A Messenger From The Skies

: Doctor Jones' Picnic

Mrs. Jones and Mattie had found Jennie to be a lovely, intelligent, and

more than ordinarily educated girl. While unused to society, yet there

was an honest straightforwardness about her that was very charming. The

two ladies became easily intimately acquainted with her. Her whole soul

was devoted to her mother, and the hope that Dr. Jones had inspired

shone from her eyes. She became quite cheerful and merry. And the effect
<
r /> upon the poor invalid was not less visible. She insisted upon sitting in

her easy chair by the fireplace, and joined in the conversation.



Sing, meantime, had installed himself as the presiding genius of the

kitchen, and he and the half-breed Indian girl were getting along

famously together.



"How long have you lived in this place, Mrs. Barton?" asked Mrs. Jones.



"Twenty-three years," replied she.



"Well, have you not found it a very monotonous existence?"



"I did at first; but as my children were born, my mind and heart were so

taken up by them that time did not hang heavily upon our hands. I really

believe that we are much happier than the majority of people in the

towns and cities."



"O, if mother can but get well, it seems to me that I shall never be

discontented again in Constance House!" exclaimed Jennie, her eyes

filling with tears.



"My poor girl does long sometimes to see the great world," said Mrs.

Barton, stroking the head of Jennie, who was sitting upon a stool at her

feet. "Well, my dear girl, I believe that God, in his infinite mercy,

has sent us help directly from the skies; for I must say that last

night, as I lay the first time for many weary months free from pain and

awful burning and restlessness, that I thanked God as I had never done

before; and my faith went out to Him so that I felt a great peace settle

upon me. He has blessed the means being used. I shall recover, my

darling girl."



Jennie, in a paroxysm of joy, threw herself at her mother's feet, and

buried her face in her lap, weeping as she had never done in her life.

At this juncture the Doctor, Professor Gray, and Mr. Barton entered the

room.



"Tut, tut," said the Doctor, seeing the tears streaming down the faces

of the four women, "what sort of business is this? You ought to all be

laughing instead of crying. There is nothing to cry about, I assure

you."



"Doctor," said Mrs. Barton, extending her hand to him, "you do not

understand. We are rejoicing, and this is just our poor woman's way of

doing it."



"I see, I see," said the jovial Doctor. "Well, now wipe away your tears,

and give God all glory. He has sent me, a poor weak mortal, simply as a

messenger to administer that which will save you from a loathsome

disease and death. All glory be unto Him."



He then began singing softly and reverently, the others joining:



"God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform,

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.



Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs.

And works his sovereign will.



Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head."



"And now, Mrs. Barton, you must come out and see the chariot in which

the Lord sent us," cried Dr. Jones gayly.



The poor invalid stood in the door and looked up at the great globe that

shimmered and glistened like burnished silver in the rays of the

setting sun. How proudly and serenely it rode above their heads as if

conscious of its own unparalleled beauty, and its blessed mission in

this present instance. She gazed upon it a few moments in speechless

rapture, her poor emaciated hands clasped upon her breast.



"This is too marvelous for me," she cried. "What am I that God should

send deliverance to me in so glorious and majestic a ship of the skies!

I am lost in wonder and praise. Glory be to His holy name forever and

forever."



"Amen!" responded the listeners fervently.



The canoe party returned at four o'clock, P.M. All were tired and ready

to sit about the generous fire; for evening was at hand, and the air was

already sharp and frosty.



"And how did it happen, Mr. Barton, that you came to settle away up in

this barren wilderness?" asked Professor Gray.



"I do not know that I know myself," returned Mr. Barton. "I was taken

sick at a boarding-house in Montreal, and was sent to a hospital. I was

at that time master of the bark Twilight, a Liverpool craft. Mrs. Barton

was then a beautiful girl--don't blush so, Mrs. Barton. Jennie there is

a perfect reproduction of you as I first saw you, and I should not be

ashamed of our Jennie anywhere on earth. Well, as I was saying, Mrs.

Barton, named at that time Miss Constance Schmidt, the daughter of a

Moravian missionary, visited the hospital frequently as an angel of

mercy. So far as I was concerned it was a case of love at first sight.

She nursed me back to health; and, with the usual ingratitude of man, I

married her for her pains. I then gave up the sea after a trip or two,

and settled in Montreal. But I could not get used to, nor like the

conventionalities of city life. So I made a trip into these wilds. I saw

an opportunity to do a good business in furs; and so, with wife's

consent, we settled on this spot. I built this house, which I named in

honor of my wife--Constance. I have done fairly well financially, and I

am sure that we have been quite happy and contented. Until Mrs. Barton's

illness, I was without a care or worry in the world."



"But don't you find the winters very long and terribly cold?" asked

Fred.



"On the contrary, we enjoy our winters very much. To be sure, the

thermometer runs from thirty to fifty degrees below zero; but if the

wind does not blow, we suffer very little from it."



"What do you do to pass the time?" asked Will.



"The boys, when the weather is favorable, trap and hunt. I am getting a

little too old and heavy for much of that; so I attend to the chores

about the place, trade goods for furs to the hunters and Esquimaux. Our

evenings are passed in reading, one often reading aloud to the rest of

us. And we have a great deal of music. Joe plays the violin, Sam the

flute, and Jennie the guitar or dulcimer."



"By the way," cried Fred, "Let's have a musical soiree to-night. What do

you all say?"



This proposition was enthusiastically received.



"Come, Will, let's run up and get the organ. Will you go up?" addressing

Joe and Sam.



"Go up, my sons, and see this Alladin's palace," said Mr. Barton. "You

will never see its like again."



In half an hour they returned. The young Bartons were wildly

enthusiastic in their praises of the globe.



"Jennie, you must not fail to see the wonderful air-ship," cried Joe.

Mattie, Jennie, Will and Fred visited the globe, returning just in time

for a splendid supper prepared by the skillful Celestial, Sing. All that

the larders of both Constance House and the globe afforded had been

drawn upon, and it is doubtful if in all inhospitable Labrador a more

elaborate and bountiful table was ever spread.



The Doctor, at Mr. Barton's request, asked the Divine blessing, and all

fell to and ate with an appetite that is known only to those of clear

consciences and sound digestive organs. Having done justice to the

really splendid meal, they repaired to the sitting room. The beautiful

aluminum organ graced the center of the apartment, and the musicians

gathered about it. Fred was surprised and delighted to find that the

young Bartons were all really accomplished musicians, and their

instruments blended in sweetest harmony. So they played a number of

orchestral pieces that were received with great applause by the

audience. Then solos, duets, trios, quartettes, choruses, etc., were

sung, and it is not probable that the Barton family ever spent so

delightful an evening in their lives. And let us just contemplate the

scene for a moment. How happy, joyous, and innocent they were, just as

God intended his children to be. Two days before, this lovely family had

been in the depths of despair, day by day watching a beloved wife and

mother dying by inches of a painful, lingering, loathsome disease. Not a

sound of music had been heard in the house for many days. The violin,

guitar, and dulcimer had lain utterly neglected and unstrung. Now a

change has occurred that must have delighted the angels of God. Through

the unselfishness, skill, and noble-heartedness of one man, has come so

unexpectedly, as if dropped from the very skies, in the heart of one of

the most inhospitable portions of the earth, sweet hope and deliverance.

What wonder that their hearts are light and merry? One thought only mars

their pleasure: to-morrow morning the Children of the Skies will sail

away in their glorious sky-ship, probably never to return.



At ten o'clock the company broke up, the ship company ascending, as

before to their staterooms. Barton would not hear to anything else than

that they should descend in the morning for the last time. How sad these

earthly partings are. It will not be so in that better land.



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