Owen's Fortune; Or, "Durable Riches"

"Why, Sam Netherclift was my greatest friend down home. It is funny you should have the same name."

"Where is your home?"

"At Westbrook, near Allenbury; a long way from here."

"Westbrook? I have often heard my father speak of it; his brother lives there. I expect Sam is my cousin. I'll ask father."

"Oh, do. Does your father live near here?"

"Not far off. But we must not go there now."

"Why not?"

"Because this is the time for work. Father says it is as bad as stealing to take my master's time for my own use. I'll ask him all about it to-night, and tell you in the morning."

"I expect your father is something like mine was," said Owen; "he was so good, and never let me do wrong if he could help it."

"Is he dead?" asked David.

"Yes, he died some time ago. If he had been alive I should not be here, for I would never have left him."

When the boys returned to the shop, they were both set busily to work, and had no time for further conversation. But next day David found opportunity to say, "Sam is my cousin, and father says he hopes you will come and see him some day; he would like to hear about Westbrook."

Owen was getting rapidly initiated into business habits, and being a quick, intelligent boy, did not often want telling twice how to do a thing, so that his uncle regarded him with favour, and at times allowed him to help Clarice in the counting-house when she was extra busy. The boy missed the country life, the long walks, the skating, the thousand pleasures of unfettered rural life, and he sometimes wished he could have a holiday, though he never said so to his uncle, but stuck manfully to his work till late every night, and then threw himself on his bed, and went sound asleep.

Mr. Hadleigh seldom went to church; indeed, the whole family were generally too tired on a Sunday, after a week of incessant labour, to do anything but rest. In fine weather Clarice generally went for a walk in the afternoon, and her father sometimes accompanied her. But on winter evenings they sat round the fire, yawning and tired, wishing the hours would pass rapidly by, so that the shop could be opened again. Mr. Hadleigh really cared for nothing but business.

The first Sunday or two Owen was very miserable. Sundays had been such bright days in his old home. He had always gone to church with his father in the morning, and to a class he held for elder boys in the afternoon; and though he had not always taken heed to the lessons as he ought, he had at any rate enjoyed the time. And he looked back to the Westbrook Sundays as days of peaceful rest. The first Sunday after he had found out that David was a cousin of his old friend Sam, he ventured to ask his uncle if he might go and spend the afternoon with the Netherclifts. His uncle gave him leave, not caring what he did on Sundays, so long as he attended well to his work during the week.

Owen started off eagerly, and just round the corner saw David, who had come to meet him by agreement. They walked some little distance, till they reached a narrower street, with smaller houses—a dingy street Owen thought it. But David stopped at a house which looked brighter than the rest, having clean blinds and curtains to the windows, and a very white stone step at the door. Owen noticed this as he followed David in.

"This is Owen Hadleigh, father," he said, bringing him into the little sitting-room.

"I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Netherclift; "but I cannot rise to greet you. I am a constant prisoner with rheumatism."

And then Owen noticed that the man's hands, too, were twisted and swollen with the same painful disease. He hardly knew what to say. But Mr. Netherclift was anxious to set him at his ease, and bid David bring a chair forward, as he remarked—

"You have come from Westbrook, David tells me. I used to go there often, many years ago."

"Did you really?" asked Owen, eagerly, ready for a talk with one who knew his old home. "Did you know my father, too?"

"I have seen him, but I don't think I ever spoke to him. My visits to my brother were always short, so I did not get to know many of his friends. And so your father is now home with Christ; it is a blessed change even from such a pretty place as Westbrook."

"Yes, and he was glad to go; though he was sorry to leave me," said the boy, wistfully. "Mother died when I was a baby, so now I have nobody."

"Have you not got Christ?"

Owen looked up inquiringly; he did not quite know his friend's meaning.

"The blessed Saviour loves you, my boy; have you no love in your heart for Him? Those who belong to Him can never say they have nobody to love them. Are you not his child?"

The question was asked very tenderly, and Owen looked into the kind face that watched his so earnestly, as he said, slowly, "I don't think so."

"Then I am sure you are both poor and lonely."

"Yes, I am poor, because father had very little to leave me—only a few books and furniture. But I have come to Barmston to make my fortune."

"I hope you will find the truest fortune; it is already made for you, and all you have to do is to accept it."

"What is the truest fortune?"

"It is to belong to Christ, the King of kings. The peace and rest and joy He gives are riches of untold price, more valuable—infinitely so—than any wealth of earth. And they are riches that will last for ever."

"How can we get them?"

"By first of all realising our poverty, that we, you and I, are poor lost sinners in ourselves, fit for nothing but hell, and that we can do nothing to save ourselves. Then, knowing this fact, because God says it, to come just as we are, and believe in His Son, who died to save us from all sin."

Owen listened earnestly, the boy's heart was roused; it was God's message to him. He looked thoughtfully into the fire for a few moments. Presently he said, "Father's last words to me were to seek the heavenly riches."

"Have you sought them?"

"There is no time here in Barmston. From morning to night I am as busy as can be, often till ten o'clock, and then I am so tired I almost drop asleep while I am undressing."

"Poor boy, you are hard-worked. But remember this, God never puts you into any place where you cannot seek Him. Do you never read your Bible, or speak to God in prayer?"

"DID YOU KNOW MY FATHER?"—Page 33. (#x1_x_1_i214)

"Not now. Perhaps I shall have more time when I am older."

"Nay, never think that. God says, 'Now is the day of salvation.' You may not live to be older."

The conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Netherclift coming in with the tea, and directly after the two boys went out together to a neighbouring mission-hall, where David's father knew they would hear an earnest Gospel message. He, being unable to walk, remained at home, earnestly praying that both lads might get a blessing.

CHAPTER IV.

AN UNEXPECTED TRIAL

DAVID NETHERCLIFT ushered Owen into a small, but cheerful and brightly-lighted mission-hall. The place was nearly full, but they found comfortable seats, and the service almost immediately commenced. The singing was hearty, and the speaker's manner so earnest and manly that Owen's attention was gained even before he began to preach. But when he read out his text, the boy listened still more earnestly, for the words seemed to have some reference to the fortune he so eagerly desired. Slowly and deliberately they were read out: "Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich."

"You see here," began the speaker, "that One who was rich gave up His wealth, and became a poor man that you, poor men, women, and children, might become rich. It was a wonderful thing to do, for it was not only that He gave up home and comfort and wealth for poor people, but for those who cared nothing for Him, even for His enemies. And He did it out of His own great love and grace. Who was it who did this? It was the Lord Jesus Christ, the King of Glory, the God who made the world, and all those countless stars that fill our sky. If it was a good man that had done it, we should have thought it a great thing to do; but that God should stoop so low fills us with surprise. He might have stayed in heaven, rejoicing in His Father's love, listening to the songs and adoration of the angels, leaving us in our poverty and ruin to die eternally. But no; out of His boundless love and grace, He came to suffer and die—'for your sakes.'

"Yes, for our sakes, because we were poor, lost sinners, and He pitied us. So He came down from heaven, and lived a poor man, dying a death of shame to redeem us and save us from hell. Should we not then seek His rich salvation, and take the wealth the Saviour went through such deep poverty to win for us? You may refuse it; God does not force it upon you. But oh, the terrible punishment that will fall on those who neglect or reject God's salvation!

"You, here before me, are mostly poor; you would all like to be rich. Listen, then, to God's Word: 'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.' The heavenly riches never disappoint, never fly away, but last on, growing deeper and fuller, right into eternity. Who will come to Christ to-night, and seek His unsearchable riches?"

They were simple words simply spoken, but were God's message to many hearts. Owen did not say much as he walked home with his friend; but he did not forget the words he had heard. That night he opened his Bible for the first time since he came to Barmston, and knelt in prayer before he went to bed. All that week he was very thoughtful, longing for Sunday to come, that he might again have some help heavenward, for he was beginning to set his face that way. Not that he neglected his work. No; his uncle never found him more diligent and active, though he was on his feet from morning till night, and was often thoroughly tired out.

"No sorrow with it," he said softly to himself one evening, as he was copying some writing by his cousin's side in the counting-house.