SEALED.

The first Sunday in September was the most beautiful day of the season calm, still, and sunshiny. The August heats were abated, but no touch of chill had yet come into the air. It was still summer, but summer’s fierceness had passed by. When the bell of the little gray stone church rang out in joyous tones, multitudes of people, in bright Sunday attire, and with expectant faces, came out of the cottages and boarding-houses and, singly or in groups, wound their way up the hill.

Factory operatives are not, as a rule, a very church-going population, and the church was not wont to be overcrowded; but to-day the pews and seats are all full, and so are the extra benches and chairs taken from the Sunday-school room and placed in the aisles. Every one in Squantown who possesses a sufficiently decent wardrobe in which to appear in a place of worship has turned out to-day. For to-day many of the boys and girls are to stand forth with many of their older friends, and confess themselves upon the Lord’s side, while their pastor prays that upon them may fall a fuller measure of that Good Spirit, who alone can enable them to stand firm amid the many temptations by which they are surrounded, and while their brethren, who are older in the faith, promise to give them all the sympathy and help which it is in their power to bestow.

The church has been decorated for the occasion with a wealth of late summer flowers. Geraniums, scarlet, coral, pink, and white, dahlias of every variegated hue, asters, zinnias, heliotrope, ferns, golden-rod, and a multitude more are entwined around the pulpit or wreathed above windows and doors. Pure white day-lilies load the air with perfume, and rare exotics from the gardens of the “great house” stand in exquisitely arranged baskets upon the communion-table.

The music, intended to do special honor to the occasion, is somewhat elaborate, considering that the choir is composed of the older boys and girls from the Sunday-school, and is therefore not so good as usual from an artistic point of view; but it is better than artistic in that it is intended to do honor to the occasion, and is in many instances the sincere thank-offering of hearts glad to give to their Saviour the “dew of their youth.”

It was the endeavor, not only of the clergyman, but also of the whole Mountjoy family, to banish all class distinctions from the church, and to make rich and poor, as they sat together before God, “the maker of them all,” feel that they were all one family; that all had a common ownership of, and interest in, the beautiful building and the well-conducted services.

Thus the factory-girls went to the woods on Saturday afternoon for golden-rod and ferns; the humblest families robbed their cottage gardens of the few bright flowers they contained; and the boys gave willing assistance to Etta and her class in arranging and putting up the decorations. The whole congregation joined in singing the hymns and such of the chants as were familiar, and rarely had the singing been heartier.

The service was over and the sermon, and then, as the last hymn was sung, the call was given for the candidates to come forward in answer to the reading of their names. How many of them there were! Even those who had prayed most earnestly and labored most actively were surprised at the result. There were six of the elder girls composing Miss Eunice’s Bible-class (the others were already communicants); four of her brother’s boys; Etta and her whole class of seven, making eighteen from the Sunday-school. But there were also quite a number of young men who worked in the factory, who had been largely won by James Mountjoy’s honor and integrity, added to manly Christianity; and some young women, and even elder ones, with one or two heads of families, who had been led by the indefatigable efforts of the pastor thus to openly acknowledge Christ.

The girls were not as a rule dressed in any particular manner. Etta, indeed, and one or two others, were in white, because it happened to be more convenient and suitable, but neither Mr. Morven nor Miss Eunice wished to have the consciousness of dress interfere with the solemn thoughts of self-dedication and renunciation of the world appropriate to the occasion. Even with Bertie Sanderson, who had come home a few days before, “old things had so passed away,” that she wore a simple blue gingham, much plainer, and at the same time much more becoming, than the costume in which she had originally appeared at the mill. The solemn questions were asked and answered; the personal vows taken; earnest, solemn prayers uttered and words of wise counsel said, to be long remembered and heeded and acted upon in life’s coming battles; and then, with a burst of joyful song, the solemn service was over, and those engaged in it went out from the sacred precincts to fulfil the vows and exercise the grace among the common scenes and homely details of daily life. To many, nay, to most, life would not be one continuous communion service; the holy awe would of necessity fade away; the hymns and prayers be exchanged for the harsh wrangle and barter of a work-day world; temptation was awaiting many of those new church members in unexpected places, and the evil nature within, not yet wholly subdued by divine grace, would make the pathway of holiness a very narrow one, along which untrained feet would often stumble. But the memory of this hour would always be, to those who cherished it, a shield against temptation, a counter-charm against the wiles of the evil one; and since the Saviour whom they had that day openly avouched to be their Lord and God had promised “never to leave or to forsake them,” only victory could follow those who confided entirely in him.

“Tessa,” said Katie, when the two girls were alone together that afternoon, “I didn’t know you were going to join the church till this morning. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Well, you see I didn’t make up my mind till yesterday afternoon. Then I went to Miss Etta, and she took me to Mr. Morven, and he took my name and encouraged me to come.”

“What made you think of it?”

“You first. I didn’t see how you could be so gentle and patient when everybody was condemning you and thinking evil of you. Then I watched you at your work, and saw how faithful you were, whether any one saw you or not, just as if you felt that God was looking at you, and you wanted to please him.”

“So I did. I took for my text, in the mill, the verse: ’In all thy ways acknowledge him.’”

“Then,” continued Tessa, “when you wanted me to give up reading those novels I was real mad at first. I thought you had no right to find fault with what I did, and that it was very mean in you, who had a comfortable home and a mother and two brothers, to want to take away the only pleasure from me who had nothing. But when you talked with me so sweetly, and when you asked me to come and live with you, and your mother took in the stranger that no one knew anything about and treated me just like one of her own children, I knew that you did it just out of kindness, and I tried to see what made you so kind.”

“I don’t think I’m kind,” said Katie, “but I do want to be.”

“The only reason I went to Sunday-school and church with you,” continued her friend, “was to find out what it was that made you so different from the other girls, and there I heard all about Jesus, so different from what the priests used to say at home. There were no crucifixes, no pictures in the church, as there were in Italy, and yet he seemed to be more real than he ever did there, and I found myself beginning to love him almost before I knew it.”

“I’m so glad!”

“So am I; but I don’t think I ever quite saw what he was, how he laid down his life, for his enemies I mean, till you went to take care of Bertie, at the risk of your own life, and stayed there when you knew how badly she had treated you, and never said a word afterward for fear it would hurt her. It showed me just how he cares for all of us and wants to help us, even those who don’t like him and don’t want to take his help, and I made up my mind to give myself to him and take him for my Saviour that very night when you asked me to.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Somehow I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk about such things; they seemed too sacred. And one reason I didn’t give in my name with the others that day at Miss Etta’s was because I was afraid Miss Eunice or somebody, the minister, perhaps, would ask me questions.”

“Didn’t you want to talk to the minister?”

“No; it seemed like going to confession, and that I promised my father I’d never do. Besides, I didn’t think I was good enough.”

“Why, we’re none of us good enough, Miss Eunice says.”

“I know; I listened to all the readings and the talk and the lectures, and by-and-by I got to see things that I hadn’t understood before, and how it is not because we are good and strong, but because we’re sinful and weak, that we need a Saviour and all the influences of the church. And so, just at the very last moment, I prayed for bravery enough to tell Miss Etta, and she went with me to Mr. Morven, and he told me I was just the one to come, if I really loved the Lord Jesus ever so little and wanted to do his will. He was just as kind and gentle, and it wasn’t a bit like confession, for he didn’t ask me any string of questions and didn’t say the absolution just talked to us both, prayed, and sent us home. I’m so glad I decided. I never felt so happy in my life before.”

“Nor I,” said Katie. “It doesn’t seem as if anything ever could be hard or hateful again.”

So felt a good many young hearts that quiet Sunday night as they returned from the evening service, where the pastor preached a special sermon to those of his flock who had just openly enlisted in the army of the Cross, welcoming them once more into the “communion of saints,” pointing out the responsibilities they had assumed and the difficulties in their way, but at the same time congratulating them on the assured strength and aid which were promised to make them “more than conquerors through him who hath loved us.”

And as life glided by, bringing its inevitable portion of care and suffering to each, no one of that band was ever sorry, as he looked back to the services of that bright September Sunday, that young hands and young hearts had then been laid trustingly into the hands of their Saviour, and that they set out upon life’s journey clad in the invincible armor of faith.