“Christie, boy,” said Treffy, that night, when Christie had told him all he could remember of the sermon, and had repeated to him the third verse of the hymn; “Christie, boy, the Lord will have to get me ready very fast, very fast, indeed.”
“Oh! maybe not, Master Treffy,” said Christie, uneasily, “maybe not so fast as you think.”
“The month’s nearly up, Christie,” said old Treffy; “and I think I’m getting very near the city, very near to ‘Home, sweet Home.’ I can almost see the letters over the gate sometimes, Christie.”
Christie could not answer. His face was buried in his hands, and his head sank lower and lower as he sat beside the fire. And, at length, though he tried to keep it in, there came a great sob, which reached old Treffy’s heart. He put his hand lovingly on Christie’s head, and for some time neither of them spoke. But when the heart is very sore, silence often does more to comfort than words can do, only it must be silence which comes from a full heart, not from an empty one. Treffy’s old heart was very full of loving, yearning pity for poor little Christie.
“Christie, boy,” he said, at length, “you wouldn’t keep me outside the gate; would you?”
“No, no, Master Treffy,” said Christie, “not for the world I wouldn’t; but I do wish I was going in too.”
“It seems to me, Christie, boy, the Lord has got some work for thee to do for Him first. I’m a poor, useless old man, Christie, very tottering and feeble, so He’s going to take me home, but you have all your life before you, Christie, boy, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” said Christie, with a sigh, for he was thinking what a long, long time it would be before he was as old as Master Treffy, and before the golden gates would be opened to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to do something for Him, Christie, boy,” said old Treffy, “just to show you love Him?”
“Ay, Master Treffy, I should,” said Christie, in a whisper.
“Christie, boy,” said old Treffy, suddenly raising himself in bed, “I would give all I have; yes, all, Christie, even my old organ, and you know how I’ve loved her, Christie, but I’d give her up, her and everything else, to have one year of my life back again—one year—to show Him that I love Him. Just to think,” he said, regretfully, “that He gave His life for me, and died ever such a dreadful death for me, and I’ve only got a poor little miserable week left to show that I love Him. Oh, Christie, boy! oh, Christie, boy! it seems so ungrateful; I can’t bear to think of it.”
It was Christie’s turn now to be the comforter. “Master Treffy,” he said, “just you tell the Lord that; I’m sure He’ll understand.”
Treffy clasped his hands at once, and said, earnestly: “Lord Jesus, I do love Thee; I wish I could do something for Thee, but I’ve only another week to live—only another week; but, oh! I do thank Thee, I would give anything to have some of my life back again, to show my love to Thee; please understand what I mean. Amen.”
Then old Treffy turned over and fell asleep. Christie sat for some time longer by the fire. He had tried to forget the last day or two how short a time he had with his old master, but it had all come back to him now. And his heart felt very sad and desolate. It is a very dreadful thing to lose the only friend you have in the world. And it is a very dreadful thing to see before you a thick, dark cloud, and to feel that it hangs over your pathway, and that you must pass through it. Poor Christie was very full of sorrow, for he “feared as he entered into the cloud.” But Treffy’s words came back to his mind, and he said, with a full heart: “Lord Jesus, do help me to give my life to Thee. Oh! please help me to spare old Treffy. Amen.” Then, rather comforted, he went to bed.
The next morning he looked anxiously at old Treffy.
He seemed weaker than usual, and Christie did not like to leave him. But they had very little money left, and Treffy seemed to wish him to go so Christie went on his rounds with a heavy heart. He determined to go to the suburban road, that he might tell little Mabel and her mother how much worse his dear old master was. It is such a comfort to speak of our sorrow to those who will care to hear.
Thus Christie stopped before the house with the pretty garden in front of it. The snowdrops were over now, but the primroses had taken their place, and the garden looked very gay and cheerful. But Christie had no heart to look at it, he was gazing up anxiously at the nursery window for little Mabel’s face. But she was not to be seen, so he turned the handle of his organ and played “Home, Sweet Home,” her favorite tune, to attract her attention. A minute after he began to play he saw little Mabel coming quickly out of the house and running towards him. She did not smile at him as usual, and she looked as if she had been crying, Christie thought.
“Oh, organ-boy,” she said, “don’t play today. Mamma is ill in bed, and it makes her head ache.” Christie stopped at once. He was just in the midst of the chorus of “Home, Sweet Home,” and the organ gave a melancholy wail as he suddenly brought it to a conclusion.
“I am so sorry, missie.” he said.
Mabel stood before him in silence for a minute or two, and Christie looked down upon her, very pitifully and tenderly.
“Is she very bad, missie?” he said.
“Yes,” said little Mabel, “I think she must be, papa looks so grave, and nurse won’t let us play; and I heard her tell cook mother would never be any better,” she added, with a little sob, which came from the bottom of her tiny heart.
“Poor little missie!” said Christie, sorrowfully; “poor little missie, don’t fret so; oh, don’t fret so!”
And as Christie stood looking down on the little girl a great tear rolled down his cheek and fell on her little white arm.
Mabel looked up suddenly.
“Christie,” she said, “I think mother must be going to ‘Home, sweet Home,’ and I want to go too.”
“So do I,” said Christie, with a sigh, “but the gates won’t open to me for a long, long time.”
Then the nurse called Mabel in, and Christie walked sorrowfully away. The world seemed very full of trouble to him. Even the sky was overcast, and a cutting east wind chilled Christie through and through. The spring flowers were nipped by it, and the budding branches were sent backwards and forwards by each fresh gust of the wind, and Christie felt almost glad that it was so cheerless. He was very sad and unhappy, very restless and miserable. He had begun to wonder if God had forgotten him; the world seemed to him so wide and desolate. His old master was dying, his little friend Mabel was in trouble, there seemed to be sorrow everywhere. There seemed to be no comfort for poor Christie.
Wearily and drearily he went homewards, and dragged himself up the steep staircase to the attic. He heard a voice within, a low, gentle voice, the sound of which soothed Christie’s ruffled soul. It was the clergyman, and he was reading to old Treffy.
Treffy was sitting up in bed, with a sweet smile on his face, eagerly listening to every word. And, as Christie came in, the clergyman was reading this verse: “Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:2727Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. (John 14:27)).
“That’s a sweet verse for you, Treffy,” said the clergyman.
“Ay,” said Treffy, brightening, “and for poor Christie too; he’s very cast down, is Christie, sir.”
“Christie,” said the minister, laying his hand on his shoulder, “why is your heart troubled?”
But Christie could not answer. He turned suddenly away from the minister, and throwing himself on old Treffy’s bed, he sobbed bitterly.
The clergyman’s heart was very full of sympathy for poor Christie. He knelt down beside him, and putting his arm round him, with almost a mother’s tenderness, he said gently: “Christie, shall we go together to the Lord Jesus, and tell Him of your sorrow?”
And then, in very plain, simple words, which Christie’s heart could understand, the clergyman asked the Lord to look on the poor lonely child, to comfort him and to bless him, and to make him feel that he had one Friend who would never go away. And long after the clergyman had gone, when the attic was quite still and Treffy was asleep, Christie heard, as it were, a voice in his heart, saying to him: “Let not your heart be troubled.” Then he fell asleep in peace.
He was wakened by his old master’s voice “Christie!” said Treffy; “Christie, boy.”
“Yes, Master Treffy,” said Christie, jumping up hastily.
“Where’s the old organ, Christie?” asked Treffy. “She’s here, Master Treffy,” said Christie, “all right and safe.”
“Turn her, Christie,” said Treffy, “play ‘Home, Sweet Home.’”
“It’s the middle of the night, Master Treffy,” said Christie; “folks will wonder what’s the matter.”
But Treffy made no answer, and Christie crept to his side with a light, and looked at his face. It was very altered and strange. Treffy’s eyes were shut, and there was that in his face which Christie had never seen there before. He did not know what to do. He walked to the window and looked out. The sky was quite dark, but one bright star was shining through it and looking in at the attic window. “Let not your heart be troubled,” it seemed to say to him. And Christie answered aloud: “Lord, dear Lord, help me.”
As he turned from the window Treffy spoke again, and Christie caught the words: “Play, Christie, boy, play.”
He hesitated no longer. Taking the organ from its place, he turned the handle, and slowly and sadly the notes of “Home, Sweet Home,” were sounded forth in the dark attic. The old man opened his eyes as Christie played, and, when the tune was over, he called the boy to him, and drawing him down very close to him, he whispered: “Christie, boy, the gates are opening now. I’m going in. Play again, Christie, boy.”
It was hard work playing the three other tunes, they seemed so out of place in the room of death.
But Treffy did not seem to hear them. He was murmuring softly to himself the words of the prayer, “Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow! whiter than snow, whiter than snow.”
And, as Christie was playing “Home, Sweet Home” for the second time, old Treffy’s weary feet passed within the gates. He was at home at last, in “Home, sweet Home.”
And little Christie was left outside.