Oil on the Waters

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 28, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 21.

Oil on the Waters.

THEY had been the very best of friends. The pretty country houses were near together, the sunny fields lay side by side, and the grain and corn nodded to each other in sociable fashion over the dividing wall. The orchards ripened amicably together, and the different varieties of their rosy and golden treasures were frequently exchanged when autumn came. The "line gate" was seldom closed, and the feet from one side or the other were always tripping through it on some errand of neighborly kindness. When Mrs. Archer's little Lizzie was sick, it was Mrs. Sherwood who faithfully shared the mother's vigils; and when Mrs. Sherwood's unexpected guests arrived while she was disabled by a burned hand, it was Mrs. Archer who rendered every possible aid.

Pity that a few stones out of place should have spoiled so much good fellowship, but they did. It was that miserable dividing wall—a part of which was either thrown down, or blown down, or tumbled down, nobody quite knew which—that made the trouble. Mr. Sherwood was sure that it was the careless driving of Mr. Archer's threshers that had done it. Of course he could help to rebuild it—it was not a matter of very great consequence—only he was a careful and prudent man himself, and did not like such hurry-skurry ways of doing things, especially when other people's property might be injured by it. "Slow and sure" was his motto, and he thought it high time his neighbor learned it.

Mr. Archer was equally certain that it was Mr. Sherwood's Durham which had been loose in the adjoining field the day before, which was the cause of the mischief. The animal was not kept securely enough and would yet do worse damage than knocking down that old wall, Mr. Archer declared to his wife, if his neighbor were not more cautious. He was willing to help rebuild the wall; such a trifle was not a thing to make a fuss over, but when he found Mr. Sherwood viewed his obligingness and conciliatory disposition in the matter as very scant honesty, he was offended and indignant at once. Mr. Sherwood was also ready to help repair the breach, but he was not willing to be imposed upon or have his forbearance misconstrued. There ensued a long argument, waxing warmer and more forcible with every reply, in which each man succeeded in thoroughly convincing himself that he was entirely right, and had been injured and insulted. So they parted, a far worse breach than that in the wall having been made.

It widened day by day with the cessation of kindly offices, with the stiff greeting at any occasional meeting, and with the report of every foolish speech of one or the other by unwise attaches or malicious mischief-makers. Both families missed the old pleasant intercourse and felt the deprivation, but, of course, each intended to show the other that it was possible to live without them, and to manifest proper dignity when their rights were tampered with.

There was one who was upheld by no such pride of character, and that was the small laddie, Johnny Sherwood. He sadly missed his constant playmate, little Lizzie Archer, who came no more to the fence or the house, and all his requests to go and see her were promptly refused by his mother, who said she did "not believe Mrs. Archer would like to be troubled with him." His visits had never before been considered troublesome, and he was sure Lizzie wanted to come and see him too, if she were not forbidden because "everything had got so queer and crooked," as he said. But there seemed no help for it, and his sore little heart grew only sorer; until one Sunday he could not keep back his tears when something in the Sunday-school class reminded him afresh of his trouble. The teacher had been trying to interest them in missionary work, telling them of many ways in which even children could help.

"And how many of you will try to do something yourselves, and interest your little friends, too?" she asked.

Several small hands were raised, but Johnny's curly head went down upon his folded arms with a half-choked sob.

"What is it, dear?" asked the teacher as soon as the others had passed out, "what is the trouble with Johnny?"

"Oh, I haven't any little friend to ask; cause I can't play with Lizzie any more," sobbed Johnny. "The miserable old stone wall is down, and my papa is 'justly indigent' about it, so mamma says. I don't know what it is, but I 'pose Lizzie's papa's got it too. They both act like children do when they're awful cross. Nobody speaks to anybody any more, and we don't like each other, and there isn't anything nice. I do want Lizzie so!"

The lady listened rather nervously in the fear that she might be obtaining information that did not properly belong to her. A few questions she asked—very few because of that same fear—and then she said soothingly:

"I'm very sorry, Johnny. It is always a pity to have friendship broken in that way, but I hope it will all come right soon. You must just be patient and gentle about it, and pour oil on the waters when you have a chance. Even little children can be peacemakers, you know."

"Do you think I could do any good that way?" asked Johnny, lifting a pair of round, eager eyes.

"I think it very possible you might, dear, only you must be careful not to say or do anything disrespectful to older people, you know, but watch for chances and work quietly and softly."

Johnny walked home with a plan slowly maturing in his busy young brain. It was the last thing he thought of at night, and the first thing he remembered in the morning—a bright, fresh, dewy morning, that in itself was enough to make a little boy hopeful. Johnny made his preparations carefully and surreptitiously. He was very glad Miss Neal had said his work must be done silently and secretly, for he felt that he could not bear to meet anybody and explain as he stole softly down through the orchard with a tin can in his hand, through that unlucky breach in the wall, and up to the well in Mr. Archer's yard. A swift glance at doors and windows satisfied him that nobody was looking—indeed he had risen early so that nobody should be looking—and then he climbed upon the mossy old curb, so nervous in his haste that it was fortunate that he did not plunge into the cool dark opening below. A minute later Mrs. Archer's Bridget, coming to the kitchen door, espied the lower section of a pair of knee-breeches, a pair of bright red stockings and copper-toes showing precariously from the well-curb, and called out, "Is that you, Johnny Sherwood? And what are ye doin' there?"

But Johnny had accomplished his mission, and without replying he jumped down and ran away to await results.

They followed very speedily. The water served at Mr. Archer's breakfast-table that morning had a very peculiar but unmistakable odor and flavor, and questioning rose high. Bridget recounted what she had seen. Then indignation swelled into positive wrath, and Mr. Archer sought his neighbor's house.

"I thought the little difficulties that have grown up between us were unpleasant enough, sir, but I did not suppose you would instruct your family to begin a series of petty annoyances and persecutions."

"What do you mean by that, sir?" demanded Mr. Sherwood, his stiffness struggling with bewilderment.

"I mean that such a child as your Johnny would never have dreamed of such a contemptible piece of malice as trying to pollute a well, unless—"

"Johnny!"

But Johnny rushed out of his hiding-place behind the curtains and answered for himself.

"I didn't try to p'lute it nor nothin'; 'twas just oil. I love Lizzie, so I do, and we want to play together, and I'm tired of everybody being cross. I cried about it in Sunday-school, and Miss Neal said, 'Be a peacemaker.' She said, 'Pour oil on the waters,' and I chucked the whole canful of kerosene down your old well—so there!"

Johnny was sobbing with shame and disappointment, while swift changes were flitting over the gentlemen's faces; then they both laughed.

"I was a fool to make such an accusation as that," said Mr. Archer uneasily.

"And I have been another—in several ways," answered Mr. Sherwood with a sudden moisture obscuring the mirthful twinkle of his eyes as he extended his hand. "Neighbors and members of the same church! 'A little child shall lead them,' Archer?"

But the other's hand was already in his with a warm, firm clasp. So the breach was healed and the wall rebuilt. The next Sunday, Johnny snuggled up to Miss Neal and whispered: "I tried it, and it did it, too! Lizzie 'n me's going to have a missionary hen and raise chickens to sell for the heathen."—Central Christian Advocate.