The Black Forge mills

THE BLACK FORGE MILLS.

The fragrant odor of sweet fern, and of pine and hemlock came to Ralph Carleton, the pastor of the First Baptist Church in Afton, as he leaned against the low window sill of his study.As he thus leaned he looked off toward the hills, which rose abruptly just back of the busy town.A heavy rain the night before had refreshed the thirsty earth, and clothed it anew in beauty.A perfect scene was spread before him, and, accustomed as he was to it, it still possessed for him new charms.

Field and grove were green and leafy; the waters of the broad bay sparkled in the sunlight, and the pure balmy air gave an indescribable sense of exhilaration.Morning glories, honeysuckles, and grape vines struggled for supremacy on the high trellis at the side of the tiny garden; roses clambered over the porch, and bud and blossom fairly rioted in profusion.The hum of bees, and the glad song of birds added to the perfection of that early June day, and to the young minister, who drank it all in with keenest enjoyment, there came an irresistible longing to throw aside his books and unfinished sermon for a ramble among the hills.

"I will do it," said he, eagerly, changing his dressing gown for his coat, and his slippers for his shoes."In God's great temple I will seek fresh inspiration for my unfinished task, and who knows but that I shall meet the Master there, and receive the power that will make my words a living message; my tongue 'like as of fire.'"

A moment later, equipped for a long tramp, he entered the street, and walked briskly off toward the outskirts of the town.

After a half hour of hard climbing he reached a small plateau near the summit of the hill, from which an extended view could be obtained of the surrounding country.He had often heard his people speak of the beauty of this view since his coming to Afton; but as he now paused and for the first time took in the scene, an exclamation of surprise and delight escaped him.

Right at his feet lay the large and rapidly growing town, with its well-kept streets, its tasteful residences, and its huge manufactories; and yet, so far above it was he, that none of its din reached his ears, and only the tall chimneys, dark with smoke, told of the busy life going on there.In front of the town stretching away beyond the reach of human vision, and wonderfully suggestive of the unseen beyond, was the broad bay, its tossing waters dotted with sails of every size and many a hue.Well-cultivated farms extended to the bay on either side, and their growing crops waved gently to and fro in the balmy breeze.Back on the hillsides, and over the hilltops the dark forests lifted up their lofty heads, and perfumed the air with their piney fragrance.Altogether, it was a picture to delight an artist's eye, and Mr. Carleton, throwing himself down upon the greensward, eagerly took in the varied panorama, and felt his soul lifted by nature's matchless scenery nearer to nature's God.

His text for the coming Sunday came to his mind: "His glory covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise."And under the inspiration of his surroundings, and his consciousness of the Spirit's presence and help, his theme developed with marvelous rapidity.Taking a note book from his pocket, he jotted down thought after thought, utterly regardless of the lapse of time, until his sermon was finished.Then, looking at his watch, he found it was half-past eleven.

"Well," he remarked, "notwithstanding my long tramp, the morning has proved exceedingly profitable.Surely God has met and helped me here, and I will thank him for it."

Kneeling down by a boulder lying near, he poured forth his soul in thankfulness to God for his help, and asked for his blessing upon the message when it should be given to his people.When he arose a look of quiet peace rested upon his face, and new strength and courage for the Master's work were in his heart.

He now began his descent, taking a different route from that by which he had come, because it seemed to be shorter.He soon found, however, that the path led around the brow of the hill to the opposite side.As he was about to retrace his steps his eye rested upon a portion of the village which from the plateau he had not seen.

Below him there was a small valley, separated from the main portion of the town by a sharp declivity.Through this a considerable stream went foaming and dashing to the bay no great distance off.Along the banks of the stream five large buildings with their massive chimneys were built; and clustered about them were a half hundred or more tenement houses, exactly alike in size and hue.Mr. Carleton had no need to read the huge white letters on the roofs of the factories to know that they were the Black Forge Woolen Mills.

There came directly to his mind a conversation he had held only the Sunday before with Mr. Bacon, the superintendent of the mills.He had preached that morning on Christ's work in foreign lands.When he came down from the pulpit, Mr. Bacon had shaken hands with him, saying:

"Well, pastor, I have no objection to Christian work among the heathen.In fact I believe in it; but if there ever was a heathen field that needed immediate cultivation, we have it down at Black Forge Mills."

"Have you done your duty by it, then, my brother?"Mr. Carleton had asked.

Mr. Bacon, shrugging his shoulders, had replied:

"We are told not to cast our pearls before swine."

"But are you sure they are all swine?" the pastor had quickly asked; "and are our skirts clear from their blood until as faithful watchmen we have warned those people of their danger?"

Mr. Bacon at once had answered:

"You are right, Brother Carleton; and for a long time I have felt that they should have some religious privileges.If they won't come to us, we must take the gospel to them.Come down, and look over the ground at an early day, and we will see what can be done."

Mr. Carleton had given the desired promise, and now as he looked down upon the mills he was reminded of it.

"I can get there by the time the workmen come out for dinner, and it will give me an unusual opportunity to see them all together," he murmured."I will go, though it will make me late at home."And he hastened away in that direction.

As he reached the main street of the village, he saw a half dozen boys from four to ten years of age at play.Pausing a moment, he asked the oldest:

"Would you like to go to Sunday-school, my boy?"

"What's that?"the lad inquired, curiously.

"It is a school where you learn God's truth, and the story of his Son, Jesus Christ," Mr. Carleton explained.

"Whose he?"the boy asked."I never heard of him before.I guess he don't live in these parts, does he?"

Laying his hand on the boy's head, the minister earnestly said:

"It is God who made this world, and all there is in it; and he through his great love for us sent his only Son Jesus to die for our sins."

"What are ye givin' us?"the boy answered, with the air of one who was being imposed upon."If that was so, don't ye 'spose I'd 'ave heard it before?"

Mr. Carleton walked slowly on toward the mill office, convinced that the Black Forge Mill field did indeed stand in need of immediate Christian work.He found that Mr. Bacon was not in; but a clerk told him that in five minutes more the noon whistle would blow, and from the office door he could see the mill hands file out through the gates.

Scarcely had the first note of the whistle sounded on the air, when men, women, and half-grown children, as if glad for even a brief respite from their monotonous toil, hastened out from the different buildings, and, pressing in one vast throng through the ponderous gateway scattered among the tenement houses for dinner.What a motley crowd it was!The old and the young were there, the weak and the strong, the ragged and the neat, the coarse and the delicate, the grave and the gay.But upon every face there was written more or less of that stolid indifference which comes from pinching poverty, excessive toil, and reckless living.

"Five hundred and sixty-two of them," remarked the clerk to Mr. Carleton; "and a harder set you never saw, men, women, or children.I won't except a single one.By the way," he added, as the minister started down the office steps, "you had better keep the middle of the street as you go up town, or some of those youngsters will be throwing eggs or stones at you.I saw Ray Branford, the biggest scamp among them all, and the greatest daredevil, too, have his eyes on you as he passed; you won't be the first minister he has insulted."

With a laugh Mr. Carleton replied, "Oh, I fear no trouble," and hurried out of the gate.

He had not gone a dozen rods when a stone thrown from some neighboring corner struck his hat, and sent it spinning to the ground, eight or ten feet away.

"Hoorah!Hoorah!Bully for you, Ray!"shouted a chorus of voices.

Mr. Carleton picked up his hat, and turned around, hardly expecting to see any one.To his surprise, however, a tall, well-developed lad of fifteen or sixteen years, stood on the nearest corner, with a stone in his right hand, while back of him was a squad of boys of all ages and sizes, from whom the shouts came.

"Well, parson," the boy with the stone coolly asked, "how was that for a shot?"

Amused at the boy's audacity, Mr. Carleton replied:

"It certainly was well done; but what if the stone had struck my head?"

"No fear of that, parson," the lad promptly answered."Put on your hat, and I'll take it off again without hurting a hair of your head."

Without the slightest hesitation, Mr. Carleton put on his hat, saying:

"All right!I am ready."

With a quick, sharp jerk the stone left the boy's hand, and again the hat went spinning several yards away.

Mr. Carleton again picked it up, and walked slowly toward the boy.

"May I ask your name?"he inquired.

"Ray Branford."

"Well, Ray, have you ever heard the story of William Tell, who shot his arrow through an apple on his own boy's head."

"No, sir."

In as interesting manner as possible Mr. Carleton told the story to the boys, who without fear drew around him.

"That was good," Ray commented, when he had finished."I believe I could have done that."

"I think you could have done it with practice; for your present feat shows that you have a keen eye and a steady arm," said Mr. Carleton; "but I know another story of a mere lad who, with a single stone in a sling, killed a great giant."

"Was it Jack the Giant Killer?"asked one of the boys."If 'twas, I've read him."

"No," replied the minister, suppressing a smile; "his name was David, and he lived in Bible times, and by slaying this giant he saved his country from the enemy."

"I'd like to hear about it, sir," said Ray, respectfully."I can kill a bird with a sling; I have often done it."

"I wouldn't do it any more," said Mr. Carleton; "for it is cruel to kill them just for the fun of the thing.But it happens that next Sunday our lesson in the Bible school is about this David and the giant he killed.The school meets at twelve o'clock.How many of you boys will come up there and hear about it?"

"I will," said Ray, promptly.None of the other lads, however, would give the promise; so, telling Ray he would be on the lookout for him, Mr. Carleton walked rapidly off toward home.

Ray looked after him until he had disappeared; then, turning to his companions, he said, with marked emphasis on his words: "Fellows, that parson is a brick; and I want you to understand he is to come and go around these mills as he pleases, without any interference from any of you.The first one of you I hear of abusing him, I'll souse you in the ditch, no matter when it is, or who ye are."And having delivered his message with the air of one who expected implicit obedience, he went up a side street, and entered a house standing near the stream.

The door of the house opened directly into a room, which a single glance showed to be kitchen, dining, and sitting room, all in one.A long table was stretched nearly across the room, and at this four men and three women were sitting, eating with that haste and voraciousness characteristic of those who feel that even their mealtime is limited.Another woman was moving rapidly about the table, waiting on those seated there; while three or four half-clad and dirty children crawled about the floor.

Taking a vacant place at the table, Ray helped himself from the huge dish of cabbage, pork, and potatoes, and began to eat with the same rapidity and greediness that characterized the others.

"What mischief has delayed ye this time?"asked the oldest of the men, and one whose bloated visage suggested reckless dissipation.

"I only stopped, pop, to stone the parson," the boy coolly answered.

"Ye might have been in better business," growled his father.

"Yes, such as gettin' drunk and beatin' the ole woman," Ray, in perfect mimicry of his father's tones, replied.

A low oath was the only answer.

"What did the parson do?"one of the women at the table, a sister of the lad, asked curiously.

"Picked up his hat, put it on his head, and asked me to knock it off again," replied the lad, while he still ate greedily.

"I don't believe it," said another sister.

"He certainly did, and I as certainly knocked it off again," affirmed Ray.

"Then what did he do?"asked one of his brothers, moving back from the table.

"He told me about a man named Tell, who shot an arrow through an apple on the head of his boy, and about a fellow named David, who killed a giant with a stone.He said the last story was in the Bible, and asked me to come up to his Sunday-school and hear about it."

"Of course you'll go," said the brother, with a sneer.

"I promised to go, and Ray Branford keeps his word; which is more than either of his brothers can say," responded the lad, hotly.

"Hoorah!our Ray will be a minister yet," shouted his youngest sister, pulling his hair as she passed by him.

A general laugh followed this sally.

"He is the only one out of the whole lot of which such a thing is possible," sharply answered the woman waiting at the table, and who was the wife of Ray's oldest brother.Then stopping beside the boy, she said, in a tone too low for the others to hear:

"Mother is suffering dreadfully, Ray.I wish you'd go in and see her before you go back to the mill."

He arose, and, crossing the room, entered a small bedroom.On the bed lay a woman; and even to the most casual observer the hacking cough and hectic flush told that her days were numbered.

In a rough sort of a way, that he intended should indicate kindness, Ray asked:

"How are ye to-day, mam?"

"Growing weaker every moment, my son," the woman feebly answered.Then anxiously: "Didn't I hear you say that you had been stoning the minister?"

"Only to knock his hat off, mam," he replied.Then, knowing it would please his mother, he added: "But he got the best of me, as I have promised to go up to his church next Sunday."

"The Lord be praised for that!"fervently ejaculated his mother."If you would only go every Sunday, Ray."

"Perhaps I'll like it so well I'll keep on going."And the boy laughed at the very thought.

Then the whistle blew, and he hurried off to the mill.

Two hours later his sister-in-law came hurriedly into the mill, and, with blanched cheeks, said:

"Ray, your mother is dying, and wants you at once."

"Have you told pop?"he inquired, adjusting his jack so that he could leave it.

"Yes, and the others," she hastily replied."Your sisters are over at the house already; but father and the boys won't come."

With a word of explanation to the overseer of his room, Ray started on the run for the house.His mother was still conscious when he entered the room, and, recognizing him, gasped out:

"Ray, get a Bible, quick!"

The boy knew there was none in the house, and hastened out into the street.

"Grandfather Peck is the only one I know of that would be likely to have a Bible," he said to himself, and hurried down a lane toward a little brown house at the extreme end.

To his hasty knock a pleasant voice responded: "Come in!"

"Ho!Ray, is it you?"an old white-haired man, confined to the bed in one corner of the room, asked.

"Yes, grandfather," responded Ray."But mother is very sick, and wants a Bible.Have you got one?"

"Yes; there it is at the foot of the bed," the old man answered."And, Ray, read her the first part of the forty-third chapter of Isaiah.That'll comfort her."

"Who's he?"Ray asked, quickly.

"I forgot how little you and the others around here know of that blessed book," the old man replied, with a heavy sigh."Here, I have opened the book at the place.Hurry home with it now."

Ray, with the Bible open at the specified chapter, ran back to his home.His mother was bolstered up in bed, and, kneeling by her side, he read as best he could the holy words: "But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name: thou art mine.When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour."

A sudden movement of his mother caused him to stop his reading and look up.She had raised herself up to a sitting position, her arms were extended, her eyes were turned heavenward, her lips moved:

"Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name: thou art mine."She repeated the words once, twice, thrice, in a clear, strong voice, and then fell back upon the pillow—dead!

Those divine words were the only legacy she had left her boy.