Christie Redfern's Troubles

Margaret M. (Margaret Murray) Robertson

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• Publié par: ketok
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 42
• Langue: English

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Project Gutenberg's Christie Redfern's Troubles, by Margaret Robertson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Christie Redfern's Troubles Author: Margaret Robertson Illustrator: Edward Barnard Lintott Release Date: April 27, 2007 [EBook #21226] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTIE REDFERN'S TROUBLES *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Margaret Robertson "Christie Redfern's Troubles" Preface. The requirement of the gospel is that, having first given ourselves to Christ, we should then devote all we have, be it little or much, to His service. The largest gifts fall infinitely below what He deserves from us; the smallest will not be rejected by Him. For it is the motive, not the gift, which our Lord regards. The poor widow’s mite was more acceptable to Him than the ostentatious and lavish donations of the wealthy. Yet the smallness, the seeming worthlessness, of our means is often pleaded as an excuse for withholding them altogether. Because men can do so little, they do nothing. It was the servant who had received only one talent that wrapped his lord’s money in a napkin, and buried it in useless, unprofitable obscurity. When the multitudes hungered in the wilderness, the disciples hesitated to bring the five barley loaves and two small fishes, asking, “What are they among so many?” They were taught, however, to produce their little all, utterly inadequate as it was to the exigencies of the case, and lay it in the hands of Omnipotent Love, that He might by His blessing increase it to the feeding of the five thousand. “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world and things which are despised hath God chosen, yea, and things that are not, to bring to nought things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence.” This great truth is admirably illustrated in the following pages. In the life of Christie Redfern we may see how the simple desire to serve God, felt and acted upon by a poor, suffering child, may give an almost heroic strength of character, and may produce results, the magnitude and grandeur of which are altogether out of proportion to the feebleness of the means employed. Chapter One. Christie’s childhood. “I’ve heard folks say it—I’ve seen it in a book myself—and I heard my father read something like it, out of the Bible, last Sunday—‘Ask, and ye shall receive,’ and in another place, ‘In everything by prayer and supplication let your requests be made known unto God.’ I might try it, anyway.” But the voice that spoke was by no means a hopeful one, and there was anything but a hopeful look on the face of the little girl who slowly raised herself up from a mossy seat, where she had been quite hidden by the branches of a tall birch-tree, that hung so low as to dip themselves into the waters of the brook at the times when it ran fullest. It was a very pretty place, and a very strange place for any child to look anxious or discontented in. But the little girl looked as if she were both; and there was, besides, a great deal of weariness in her manner, as she leaned for a moment against a branch, and then stooped to let the water flow over a spray of crimson maple that she held in her hand. “I might try it, anyway,” she repeated, as she left the place. In some spring or autumn long ago, the swollen waters of the brook had quite washed away the soil from between the roots of the birch-tree; and the roots themselves, and the hollow place which the waters had made, were covered with grass and soft moss now. In this pretty natural seat, after an eager, half-frightened glance around, the little girl placed herself, kneeling. She closed her eyes, and folded her hands with a reverent gesture; but a doubtful, uneasy look passed over her face as she let her head droop, and murmured: “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come”—and so on to the end. Then her head was raised; but the doubtful look had not passed away. “That’s no’ just what I’m needing,” she continued. “I have my daily bread. I’m no’ sure about the other things; and I canna mind another prayer. I would make one, if I knew the way. I need so many things!” There was a pause, and then she said, softly: “O Lord, dinna let Aunt Elsie be vexed with me for biding here so long. I’m sure I need that. And, O Lord, mind Effie to bring home the book she promised me. Oh, there are so many things that I need! and I’m no’ sure that I’m asking right. But the Bible says, ‘Whatsoever ye ask in My name, believing, ye shall receive.’” She slipped from her kneeling posture, and leaned, with her eyes still closed, against the shining bark of the birch-tree. She lay quiet for some time, as if she were thinking of many things; then, kneeling again, with her head bowed down on her clasped hands, she said: “O Lord, make me a good child, and take me to heaven when I die, for Jesus’ sake!” Then she opened her eyes, and rose up with a sigh. “Oh, how long the shadows have grown! I should have been at home a long while ago. But now I’ll see if Aunt Elsie’s no’ vexed. If she doesna scold me, I’ll ken that there is some use in praying. And if Effie brings me a book, such a book as I like, I shall be sure, sure. Then I shall know that God hears people when they pray; and that will be something.” And, really, the tired, pale little creature looked as though she needed something to make her look more cheerfully on a world which generally seems so happy a place to the young—something to banish the look of discontent which seemed to have settled on her face. This was little Christie Redfern—just such a plain, common-looking child as one might see anywhere without turning to look again. Her eyes were neither black nor blue, but grey, and dark only when the