The Wide, Wide World

"There now," said Ellen, "what is a charge?"

"Don't you know that?"

"I think I do, but I wish you would tell me."

"Try to tell me first."

"Isn't it something that is given one to do? – I don't know exactly."

"It is something given one in trust, to be done or taken care of. I remember very well once when I was about your age my mother had occasion to go out for half-an-hour, and she left me in charge of my little baby sister; she gave me a charge not to let anything disturb her while she was away, and to keep her asleep if I could. And I remember how I kept my charge too. I was not to take her out of the cradle, but I sat beside her the whole time; I would not suffer a fly to light on her little fair cheek; I scarcely took my eyes from her; I made John keep pussy at a distance; and whenever one of the little round dimpled arms was thrown out upon the coverlet, I carefully drew something over it again."

"Is she dead?" said Ellen timidly, her eyes watering in sympathy with Alice's.

"She is dead, my dear; she died before we left England."

"I understand what a charge is," said Ellen, after a little while, "but what is this charge the hymn speaks of? What charge have I to keep?"

"The hymn goes on to tell you. The next line gives you part of it. 'A God to glorify.'"

"To glorify!" said Ellen doubtfully.

"Yes – that is to honour – to give Him all the honour that belongs to Him."

"But can I honour Him?"

"Most certainly; either honour or dishonour; you cannot help doing one."

"I!" said Ellen again.

"Must not your behaviour speak either well or ill for the mother who has brought you up?"

"Yes, I know that."

"Very well; when a child of God lives as he ought to do, people cannot help having high and noble thoughts of that glorious One whom he serves, and of that perfect law he obeys. Little as they may love the ways of religion, in their own secret hearts they cannot help confessing that there is a God, and that they ought to serve Him. But a worldling, and still more an unfaithful Christian, just helps people to forget there is such a Being, and makes them think either that religion is a sham, or that they may safely go on despising it. I have heard it said, Ellen, that Christians are the only Bible some people ever read; and it is true; all they know of religion is what they get from the lives of its professors; and oh, were the world but full of the right kind of example, the kingdom of darkness could not stand. 'Arise, shine!' is a word that every Christian ought to take home."

"But how can I shine?" asked Ellen.

"My dear Ellen! – in the faithful, patient, self-denying performance of every duty as it comes to hand – 'whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.'"

"It is very little that I can do," said Ellen.

"Perhaps more than you think, but never mind that. All are not great stars in the Church; you may be only a little rushlight. See you burn well!"

"I remember," said Ellen, musing, "mamma once told me when I was going somewhere that people would think strangely of her if I didn't behave well."

"Certainly. Why, Ellen, I formed an opinion of her very soon after I saw you."

"Did you?" said Ellen, with a wonderfully brightened face; "what was it? Was it good? ah, do tell me!"

"I am not quite sure of the wisdom of that," said Alice, smiling; "you might take home the praise that is justly her right and not yours."

"Oh no, indeed," said Ellen, "I had rather she should have it than I. Please tell me what you thought of her, dear Alice – I know it was good, at any rate."

"Well, I will tell you," said Alice, "at all risks. I thought your mother was a lady, from the honourable notions she had given you; and from your ready obedience to her, which was evidently the obedience of love, I judged she had been a good mother in the true sense of the term. I thought she must be a refined and cultivated person, from the manner of your speech and behaviour; and I was sure she was a Christian, because she had taught you the truth, and evidently had tried to lead you in it."

The quivering face of delight with which Ellen began to listen gave way, long before Alice had done, to a burst of tears.

"It makes me so glad to hear you say that," she said.

"The praise of it is your mother's, you know, Ellen."

"I know it; but you make me so glad!" And hiding her face in Alice's lap, she fairly sobbed.

"You understand now, don't you, how Christians may honour or dishonour their Heavenly Father?"

"Yes, I do; but it makes me afraid to think of it."

"Afraid? It ought rather to make you glad. It is a great honour and happiness for us to be permitted to honour Him —

'A never-dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky.'

Yes, that is the great duty you owe yourself. Oh, never forget it, dear Ellen! And whatever would hinder you, have nothing to do with it. 'What will it profit a man though he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?' —

'To serve the present age,
My calling to fulfil – '"

"What is 'the present age'?" said Ellen.

"All the people who are living in the world at this time."

"But, dear Alice, what can I do to the present age?"

"Nothing to the most part of them certainly; and yet, dear Ellen, if your little rushlight shines well there is just so much the less darkness in the world, though perhaps you light only a very little corner. Every Christian is a blessing to the world, another grain of salt to go towards sweetening and saving the mass."

"That is very pleasant to think of," said Ellen, musing.

"Oh, if we were but full of love to our Saviour, how pleasant it would be to do anything for Him! how many ways we should find of honouring Him by doing good."

"I wish you would tell me some of the ways that I can do it," said Ellen.

"You will find them fast enough if you seek them, Ellen. No one is so poor or so young but he has one talent at least to use for God."

"I wish I knew what mine is," said Ellen.

"Is your daily example as perfect as it can be?"

Ellen was silent and shook her head.