namused himself with his own thoughts. There was no reverence either in\nthe posture or in the spirit of Paul. He behaved himself in the house\nset apart for the worship of the Almighty as he would not have dared to\nbehave in the Queen's palace; nay, as he would not have dared to behave\nin any gentleman's private dwelling.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nPaul's body was in church, but his heart was not there. Now he thought\nof to-morrow's sports, now of his lobster supper. Then the lad's\nthoughts took a more evil course. Malice and spite were shown in such\nreflections as these:\u2014\n\n\"I wonder how that James Barton can bear to stay up till midnight in a\nchurch! 'Pray in the New Year,' to be sure! That may be well enough for\nold folk, who are not likely to live many more years, but young chaps\nlike James and me have fifty or sixty before us, and I can't see the\nuse of all that praying. James wants to be thought better than any one\nelse. He has given up playing skittles on Sundays, and has taken, I\nhear, to keeping a missionary-box. Catch me following his example! I've\nsomething better to do with my pennies.\n\n\"I don't like James Barton at all. I have owed him a grudge ever since\nour quarrel in a field three years ago, when he got me into a scrape\nwith a farmer's wife by saying I'd stolen her apples. I've been on the\nwatch ever since to pay him off for that bit of mischievous meddling.\nIf I did take the dame's apples, that was no business of his. Fine fun\nI had last summer, when I crept up unseen to the neat model of a ship\nwhich James had taken weeks to rig out, and tore her sails, and knocked\na hole in her keel, while he was wandering about in the brushwood\ngathering flowers and ferns! I made off as soon as I had done the job,\nbut I'd have liked to have seen the lad's face, when he came to the\nplace where he had left his pretty ship, and found her lying broken\nand spoiled in the mud! I wonder if he guessed who had played him the\ntrick? He did not see me, I'm sure of that, for I stole away like a\nfox. I suppose that James has now grown so mighty good that, had I\nsmashed him instead of his ship, he'd have taken it as meek as a lamb.\nThe next time that we meet, I'll try how he likes a box on the ear.\"\n\nBut I will put down no more of the worse than idle thoughts which,\neven in church, passed through the mind of the boy. I have said quite\nenough to show that Paul did not for one moment reflect that he was\nin the presence of his Maker; that the eye of God was upon him; that\nhis secret malice was laid bare unto Him who hath declared in His holy\nWord, \"The thought of foolishness is sin,\" Prov. xxiv. 9.\n\nPaul only gave over making plans for teasing James when the clergyman\ngave out the hymn. We have seen that Paul was vain; and of nothing was\nhe more vain than what he considered to be a very fine voice. A loud\none it was, without doubt, and Paul took care that it should be heard\nall over the church.\n\nA lady, speaking of church music, once said to me, \"It makes me tremble\nto hear the children sing.\" My readers may think these very strange\nwords, but to my mind there was cause for the lady's feeling of fear.\nOh, my young friends, have you ever thought how you may displease the\nLord, even whilst singing a hymn! \"Thou shalt not take the name of the\nLord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who\ntaketh His name in vain.\" Is it a light matter to sing of the glory\nof the Almighty, or the agonies of His dear Son, as carelessly as if\nyou were but shouting out some idle ballad? A dark stain of sin was\nspreading over the soul of Paul as he boldly sang out, at the top of\nhis voice, even words so solemn as these:\u2014\n\n   \"''Tis but a little time,\n        And Christ the Lord shall come\n      To take His ransomed people up\n        To their eternal home.\n      Then, oh, my Lord, prepare\n        My soul for that great day;\n      Oh, wash me in thy precious blood,\n        And take my sin away!'\"\n\nPaul's hymn-singing was a mockery; his very prayer was \"turned into\nsin!\" What thought he of the great Day of Judgment? What thought he of\nthe \"precious blood,\" of which he dared so loudly to sing?\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_THE DREAM._\n\nTHE hymn was over, and Paul sat down, but not to listen to a word of\nthe sermon. Good and holy words were spoken, which touched most of the\nhearers' hearts, but they never reached the heart of Paul. The boy fell\nfast asleep in his dark corner of the church, and there he remained\nfast asleep till long after the sermon had been ended, and the blessing\nhad been given by the preacher.\n\nPaul not only slept, but he dreamed\u2014a strange and wondrous dream. The\nplace in which he was seemed to widen, the roof to rise, till instead\nof a ceiling above him were clouds of glory, and beneath him a pavement\nof gold. There was music, but far sweeter, and more joyful than what\nPaul had heard in church. Instead of mortal men and women, shining,\nhappy beings were around the dreamer, with starry crowns and waving\nwings, that glittered like jewels in the glorious light.\n\nBut though all that Paul saw in his dream was beauty and gladness, he\ncould not delight in the beauty, he could not share in the joy. Paul's\nheart felt nothing but dread. He did not belong to the happy band; he\ncould not join in their song; he feared lest one of the shining ones\nshould notice that he was there. Paul would fain have hidden himself,\nbut had no place wherein to hide. Terror seized him when one of the\nbeautiful angels drew near, and said, \"What dost thou here?\"\n\nPaul was dumb, and could not reply. The proud tongue which had so often\nrepeated holy words without fear had lost all power to utter one now.\n\nThen Paul seemed to hear the sentence, \"Thrust him forth into outer\ndarkness!\" And the start of terror which he gave awakened the boy from\nhis dream.\n\nPaul found himself indeed in darkness. The lights in the church had\nall been put out; the worshippers had gone to their homes; no one had\nnoticed the sleeping boy, and he had been locked into the church.\n\nPaul's first feeling was that of great surprise at finding the church\nso still and so dark; his next was that of alarm. He groped his way to\nthe outer door. How still and dark the place seemed as he moved down\nthe aisle! And, oh, how terribly cold! The clock struck nine just as\nPaul reached the great door. It was locked. Paul shook it, and shook\nit again, but had no power to force it open. He called as loudly as he\ncould, but the church stood in the middle of a large churchyard, no\nhouse was near, and no one heard the boy's voice.\n\n\"Some one will search for me, oh, surely some one will search!\" cried\nPaul.\n\nHe thought of his loving grandparents, who, old and feeble as they\nwere, would be sure to brave the piercing cold if they know that their\nboy was in danger. But then another thought startled Paul. \"Grandfather\nwill think that I am at my uncle's; he will fancy me seated at his\ntable beside a blazing fire.\"\n\nThe contrast between his uncle's pleasant home, with its supper and\ncheerful blaze, made his present dreary position seem worse than ever\nto the hungry lad. But Paul tried to keep up his courage and warm his\nchilled frame by walking up and down the part of the church which was\nnearest to the door, stamping his feet and swinging his arms to keep\nout the cold.\n\nTen o'clock struck. Paul counted each stroke on the bell. How loud and\nsolemn was the sound!\n\n\"Only ten!\" muttered Paul. \"I shall have to wait twelve whole hours\nbefore this church is opened to prepare for New Year's service! The New\nYear!\" he repeated. \"Oh! In how wretched a way I shall begin the New\nYear! I'll go to sleep in one of the pews, and so try to get over the\ntime. The night grows colder and colder.\"\n\nPaul did snatch a short sleep, but awoke quite cramped and chilled, and\nwith shoots of rheumatic pain, which frightened him more than anything\nelse. It was one of the bitterest nights that had ever been known in\nEngland. The boy dared not sleep again lest he should bring back his\ndreadful rheumatic fever.\n\nWhen eleven o'clock struck, Paul's courage quite gave way. His limbs\nwere trembling, his teeth were chattering, his blood seemed turning to\nice. He remembered that his grandfather had read in the papers the day\nbefore that four persons had been found frozen to death.\n\n\"What if I should die before morning!\" thought Paul, and it was a\nterrible thought. \"I am not fit to die, I am not fit to go to the\nbeautiful place of which I was dreaming. Hark! What is that tinkling\nsound which I faintly hear? The bells of St. John's Church are ringing\nfor the midnight service; James Barton will be hastening now to that\nchurch to pray in the New Year. Oh, that I could pray too!\" It was the\nfirst time that such a wish had come into the mind of Paul. He had\nattended church service hundreds of times, but he had never really\nprayed in his life.\n\n\"I can't pray, I can think of no words,\" groaned the poor boy, as he\nswayed his body to and fro; for he was afraid to remain quite still,\nand yet was almost too stiff and cold to move about freely. \"Perhaps\nthat hymn may serve as a prayer; I'll try a verse; it may help me to\nforget for a few minutes the misery that I am in.\"\n\nIn a very different way from that in which he had sung a few hours\nbefore, Paul, with trembling voice, attempted to sing\u2014\n\n   \"'Then, oh! my Lord, prepare\n     My soul for that great day.'\"\n\nPaul felt that for him the great day might be near. He no longer felt\nsure of \"fifty or sixty years\" of life. He knew now that he had need of\ncomfort, of help, of forgiveness. Paul clasped his numbed hands, and\ntears came into his eyes as he sang the words of entreaty\u2014\n\n   \"'Oh! wash me in Thy precious blood,\n     And take my sins away.'\"\n\nBut how much better was Paul's feeble prayer for mercy, than his late\nbold, careless singing of words so solemn and holy!\n\nTwelve o'clock struck. The New Year had come! Some in London were\npraying, many were sleeping, not a few, alas! were drinking in the\nNow Year. Again Paul tried to get warmth by walking about, but the\nfrost was becoming more intense as the night advanced. The moon had\nnow risen, and dimly shone through the frosted windows. Paul could\ndistinguish some objects near him, such as the reading-desk, on which\nlay the large Bible, that Bible which had been read so often in his\nhearing, but to which he had never cared to listen.\n\n\"If I live through this dreadful night, I will try to be a very\ndifferent boy to what I have been,\" thought Paul Harley. \"I will try to\nbe more dutiful to my old grandparents; they have had little comfort in\nme. What would not I give now to be more like James, whom I despised\nfor being so pious! There is no danger of his being driven into outer\ndarkness. The angels will welcome him, for he loves the Lord whom they\nlove.\"\n\nThe weary, weary minutes stole on. It was now nearly one o'clock.\nDrowsiness was creeping over Paul, but he knew the danger of sleeping\nwhen the cold is intense; if he slept now, he might never waken again,\nor waken in torture.\n\n\"I can only keep myself awake by singing,\" thought Paul. \"I will sing\nthat hymn over again, and try to think of the words, and to make them\nindeed a New Year's prayer.\"\n\nPaul sang, and this time loudly, for he was calling on God from the\nheart, and so threw his whole soul into the hymn.\n\n\"Who is singing there\u2014at this hour?\" cried a voice from outside.\n\nPaul sprang to his feet with almost a cry of delight.\n\n\"I'm Paul Harley\u2014I'm locked in\u2014I'm almost frozen!\" he shouted with the\nutmost strength of his voice.\n\n\"Paul Harley!\" echoed the speaker without.\n\n\"Oh! Run, run\u2014quick as light\u2014and get the key of the church!\" cried Paul.\n\n\"Trust James Barton for that!\" cried the voice, and off rushed the\nspeaker at full speed.\n\nYes, it was James, who, returning from the church where he had prayed\nin the New Year, had taken his homeward way through the churchyard of\nthat in which poor Paul was looked up. It was not James' shortest way\nhome, but he had chosen it because St. Mary's church and churchyard\nwould look, he thought, so beautiful in the moonlight, robed in their\nwinter mantle of snow. James had been not a little surprised to hear\nthe sound of Paul's hymn in a spot so lonely and quiet. But for that\nsound, James would have passed the church without suspecting that any\none was shivering and starving within it.\n\nI have not space to describe how James ran, as if for his life, to the\nhouse of the clerk of St. Mary's, and rang so furiously at the bell,\nthat the poor man, his wife, and all his family, thought that the place\nwas on fire. It is enough to say that James was trusted with the church\nkey, for his character was known to the clerk, and back he hastened to\nthe church. The big key was turned in the lock, the heavy door swung\nback on its hinges, the imprisoned Paul was set free; and with what a\nhearty grasp of the hand did he thank his kind deliverer!\n\n\"Come to our home for the rest of the night,\" said James; \"mother will\nbid you heartily welcome, I'm sure of that. She is sitting up to give\nme my hot supper on my return from church, and I need not say how glad\nI shall be for you to share it.\"\n\nVery thankfully was the invitation accepted. Paul felt as if new life\nwere poured into his frozen veins when he sat by a glowing fire, and\ndrank hot steaming soup. Before he went to rest, he had confessed\nto James the wrong he had done him by spoiling his ship, and asked\nforgiveness for that and other acts of unkindness.\n\n\"Let bygones be bygones,\" said James, smiling; \"this is New Year's day\nyou know; let us both resolve, by God's help, to begin it well, and\nmake a better use of our time than we ever have done before.\"\n\nPaul did make the resolve, and earnestly and prayerfully tried to keep\nit. He was a better and happier being to the end of his life for his\nadventure on New Year's Eve.\n\n\n\n\n\n                            JOE'S LETTER\n\n                        _A New Year's Story_\n\n\n                              BY A.L.O.E.\n\n                  _Author of \"The Claremont Tales,\"_\n                     _\"The White Bear's Den,\" &c._\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n                        MARSHALL BROTHERS, LTD.\n\n                          LONDON, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\n                             JOE'S LETTER\n\n                              BY A.L.O.E.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"No, Granny, I can't see him.\"]\n\n\n\n                             JOE'S LETTER\n\n                         A New Year's Story.\n\n                                \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"GO again, child, and see if the postman ben't coming down the lane!\nIt's past nine, sure he ought to be here!\"\n\nThis was the third time that old Janet Jones had sent her little Annie\nout into the snow, on the last day of the year. It was clear that the\ncottager was expecting the postman to bring her some very important\nletter indeed.\n\n\"No, Granny, I can't see him,\" said Annie, as for the third time she\ncame back from the road, shaking the flakes from her hair, and stamping\nthe snow from her boots. \"Perhaps our old clock is wrong.\"\n\n\"Everything is wrong, I think,\" muttered Janet Jones, who was employed\nin taking some filberts out of a basket, to put in glasses to sell in\nher window. \"Half these nuts are bad, and only fit for the fire!\" And\ninto the fire she flung some that were indeed but empty husks.\n\n\"Yes,\" went on the old woman, knitting her brows into very deep\nfurrows, \"the old year ends badly enough with me. The pig dead, the\npotatoes bad, the weather sharp, and the pocket empty. These be very\nhard times!\"\n\n\"But Joe, dear Joe, is sure to send you money, Granny,\" said Annie, who\nstood leaning against the wall. She did not sit down, for she expected\nsoon to be sent a fourth time to look for the postman.\n\n\"Joseph ought to,\" replied Janet, as sharply as if the child had said\nthat her brother would send not a penny. \"He, a great tall fellow,\nearning good wages, fifteen pounds a year, and everything found,\nfeeding on the fat of the land, and dressed as smart as a goldfinch! It\nwill be hard if he can't spare something for his poor old Granny in her\nneed.\"\n\n\"Joe will\u2014I know that he will. He loves you so much,\" cried Annie.\n\n\"We'll soon see how much,\" said old Janet, \"words without deeds are\nlike husks without seeds.\" And angrily she threw another rotten nut\ninto the fire.\n\nAnnie, to take off her grandmother's mind from her troubles, began to\ntell her what she had seen the day before at the Hall, when sent up\nwith some work done for the ladies.\n\n\"Oh! Granny, I wish you'd been with me yesterday, and seen the\nChristmas presents which Mrs. Poler has given her nieces! There was\na doll, dressed just like a lady, and the prettiest little set of\ntea-things.\"\n\n\"What do I care about hearing of such trash,\" cried old Janet. \"Mrs.\nPoler had better spend her money on buying tea for them as wants it,\nthan on giving children tea-cups no bigger than filberts.\"\n\nAnnie was afraid to remind her Granny how kind Mrs. Poler had been in\nfilling her own little apron with apples to carry home to old Janet, or\nto mention the hundredweight of coals which the lady had sent before\nChristmas. Annie only remarked, \"I suppose that Mrs. Poler gives toys\nto her nieces because she loves them so much.\"\n\n\"Giving toys when one has lots of money to buy them with is no great\nproof of love,\" cried the old woman. \"When these little ladies had\nthe smallpox, Mrs. Poler never so much as went near them, for fear of\ncatching it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps Mrs. Poler knew that she could not nurse them; not every one\ncan nurse as you do, Granny,\" said the child. \"What care you took of\nJoe when he had that bad fall down an area, and broke his poor leg, the\nvery first month that he went into service in London.\"\n\n\"Ah! Poor fellow, he slipped on the steps one cold, frosty day; and his\nmaster sent him all the way here to be nursed, for he knew that no one\nwould look after him like his old Granny. Didn't I sit up three nights\nwith my boy when the pain made the fever run high; and didn't I tear up\nmy own handkerchiefs into bandages for his leg, and half starve myself\nto scrape up money to pay the doctor?\"\n\n\"Joe will never forget all you did,\" said Annie.\n\n\"I hope that he'll give a proof now that he does not,\" began Janet,\nwhen she caught a sight through the window of some one coming up to the\ndoor. \"Here's the postman at last!\" she exclaimed, starting up from her\nseat in such a hurry that she knocked over her basket, and sent a good\nmany of her nuts flying in every direction over her cottage floor.\n\nAnnie flew to the door, the postman had no need to knock. \"Here's the\nletter\u2014the letter from Joe!\" cried the little girl, joyfully, as she\nreturned with the note. \"I was sure, quite sure, that he would write\nsoon!\"\n\n\"I hope that he has done something more than merely write,\" said Janet,\nlooking very anxious, with mingled hope and fear in her face as she\nbroke open her grandson's letter. When she had taken out the written\nsheet, instead of reading it, she shook it to see if any money-order\nwould drop out, then looked into the empty envelope, and muttered in a\ntone of great disappointment, \"I made sure of one pound at least! Did\nI not write to him that the rent must be paid to-morrow, or that we\nshould both be turned out of doors.\"\n\n\"Won't you read Joe's letter, dear Granny?\" asked Annie; she was very\nanxious to hear it.\n\n\"You read it to me, child, my eyes are getting dim with old age,\" said\nthe old woman, giving her the note.\n\nAnnie glanced up at her Granny, and saw that the dimness came from\nsomething besides age, for the eyes of Janet were brimful of tears\nwhich were ready to flow over.\n\nAnnie read out as follows:\u2014\n\n   \"Dear Granny, I am very sorry indeed that the pig is dead, and you in\nsuch trouble, but I hope that things will be brighter soon. I have\nhardly a minute for writing, but will soon let you hear again. I wish\nyou and Annie a happy New Year, and send lots of love to you both; from\nyour loving grandson, Joseph.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" asked Janet almost fiercely.\n\n\"I have not missed a word,\" replied Annie. She spoke sadly for she was\nas much disappointed as her Granny could be, though she was not, like\nher, angry besides.\n\n\"Then you may just fling that letter into the fire after the rotten\nnuts!\" exclaimed Janet, trembling with vexation. \"After all I wrote to\nhim about the potatoes and the rent, to think of his not sending so\nmuch as a sixpence to his Granny, who nursed him when sick, and fed him\nand cared for him\u2014ungrateful, selfish fellow that he is!\"\n\n\"Oh! Granny,\" interrupted the poor little sister, who could not bear to\nhear such hard words spoken of Joe.\n\n\"He 'is' selfish,\" repeated old Janet. \"Did he not buy himself a silver\nwatch last summer, I guess that cost him a pretty bit of money, enough\nto clear off my debt for rent\u2014and more. Think of his buying himself a\nwatch, and leaving his Granny and his sister to be turned out of doors\nfor want of a couple of pounds! 'Lots of love' he sends us, does he!\nI'd not give a crooked pin for such love! I like proofs, real proofs of\nlove. I've given him many many such, though now he forgets them all!\"\nPoor Janet put her thin hands before her face to hide the big drops\nthat were now running fast down her wrinkled cheeks.\n\n\"Granny, do let us 'trust' Joe,\" said Annie softly. \"Perhaps he could\nnot send any money, he may have spent all before he heard of your\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"He might have written so then,\" said Janet, drying her eyes. \"No, no,\nin the fine big house in London he forgets all about the poor little\ncottage which was his home for many a day. While he feasts like a lord\nwith meat twice a day, what does it matter to him if we have not so\nmuch as a bit of bacon even on Sundays? He might have thought of 'you,'\nAnnie, my poor child, if my trouble was nothing to him.\"\n\n\"I am 'sure' that Joe loves me,\" said Annie firmly, her cheeks flushing\nred at the thought that any one should doubt it.\n\nFor Annie remembered the old times before Joe had first gone into\nservice. He had been the kindest of brothers to his little sister, who\nwas many years younger than he. Many a ride had Annie had on Joe's\nknee, or upon his shoulder. Many a sugar-plum or cake the generous boy\nhad given to his sister instead of eating it himself. What pains Joe\nhad taken to make for Annie a beautiful boat as a parting present!\nAnnie had thought it then the prettiest boat in the world, and after\nsix years she thought so still. There was the boat now on its shelf,\nalways kept nicely dusted by Annie, and almost as good as new,\nreminding her every day of Joe.\n\nOh! Young brothers, if you only knew how much power you have by words\nand deeds of kindness to make your little sisters happy, and win their\nlifelong love, you would not so often give pain to them when you might\nso easily give pleasure! Annie had never had from Joe one rough word,\nfar less one thoughtless blow. He would far rather have hurt himself\nthan have hurt his little sister. Annie looked up now at the boat, her\nbrother's keepsake, and could not and would not doubt his love. She\nwas quite able to trust him, and her greatest pain was to see that her\ngrandmother did not.\n\nPerhaps my reader is inclined to think that Janet was a cross,\nill-tempered old woman, proud of what she had done for others, and\nexpecting others to do a great deal for her in return. And yet Janet\nwas an honest and kind-hearted woman, one who loved her Bible, and\nnever passed a Sunday without going to church. Janet feared God, and\ntried to obey His commandments, but she had not yet learned to trust\nHis love. Janet let the wicked thought lurk in her heart that if the\nLord really cared for her, He would not leave her to be so poor. And if\nold Janet thus dared to doubt the love of her heavenly Father, who can\nwonder if she doubted the love of earthly friends! This want of trust\nmade every trial that came to her doubly heavy to Janet; this made her\ntemper cross, and filled her with bitter thoughts.\n\nThere are many who sin like Janet, without half the excuse which she\nhad for her discontented spirit. Janet had had very great trials to\nbear. Once she had been well-off; she had lived with her good husband\nin a pretty thatched cottage, and had been as happy and contented a\nwoman as any in the village. But in one year, poor Janet had lost both\nher husband and her married daughter,\u2014and with an almost broken heart\nhad received her two grandchildren into her home. Even that home was\nnot to be left to her long.\n\nOne day as the widow was returning from a distant field in which she\nhad been helping to reap, she saw thick volumes of smoke rising from\nthe direction of her cottage above the trees which hid it from view.\nWith a feeling of fear she rushed forwards, and terrible was the sight\nwhich was soon before her eyes. Her pretty cottage was in flames, the\nthatch was burning fiercely, and though an engine had come from the\ntown, and firemen and neighbours were doing their best to put out the\nfire, they could not succeed, and what was once a comfortable home was\nsoon but a heap of ashes. Janet Jones was then, not only a widow, but a\nvery poor widow, and hard work she had had to bring up the two orphan\nchildren left to her charge. These were no small troubles, and others,\nin Janet's place, might have been sorely tempted to murmur.\n\n\"I wish that 'I' could give poor Granny some proof of love,\" thought\nlittle Annie. \"But I have nothing to give, not one penny! To-morrow is\nNew Year's day, and it will be such a sad day to her. Is there nothing\nthat I could do to please her?\"\n\nNow when we think hard to discover some way of pleasing a friend, we\nare pretty sure to find one.\n\n\"I remember,\" said Annie to herself, \"that there was a hymn which took\nGranny's fancy in a book which Mrs. Brown lent us to read last summer.\nGranny wished that I could write well enough to copy it out fair on the\nflyleaf of her large Bible. I can write now much better than I could\nthen. I have no New Year's present to give, but I might copy out that\nhymn; I am sure that Mrs. Brown would lend me the book again if I asked\nher. But this is such a little, such a 'very' little thing to do for my\nGranny. Ah! I would do much more if I earned wages like Joe!\"\n\nCopying out a hymn was a very little thing, but it was a \"proof of\nlove,\" and a proof that cost Annie some self-denial. She did not like\nwriting at all, and she knew that it would take her hours to copy out\nsix verses quite neatly, taking care not to make one blot. She resolved\nhowever to do so, and ran out again into the snow, and went over to\nMrs. Brown's to ask her to lend her the book.\n\nMrs. Brown had a large cheerful home, and four merry little children\nfull of play.\n\n\"Oh! Annie, we're so glad you've come!\" cried the eldest, clapping her\nhands as Annie entered.\n\n\"I hope you'll stop all day with us,\" said kind Mrs. Brown, who knew\nthat the girl had a very dull home.\n\n\"Oh! Yes,\u2014stop, stop!\" cried Charlie Brown. \"We're to have roast beef\nand roley-poley, 'cause it's the last day in the year.\"\n\n\"And grandfather's coming, and he tells us such famous stories,\u2014we'll\nhave games, and all sorts of fun!\" exclaimed little Bess.\n\nAnnie longed to stop to share the food and the fun. She hesitated, but\nonly for a moment. She had real love for her Granny, and gave a proof\nof it at once.\n\n\"No, thank you so much,\" she said, \"but I cannot leave poor Granny to\nspend the last day of the year by herself.\"\n\nAnnie soon returned to her cottage with the book containing the hymn.\nShe got down the little bottle of ink, and a pen, and began her copying\nwork, while old Janet sat gloomy and sad by the fire, never speaking a\nword except to abuse ungrateful Joe.\n\nIt was well that Annie had to give much attention to what she was\ndoing, so that she scarcely heard what her Granny was muttering to\nherself. The verses are so beautiful that they took up Annie's thoughts\nas she wrote. They are so suitable for the New Year that I will copy\nthem out for my readers, as Annie did for her Granny. I wish that each\nwould learn by heart the loving questions which the Saviour, in this\nhymn, asks alike of the old and the young:\n\n  \"I gave My life for thee,\n     My precious blood I shed,\n   That thou mightest ransomed be,\n     And quickened from the dead.\n   I give My life for thee,\n   WHAT HAST THOU GIVEN FOR ME?\n\n  \"I spent long years for thee,\n     In weariness and woe,\n   That one eternity\n     Of joy thou mightest know.\n   I spent long years for thee,\n   Hast thou spent ONE for Me?\n\n  \"My Father's house of light,\n     My rainbow-circled throne,\n   I left for earthly night,\n     For wand'rings sad and lone.\n   I left it all for thee,\n   Hast thou left AUGHT for Me?\n\n  \"I suffered much for thee,\n     More than thy tongue can tell,\n   Of bitterest agony,\n     To rescue thee from Hell.\n   I suffered much for thee,\n   WHAT DOST THOU BEAR FOR ME?\n\n  \"And I have brought to thee,\n     Down from My home above,\n   Salvation full and free,\n     My pardon, and My love.\n   Great gifts I brought to thee,\n   WHAT HAST THOU BROUGHT TO ME?\n\n  \"Oh! let thy life be given,\n     Thy years for Me be spent\n   World fetters all be riven,\n     And joy with suffering blent,\n   I gave MYSELF for thee,\n   Give thou THYSELF to Me?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nNEW YEAR'S morning dawned bright and clear; the pure snow gleamed like\ndiamonds in the rays of the glorious sun, but old Janet rose with a\nheavy heart and a gloomy brow. She thought of the landlord calling for\nthe rent; she thought of her neighbours in their merry homes, and of\nher grandson living in comfort in London; she thought of everyone being\nhappy but herself. If Janet thought also of God, I fear that it was\nwith little faith, little trust. She was so gloomy and sad that she did\nnot even smile at poor Annie when they first met, or wish her a happy\nNew Year.\n\nAnnie watched her Granny as she went up to the table on which lay her\nlarge Bible open at the place where the child, as neatly as she could,\nhad copied out the hymn. Annie saw her Granny take out her spectacles,\nslowly wipe them, put them on, and then sit down to read, as she always\nread while the water was boiling for breakfast.\n\n\"I hope that Granny will be pleased,\" thought Annie. \"I hope that she\nwill like the hymn now as she did in the summer, and know that I copied\nit out as a little proof of my love. But dear me! What is the matter!\nGranny is crying\u2014crying over the hymn!\"\n\nFor as the old woman read the Saviour's questions to her own heart,\nfirst her lip trembled, then her eyes dimmed with tears, and she had\nto take off her spectacles and wipe them before she could read any\nfarther. At last, when she had reached the sixth verse, the poor old\nwoman murmured to herself, \"ungrateful sinner that I am!\" and fairly\nburst into tears.\n\n\"Oh! Granny, I never meant to write out anything to vex you, I never\nthought that hymn would make you cry!\" exclaimed Annie, quite in\ndistress.\n\n\"Is it not enough to make me cry to think that my Lord has done all\nthis for me, sinner that I am,\" sobbed old Janet, speaking not to\nAnnie, but to herself, \"to think that He should have given Himself for\n'me,' suffered for 'me,' died for 'me,' and that all the return which I\nmade is to doubt Him now! What proof of love could the dear Lord have\ngiven more than He gave! He kept back nothing, not even His life! And\nI\u2014I have been finding fault with a poor lad for forgetting the little\nkindness which I have shown, the little trouble which I have taken,\nwhile all the while I was ungrateful to the Lord, who has done for me a\nthousand\u2014thousand times more than ever woman did for a child!\"\n\nThe words of the beautiful verses had indeed gone straight to the heart\nof Janet, and awoke in it sorrow and repentance, but other feelings\nbesides. Janet felt love, grateful love to Him who had first loved her;\nand with love came peace, and hope, and trust, for He who had done so\nmuch for her soul would, as she now felt sure, never, never forsake her.\n\nAnnie scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that she had written\nout the hymn. But she had soon something else to take up her attention.\n\n\"Why, Granny, here's the postman coming again,\" cried out the child in\nsurprise; for to have letters two days running was a thing which had\nnever happened before to old Janet.\n\nAnnie ran to the door to take in the letter, and returned with a face\nbeaming with joy. \"It's Joe's hand\u2014he has written again,\" she cried, as\nshe gave the note to her Granny.\n\nJanet had her spectacles on, and she opened the letter herself, but\nas she did so, a little paper dropped fluttering to the floor. Annie\npicked it up, and almost screamed with delight as she saw \"three\npounds\" written on a post-office order.\n\nJanet clasped her wrinkled hands and softly exclaimed, \"Thank God!\"\nthen with a trembling voice read aloud the following letter.\n\n   \"Dear Granny, I had not enough money yesterday to get you clear out of\ntrouble, and did not like to do more than let you know that I had got\nyour note, till I should find how much my watch would sell for. I am\npleased now to send \u00a33; it is more than you will need for the rent, but\nI want you to have a real good dinner on New Year's day,\u2014and please,\nwith the rest of the money, buy a nice warm cloak for Annie, from me.\"\n\nAnnie kissed her brother's letter again and again; her heart was full\nof love and joy.\n\n\"I hope that it's not wrong,\" she said, smiling as she examined the\npost-office order, \"but I can't help wishing that I could give such a\n'proof of love' as Joe has done.\"\n\n\"Your little hymn has done as much\u2014more for me than this money-order,\"\nsaid old Janet, with a trembling hand taking the paper from the child.\n\"This order shows me that I did wrong to doubt the love of my boy, but\nthe hymn has shown me how faithless and sinful it was in me ever, for\none moment, to doubt the love of my Saviour!\"","title":"Paul Harley's dream","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":7386}