A Tale of Red Pekin Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  THE LETTER FROM PEKIN.

  Mr. St. John might well look grave. "Upon the earth distress ofnations, men's hearts failing them for fear." Yes, this text was beingfulfilled. It was all very well for people in England to read of theawful things that were taking place in China, but to be on thespot--alone. Ah, there it was, therein lay the anguish--for he was notalone, if he had been he would not have cared. But his wife andchildren! it was the thought of them that caused him such unutterablepain.

  Abraham knew something of this agony when he got up early that morningand saddled his ass. What a pathetic story! How difficult to read itwithout tears. It was just because Abraham felt it down to the verydepth of his being, and yet never doubted God's love and God's power,that he was called faithful Abraham--God's friend.

  It is easy to talk of faith to others--and to have it ourselves wheneverything goes well--but the faith which God approves is that whichcasts its burden on the Lord, that cries, "Though He slay me, yet will Itrust in Him."

  Mr. St. John was a man full of faith. He was also full of love, or hisfaith could not have been so tried; and he was a man of prayer: thatdisquieting letter from Pekin had been spread before the Lord, and hegot up very early so as to spend the morning hours in communion withHim. He had made great drafts on God's Bank, and his face had regainedits usual serenity of expression. His heart, so torn and tremblingovernight, was now calm with "the peace of God which passeth allunderstanding"--the peace which the Lord has promised to those who arestayed on him.

  There was a slight sound. He looked up quickly; it was Cecilia--St.Cecilia the children called her--coming over the grass to meet him.

  "Father, darling," she said, as she twined her arms about his neck, "Ido wish I could do something for you."

  "But you do, dear child," he answered, tenderly. "Mother's right hand:what more can we ask?"

  "Yes, but father, _you_--you seemed so troubled last night."

  "If I did, my darling, it was very wrong," he replied, gravely, "andshowed a great want of trust in our Heavenly Father."

  "I could not sleep for thinking of you, and wishing I were older, that Imight really be able to help you."

  "Poor little Cicely," he said, tenderly taking the sweet, earnest facebetween his hands. "Poor little right hand--old before her time. Youmust not take up our cares, darling. Indeed, if we older people hadmore faith we should never fret or worry either, but, instead, cast allour cares upon the Lord who cares for us."

  "What are you and father talking about? You are both so grave," saidRachel, as she came running up to them. "Cicely looks just like thatpicture we have up in our room--St. somebody or other--I can't rememberthe name. Not anybody in the Bible, you know," said Rachel,garrulously, "but it's just like Cicely, when she is in white and grave,isn't it, father? Only she's got no halo round her head."

  "You little chatterbox!" said her father, laughing, "it's a pity someoneelse has not a little more gravity herself."

  "Oh, I can look very grave if I like, father. I practise sometimes infront of the glass, and I make such a long face--really, yards long."

  "Did you measure it with your yard measure, Rachel?"

  "Oh, no. But you know what I mean--as long as yours, and mother's, andCicely's."

  "Well, I am sure we all feel very flattered," said her father, smiling."What a little pickle you are."

  "A pickle! what is that? I thought it was something to eat. Is itnice?"

  "Well, that is a matter of opinion," smiling. "Some people are very fondof pickles; others find them just a little bit too hot and strong."

  Rachel was silent for a moment, then she dismissed the subject with atoss of her dark curls. "Father," she said, "do you know I am so glad noone is coming to be healed to-day, so we shall have you all toourselves, and we can have some round games like Cicely says you had inEngland."

  Mr. St. John's face changed. "Rachel," he inquired, gravely, "how doyou know that no one is coming to be healed this morning?"

  "Because Seng Mi said so, father. The people are angry about something,I don't know what, but I am so glad. Cicely, why don't you say you'reglad, too, instead of looking like St. Cecilia at the piano?"

  Cecilia flushed, and the tears came into her eyes. Her father took holdof her hand and pressed it between his own.

  "Father, darling," she whispered, "has it come already?"

  "God only knows," he replied, sadly, "but we shall be ready, at anyrate, darling."

  "Yes, father," she said, earnestly, lifting her sweet, grave eyes tohis. "Do you know--I have often wished to tell you--Jesus is soprecious to me that sometimes I long to suffer for His sake."

  "My dearest child, God grant that He may be more exceedingly precious toeach one of us every day. God be with you all in the time that iscoming, and the dear native Christians. Ah, Cicely, my heart bleeds forthem."

  "Why, father?" asked Rachel, who had caught the last words.

  "Because, Rachel, I am afraid there is a time of great trouble in storefor them--terrible persecution. Indeed," he added, "it has begunalready; in the letter which I received last night from Pekin, youruncle speaks of the dreadful suffering, not only of Europeans, but alsoof the native Christians--there have been hundreds of martyrs for Jesusalready."

  "Have there, father?" Rachel's gentian-blue eyes were very wide openindeed--"I haven't seen anybody being persecuted here yet."

  "No; but my dear little Rachel, it has not reached us yet, God bepraised for that; but it may come any day--it might even come to-day."

  Rachel was silent for a moment, and then suddenly reverted to what hadbeen uppermost in her mind--of paramount interest to her: "About thegames, father," she said, coaxingly, "if mother will give us a holiday,will you come and have some games with us? I should like blind man'sbuff and hide and seek; Cicely and I will hide, and you shall find us."

  "Rachel," said her father, gently, "I should like to do what you wish,but first I must tell you a story, and then you shall decide yourselfabout the games afterwards."

  "Oh, a story, father, I shall like that; let's sit down here under thisbanyan tree, and then we can listen nicely," and Rachel flung off herbig, shady hat, and settled herself down by her father's side, preparedto drink in every word. With the dark curls tossed back from herlittle, eager, upturned face, and her sparkling blue eyes, she made apretty picture, and formed a pleasing contrast to her equally lovelysister--indeed, Cicely's was the lovelier face of the two, for GodHimself had taken up the brush and been the Painter there.

  "Rachel flung off her big shady hat, and settled herselfdown by her father's side."]

  "Once upon a time--that is the correct way to begin, Rachel, is itnot?--there lived a very wicked and cruel Emperor, so cruel that hisname has become a proverb."

  "Nero," exclaimed the children in one breath.

  "Yes, that is right," said Mr. St. John, continuing his story; "therewere a great many Christians then; they were people who loved the Lordvery dearly, for in confessing Him they ran the risk of the most awfullycruel death--Nero had his spies everywhere."

  "What is a spy, father?"

  "You will see, dear; they were people who pretended to be what they werenot; they professed to be friendly with the Christians--even to beChristians themselves sometimes--and they would go to their secretmeetings held in the catacombs."

  "The what?" said Rachel, "what long words, father."

  "The catacombs were vast dark passages underneath the city where theChristians used to meet and worship God; but you ask so many questions,Rachel," said her father, smiling, "that I lose the thread of my story."

  "You were explaining about the spies, father," put in, Cicely, gently.

  "Oh yes, to be sure; well, these spies got to know all about themeetings, and they came too, pretending that they were Christiansthemselves, and then denounced everyone who was there to the Emperor."

  "How
dreadfully mean," said Rachel, her eyes flashing.

  "Yes, dear; well on one occasion when a great many of these followers ofChrist were taken prisoners, Nero gave a large entertainment, andactually lighted his gardens with their bodies. Now, Rachel, part of mystory is true and part is imagination--that part, I grieve to say, istrue. Now I want you to think of a man, a Christian man, who lived withhis wife and family some miles from Rome in comparative safety; this manknew--his children knew what their fellow Christians were suffering, andyet that very evening they made merry and had games, and a feast in thegarden."

  Rachel's eyes were full of indignant tears. "How could they, father?"she said, "how could they? I should have cried all the evening! Icouldn't have helped it."

  "Just so, dear," said Mr. St. John, gently, and he laid his handtenderly on the child's hair. "Last night I got a letter from youruncle from Pekin--it's a sad letter, Rachel; Christians are beingtortured and killed to-day in China, just as they were 2,000 years agoin Rome. And I know my little girl would be the last to wish to makethe day that is bringing so much sadness and pain to our brothers andsisters in Christ a gala day with us."

  "No," said Rachel, with a great sigh, "of course I shouldn't like that,but oh, how I wish the Christians were not being killed, because itwould have been so nice to have had you to ourselves for a whole day,father."

  "Now, my dear little girls," said Mr. St. John, rising, "I am going into get some breakfast, if mother will give me some; you had yours longago, I know, but I have been out here and not thought much about thetime; then I should like to have a big prayer meeting; we must try andget the dear native Christians together--they will need all our loveto-day."

  "Yes, father," said Rachel, "may we go and ask them to come, I shouldlike that," she added, dancing and skipping about.

  "Ask your mother, darling, she must decide. Christine," he said, as hiswife came up, "do you think it would be wise for the children to takeround the invitations for the prayer meeting?"

  "I hardly think so," replied Mrs. St. John. "The village is in the mostunsettled state, and there seems to be danger of a general rising."

  "I must go and find out what it all means," said Mr. St. John, quietly.

  "Oh, my dear husband, do be careful. Do not run into any danger."

  "I shall not, my dearest; never fear."

  He kissed her and the children tenderly. But even as he spoke, he heardin the distance a murmur like the roar of the sea, and there was Seng Mistanding in the doorway with a white, scared face.