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Page 17
"You have had a glimpse of our family and of our work," said the
pastor. "How do you like it?"
"Is this a specimen of all your Sabbaths?"
"Just the same, with the fluctuating difference of numbers; scattered
as our people are, many of them living halfway up the mountains, they
are not always able to be here."
"I agree with Maude that your service is needed here."
"I knew you would. There are souls to save here as well as in Basle,
and sometimes I think the love of these simple hearts is sweeter to
Jesus."
Far away the mountains were lifting their heads, bathed in the golden
glory from the setting sun. Maude caught the direction of my eyes.
"Perhaps I fear to much the effect upon my own soul; but these grand
temple-gates are always open, and from their entrance we seem to catch
glimpses of the celestial city beyond, inspiring only good and noble
thoughts, with an anxious, earnest endeavor to reach higher
resting-places."
"And you fear this would be less in the noise and din of the city."
"Not quite that, for the heart that loves Jesus can live and work for
him anywhere; but with a free choice I prefer this."
I felt that she was right, it was the work God had given her to do,
and she was willing to do it; while the question returned to me with
tenfold force, Are you as willing to labor in the field that He has
given to you? The man with a vineyard places his laborers as he would
have them, giving each one according to his capacity, be it more or
less. Our Father has a vineyard; it is the world, and his children are
the laborers. "Go work in my vineyard," is the command. The choice is
His who placed us there; to work is ours.
"Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you;
and lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."
The next day I left Lausanne, the good pastor and his wife joining me
for a few miles on my way, and then we parted--to meet, teacher and
taught, in the city of our God.
The Guide Of Montanvert.
We were passing the summer at the Pays de Vaud; thence making
excursions, as suited our inclination, to different portions of the
country, always finding something new and striking--something out of
which we could draw profitable lessons for the future.
On one of these occasions we made the ascent of Montanvert, and
visited the Mer de Glace. Montanvert rises abruptly from the vale of
Chamouni, and may not improperly be considered a portion of the base
of Mont Blanc. It is beautifully wooded to its summit, whence its name
of the Green Mountain.
As we were standing in the court of the inn discussing the merits of a
guide, and anxious to find a trusty and intelligent person from whom
we could learn all that was to be learned, as well as feel secure in
his choice of the best paths, a boy and girl came up the hill, and
speaking hurriedly to the landlord, advanced confidently to the place
where we stood. Lifting his cap, while a shower of light soft curls
fell over his coarse blouse, he asked if we were in search of a guide,
and if we would take him. His manner was so respectful, and his face
and appearance so youthful, we were attracted, and still did not know
how to reply to him.
"I was thinking of Franz," said the innkeeper; "you need not fear his
youth; he was born here, and his father has always been considered one
of the best guides in the country; Franz knows every path."
"Let his father come with him," I suggested. I thought I caught a
tear in the boy's eye, and his lips trembled.
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