COALS OF FIRE by Pauline Fife

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jun 12, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 24.

COALS OF FIRE.

By Pauline Fife

MISS RODGERS was a church-member, but a very proud one. The gossips said, however, that she had good reason to be vain.

She was about fifty years of age, tall, well-built, very good-looking, and an excellent business woman. Altho her education had been neglected in youth, she had become well-informed by reading and private study. She was generous and social among those whom she considered aristocratic. In earlier years she had lived in a tiny cabin with her brother, who died, leaving to her his share of the untilled claim. Thrift and business ability do not usually remain unrewarded; and when I first passed her farm, I saw a large white house, surrounded by a flourishing, old-fashioned garden. Tall pines grew along the road and about her large barns.

No farmer in that vicinity ever told his wife that women knew nothing about business and good farming who was not immediately reminded of Miss Rodgers. “But,” said her friends, “if there is a sin that will keep Miss Rodgers out of heaven, it is pride. She considers herself a little better than the rest of us. How mean she has been to the widow Gray, these twenty years.”

Mrs. Gray lived in a small cottage on a ten-acre lot next to Miss Rodgers’ farm. As Miss Rodgers was a social leader among the neighbors, her dislike for Mrs. Gray led many to pass her by, and after the death of her husband and children, Mrs. Gray was very lonely. Still, she had a few staunch friends; for she was an excellent nurse and a true Christian, tho she worried them a little by teaching doctrines strange to them, and keeping Saturday holy. She was poor; but as her affections were on things above, she bore poverty bravely. Most grievous of her trials was Miss Rodgers’ unjust coldness. She tried in vain to make peace with her haughty neighbor. Tho Miss Rodgers bowed stiffly when they met, she had never called on Mrs. Gray; and if she overtook her on the way to the town, two miles distant, she did not ask the weary woman to ride.

Secretly Miss Rodgers felt ashamed of her conduct, and could not give herself a just reason for it. “I never could bear her,” she would say; “one of these mortally meek people who make one feel as if they were mats, made to be walked on. Then she has some queer religion, too; so I just let her alone from the first, and have never got out of the way of it. I do not like to associate with the poor. It seems natural to look down on her, and my dislike, strange as it is, seems to increase. She is so thin, and looks so sad, that I could not conscientiously recommend her as a nurse. People seem to think I ought to know.” In this way Mrs. Gray lost many rich patrons; and year by year she grew poorer and more lonely.

In spite of her trials Mrs. Gray’s trust in God did not falter. “No honest prayer of mine ever failed to bring an answer, even if I had to wait twenty or thirty years for it,” she would say to herself; “I want to see Miss Rodgers in the new earth. She is a good woman, all but that pride, and there will come a time when God will, by some lesson or other, cure her of that fault.” The time came.

One afternoon Miss Rodgers awoke in a strange bed. Wonderingly she looked about, noticing the furniture, which was not her own. Her face and hands were bandaged, and her whole body seemed to burn; and as she tried to rise, she sank back upon her pillow in extreme pain.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked into the gentle face of the widow Gray, who said tenderly, as she noted the change in her patient, “Poor soul, you had a narrow escape. Do you remember what has happened? There, there, I see you don’t; but when the doctor tells me I may talk to you, I will explain.”

For several hours Miss Rodgers looked at her bandaged hands, and wondered how she had been burned. She noticed also that Mrs. Gray’s head was bandaged. The doctor soon allowed Mrs. Gray to talk to her patient.

“’Twas strange that you did not smell the smoke, and awaken before I did,” Mrs. Gray said. “Away in the night I got up, and after making sure that the fire was not in my own house, I looked out of the window and saw the flames and smoke pouring from your house and barns. My, but how I ran! I did not suppose I could run so fast. I expected, of course, that when I reached your house I should find you flying around getting things out; but there wasn’t a sound to be heard but the roar of the flames and noise of beams falling. All the doors were locked, so I threw a board into the front window, and in a minute was inside, running around, nearly blinded with smoke. When at last I found your room, you lay as if dead, stupefied with smoke. Just as I lifted you out of the parlor window, a beam fell, burning you. Fortunately for us both, it did not hurt me much, so we were soon safe. Of course the house and barns burned. You have been near to death many times since; but you will be well in a few weeks.”

Miss Rodgers’ mouth was too well bandaged to admit of much talking, but she had plenty of time to think. Many a tear fell silently on her pillow.

No nurse could have been kinder or more thoughtful than Mrs. Gray, who said nothing of her own pain.

“Strange,” thought Miss Rodgers, “that I have been so blind all these years. What heavenly ways she has!” Nevertheless Miss Rodgers felt rather uncomfortable during the long weeks of her illness; for she thought of a multitude of kindnesses the poor widow might have received at her hands. Bitterly she remembered how cruelly she had snubbed her, just for a whim and—pride.

One morning, when Miss Rodgers was well again, two gray heads might have been seen close together; and there was a very tender light and a suggestion of tears in Miss Rodgers’ eyes, but not the least touch of pride in her voice or manner, as she said, “Good-by for awhile. God bless you. I’ll never forget the lesson in meekness you’ve taught, nor the wonderful way in which you have returned good for evil. When we get settled in the new house, we will study the Bible together. Your religion does not seem queer to me now, and I realize that I need some of it myself.”

On almost any summer afternoon, when passing Miss Rodgers’ new house, two old ladies may be seen rocking on the front porch, reading or knitting. No line in the Bible is more clear to both than that which reads, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.”

PAULINE FIFE.

Reno, Nevada.