Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

THE STORY

OF

MARY JONES AND HER BIBLE.

BY MISS MARY EMILY ROPES.

NEW EDITION.

CHRISTIAN WITNESS COMPANY

151 WASHINGTON STREET, CHICAGO. ILL.

COPYRIGHT, 1892
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY

PREFATORY NOTE.

   THE narrative which follows has been carefully founded upon facts obtained from the most trustworthy material—written and verbal—at the disposal of the writer. Since its publication in 1882 the little book has been extremely popular: versions in various languages have been issued, and an American edition has been prepared. It need only be added that the text of this edition has been read by the accomplished authoress, that some statistical information has been added, and that a considerable number of the illustrations are new.

INTRODUCTION.

BY REV. EDWARD W. GILMAN, D. D.,

SECRETARY OF THE AMERICAN BIBLE SOCIETY.

NOT a long story this, but one full of pathos, of a little girl in North Wales, a hundred years ago, who hoarded her pennies for six long years that she might save enough to buy a Bible, and who then walked twenty-five miles, from Llanfihangel to Bala, in her bare feet, to procure the treasure which she had so long desired to own. We mark the record of her desire and faith: "Oh if I had but a Bible of my own!" "I must have a Bible of my own, if I save up for it for ten years." "I shall never rest until I have a Bible of my own." "Though I have waited so long, the time will come when I shall have my Bible." "Dear Lord, let the time come quickly." The fulfilment of her cherished wish rounds out the record of a personal incident and leads us to share the maiden's joy that at last she became the owner of a Bible in her own tongue.

But the pathos of the story is less important than its connection with a great movement which has to do with the enlightenment and welfare of all nations in all coming time.

"Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth." It may be only a spark, but in one moment it becomes a blaze, and if rightly used, its radiance and warmth yield a perpetual blessing. Mary Jones could not prepare her weekly lesson for the Sunday school because in her father's house there was neither Bible nor Testament. Every Saturday she walked to a farm-house two miles away, because there only could she see a copy of the sacred volume. Her parents were poor weavers, but even if they had been well-to-do, Bibles in Welsh were not only costly, but rare, and no one had yet conceived the idea of making the book so portable and so cheap that a copy of God's Word might be found in every dwelling.

But when the story of Mary Jones became known through the Rev. Mr. Charles, of Bala, who supplied her need, when it suggested to God-fearing men the possible condition of thousands of youth in other cottages in Wales, when it revealed to lovers of the Bible the intense desire for the book felt by those who had never had it in their homes, Christian sympathy was bound to make some response. Something must be done. What could be done? Might not some association be formed to print and distribute the Scriptures in Wales? "And if for Wales," said the Rev. John Hughes, one of the Secretaries of the Religious Tract Society, "why not for the world?"

The problem was solved; and so out of the needs and savings and prayers of Mary Jones came in 1804 the British and Foreign Bible Society, an organization catholic in its membership, based on reverence and love for the Holy Scriptures, considerate of the wants of the humble and needy, concentrating its efforts on one definite object, and with a wide and far-reaching enthusiasm for the human race extending its beneficence to all nations, whether Christian, Mohammedan, or pagan. No wonder that the Committee of the Society cherish among their archives the identical Bible which Mary Jones bought in 1800, with her autograph attesting the fact of its purchase when she was sixteen years old.

The key-note of this first movement to supply the world with the Holy Scriptures was sympathy "with the cry that was ascending all over Wales for the Word of God;" but mingled with this tender regard for those who craved the book must have been pity for those who had never even heard of it, and a desire to share with them the blessings which the Bible brings to mankind.

A few years ago a little boy in Connecticut, seven years of age, was sick and nigh to death. He belonged to a "Sunbeam Circle," and had his "mission box" in which his little contributions were treasured up for the foreign field. At his request his mother opened the box that he might see how much there was for "the poor heathen children," and noticing a piece of newspaper among the pennies, she asked, "Why, Miller, what is this? You don't want this in." "Oh yes, I do, mamma. They are beautiful verses about God, and I want the heathen to have them too; I know they will like them." "The Scriptures principally teach what man is to believe concerning God and what duty God requires of man;" and why shouldn't the heathen have them too? If for Wales, why not for the whole world? It is interesting to note that in after years Mary Jones was a constant contributor to the British Bible Society, practising through life the self-denial she had learned in her youth, and that on one occasion when a collection was made at Bryncrug for the "China Million Testament Fund," a gold piece neatly wrapped up between half-pence, and thus hidden until the money came to be counted, was her expression of sympathy for the poor heathen. Mary was fortunate in securing one copy of ten thousand which were printed in Oxford in 1799, for they were all disposed of before one quarter of the country was supplied. Since then the British Bible Society has printed more than two and a half millions of volumes of Scripture for Wales alone, and about fifty times as many for the world besides.

If a union of Churchmen and Dissenters in one society was a good thing in England, why not in other parts of the world? The idea met with favor in Europe and led to the formation of Bible Societies in Germany, Prussia, and France; but nowhere was it taken up with greater promptness and ardor than in America. British laws had denied to the colonies the privilege of printing the Bible, so that when Mary Jones was born, in 1784, one edition, and one only, of the authorized version had ever been printed on this side of the Atlantic. When we consider that the colonists were thus dependent on the king's printers for their supplies, that the Revolutionary War had for a long time caused a suspension of traffic, and that the country lacked facilities for the production of large editions of the Bible, we can readily believe that the experience of Mary Jones was often repeated here, especially in the new settlements which were being made in the interior.

The necessities of our land were as urgent as those of Wales, and following the example of England, local Bible Societies in great numbers began to be formed. Philadelphia took the lead in 1808, and was soon followed by Connecticut, Massachusetts, New York, and New Jersey. Societies were organized as far south as Charleston, Beaufort, and Savannah. Such men as Jedediah Morse of Charleston and Elias Boudinot of New Jersey were earnest promoters of the movement. The interest of these societies was enlisted in efforts to reach the inhabitants of the great valley of the Mississippi. In 1812 Samuel J. Mills travelled from Boston to Pittsburgh, and from there to New Orleans, exploring the country on both sides of the Ohio and the Mississippi and noting the needs and opportunities of the field. Again he went over the same route, distributing Bibles and tracts.

A region so extended was too vast for the local societies, and to promote harmony, efficiency, and economy they united, in 1816, to form the American Bible Society. It was patterned after that in London, on the same broad, catholic principle, with the same avowed object, with the same world-wide aim. Responsible for a territory vastly more extended than Great Britain, it pledged itself from the first to extend its influence as far as possible to other lands, Christian, Mohammedan, and pagan. Among its earliest publications were Scriptures for the Indians of North America and the Spaniards of South America and Mexico. It has enrolled thousands of auxiliary societies, and with their aid has carried through four general efforts to visit every family in the United States with the offer of the Holy Scriptures. As the nation has acquired new territory in the South and West it has pushed on to provide the Scriptures for the people of Texas and the great States of the interior and the Pacific. In nominally Christian lands it has been a pioneer of missions, preparing the way by the distribution of the Scriptures for the founding of churches and the establishment of evangelical institutions. As American missionaries have made their way to pagan nations, reducing rude languages to writing and enriching them with new versions of the Bible, it has stood by their side, giving liberally to make their work effective and circulate the printed book. Its Arabic Bible, in the sacred language of a hundred and twenty millions of men, has found circulation in regions as remote as Western Africa and the eastern shores of China. It has its agents resident in the Turkish Empire, in Persia, China, and Japan, in Mexico and Cuba and the various republics of South America, and under their care more than three hundred colporteurs devote their lives to the work of distributing the printed Bible.

Confidently relying on the providence of God, sustained by contributions and legacies and prayers, aided by the willing cooperation of unpaid workers, joining hand in hand with other Societies that look for the evangelization of the world, considerate always for the oppressed and ignorant, the needy and the blind, the prisoner and the immigrant, the mariner and the soldier, the American Bible Society seeks to hasten the time when the open Book shall be found in every household in the land and in the world, and all men shall rejoice in the glad tidings which it brings. And its friends may well join with their brethren in Great Britain in honoring the memory of the humble Welsh maiden whose quenchless love for God's Word was so helpful at the outset of these heaven-blessed charities.

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL
EDITION.

   THIS little book tells how one of the least of seeds has grown to be greatest of trees. It was the earnest desire of the late Mr. William Coles, of Dorking, who was through life a warm and liberal friend of the British and Foreign Bible Society, to learn all he could about its birth. At his suggestion the trustees of the College at Bala generously presented Mary Jones's Bible to the Library of the Bible House in London, where it may now be seen. He was very anxious that the story should be re-told in a way likely to interest the young; and though he did not live to see this volume published, he did from his deathbed see and approve the draft submitted to him. A few days before his death he wrote as follows: "The sketch came to me as a glorious finish to my aspirations. I may never see the book, but from the bright Happy Land—I shall be with Christ and know all."
 
   It must not be forgotten that others besides Mr. Charles helped to found the Bible Society. The Rev. Thomas Jones, curate of Creaton, deserves specially to be mentioned. He was the "clergyman in Wales" who is referred to in Owen's "History of the Society" (vol. i. p. 3), as having interested himself for more than twelve years in calling attention to the dearth of the Word of God in Wales. Let due honour be done to him, and to others like him; but, above all, let Him be praised who disposed His servants to establish an organization for distributing the bread of life to the hungry multitudes of mankind.
 
     THE BIBLE HOUSE,
 
           1st December, 1882.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I.—AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN

II.—THE ONE GREAT NEED

III.—COMING TO THE LIGHT

IV.—TWO MILES TO A BIBLE

V.—FAITHFUL IN THAT WHICH IS LEAST

VI.—ON THE WAY

VII.—TEARS THAT PREVAIL

VIII.—THE WORK BEGUN

IX.—YOUTHFUL PROMISE FULFILLED

X.—HER WORKS DO FOLLOW HER

THE STORY OF MARY JONES

AND HER BIBLE.

A GLIMPSE OF CADER IDRIS.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN.

O Shepherd of all the flock of God,
Watch over Thy lambs and feed them;
For Thou alone, through the rugged paths,
In the way of life canst lead them.

IT would be hard to find a lovelier, more picturesque spot than the valley on the south-west side of Cader Idris, where nestles the little village of Llanfihangel-y-Pennant. Above it towers the majestic mountain with its dark crags, its rocky precipices, and its steep ascents; while stretching away in the distance to the westward, lie the bold shore and glistening waters of Cardigan Bay, where the white breakers come rolling in and dash into foam, only to gather afresh, and return undaunted to the charge.

The mountain, and the outline of the bay, and the wonderful picturesqueness of the valley, are still much as they were a hundred years ago. Still the eye of the traveller gazes in wonder at their wild beauty, as other eyes of other travellers did in times gone by. But while Nature's great landmarks remain, or undergo a change so gradual as to be almost imperceptible, man, the tenant of God's earth, is born, lives his brief life, and passes away, leaving only too often hardly even a memory behind him.

And now as, in thought, we stand upon the lower slopes of Cader Idris, and look across the little village of Llanfihangel, we find ourselves wondering what kind of people have occupied those rude grey cottages for the last century; what were their simple histories, what their habits, their toils and struggles, sorrows and pleasures.

To those then who share our interest in the place and neighbourhood, and in events connected with them, we would tell the simple tale which gives Llanfihangel a place among the justly celebrated and honoured spots of our beloved country; since from its soil sprang a shoot which, growing apace, soon spread forth great branches throughout the earth, becoming indeed a tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.

In the year 1792, nearly a hundred years ago, the night shadows had fallen around the little village of Llanfihangel. The season was late autumn, and a cold wind was moaning and sighing among the trees, stripping them of their changed garments, lately so green and gay, whirling them round in eddies and laying them in shivering heaps along the narrow valley.

Wan and watery, the moon, encompassed by peaked masses of cloud that looked like another ghostly Cader Idris in the sky, had risen, and now cast a faint light across a line of jutting crags, bringing into relief their sharp ragged edges against the dark background of rolling vapour.

In pleasant contrast to the night with its threatening gloom, a warm light shone through the windows of one of the cottages that formed the village. The light was caused by the blaze of a fire of dried driftwood on the stone hearth, while in a rude wooden stand a rushlight burned, throwing its somewhat uncertain brightness upon a loom where sat a weaver at work. A bench, two or three stools, a rude cupboard, and a kitchen-table—these, with the loom, were all the furniture.

A WELSH COTTAGE.

Standing in the centre of the room was a middle-aged woman, dressed in a cloak and the tall conical Welsh hat worn by many of the peasants to this day.

"I am sorry you cannot go, Jacob," said she. "You'll be missed at the meeting. But the same Lord Almighty who gives us the meetings for the good of our souls, sent you that wheezing of the chest, for the trying of your body and spirit, and we must needs have patience till He sees fit to take it away again."

"Yes, wife, and I'm thankful that I needn't sit idle, but can still ply my trade," replied Jacob Jones. "There's many a deal worse off. But what are you waiting for, Molly? You'll be late for the exercises; it must be gone six o'clock."

"I'm waiting for that child, and she's gone for the lantern," responded Mary Jones, whom her husband generally called Molly, to distinguish her from their daughter who was also Mary.

Jacob smiled. "The lantern! Yes," said he; "you'll need it this dark night. 'Twas a good thought of yours, wife, to let Mary take it regular as you do, for the child wouldn't be allowed to attend those meetings otherwise. And she does seem so eager after everything of the kind."

"Yes, she knows already pretty nearly all that you and I can teach her of the Bible, as we learnt it, don't she, Jacob? She's only eight now, but I remember when she was but a wee child she would sit on your knee for hours on a Sunday, and hear tell of Abraham and Joseph, and David and Daniel. There never was a girl like our Mary for Bible stories, or any stories, for the matter of that, bless her! But here she is! You've been a long time getting that lantern, child, and we must hurry or we shall be late."

Little Mary raised a pair of bright dark eyes to her mother's face.

"Yes, mother," she replied, "I was long because I ran to borrow neighbour Williams's lantern. The latch of ours won't hold, and there's such a wind to-night, that I knew we should have the light blown out."

"There's a moon," said Mrs. Jones, "and I could have done without a lantern."

"Yes, but then you know, mother, I should have had to stay at home," responded Mary, "and I do so love to go."

"You needn't tell me that, child," laughed Molly. "Then come along, Mary; good-bye, Jacob."

"Good-bye, father dear! I wish you could come too!" cried Mary, running back to give Jacob a last kiss.

"Go your way, child, and mind you remember all you can to tell old father when you come home."

Then the cottage door opened, and Mary and her mother sallied out into the cold windy night.

The moon had disappeared now behind a thick dark cloud, and little Mary's borrowed lantern was very acceptable. Carefully she held it, so that the light fell upon the way they had to traverse, a way which would have been difficult if not dangerous, without its friendly aid.

"'Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path,'" said Mrs. Jones, as she took her little daughter's hand in hers.

"Yes, mother, I was just thinking of that," replied the child. "I wish I knew ever so many verses like this one."

"How glad I should be if your father and I could teach you more; but it's years since we learned, and we've got no Bible, and our memories are not as good as they used to be," sighed the mother.

A walk of some length, and over a rough road, brought them at last to the little meeting-house where the church members belonging to the Methodist body were in the habit of attending.

They were rather late, and the exercises had begun, but kind farmer Evans made room for them on his bench, and found for Mrs. Jones the place in the psalm-book from which the little company had been singing. Mary was the only child there, but her face was so grave, and her manner so solemn and reverent, that no one looking at her could have felt that she was out of place; and the church members who met there from time to time, had come to look upon this little girl as one of their number, and welcomed her accordingly.

When the meeting was over, and Mary, having relighted her lantern, was ready to accompany her mother home, farmer Evans put his great broad hand upon the child's shoulder, saying:

"Well, my little maid! You're rather young for these meetings, but the Lord has need of lambs as well as sheep, and He is well pleased when the lambs learn to hear His voice early, even in their tender years."

Then with a gentle fatherly caress the good old man released the child, and turned away, carrying with him the remembrance of that earnest intelligent face, happy in its intentness, joyful in its solemnity, having in its expression a promise of future excellence and power for good.

"Why haven't we a Bible of our own, mother?" asked Mary as she trotted homeward, lantern in hand.

"Because Bibles are scarce, child, and we're too poor to pay the price of one. A weaver's is an honest trade, Mary, but we don't get rich by it, and we think ourselves happy if we can keep the wolf from the door, and have clothes to cover us. Still, precious as the Word of God would be in our hands, more precious are its teachings and its truths in our hearts. I tell you, my little girl, they who have learned the love of God, have learned the greatest truth that even the Bible can teach them; and those who are trusting the Saviour for their pardon and peace, and for eternal life at last, can wait patiently for a fuller knowledge of His word and will."

"I suppose you can wait, mother, because you've waited so long that you're used to it," replied the child; "but it's harder for me. Every time I hear something read out of the Bible, I long to hear more, and when I can read it will be harder still."

Mrs. Jones was about to answer, when she stumbled over a stone, and fell, though fortunately without hurting herself. Mary's thoughts were so full of what she had been saying, that she had become careless in the management of the lantern, and her mother not seeing the stone, had struck her foot against it.

"Ah, child! It's the present duties after all that we must look after most," said Molly, as she got slowly up; "and even a fall may teach us a lesson, Mary. The very Word of God itself, which is a lamp to our feet, and a light to our path, can't save us from many a tumble if we don't use it aright, and let the light shine on our daily life, helping us in its smallest duties and cares. Remember this, my little Mary."

And little Mary did remember this, and her after life proved that she had taken the lesson to heart—a simple lesson, taught by a simple, unlearned handmaid of the Lord, but a lesson which the child treasured up in her very heart of hearts.

Chained Bibles.

CHAPTER II.

THE ONE GREAT NEED.

For this I know, whate'er of earthly good
Fall to the portion of immortal man,
Still unfulfill'd in him is God's great plan.
And Heaven's richest gift misunderstood,
Until the Word of Life—exhaustless store
Of light and truth—be his for evermore.

It was Mary who took care of the hive, and who never feared the bees; and it was Mary again, who, when more active duties were done, would draw a low stool towards the hearth in winter or outside the cottage door in summer, and try to make or mend her own little simple garments, singing to herself the while in Welsh, a verse or two of the old-fashioned metrical version of the Psalms, or repeating texts which she had picked up and retained in her quick, eager little brain.

In the long, light summer evenings, it was her delight to sit where she could see the majestic form of Cader Idris with its varying lights and shadows, as the sun sank lower and lower in the horizon. And in her childish imagination, this mountain was made to play many a part, as she recalled the stories which her parents had told her, and the chapters she had heard read at chapel.

Now, Cader Idris was the mountain in the land of Moriah whither the patriarch was sent on his painful mission; and Mary would fix her great dark eyes upon the rocky steeps before her, until she fancied she could see the venerable Abraham and his son toiling up towards the appointed place of sacrifice, the lad bearing the wood for the burnt-offering.

More and more vividly the whole scene would grow upon the child's fancy, until the picture seemed to be almost a reality, and she could imagine that she heard the patriarch's voice borne faintly to her ear by the breeze that fanned her cheek—a voice that replied pathetically to his son's question, in the words, "My son, the Lord will provide Himself a lamb for the burnt-offering."

Then the scene would change; night was drawing near, and Cader Idris assuming softer outlines, was the mountain where the Saviour went to pray.

Leaving the thronging multitude who had been dwelling upon His every word—leaving even His disciples whom He so loved, there was Jesus—alone save for the Eternal Father's presence—praying, and refreshing thus His weary spirit, after the work and trials and sorrows of the day.

"If I'd only lived in those days," sighed little Mary, sometimes, "how I should have loved Him! And He'd have taught me, perhaps, as He did those two who walked such a long way with Him, without knowing that it was Jesus; only I think 'I' should have known Him, just through love."

Nor was it only the mountain with which Mary associated scenes from sacred history or Gospel narration. The long, narrow valley in the upper end of which Llanfihangel was situated, ran down to the sea at no great distance by a place called Towyn. And when the child happened to be near, she would steal a few moments to sit down on the shore, and gaze across the blue-green waters of Cardigan Bay, and dream of the Sea of Galilee, and of the Saviour who walked upon its waters—who stilled their raging with a word, and who even sometimes chose to make His pulpit of a boat, and preach thus to the congregation that stood upon the shore and clustered to the very edge of the water, so that they might not lose a word of the precious things that He spoke. It will be seen, therefore, that upon Mary's mind a deep and lasting impression was made by all that she had heard; and child though she might be in years, there were not wanting in her evidences of an earnest, energetic nature, an intelligent brain, and a warm, loving heart.

It is by the first leaves put forth by the seedling that we discern the nature, and know the name of the plant; and so in childhood, the character and talents can often be detected in the early beauty of their first unfolding and development.

One afternoon, when Jacob and his wife were seated at their looms, and Mary was sewing a patch into an almost worn-out garment of her own, a little tap at the dour was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Evans, the good farmer's wife, a kind, motherly, and in some respects superior woman, who was looked up to and beloved by many of the Llanfihangel villagers.

"Good day to you, neighbours!" she said, cheerily, her comely face all aglow. "Jacob, how is your chest feeling? Bad, I'm afraid, as I haven't seen you out of late. Molly, you're looking hearty as usual, and my little Mary, too—Toddles, as I used to call you when you were not much more than a baby, and running round on your sturdy pins as fast as many a bigger child. Don't I remember you then! A mere baby as I said, and yet you'd keep a deal stiller than any mouse if your father there would make up a story you could understand, more particular if it was out of the Bible. Daniel and the Lions, or David and the Giant, or Peter in the Prison—these were the favourites then. Yes, and the history of Joseph and his brethren, only you used to cry when the naughty brothers put Joseph in the pit, and went home and told Jacob that wicked lie that almost broke the old man's heart."

"She's as fond of anything of that sort now as she was then," said Jacob Jones, pausing in his work; "or rather she's fonder than ever, ma'am. I only wish we were able to give her a bit of schooling. It seems hard, for the child is willing enough, and it's high time she was learning something. Why, Mrs. Evans, she can't read yet, and she's eight years old!"

Mary looked up, her face flushing, her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh! If I only could learn!" she cried, eagerly. "I'm such a big girl, and it's so dreadful not to know how to read. If I could, I would read all the lovely stories myself, and not trouble any one to tell them."

"You forget, Mary, we've no Bible," said Molly Jones, "and we can't afford to buy one either, so dear and scarce they are."

"Yes," replied Mrs. Evans, "it's a great want in our country; my husband was telling me only the other day that the scarcity of Welsh Bibles is getting to be spoken of everywhere. Even those who can afford to pay for them get them with difficulty, and only by bespeaking them; and poor people can't get them at all. But we hope the Society for Christian Knowledge in London may print some more soon; it won't be before they're wanted.

"But with all this talk, Mrs. Jones," continued the farmer's wife, "I am forgetting my errand in coming here, and that was to ask if you'd any new-laid eggs. I've a large order sent me, and our hens are laying badly, so that I can't make up the number. I've been collecting a few here and there, but I haven't enough yet."

"Mary knows more about the hens and eggs than I do," said Molly, looking at her little daughter, who had not put a stitch into her patch while the talk about Bibles had been going on, and whose cheeks and eyes showed in their deepened colour and light how much interested she had been in what had been said.

But now the child started half guiltily from her low seat, saying, "I'll get what we have to show you, Mrs. Evans."

Presently she came in with a little basket containing about a dozen eggs. The farmer's wife put them into her bag, then patting Mary's pink cheeks rose to take her leave, after paying for the eggs.

"And remember this, little maid," she said kindly, when after saying good-bye to Jacob and Molly, she was taking leave of Mary at the door. "Remember this, my dear little girl; as soon as you know how to read (if by that time you still have no Bible) you shall come to the farm when you like, and read and study ours—that is, if you can manage to get so far."

"It's only two miles, that's nothing!" said sturdy Mary, with a glance down at her strong little bare feet. "I'd walk further than that for such a pleasure, ma'am." Then she added with a less joyful ring in her voice, "At least I would, if ever I 'did' learn to read."

"Never mind, little woman! The likes of you wasn't made to sit in the dark always," replied Mrs. Evans in her cheery, comfortable tones. "The Lord made the want, and He'll satisfy it; be very sure of that. Remember, Mary, when the multitude that waited on the Saviour were hungry, the Lord did not send them away empty, though no one saw how they were to be fed; and He'll take care you get the bread of life too, for all it seems so unlikely now. Good-bye, and God bless you, my child!" And good Mrs. Evans, with a parting nod to the weaver and his wife, and another to Mary, went out, and got into her little pony-cart, which was waiting for her in the road, under the care of one of the farm-boys.

Mary stood at the door and watched their visitor till she was out of sight. Then, before she closed it, she clasped her small brown hands against her breast, and her thoughts formed themselves into a prayer something like this:

   "Dear Lord, who gavest bread to the hungry folk in the old time, and didst teach and bless even the poorest, please let me learn, and not grow up in darkness."

Then she shut the door and came and sat down, resolving in her childish heart that if God heard and answered her prayer, and she learned to read His Word, she would do what she could, all her life long, to help others as she herself had been helped.

How our little Mary kept her resolution will be seen in the remaining chapters of this simple narrative.

Tail-piece from Coverdale's New Test., 1538,
in the Library of the Bible Society.

LLAN-Y-CIL BAY, BALA LAKE.

CHAPTER III.

COMING TO THE LIGHT.

O thou who out of the darkness
  Reachest thy trembling hand,
Whose ears are open to welcome
  Glad news of a better land;
Not always shalt thou be groping,
  Night's shadows are well-nigh past:
The heart that for light is yearning
  Attains to that light at last.

TWO years had passed away since Mrs. Evans's visit, as recorded in the preceding chapter, and still little Mary's prayer seemed as far as ever from being answered.

With the industry and patience of more mature years the child went about her daily duties, and her mother depended upon her for many things which do not generally form part of a child's occupations. Mary had less time for dreaming now, and though Cader Idris was still the spot with which her imagination associated Bible scenes and pictures, she had little leisure for anything but her everyday duties. She still accompanied her mother to the meetings, and from so continually coming into contact with older people, rather than with children of her own age, the child had grown more and more grave and earnest in face and manner, and would have been called an old-fashioned girl if she had lived in a place where any difference was known between old fashions and new.

It was about this time that Jacob Jones came home one evening from Abergynolwyn—a village two miles away from Llanfihangel—where he had been disposing of the woollen cloth which he and Molly had been making during the past months.

Jacob had been away the greater part of the day, yet he did not seem tired. His eye was bright, and his lips wore a smile as he entered the cottage and sat down in his accustomed place in the chimney corner.

Mary, whose observant eye rarely failed to note the least change in her father's face and manner, sprang towards him, and stood before him, regarding his bright face searchingly.

"What is it, father?" she said, her own dark eyes flashing back the light in his. "Something pleasant has happened, or you wouldn't look like that!"

"What a sharp little girl it is!" replied Jacob, fondly, drawing the child nearer and seating her upon his knee. "What a very sharp little woman to find out that her old dad has something to tell!"

"And is it something that concerns me, father?" asked Mary, stroking Jacob's face caressingly.

"It 'is' something that concerns you most of all, my chick, and us through you."

"What can it be?" murmured Mary, with a quick, impatient little sigh.

"What is it, father?" asked Mrs. Jones. "We both want to know."

"Well," replied Jacob, "what would you say, Molly dear, to our little daughter here becoming quite a learned woman, perhaps knowing how to read, and write, and cipher, and all a deal better than her parents ever did before her?"

"Oh, father!"

The exclamation came from Mary, who in her excitement had slipped from Jacob's knee, and now stood facing him, breathless with suspense, her hands closely clasped.

Jacob looked at her a moment without speaking; then he said tenderly:

"Yes, child, there 'is' a school to be opened at Abergynolwyn, and a master is chosen already; and as my little Mary thinks nought of a two miles' walk, she shall go, and learn all she can."

"Oh, father!"

"Well," rejoined Jacob, now laughing outright, "how many 'Oh fathers!' are we going to have? But I thought you'd be glad, my girl, and I was not wrong. You are pleased, dear, aren't you?"

There was a pause; then Mary's reply came, low spoken, but with such deep content in its tones.

"Pleased, father? Yes, indeed, for now I shall learn to read the Bible."

Then a thought struck her, and a shadow came across the happy face as she said:

"But, mother, perhaps you won't be able to spare me?"

"Spare you? Yes, I will, child, though I can't deny as how it will be difficult for me to do without my little right hand and help. But for your good, my girl, I would do harder things than that."

"Dear, good mother!" cried Mary, putting an arm about Molly's neck and kissing her. "But I don't want you to work too hard and tire yourself. I'll get up an hour or two earlier, and do all I can before I start for school." Then as the child sat down again to her work, her heart, in its joyfulness, sent up a song of thanksgiving to the Lord who had heard her prayer, and opened the way for her to learn, that she might not grow up in darkness.

Presently Jacob went on:

"I went to see the room where the school is to be held, and who should come in while I was there but Mr. Charles of Bala. I'd often heard of him before, but I'd never seen him, and I was glad to set eyes on him for once."

"What may he have looked like, Jacob?" asked Molly.

"Well, Molly, I never was a very good one for drawing a portrait, but I should say he was between forty and fifty years old, with a fine big forehead which doesn't look as though it had unfurnished apartments to let behind it, but quite the opposite, as though he had done a sight of thinking, and meant to do a great deal more. Still his face isn't anything so 'very' special till he smiles, but when he does it's like sunshine, and goes to your heart, and warms you right through. Now I've seen him, and heard him speak, I can understand how he does so much good. I hear he's going about from place to place opening schools for the poor children, who would grow up ignorant otherwise."

THE REV. THOMAS CHARLES, OF BALA.
(From the painting in the Bible House.)

"Like me," murmured Mary, under her breath.

"And who's the master that's to be set over the school at Abergynolwyn?" asked Molly.

"I heard tell that his name is John Ellis," replied Jacob; "a good man, and right for the work, so they say; and I hope it'll prove so."

"And how soon is the school to open, Jacob?" asked his wife.

"In about three weeks, I believe," answered Jacob. "And now, Mary my girl, if you can bring yourself to think of such a thing as supper, after what I've been telling you, suppose you get some ready, for I haven't broke my fast since noon."

The following three weeks passed more slowly for little Mary Jones than any three months she could remember before. Such childishness as there was in her seemed to show itself in impatience; and we must confess that her home duties at this time were not so cheerfully or so punctually performed as usual, owing to the fact that her thoughts were far away, her heart being set on the thing she had longed for so earnestly.

"If 'this' is the way it's going to be, Jacob," said Molly to her husband one evening, "I shall wish there had never been a thought of school at Abergynolwyn. The child's so off her head that she goes about like one in a dream; what it'll be when that school begins, I daren't think."

"Don't you fret, wife," replied Jacob smiling. "It'll all come right. Don't you see that her poor little busy brain has been longing to grow, and now that there's a chance of its being fed, she's all agog. But you'll find, when she once gets started, she'll go on all right with her home work as well. She's but ten years old, Molly, after all, and for my own part, I'm not sorry to see there's a bit of the child left in her, even if it shows itself this way, such a little old woman as she's always been!"

But this longest three weeks that Mary ever spent came to an end at last, and Mary began to go to school, thus commencing a new era in her life.

Fairly hungering and thirsting after knowledge, the child found her lessons an unmixed delight. What other children call drudgery was to her only pleasure, and her eagerness was so great that she was almost always at the top of her class; and in an incredibly short space of time she began to read and write.

The master, who had a quick eye for observing the character and talents of his pupils, soon remarked Mary's peculiarities, and encouraged her in her pursuit of such knowledge as was taught in the school; and the little girl repaid her master's kindness by the most unwearied diligence and attention.

Nor while the brain was being fed did the heart grow cold, or the practical powers decline. Molly Jones had now no fault to find with Mary's performance of her home duties. The child rose early, and did her work before breakfast; and after her return from school in the afternoon she again helped her mother, only reserving for herself time enough to prepare her lessons for the next day.

At school she was a general favourite, and never seemed to be regarded with jealousy by her companions, this being due probably to her genial disposition, and the kind way in which she was willing to help others whenever she could.

One morning a little girl was seen to be crying sadly when she reached the schoolhouse, and on being questioned as to what was the matter, she said that on the way there, a big dog had snatched at the little paper bag in which she was bringing her dinner to eat during recess, and had carried it off, and so she should have to go hungry all day.

Some of the scholars laughed at the child for her carelessness, and some called her a coward, for not running after the dog and getting back her dinner; but Mary stole up to the little one's side, and whispered something in her ear, and dried the wet eyes, and kissed the flushed cheeks, and presently the child was smiling and happy again.

But when dinner-time came, Mary and the little dinnerless maiden sat close together in a corner, and more than half of Mary's provisions found their way to the smaller child's mouth.

The other scholars looked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, no doubt, that none but Mary Jones had thought of doing so kind and neighbourly an action, at the cost of a little self-denial. But the lesson was not lost upon them, and from that day Mary's influence made itself felt in the school for good.

In her studies she progressed steadily, and this again gave opportunity for the development of the helpful qualities by which, from her earliest childhood, she had been distinguished.

On one occasion, for instance, she was just getting ready to set off on her two miles journey home, when she spied in a corner of the now deserted schoolroom a little boy with a book open before him, and a smeared slate and blunt pencil by its side. The poor little fellow's tears were falling over his unfinished task, and evidently he was in the last stage of childish despondency. He had dawdled away his time during the school hours, or had not listened when the lesson had been explained, and now school discipline required that he should stay behind when the rest had gone, and attend to the work which he had neglected.

Mary had a headache that day, and was longing to get home; but the sight of that tearful, sad little face in the corner banished all thought of self, and as the voices of the other children died away in the distance, she crossed the room, and leaned over the small student's shoulder.

"What is it, Robbie dear?" said she in her old-fashioned way and tender, low-toned voice. "Oh, I see, you've got to do that sum! I mayn't do it for you, you know, because that would be a sort of cheating, but I can tell you how to do it yourself, and I think I can make it plain."

So saying, Mary fetched her little bit of wet rag, and washed the slate, and then got an old knife and sharpened the pencil.

"Now," said she, smiling cheerily, "see, I'll put down the sum as it is in the book." And she wrote on the slate in clear, if not very elegant figures, the sum in question.

Thus encouraged, Robbie gave his mind to his task, and with a little help it was soon done, and Mary with a light heart, which made up for her heavy head, trotted home, very glad that what she was herself learning could be a benefit to others.

Not long after the commencement of the day school, a Sunday school also was opened, and the very first Sunday that children were taught there, behold our little friend as clean and fresh as soap and water could make her, and with bright eyes and eager face, showing the keen interest she felt, and her great desire to learn.

That evening, after service in the little meeting-house, as the farmer's wife, good Mrs. Evans, was just going to get into her pony-cart to drive home, she felt a light touch on her arm, while a sweet voice she knew said, "Please, ma'am, might I speak to you a moment?"

"Surely, my child," replied the good woman, turning her beaming face on little Mary, "what have you got to say to me?"

"Two years ago, please ma'am, you were so kind as to promise that when I'd learned to read I should come to the farm and read your Bible."

"I did, I remember it well," answered Mrs. Evans. "Well, child, do you know how to read?"

"Yes, ma'am," responded Mary; "and now I've joined the Sunday school, and shall have Bible lessons to prepare, and if you'd be so kind as to let me come up to the farm one day in the week—perhaps Saturday, when I've a half-holiday—I could never thank you enough."

"There's no need for thanks, little woman, come and welcome! I shall expect you next Saturday; and may the Lord make His Word a great blessing to you!"

Mrs. Evans held Mary's hand one moment with a cordial pressure; then she got into her cart, and the pony started off quickly towards home, as though he knew that old Farmer Evans was laid up with rheumatism, and that his wife wished to get back to him as soon as possible.