Charlie Scott, Unknown [best pdf ebook reader for android .txt] 📗
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The voice began to whisper again, something about it being a temptation, and he ought to ask God's help, but Charlie turned a deaf ear.
Tom Brown, seeing Charlie hesitate, felt pretty sure he would give in. Leaving loose of his arm, and moving off towards the field, he said, in a careless tone, "Come, make up your mind; do one thing or the other. I don't care whether you go or not, only I can tell you you'll not have such a chance again; Joe Denton would have jumped at it."
This had just the effect Tom intended. Charlie hurried after him, saying, "Well, let us be quick then. I'll just stay five minutes; I daresay there's time enough."
The scruples of Charlie's conscience were silenced. Conscience is a dangerous thing to play with, and it should be the prayer of every youth that God would strengthen him to keep his conscience tender; never mind if it be difficult sometimes to maintain a good conscience: in the end, as years go on, you will be thankful to find that it preserves from many a snare, and gives a pleasure, and gains the confidence of those around you.
The launching went off most successfully, but the time had flown much quicker than the boys had any idea of. Charlie was in full enjoyment of the honour of guiding the Fairy on her trial trip round the pond, when he was terribly startled at hearing the church clock strike five. In a moment he had dropped the string, caught up his satchel of books, and started off towards home.
"Here, I say, wait a bit," called Tom after him; "what's the use of hurrying now? Your father would be at home long since; you may as well stay another hour now." Charlie did not even stay to listen, but tore along the dusty road, angry with himself, and still more angry with Tom. He reached home out of breath, and found that his father and mother had just begun tea.
"Charlie, my boy, you're late," said his father, in his usual kind tone. His mother did not speak, and Charlie noticed that she looked sad; but she was as kind as ever, and picked out one of his favourite little well-browned cakes for him as he sat down to tea. Charlie felt unhappy and repentant as he thought how ill he deserved all their care.
His father's cough was very troublesome; it was a loud, hollow, consumptive cough, most painful to hear, and still more painful to suffer; but not a word of complaint escaped John Heedman's lips. Charlie's unhappiness and repentance increased as he sat listening to it, and heard his father say, in answer to a remark made by Mrs. Heedman, "Yes, I think the cold air has seized my chest; that makes the cough worse just now."
Tea was out of the question with Charlie, and the little crisp cake lay untouched. "If they would only scold me, or punish me, or do something to me," he thought, "I should feel better."
"How is it you are not getting on with your tea?" said Mrs. Heedman, looking at his plate.
Charlie immediately laid his head on the table, regardless of tea-things and everything else, and burst into a flood of tears. "Oh, mother," he sobbed out, "I have been such a bad, wicked fellow to-day. Why don't you and father scold me or do something to me? you are far too kind; it makes me hate myself. I wish somebody would take away my new cricket bat, or steal Jumper, I do." There was a great sobbing after this, partly, we think, at the mere thought of the terrible nature of the punishment his imagination had suggested.
He went on—"I'm sure I meant to come straight home, but Tom Brown took and persuaded me to go and see his ship launched, and I only meant to stay five minutes, and I thought there was time enough, and it seemed as if the clock struck five directly. I'm so sorry—oh dear!" and down went his head on the table again.
"I'm very sorry too," said John Heedman, seriously—"very sorry. I am afraid when you were making your good resolutions about coming straight home, you forgot that you might be tempted to break them, and did not ask for His help who alone can give you strength to resist temptation and choose duty before pleasure. Don't you remember the words, 'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not,'and the exhortation to pray lest ye enter into temptation? Wipe away your tears now, and get some tea; we will talk about it afterwards."
CHAPTER V. TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF.HARLIE'S heart felt a little lighter for the explanation. When the tea-things were cleared away, and a nice little bright fire made up—for it was a chilly evening—Mrs. Heedman sat down to her needlework, and Charlie drew his chair close to his father's, waiting for him to speak.
Taking Charlie's hand in his, he began in a kind tone, "I want you to tell me just how you felt while Tom Brown was persuading you, as you call it, to go with him."
"Well," said Charlie, hesitatingly, "I felt I wanted to go very much, and I thought I would only stay five minutes, there would still be plenty of time to meet you; and something in my heart kept on whispering, 'Don't go;' but I did go, you know," he went on, in a saddened tone, "and then the little voice did not whisper again."
"Now," said his father, "you must think well, and tell me what sins your sad way of thinking there's time enough has led you to be guilty of in one short hour."
Charlie thought a moment, and then answered, without looking up, "Disobedience and ingratitude."
"Yes," said his father; "but there is one more—presumption. You know quite well, Charlie, that warning voice in your heart was placed there by God to teach and guide you; yet you would not listen; you turned a deaf ear; you knew better than the great God who made you; you put your own will before His, and treated His Holy Spirit with contempt. It is a most solemn and awful thought that God's Holy Spirit will not always strive with us.
"What a terrible fate!" exclaimed Mrs. Heedman, "to be left entirely at the mercy not only of the temptation of the world, but the sinful wishes and inclinations of our own evil hearts!"
"Terrible indeed," said John Heedman. "Now listen here, Charlie: The captain of a ship was warned by the pilot on board that the port that they were making for was almost surrounded by rocks, sandbanks, and other hidden dangers, and that it would be certain shipwreck, sooner or later, for the captain, as a stranger, to attempt the direction of the vessel without the advice and guidance of the pilot, who was aware of every danger, knew exactly what was best to do, and could alone bring them safely into the haven. What would you think, Charlie, if I were to tell you that that captain, after being warned of his danger, refused to allow the pilot to help him, turned his back upon him, would not listen to his advice, treated him with contempt, and determined to take his own way; taking the helm himself, and steering straight for the very rocks he had been warned to avoid?"
"I should think he was mad," exclaimed Charlie.
"Not one bit more mad than those who risk the shipwreck of their souls by refusing the help and advice of the Holy Spirit in passing through this world, so full of danger and temptation."
"Oh, I see now, father; that is what my Sunday school teacher calls an illustration."
"Yes," answered his father; "and now let us have a little talk about 'there's time enough.' I dare say you will be surprised when I tell you it is really selfishness that makes you so fond of putting off."
"Oh, mother!" said Charlie, quickly, "I didn't think I was selfish. Do you think I am?"
Mrs. Heedman could scarcely help smiling at his tone of injured innocence. "I think I shall wait and hear what your father has to say before I give an answer."
John Heedman went on: "You remember, Charlie, the French marigolds we set, don't you?"
"Yes, I do remember indeed; it was so odd, mother, it was all the same sort of seed, but when it grew up there was such a difference in the form and shade of the flowers, we could scarcely find two alike."
"Well, then, you will understand me when I tell you that in the heart of every one there is the seed of selfishness, which, as it grows, shows itself in a different form in each person. In some it shows itself as pride; in others as envy, greediness, jealousy, covetousness, procrastination, indolence, and so on. Every sin, if we trace it, we shall find that it springs from the seed selfishness—from love of self. It is love of self that makes us forget to feel for others—careless, disobliging; indeed, it would take me an hour to go through the list of evils that spring from that same love of self. Learn these things, my boy, when you're young. People seldom change their character and habits after they get men and women. It is easier to bend this twig than that tree in the road; and as you place it, so it will grow."
"What are we to do then, father?" asked Charlie.
"Ask God to help you to watch for it; and as it sprouts up, keep cutting it down, trampling upon it, and rooting it up, as you would some noxious weed that threatened to spread over your garden, smothering and stealing away the nourishment from your flowers."
"What would you call the flowers of the heart, father?" Charlie asked, with a smile.
"Faith, hope, charity, peace, love, gentleness, goodness," answered his father, readily; "one can imagine all these flowers, and many more, perhaps, that I have not mentioned, clustering round the fountain of prayer, depending upon it for their life; and just as the crystal stream of the fountain must ascend, before it can shower down its clouds of glistening and refreshing spray upon the parched and thirsty flowers round its brim, so prayer must go up to heaven before it can bring down life and strength to the flowers of our hearts."
"I understand it all, father," said Charlie, for he loved to "work out" illustrations, as he called it. He went on, "And if the fountain were neglected, and ceased to flow, how soon the flowers would be scorched up by the sun! they would droop, and wither, and die. And so will the flowers of our hearts if we neglect prayer."
"That is very well said, Charlie; but we must take care not to be satisfied with just knowing all this. We must have 'deeds, not words.' I hope to-day has been a lesson to you that good resolutions, made in your own strength, are of no use. If the failure of to-day has not humbled you, and shown you your own weakness, God's lesson has been thrown away upon you. Let me see you make a fresh beginning; turn a new leaf over, and set to work in earnest to overcome this darling fault of yours, in the strength of the Lord—not in your own. It will not be all plain walking along a smooth road; you may often fall, through want of trust, or some failing of your own: but do not be discouraged; remember 'the greatest
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