Bee Prayerful

Another morning came; the morning of the last day Joyce and Don were to spend on the farm. They followed Grandma about the house, eager to do something to help. After the usual work was done, and they had taken turns at the churning, Grandma said she would make cookies to pack in their lunch basket the next day.

So she gathered together eggs, sugar, flour, milk, butter, baking powder, and spices. Quickly she made the dough and rolled it out on the board. The children stood close to her watching as she cut out the dough in different shapes.

She made quite an army of cookie men; and after they were baked, she covered them with icing. She made their eyes out of cinnamon drops; also the buttons down their vests.

“Aren’t they lovely?” cried Joyce. “Put plenty of them in our lunch basket tomorrow, won’t you, Grandma? Then we can take some home to Mother and Daddy.”

“Yes,” said Grandma, “and there will be enough for your little friends, too.”

In the afternoon the children’s trunk was brought out, and Grandma helped them to pack. There were so many things they wanted to take home with them, that this was quite a task. At the last moment, just as Grandma was ready to close the trunk, Don ran and got the kite that Grandpa had made. “Maybe Daddy will know how to make it fly,” he said. But there was no room for it in the trunk, so he had to take it back to the woodshed.

“I can put it away in a safe place,” he said. “It will be waiting for us when we come back next summer.”

That evening the children did all they could to help Grandpa with the chores. They gathered the eggs, pumped water, filled the wood box, and did many other things.

“You are certainly fine little helpers,” said Grandpa when they had finished.

“When you get home,” added Grandma with a smile, “you must tell Mother and Daddy that we need you to help us on the farm.”

“We will,” promised the children with beaming faces.

When they had gathered on the porch for their last evening together, Joyce stole up to Grandma’s chair and said softly, “Tonight you must tell us the very best bee story that you know.”

“It couldn’t be better than the one about Bee Content,” said Don.

“I shall tell you about the bee that is perhaps the most important of all,” said Grandma thoughtfully. “It does wonderful things for those who listen to its buzz; but those who refuse to listen are sure to be sorry afterward. It is called Bee Prayerful.” The children were eager to hear the story, so Grandma began at once:

“William Sutherland was a boy who lived in the state of Maryland. When he was thirteen years old, he gave his heart to God and became a Christian. After that he would often go off alone and spend a few minutes talking to God.

“When he was fourteen, Willie began to work in the bank as an errand boy. The banker soon found that he was honest, and trusted him with large sums of money. One of his errands was to carry the payroll to a mill town several miles away. He made this trip every two weeks; and he always set out in the afternoon, and returned the following morning.

“There were no automobiles in those days, and no good roads. William had to ride a pony, leaving the main highway and riding over a trail that had been blazed through the forest.

“As he started out one afternoon, his mother said to him, ‘Son, I’m afraid to have you carry so much money over that lonely trail.’

“ ‘Oh, there is no reason to worry, Mother,’ replied the lad cheerfully, as he swung into the saddle. ‘You know I have always made the trip safely before.’

“ ‘Yes,’ replied the good woman, ‘but I feel fearful today. I shall be praying for you while you are on your way.’

“William waved to her, as he turned his pony about and started on his journey. He had placed the payroll in his saddle bags; and as he looked at them he said to himself, ‘How glad I am that my master trusts me with so much money.’

“He whistled and sang, as he rode along; but as he neared the lonely forest trail, a strange feeling of fear came over him. He reined in his pony and sat still for some time, wondering just what he ought to do. Then Bee Prayerful began to buzz about his ears. He had heard its little voice many times before, and he had learned always to listen and obey. He rode on to the spot where he must leave the highway and set out upon the forest trail; and then he slipped from the saddle and knelt down beside the bushes growing there.

“ ‘Dear God,’ he said aloud, ‘I don’t know why, but I feel very much afraid. Take care of me, as I ride through this lonely place. I believe You will, because You have written in Your Book, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”* (Hebrews 13:5) ’

“And as William knelt there, alone with God, all feeling of fear melted away. He arose, mounted his pony, and rode on with a light heart.

“The mill men knew he was coming, for they could hear his cheerful whistle before his pony came into view. He gave the payroll to the foreman, spent the night in the little town, and the next forenoon returned safely to his home.

“His mother met him at the door. ‘Son,’ she said, ‘something peculiar happened to me yesterday while you were away. I was very busy, but a little voice seemed to tell me that I ought to stop my work and pray for you. I felt that you were in danger, and that I should ask God to keep you safe. So I laid my work aside, went into my room and knelt down, and stayed there until I was sure that you were quite safe.’

“Then William told her how he had felt just before he reached the lonely forest trail, and how he had knelt down among the bushes and asked God to protect him. After that, they often talked about this strange happening, and wondered what it could mean.

“William worked in the bank for quite a long while, and then he went away to college. After he had graduated, he became a minister. Soon after this, God called away his good mother to her home in Heaven.

“One day William received a letter stamped with the postmark of a town in a distant state. ‘I am very ill,’ said the writer, ‘and the doctor says I shall never recover. I must see you, as I have something very important to tell you before I am called away to meet my God. Please come to me as quickly as possible.’ There was no name written at the end of the letter. It was signed, ‘A friend.’

“William turned the letter over and over in his hand. He knew no one in that faraway place, and for a time he was very much puzzled. Then he did as he had been in the habit of doing for many years—he slipped away to spend a few moments alone with God. And a voice in his heart kept saying, ‘Go; someone is in need, and your work is to minister to every soul who asks for help.’

“ ‘But whom shall I ask for, when I arrive?’ asked William, still perplexed. And the voice answered, ‘Only go; God will take care of the rest.’

“Hastily packing a few things in his traveling bag, William boarded a train and started for the town in the far-distant state. Arriving at the end of his journey, he stepped out upon the station platform. He was astonished when a gentleman came up to him and said courteously, ‘Is this Reverend Sutherland?’

“ ‘Yes,’ replied the minister, ‘I am he.’

“ ‘I have been sent to meet you, sir,’ said the stranger. ‘I have met every train during the past week. Will you come with me?’

“A few minutes later, he led the minister into a darkened room where a sick man lay. As they tiptoed into the room, he looked up eagerly, and his breath came fast. Holding out his hand, he asked in a feeble voice, ‘Is this Reverend Sutherland?’

“ ‘It is,’ said the minister gently, clasping the thin white hand. ‘Where have I met you before, my friend—and what can I do for you now?’

“ ‘You have never met me before,’ said the sick man, and his voice sank to a whisper. ‘I saw you only once and that was many years ago. But I have kept track of your whereabouts all these years. I have sent for you now, sir, because—I am dying.’

“The sick man sank back upon his pillows and rested a moment; then, fixing his large eyes on the minister’s face, he went on:

“ ‘Mr. Sutherland, one afternoon many years ago you were entrusted with a large sum of money to take to the foreman of a certain mill. In a wild and lonely spot, you slipped from your saddle and knelt down by some bushes and asked God to protect you. Do you remember it?’

“ ‘As if it had been yesterday,’ said the minister. ‘But, my good friend, what do you know about it?’

“ ‘Far more than you know,’ said the sick man, sadly. I heard that prayer. I was crouching among the bushes nearby, with my rifle pointed at your heart. I had planned to kill you, take the money, and ride away on your pony. But while you were praying, something passed between us; I did not know what it was, but I believed that God had sent it to protect you. I sat in those bushes, too weak to pull the trigger, and watched you ride away—perfectly helpless to do any harm to you. But it has haunted me ever since—the thought of what I wanted to do, and what I should have done if God had not answered your prayer. I could not meet God without telling you all this. Can you forgive me?’

“Again William grasped the hand of the dying man, saying in a husky voice, ‘My friend, as God has forgiven my sins, I freely forgive you. Ask now for God’s forgiveness, and be at peace.’

“The minister stayed with the man for some time, talking and praying with him; until at last the light shone in his dark soul, and God forgave his sins.

“He died soon after that, and William Sutherland was asked to preach his funeral sermon. He chose as his text those words from the book of Proverbs: ‘Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’* (Proverbs 3:5-6) ”

The children sat very still for some time, after Grandma had finished her story. “I think Bee Prayerful is the best of all,” said Joyce at last. “I shall remember that story as long as I live.”

“I hope you will, dear,” said Grandma. “No matter where you go—no matter how busy you are—always listen to the gentle buzz of Bee Prayerful.”

“We will, Grandma,” said the children soberly.

“And now,” said Grandma, “it is bedtime for two little folks who will have to be up bright and early in the morning. You know the train leaves at eight o’clock.”

“Good night, katydids and whippoorwills,” murmured Don a little drowsily. “We shall come back to hear you sing again next summer.”

With that, two tired children crept upstairs and tumbled into bed; and very soon they were in the Land of Dreams.