Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 24

"What have you come to learn, my sinner?"

"I'm confused-I'm bewildered-I'm all in a tangle. People say, 'pray about it'; you say that yourself; and I do pray about all the trials in my life and yet-I can not understand-I am groping my way, I am blind, walking in the dark. Do you know that I believe that praying for a thing is the hardest way in the world to get it? I would rather earn it a thousand times over; I know that you think me dreadfully wicked, but do not stop me, let me pour it all out; hard praying, never ceasing, night and day, is enough to wear one out soul and body, because you _must_ expect to get what you ask for, and if you do not after praying so long the disappointment is heart-breaking. There now! I have said it and I feel better. I have no one except you to talk to and I wouldn't dare tell you how wicked I am. About something I have prayed with all my strength-I will not be ashamed to tell you-I know you will understand; it is about loving somebody. I have been so ashamed and shocked at girls' love-stories and I wanted one so true and pure and unselfish and beautiful, and I have prayed that mine might be that, and I have tried so hard to make it that, and yet I get into trouble and break my own heart, which is nothing at all, and more than break some one else's heart and do as much harm as Sue Greyson does, who is as flighty as a witch! I would rather go without things than pray years and years and be disappointed every day, or go farther and farther into wrong-doing as I do; I don't believe that the flightiest and flirtiest of your girls does as much harm as I do, or is as false to herself as I am! And I have been so proud of being true!"

"My _dear_ child."

"Is that all you can say to comfort me?"

"Why do you pray?"

"Why do I pray?" repeated Tessa in surprise. "To get what I want, I suppose."

"I thought so."

"Isn't that what you pray for?"

"Hardly. I pray that I may get what G.o.d wants."

"Oh," said Tessa with a half startled, little cry.

"I fear that you are having a hard time over something, child."

"If you only knew-but you wouldn't believe in me any longer; neither would father, or Dine, or Gus, or any one who trusts me; I will not tell you; I have lost all faith in myself."

"Thank G.o.d for that!" exclaimed the little woman brightly.

"I am too sore and bruised to be thankful; I feel, sometimes, as if I could creep into a dark corner and cry my heart out. I could bear it if I were the only one, but to think that I must make somebody's heart ache as mine does! I thought all my prayers would prevail to keep me from making mistakes."

"Perhaps you have been trying to _earn_ your heart's desire by heaping up prayers, piling them up higher and higher, morning, noon, and night, and you have held them up to G.o.d thinking that He must be glad to take them; I shouldn't wonder if you had even supposed that you were paying Him overmuch-you had prayed enough to get what you want some time ago."

"That is true," answered Tessa, emphatically. "I have felt as if He were wronging me by taking my prayers and giving me so little in return. I believe that I have thought my prayers precious enough to pay for any thing. I paid my prayers, and I am disappointed that I have not my purchases."

"Then your faith has been all in your _prayers_."

"Yes; I was sure that I could not go wrong because I prayed so much."

"And your faith has been in your _faith_."

"And neither my faith nor my prayers have kept me from being false. Oh, it has been such hard work!"

Tessa's face was drawn as if by physical pain.

"I was thinking in the night last night that I did not believe that Hannah, or Elizabeth, or Huldah, or Persis, or Dorcas ever prayed more fervently or unceasingly than I have; I have builded on my _faith_, no wonder that the first rough wind has shaken my foundation! Ever since Felix Harrison years ago called me a flirt, I have prayed that I might be true; and to-night I am as false as Sue Greyson."

"Through an experience once, long ago, I learned to pray that the will of G.o.d might be done in me, even although I must be sifted as wheat."

"I am not brave enough for that. Oh, Miss Jewett, I am afraid that G.o.d is angry with me; and I have meant to be so true."

"Do you remember the time that the disciples forgot to take bread?"

"Yes, but that is not like me."

"I think it is-just like you."

"Then tell me."

"It was one time when Jesus and the disciples were alone on board the s.h.i.+p; He had been deeply grieved with the Pharisees, sighing in His spirit over them, for they had tempted Him with asking of Him a sign from heaven. A sign from heaven! And He had just filled four thousand hungry people with seven loaves and a few small fishes!

"By and by He began to talk to the disciples; speaking with authority, perhaps, it even sounded severe to them as He charged them to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees.

"Then they began to talk among themselves: what had they done to be thus bidden to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees? _Leaven_ reminded them of bread! Oh, now they knew! They had but one loaf in the s.h.i.+p; they had forgotten to bring bread with them; perhaps the Lord was hungry and knew that they had not enough for Him and for themselves. It may be that He overheard them reasoning among themselves, or perhaps, forward Peter asked Him if He were rebuking them for forgetting the bread; for as soon as He knew what was troubling their simple hearts, how He talked to them! Seven questions, one after another, He asked them, ending with: _How is it_ that ye do not understand?

"And you are like them, child. The Lord has suffered you to be led into trouble that He may teach you something about Himself and you fall down at His feet bemoaning yourself; you forget Him and the great lessons He has to teach you and think only of yourself and some little thing that you missed doing; you missed it, blinded with tears in your eagerness to do right, you _meant_ to be so good and true, and because you made a mistake in your blindness and eagerness, you think Him such a harsh, unloving Father that all He cares to do is to punish you! Trust Him, Tessa! Don't moan over a loaf of bread forgotten before Him who has love enough, and power enough to give you and somebody beside a thousand thousand loaves. Do not grieve Him by crying out any longer, 'Do not punish me; I _meant_ to be so good?'"

Tessa's head kept its position. When she raised it, after a long silence, she said: "I will not think so any more; you don't know what I suffered in thinking that He is punis.h.i.+ng me."

"'How is it that ye do not understand?'"

"Because I think about my own troubles and not of what He is teaching me," said Tessa humbly.

XI.-ON THE HIGHWAY.

In June, Tessa gathered roses for Miss Jewett, and every evening filled the tall gla.s.s vase with white roses for the tea-table; in June, Dunellen Inst.i.tute closed for the season and Dinah was graduated; henceforth she would be a young lady of leisure, or a young lady seeking a vocation. In June, Mrs. Wadsworth scolded Tessa for "taking it so coolly about the dreadful thing that had come upon young Harrison."

"How many times have you called to see Laura since her poor brother has been so poorly?"

"I have called every two days," answered Tessa in her quietest tones.

"Oh, you have! Why didn't you say so? You are so still that people think you do nothing but pick roses. Anxious as I am, you might have told me how he was getting on. How was he yesterday?"

"Comfortable."

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Was he sitting up?"

"Yes, he had been sitting up half an hour."

"How does he look?"

"His eyes are deep in his head, his voice is as weak as a child's, he burst into tears because Laura did not come when he touched his bell for her."

"Was he cheerful?"