Whiter than Snow

Nelly and a Precious Bible Promise

Amy Catherine Walton

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Chapter 1

Do you love to see the snow fall? I am sure all children who live in the country do. It looks so pretty, whitening the branches of the trees and covering the ground all over with a vast white sheet.

But it was not on fields and trees that little Nelly Rogers watched the snow descend; it was in a dark, dull, narrow street of a great manufacturing town. Still, Nelly thought the snow very pretty. The soft, white flakes looked so different from everything else in that smutty, dingy place. It seemed a wonder that anything so pure should come down there and rest on the blackened windowsills of the tall, tumbledown houses and make a nice white road of the usually dirty lane.

Nelly stood at the door for a long time. Her little delicate face looked very pinched and blue, but she seemed unmindful of the cold in the enjoyment of watching the fast-falling snow. It was very seldom she saw anything so pure and beautiful where she lived, and while she looked, three little words floated into her mind – “whiter than snow.” She knew she had heard them somewhere; where was it? She thought a long time, then she remembered they were Bible words. Yes, she had learned them a long time ago, and there was more that came after that. But though Nelly tried hard to remember the rest of the verse, it would not come into her head, only those three little words – “whiter than snow.” Again and again she repeated them over to herself, wondering what could be whiter than snow. It was certainly something she had never seen, still she felt sure that there was something whiter even than the pure white snow that was falling thick and fast around her, for the Bible said so. And though poor Nelly’s knowledge was very small, she knew the Bible was God’s Word, and therefore it must be true.

But now the snow had done falling, and Nelly turned regretfully from the door and went in. Oh, what a contrast to the snow outside! How black and dirty everything looked in the dark, comfortless room!

Nelly sat down close to the fire and tried to warm herself; for now that she had no longer anything pleasant to look at, she felt half frozen with cold.

Chapter 2

It was a very lonely life this poor little child led, for she had no brothers and sisters. Her mother died soon after Nelly was born, leaving the baby in its grandmother’s charge. And very good care the old woman took of the little motherless infant. As soon as Nelly could understand, she began to teach her the first lessons in religion every child should learn. But when Nelly was only five years old, the pious old woman was removed to the home above. Since then, the child had had no one to teach her; so that when my story begins, three years after her grandmother’s death, Nelly had well-nigh forgotten all she had ever learned. Yet these early lessons were not altogether lost upon her. No, it was the result of one of these that made Nelly think of these three Bible words while watching the snow fall. The seed had taken root and, though long buried, was going to spring up and bear fruit.

James Rogers was not an unkind man, but he did not understand children. It never occurred to him that while he was at work all day in the iron foundry, his little girl must be very lonely; or else he supposed she went into the neighbor’s houses or amused herself playing with the children in the street. But the neighbors were all too much occupied with their own business and cares to trouble themselves about the little quiet child who never troubled them, and she did not like playing with the children in the street – they were so rude and quarrelsome.

Nelly, however, had one friend. In the lower room of one of the opposite houses there lived an old Irishman. Micky M’Guinness was a strange old man. He was a bird seller, and the walls of his little room were covered nearly all over with cages. There were canaries, goldfinches, bullfinches, and many other birds besides. Nelly used to go and spend hours together in Micky’s room, listening to their sweet singing and helping the old man to supply their various little wants. She was naturally silent, and from living alone, the old man hardly ever talked to anyone but himself and his birds. Nevertheless, he was very fond of Nelly; her quiet ways just suited him. Mutual love for the merry little songsters had first drawn them together, and now a strong friendship existed between the two.

Chapter 3

But to go back to the time when my story begins. Nelly sat a long time by the fire, puzzling her little head to discover what could be whiter than snow.

Suddenly a bright thought struck her – perhaps her old friend knew. She went again to the door and looked out. It was getting dark, and the air was intensely cold, for there was plenty of snow yet to fall. A bright fire within was lighting up with a warm ruddy glow the window of old Micky’s room, which made Nelly sure he must be in, so, her little feet sinking deep in snow at every step, she made her way across the street. The old man was sitting before the fire in a large wooden armchair, contentedly puffing away at his pipe. The birds had all gone to sleep, so that the room was quite silent now. Nelly drew up a little three-legged stool, as the old man signified to her, and nestled into her favorite snug position by his knee.

“Micky,” she asked, after silently watching him for some time, “do you know the Bible?”

Micky drew the pipe out of his mouth and stared at the child in wonderment.

“Do you, Micky?” Nelly repeated.

“Well, I can’t say I do, rightly.”

The child looked disappointed.

“Why, what did you want to know for?” said the old man, seeing the troubled look of her face.

“Oh, I thought you could tell me something. Did you never learn any Bible verses, Micky?”

“Well no, dear. You see where I lived when I was a lad, there was no school within three miles, and so I never learned to read. To be sure, I’ve heard bits of the Bible now and then, but it’s along time since; it’s little I remember now.”

Having thus explained himself, Micky resumed his pipe, and for some minutes neither spoke. Nelly’s face looked very grave.

“Micky,” she said at last, in a low frightened tone, “do you think we’ll ever get to heaven if we don’t know the Bible?”

“Well, dear, I hope to get there straight. I’m an old man now, and it’s near time I was there. You’ll get there anyway, for you’re a good little thing and never did harm to no one.”

“Oh, Micky, I wish I knew the Bible; I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t.”

As the child spoke, she pressed closer to the old man’s side, looking anxiously into his face. Again he drew the pipe out of his mouth and regarded in astonishment the little pale face before him, so anxious and earnest. Then laying his hand on Nelly’s head, he said, “Why, you look almost as if you were going now. What ails you, child?”

“I don’t know, only I’m tired,” and Nelly laid her head down wearily upon the old man’s knee and presently fell fast asleep. Micky’s enjoyment of his pipe was not so complete as before, and every now and then his eye would rest uneasily upon the pale cheek half covered by the little, thin hands. A noise in the street woke Nelly with a start. She looked round in a bewildered way, then remembering where she was, got up to go away.

“And must you go, dear?” said the old man. “Stay and have a cup of tea.”

Nelly looked wistfully back at the snug place she had just left, but father would be coming home, she said, and she must get his supper ready. So, shivering, she crossed the cold, dark street and entered her desolate home.

Chapter 4

Nell, is that you?” cried a loud harsh voice, and a cross-looking woman appeared at the head of the stairs. “Where have you been all this time? There, I’m after lighting your fire that you let go clean out, troublesome child. And a pretty thing, too, after a hard day’s work, to have to go to the pump because you’d fetched no water, such a useless thing as you are.”

Nelly looked frightened. But before she could make any reply, the woman turned away, telling her not to stand there any longer but to be quick and get her father’s supper ready.

Mrs. Millar was poor Nelly’s great dread. She was always scolding her for something or other. So, it was a great relief to Nelly when her work kept herout all day, as it generally did. She occupied the room over the kitchen, paying Rogers for her lodging by taking care of the house and doing all the work Nelly was not equal to.

Poor woman! Hers was a hard life, too, and had done much to harden her heart and embitter her spirit. She had no children, and her husband was at sea. Sometimes, however, Joe Millar would come to the town and spend all his earnings in drink. Then, his wife would have to support him and give him more money to squander away, which she did, not without loud complaints and a good deal of quarreling. And so, when Joe went back to his ship, all his wife’s hard-earned savings had gone too, and she was left to toil on and scrape together a little more, to be swept off in the same manner at his next visit. It was no wonder she was unhappy.

Very different was she as the bright-looking Jane Ellwood, the pride of her village home, a little hot-tempered certainly, but so lively and warmhearted. Her mother warned her when first the fine, careless, sunburnt sailor came and appeared won by her attractions. But Jane tossed her head and said, “he meant nothing.” She liked to listen while Joe talked to her of foreign parts and great cities he had seen, till she longed to know more of the world of which then she knew so little. Then, when Joe Millar said he wanted to marry her, Mark Ellwood declared he would never give his daughter to a sailor of whom he knew nothing; he must hear his character first. Jane’s temper was up. Why should they think Joe bad? It was unjust; she did not think him so and marry him she would. So off she went, leaving a father in anger and a mother in tears.

Soon after their marriage, Joe went away to sea and Jane was obliged to go into service. For years she never saw him. Then Joe wrote to say he was coming home, and with both their earnings they would live comfortably together, and he would go no more to sea. So Jane left her situation, and now she thought they would be happy. But Joe had got into idle drinking habits, and before very long all their money was gone. Still, his wife struggled hard to earn enough to support them both. It was no use. Bitterly, she reproached her husband till, weary of her complaints, he took to his sailor life again. Jane had no heart to go back into service, so she lived as already told, working hard and saving up what she could, for still Joe was her husband and she would do what she could for him.

Chapter 5

Tired after her hard day’s work, Mrs. Millar sat down to brood over her misfortunes. Downstairs, Nelly wearily moved about, getting supper ready. A heavy step announced her father’s approach. Presently, the door opened, and a fine strong-looking workman entered.

“Bitter cold night; supper ready? That’s a good girl.” And so saying, Rogers sat down to the table and devoted all his energies to making a hearty meal. Indeed, so entirely engrossed was he that he never noticed Nelly’s tired, worn-out look, or that she ate nothing. His appetite at last satisfied, he drew a newspaper out of his pocket, at the same time desiring Nelly to put a log on the fire. Poor Nelly went to the comer of the room where there was a heap of firewood and lifted one of the logs – it was very heavy, and Nelly felt so weak she could hardly move it, and yet there was no smaller one. She looked at her father – wouldn’t he help her? But he was busy with his newspaper, so Nelly thought she would make one brave effort. It was as much as the child could do; but she succeeded at length in bearing the heavy log across the room and placing it on the fire, though her whole body ached with the exertion.

Having scanned the contents of his paper, Rogers went out to spend the rest of his evening in the saloon, as had been his custom of late.

Nelly cleared away the things and then sat down on the hearthstone. She felt very miserable and unhappy, but she hardly knew why. Poor child! She little knew how ill she was. She had no one to talk to, nothing to amuse her but watching the little blue and red flames that seemed to play with one another round the log. Then she crept up to her little lonely garret and lay down all alone in the dark, without the blessed knowledge that she was in a Heavenly Father’s keeping, and that His holy angels were watching round her bed.

Rogers came home at a late hour, and as he was ascending the stairs with no very steady step, the sound of Nelly’s distressed coughing, now and then mingled with low sobs, caught his ear. He stopped and listened.

Aware that of late Rogers had frequently come home half intoxicated, Mrs. Millar was still up, watching for his return. Hearing his step pause, she looked out of her room, then burst out in her usual complaining tones, “And is that what you’re coming to, Rogers? It’s well your poor wife’s spared seeing her trouble.”

Had he been perfectly sober, Rogers would have angrily resented the woman’s speech.

“I say, misses,” he stammered out, “does anything ail the child?”

“Ail her! That cough’s killing her, that’s what ails her.”

Chapter 6

Was it an unpleasant dream he had had, that something was the matter with his child? But one look at Nelly convinced James Rogers it was reality.

“Nell, what were you crying for last night?” he asked her the next morning.

Nelly looked ashamed. “I couldn’t help it,” she said. “It was so cold, and the couch hurt me.”

The father was startled. The child’s face looked just as her mother’s did when she was ill. He wondered he had not noticed it before. He always knew the little girl was not very strong, but then she never complained. For the first time, when he went away to his work that day, he was troubled at the thought of the lonely little one at home, and he almost made up his mind to take the pledge and keep away from the saloon for the future. He felt ashamed to think how the increasing love for drink was making him even neglect his child, and yet it was very hard to give it up. All that day there was a fierce battle going on in the man’s mind.

The snow fell pretty heavily during most of the day, and Nelly found some amusement in watching it. She did so love those soft, white flakes, and again and again she wondered what could be whiter.

That evening, when supper was over, Rogers drew his chair over to the fire and lifted Nelly on his knee. He told her he would take her someday to the foundry and show her all the wonderful machines. Her little face lighted up with pleasure and she looked so eager and happy that her father reassured himself she would soon be well.

Presently the door opened.

“Jim, I want you,” said a rough voice. “Here, come with me to the saloon.”

Alas for Rogers’ half-made resolutions!

“I don’t think I’ll go with you tonight, Ned,” he said.

Nelly’s eyes were fixed wistfully upon her father’s face.

“Why, what are you going to do?” asked the other.

“Nothing; I’ve a mind to stay at home tonight.”

“Oh, don’t be such a stupid fellow. What’s come over you, Jim? You’re not in general so fond of staying at home.”

Jim looked uncomfortable, and Nelly took his great rough hand in both hers and held it tight, as if to keep him.

“Come on, Jim, don’t keep me waiting,” said Ned impatiently.

Rogers felt ashamed of holding back any longer, so he put Nelly down from his knee.

“Well, here, I’ll go along with you,” he said, moving towards the door. Then he turned back and saw the little girl standing mournfully by the fireside watching him still.

“I say, Ned, the little one will be very lonesome.”

“Well, bring her along to my house. She can stay with my wife and the children till we come back, but make haste.”

“Nell, wrap yourself up warm and come,” said Rogers. Nelly threw on her hat and cloak, and put her little hand into her father’s, quite pleased to accompany him. The night was bitterly cold. A severe frost had set in, and the snow which covered the ground crackled under their feet. The keen wind pierced through Nelly’s cloak and made her teeth chatter and her whole body shiver. The men walked very fast, and her poor little aching limbs could hardly keep up with them. Then her cough became distressing, and she was beginning to wish herself at home again, when Rogers stopped, lifted her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

“Here we are,” said Ned Harrison, raising a door latch. “Mary, keep this child till we come back.”

A tidy-looking woman came forward and led Nelly over to the fire.

“Poor child, are you perished?” she asked, as the bright flame showed Nelly’s little thin white face.

A fit of coughing prevented the child from answering.

“Poor little thing, and no mother to take care of her,” thought the kind woman, and she gave the child a compassionate kiss, which made Nelly look up in her face and smile – a grateful, winning smile.

“Now, maybe, you’ll play with the children,” Mrs. Harrison said, as several little ones gathered around the hearthstone. Nelly did not join, but she sat watching the merry little people, looking quite content. Sometimes her eyes followed the busy movements of Mrs. Harrison and her eldest daughter Ruth, who, as it was Saturday night, were actively employed in making preparations for the next day. Or, her eyes wandered round the tidy room, where the firelight danced now on the glistening rows of delft, now on the cheery little pictures adorning the whitewashed walls.

It seemed as if no one could be anything but happy and contented in that bright cheerful home – how different from poor Nelly’s! Only the mother’s face looked grave, for she guessed too truly where her husband was gone. Mrs. Harrison was a Christian – not one in name only, but in deed and in truth – and it was her one great trial that her husband was not a God-fearing man. When she married him, she was equally careless of the “one thing needful,” but then the first little baby died. And, while the young mother’s heart was bowed down with grief, the good words of a kind lady, a district visitor in the parish, were blessed to her soul; and she learned to thank God for the affliction which had been so sanctified. That God would touch her husband’s heart was his wife’s constant and believing prayer, and she felt sure He would do so in His own good time.

Harrison was a kind husband and father and an honest industrious workman. There was little danger of his getting into intemperate habits, as he naturally disliked strong drink. It was to join his friends, hear the news, discuss politics, or enjoy a bet, that sometimes led him to the saloon.

Their work finished, the mother took the little ones off to bed, and Ruth came and sat down beside Nelly. The two children soon became friends, though Ruth was a good deal the older. By a series of questions, Ruth made herself acquainted with little Nelly’s history, and she felt quite sorry for the poor child who said she had no one to play with, never went to school, and was generally by herself all day. Ruth thought she would be sorry to change places with her.

After they had talked a little while, Ruth ran off to fetch her Bible, as she said she must look over her verses for Sunday school before bedtime. Nelly looked wistfully at the book and into Ruth’s face as the girl, with one hand over the page, was repeating her verses over and over to herself. Nelly wondered in her own mind whether Ruth would be likely to know more than old Micky.

“Ruth,” she said presently.

“What, Nelly?”

“Do you know what’s whiter than snow?”

“Whiter than snow? No, I think snow’s the whitest thing there is.”

“Oh, but there’s something whiter. I know there is. I remember the Bible says so, but I forget all but that.”

“Maybe, Nelly, you’re thinking of the angel’s robes; they’re white as snow – but wait – I think I know now what you mean. It’s in the Psalms. I’ll find it.”

Ruth turned over the leaves of her Bible unsuccessfully.

“Oh, here’s Mother; she’ll know. Mother, where in the Bible is ‘whiter than snow’?”

“The Fifty-first Psalm, Ruth; don’t you remember we were reading it the other night?”

“Oh, yes, Mother, and a beautiful Psalm it was.

Now I have it. Here, Nelly, look!”

“But I can’t read it,” said Nelly, sadly. “Read it to me.”

Ruth read through the Psalm:

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving-kindness, according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.

For I acknowledge my transgression: and my sin is ever before me.

Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight, that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.

Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.

Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts; and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.

Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy Holy Spirit from me.

Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free Spirit.

Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee.

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation; and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.

O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.

For thou desirest not sacrifice, else would I give it; thou delightest not in burnt offering.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.

Nelly listened with fixed attention.

“But still I don’t know,” she said, when Ruth had finished, “what does it mean, ‘wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow’?”

Ruth looked a little puzzled how to explain.

“Mother,” she said, “you can tell her better than I can.”

“Whose words are they, Ruth?”

“David’s.”

“Well, tell Nelly what David wanted.”

“He wanted to have his sins washed away, and then his heart would be whiter than snow. Isn’t that it, Mother?”

“But how could his sins be washed away?” Nelly asked.

Mrs. Harrison looked at her pityingly.

“Don’t you know, child, who died for you, to take away your sins?”

“Jesus – Granny taught me about Him, but it’s so long ago I forget it all.”

“Well, the Bible says, ‘the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin’ He shed His blood for poor sinners like us, that we might be washed and have our hearts made clean and fit for heaven.

Nelly’s anxious eyes were fixed on Mrs. Harrison. She would have liked to have heard more, but just then the door opened and the two men walked in. Rogers’ heated face and unsteady step were too evident proof that he had been drinking freely. Mrs. Harrison looked uneasily at him, then at Nelly.

“The child had better stay here,” she said. “The night’s too cold for her to be out with such a cough as she’s got.”

Incapable of reasoning, Rogers showed a dogged determination not to go home without the child. So, bidding good-bye to Mrs. Harrison and Ruth, who promised to go and see her soon, Nelly confidently placed her little hand in her father’s and trusted herself without any fear to his uncertain guidance through the dark, winding streets. The way seemed very long, and this time poor Nelly was not carried. But cold and fatigue were alike forgotten by her, for one great all-absorbing idea had taken possession of the child’s mind, and every now and then the words escaped her lips timidly, as if uncertain where they were going, “Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Chapter 7

Sunday came, a short cessation to the restless motion and weary toil of the busy city. To Ruth Harrison and her mother, Sunday was a very happy day. The rest was very sweet to the mother after the six days’ toil, but sweeter still was the service of the house of God, the words of divine truth and heavenly consolation, which her meek heart loved so well. Ruth’s face, always cheerful, seemed to wear a more than usually happy expression on Sundays. This morning, as she looked forward to her own pleasures, she wondered what Sunday was like to poor little Nelly. Was it just the same as any other day? Ruth pitied her very much. Her warm affectionate heart had been drawn towards the little stranger the night before; and now,when she knelt down to say her morning prayer, Nelly was included in the petition for a blessing on all she loved.

At an early hour, the Harrison children started off to Sunday school, their fresh tidy appearance contrasting with that of most of the children they passed in the streets – some in dirt and rags, others in tawdry finery. As Ruth walked along, leading her youngest little brother by the hand, she tried to divert his attention from all the attractive sights and sounds by making him repeat over his verse or hymn and helping him to understand them. Ruth’s own lesson was always well prepared, for to study God’s Holy Book was her great delight. The lesson today was about the little captive maid, who was the means of recovering her master from leprosy. The teacher spoke very earnestly about opportunities of doing good and being useful to others, especially by leading the wandering to Life. None of them were too young to be employed in the service of God, and the highest work was to try and make His Holy Name to be feared and loved. The lesson was not lost upon Ruth. She thought of the poor little girl who knew not how the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin; and, joyful at the opportunity offered her, she resolved to be Nelly’s teacher. So that afternoon, when the other children were getting ready to accompany their father in a walk towards the country, Ruth told her mother she would like to go and see Nelly Rogers.

“Well, it will be a kindness to the poor little thing,” said her mother; “but if you go now, you’ll lose your walk, Ruth.” Mrs. Harrison knew what a treat the Sunday walk was to Ruth, how much she enjoyed her father’s company, and how fond she was of getting beyond the smoky city, out to some of the quiet, pleasant roads in its vicinity. But Ruth said she wanted very much to see Nelly; she thought she could teach her something. The mother looked pleased and silently prayed for a blessing on her child’s endeavors. Ruth took her Bible and set out. Through narrow lanes and streets the child missionary threaded her way, with a happy feeling in her heart that she was doing something for God.

Just as she was considering which house was most like the one Nelly had described as her home, a door opened and Rogers appeared with a pipe in his mouth, dressed in his working clothes.

“Are you come to see Nelly?” he asked, when Ruth came up. “That’s right! She was just wondering if you’d come today, and now I’m just going out, so will you stay with her a bit, like a good girl?”

Ruth said she would and, pointing to the door of the room where Nelly was to be found, Rogers walked away. Ruth went in.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re come,” exclaimed Nelly, when she saw her.

“Well now, I’m going to stay a good bit, and look,” said Ruth, holding up her Bible,” I’ve brought this to read to you.”

Nelly’s pale face flushed with pleasure.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she said eagerly, “and won’t you read me again what you read last night, about David praying to be washed and made whiter than snow.”

Ruth seated herself by Nelly’s side, opened her book, and read the Fifty-first Psalm. When she had done, Nelly told her she had been thinking about David’s prayer ever since last night and wondered whether her heart could be made so very white. She would like it so much. Ruth told her how the blood of Jesus washes out every stain of sin.

“Then I must pray to God,” said Nelly. “Tell me how, Ruth. I don’t know.”

“Oh, Nelly, do you never say any prayers?”

“No, because I have no one to say them to.”

“No one to say them to! What do you mean, Nelly?” asked Ruth in a tone of astonishment.

“I used to say them to Granny, but when she died I’d no one to say them to. Father wouldn’t listen, and so I left off, and now I’ve forgotten the words.”

“Nelly, now you must say them straight to God; you don’t want anyone else to hear.”

“But what shall I say? I’m afraid, Ruth.”

But Ruth told her she need not fear, for though God was so great and so holy, yet He was a kind Father to all who put their trust in Him. She had only to tell Him how sorry she was for all her sins and ask Him to forgive her for Jesus’ sake.

“And may I say ‘Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow’?” Nelly asked.

“Yes, you may say that too. Shall we pray now?”

And the two children knelt down, and the elder simply but trustingly, asked their Father in heaven to bless Nelly, to forgive her her sins, and to make her one of His faithful children for Jesus’ sake.

“And God really heard us?” said Nelly, when they rose from their knees.

“Yes, Nelly, and He’ll do what we ask Him.”

An expression of sweet peace rested on the child’s face. The good Shepherd had sought out His little wandering lamb and was going to bring her safe into His heavenly fold.

Then Ruth read her own favorite chapters about our blessed Lord’s cruel sufferings and death. The tears filled Nelly’s eyes when she heard of the crown of thorns that pierced His holy brow, but when it came to their nailing Him to the dreadful cross, she fairly sobbed. But Ruth read on, of His resurrection from the dark grave, and how in a bright cloud Jesus ascended up again to His own home in heaven, and then Nelly was comforted. Every now and then Ruth stopped to make some explanation to her attentive listener or answer Nelly’s eager questions. The short winter’s day was nearly gone, and Ruth felt she must be going too.

“Nelly,” she said, “would you like me to sing you a hymn before I go?”

“Oh, yes, do.”

And Ruth began in a clear sweet voice to sing the evening hymn –

Glory to Thee, my God, this night, For all the blessings of the light!

Keep me, oh, keep me, King of kings, Beneath the shadow of thy wings.

Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son, The ills that I this day have done;

That with the world, myself, and Thee, I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed;

Teach me to die that so I may Rise glorious on the Judgment day.

Ruth was glad to see the look of pleasure on Nelly’s face and promising to come and see her very often, she bid her good-bye.

Nelly was not the only listener to Ruth’s hymn; the sound had reached Jane Millar’s ears and brought her to the head of the stairs to listen to the well-known hymn. There was a time when her voice was as fresh and clear, and the familiar tune called to mind her younger days when on peaceful Sabbath evenings in the quiet village church, her voice, the sweetest in the choir, used to join in singing the same beautiful hymn. It was a long time since she had heard it. It awoke many recollections of the past, and bitterly feeling the contrast of her present situation, Jane returned to her room to weep over her misfortunes.

Chapter 8

We must now take a peep into the small, dark room opposite, filled with its little feathered inmates, and see what sort of a Sunday the old man was spending there.

Old Micky M’Guinness was sitting, as usual, in his large wooden armchair before the fire, but contrary to his usual habit, his pipe was laid aside, and an uneasy, pained expression rested on his face. Well it might, for neither mind nor body was at rest. Rheumatism had attacked his aged frame with more than usual severity, owing to the extreme inclemency of the weather. And, during the night, as the old man lay awake with pain, Nelly’s question seemed repeated in his ears over and over again, “Micky, will we ever get to heaven if we don’t know the Bible?” All day long, uneasy thoughts had filled his mind. He felt he couldn’t last much longer, and after all, perhaps he wasn’t going the right way. Then the child’s little worn, pale face seemed constantly before him. Maybe, he thought, she wouldn’t last much longer either. Where were they both going?

Like many of his sort, Micky very seldom went to church, and as little Nelly never went there either, having no one to take her, she was in the habit of spending most of Sunday in her old friend’s company. But this day, she was not left without a companion at home, for her father, instead of idling about as was his wont, had stayed with his little girl the whole morning. She was evidently the worse for last night’s cold, late walk, and Rogers felt angry with himself that he had allowed Harrison to persuade him to go to the saloon. Again he tried to make up his mind to take the pledge.

Old Micky wondered that his little friend had not paid him her accustomed visit. He feared the child was ill and felt a strong desire to hobble across the street and see. So, taking his thick-knotted stick from its comer by the fireplace, he rose with difficulty; but his limbs were too stiff and crippled to allow him to walk. And, with a groan of pain, the old man dropped down into his chair again.

It was nearly dark when the door opened, and a little figure glided in. Kneeling by the old man’s side, Nelly seized both his hands in hers and looking earnestly up in his face exclaimed, “Oh, Micky, I’ve found it; I’ve found it all.”

Then she began and told him all that had happened since she had last seen him – the kind friends she had found and the wondrous story Ruth had read to her. In broken childish language, Nelly repeated all she could remember. The old man listened eagerly, only interrupting her with an occasional “Aye.” Nelly told him that the blood of Jesus washes the sinner’s heart and makes it whiter than snow and fit for heaven.

“And now,” she said joyfully, “you and I can go to heaven, can’t we, Micky?”

“May God Almighty bring us there,” said the old man devoutly. “I’ll not be much longer here, that’s clear.”

“Oh, Micky, but you mustn’t go before I do,” and the child pressed closer the hand she still held in hers. Here their conversation was interrupted, for Rogers put his head in at the door and told Nelly to come home, as it was growing late and cold. The child wonderingly obeyed; her father’s care was something new and pleasant to her.

Chapter 9

The winter wore on, and Nelly’s health became gradually worse. At her father’s desire, Mrs. Harrison had taken her to a doctor. Dr. Hooper was a kind man; he looked pityingly at the child, asked who she had belonging to her, and muttered something to himself about the fewer the better. He gave her something to relieve her cough and the pain in her side, and gently raising the little drooping face, he said, “Medicine will do you no good, my little girl. You may just do what you like and try and be as happy as you can.”

Mrs. Harrison understood the doctor’s meaning, but she had not heart to communicate it to the father or Ruth. Both, she thought, would find out the truth quite soon enough. Still, though she was growing weaker nearly every day, Nelly’s life was much happier now than it used to be. Her father was very kind to her. He had taken the pledge and never spent his evenings in the saloon now but always stayed at home with Nelly.

After supper, he would sit with the little girl on his knee, till she generally fell asleep with her head nestled on his shoulder. Ruth came to see her every day, and then she loved to talk of heaven and to listen to the sweet hymns Ruth sang to her, or to hear the lessons Ruth had learned at Sunday school. And Ruth was teaching her to read. Nelly did not find it hard to learn, for she was a quick child, and besides, she remembered nearly all the letters which she had once learned from her grandmother. One of the little girl’s amusements had been to spell out the large letters on the signboards over the shop doors, and so she had kept up her knowledge of the alphabet.

It was the child’s chief delight when she was all alone, to sit with a large Bible, which had belonged to her grandmother, on her knee, spelling out the words. If she came upon a long or difficult one, it was reserved till Ruth came and helped her on, and explained, in her simple way, what seemed hard to understand. Then, when she had mastered all the long words in a chapter, she would hasten across the street to read it to her old friend. The old man loved the book as much as she did now, and he also loved to hear the child, unconscious of being his teacher, talking in her simple way of the great truths of man’s salvation. The childish explanation was not ill suited to his darkened but anxious mind.

To Nelly’s great delight, she had been to church for a few Sundays, first with Ruth and then with her father. It was a long time since James Rogers had entered a church door; and at first he was very unwilling to go, but Nelly pleaded so earnestly, that to please her, he went. Now that she was too ill to accompany him, it made her so unhappy if her father absented himself for one Sunday, that, rather than give her pain, Rogers became a regular churchgoer.

Chapter 10

One Sunday morning, Nelly was sitting with the large Bible on her knee, but her eyes had wandered off the page, and she was singing in a sweet low tone a favorite hymn she had learned from Ruth, beginning:

Oh, where shall rest be found,

Rest for the weary soul –

Mrs. Millar was in the room putting some things to rights. Her things were on, for she was going out to spend the Sunday in her usual way – visiting the neighbors, listening to their various tales of hardship, and pouring out her own. Her ear caught the words Nelly was singing.

“Well,” she thought, “if ever a weary soul wanted rest, it’s mine.”

Nelly ended, and for some time silently watched the woman’s busy movements.

“Mrs. Millar,” she said at length, rather timidly, “Why don’t you go to church?”

“Just because I’m too miserable,” answered Jane shortly. Then she added to herself, “Oh, there was a time when 1 was never absent from the house of God.”

“But,” persisted Nelly, “in church they pray for miserable people! Do go.”

The child’s anxious tone surprised Jane. She looked up and saw the wistful eyes fixed upon her with an earnest expression.

“Well, perhaps I will,” she said. “Maybe I’ll hear something of that rest you were singing about just now.”

“Oh, yes, you will, and I’ll ask God that you may find it,” said the child eagerly.

“Well, well, who’d have thought I’d ever be seen there in such clothes as these. But what matter, I’ve nothing to be proud of now,” and with a weary sigh Mrs. Millar left the house, while Nelly knelt down to pray that God would give her rest.

Unwilling to meet with any of her neighbors lest they should ask her where she was going and express some surprise, Jane Millar passed the nearest church and entered a larger one at some distance, where she hoped to recognize no one, or that she would be hid amongst the crowd. It was still early, and the great building was nearly empty. Jane took her seat close to the door. The place was very silent. A strange feeling came over her that she was in the house of God. She felt almost tempted to get up and go away, but something kept her. Then old associations crowded upon her memory, as she found herself again within the sacred walls – recollections of the little village church, the good old parson whose instructions she had so heedlessly neglected, the kind parents she had so disobediently left. The congregation was fast assembling, but her head bowed down, Jane heeded them not, till at length the swelling chords of the organ broke these painful reflections.

The service began – the well-known words of the Liturgy struck a tender chord in that poor, worn heart. As it proceeded, her attention became more and more riveted, and it was almost with sobs, she joined in the general response, “Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners.”

The preacher gave out his text slowly and solemnly, “There remaineth, therefore, a rest for the people of God.” The attention of the weary, worn-out woman was instantly fixed. The sermon was earnest and impressive, such as gladdened the hearts of many in that crowded congregation. Their thoughts were raised above the bustle, toil, and excitement of the busy, restless city to the calm and holy rest that remaineth.

Then Jane returned home. She said nothing but went up straight to her room, and when Nelly saw her next, her eyes were red with weeping. From that Sunday her manner gradually changed, till no longer cross and fretful, she became quiet and subdued, bearing her cross with meekness. She treated Nelly kindly and liked to listen to her singing hymns, and often when Nelly was tired of reading to herself, Jane would take the Bible out of her hands and read to her. When the next Sunday came round, Jane went again to church.

Chapter 11

Months passed, and the long, cold winter had taken its departure and spring had come in its stead, bringing glad sunshine and warmth. Nelly was growing more and more shadowlike, but though her body was wasted with disease, her little face looked peaceful and even happy.

Ruth was constant in her visits. The affectionate, warmhearted girl was always thinking of what she could do to please her sick friend. She had given her a long-cherished geranium, with beautiful pink and white blossoms, because Nelly loved flowers. This and a little golden canary in an old rusty cage, a present from old Micky, were Nelly’s great treasure. She could read quite perfectly now. Ruth lent her all the books she possessed, but the Bible was Nelly’s favorite. Every day she carried it over to read to the old bird seller who prized it as much as she did, for it was no longer an unfamiliar book to him.

The pastor of a neighboring church, in visiting a district of his overcrowded parish, had discovered the existence of old Micky. Here was one who needed instruction, whose days were nearly numbered. From that time on, the old man was frequently visited by the pastor or one of his assistants, and the way of salvation was made plain to him.

Micky had grown very feeble; he was no longer able to go about the streets carrying his birds for sale, so he had disposed of them all to another bird seller with the exception of a few, which the old man could not make up his mind to part with. The sum which they brought was enough to support him for the short remaining time of his life. Ruth and her mother often visited old Micky and ministered to his comfort, both of body and soul. But there was no one he was so glad to see as Nelly; she was like a little angel visitant, bringing light and joy to the old man’s heart and home. The old man and the little child were fast nearing their eternal home, and so they loved to read and talk “of the city which hath no need of the sun.”

Chapter 12

In the fading light of an April evening, Rogers sat reading in the window. His little girl was on his knee, her hand resting wearily on his shoulder. She lay very quiet, but her eyes were anxiously fixed on her father as he turned over the pages of his newspaper. At last he finished its perusal and threw it on the table.

“Father,” said Nelly, “is it too dark to read anymore?”

“No, not close to the window, Nell.”

“Then will you read something for me now?” “Read you what, child?”

“Something out of the Bible, please, Father; I’ll get it.” Nelly got down from his knee and fetched the book.

“What shall I read, Nell?” said Rogers, taking it out of her hands.

“Read the fourteenth chapter of John first, and then, maybe, you’ll read something else. It’s not there, Father,” said Nelly, as Rogers turned over the pages in a way that showed they were not familiar to him.

“Well, you’ll have to find it, Nelly.”

Nelly found the place, then resumed her former position on her father’s knee, only this time her eyes were closed and a sweet peaceful expression rested on the little, worn features.

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.

Thomas saith unto Him, ‘Lord we know not whither Thou goest; and how can we know the way?’ Jesus saith unto him, ‘I am the way the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me...

If ye love me, keep my commandments. And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another comforter, that he may abide with you forever, even the spirit of truth. ... I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you....

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid....

When the chapter was finished, Nelly’s little thin fingers turned over to the seventh chapter of Revelation.

“Read that now, please, Father, from the ninth verse,” and Nelly turned her head round till her face was buried in his shoulder and clasped her little arms tight round his neck.

Rogers read, but his voice trembled towards the end:

After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands; and cried with a loud voice, saying, ‘Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb.’

And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God, saying, ‘Amen: Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honor, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen.’

And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, ‘What are these which are arrayed in white robes? And whence came they?’

And I said unto him, ‘Sir, thou knowest.’

And he said to me, ‘These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.’

“Will that do now, Nelly?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, Father.”

For some time, neither spoke, but when it was too dark to see each other’s faces, Nelly turned hers round and said in a very low voice, “Father, I think I shall be going there very soon.”

“Where?” said the father, understanding, but unwilling to believe her words.

Nelly answered dreamily, her eyes fixed upon the little bit of pale sky just visible above the tops of the tall dark houses opposite: “Where they shall ‘hunger no more, neither thirst anymore, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.’”

For some time there was silence, and Nelly lay so still in his arms that Rogers thought she was asleep. Great tears were slowly coursing one another down his cheeks. Presently, the child spoke again.

“Father, you’ll be very lonely.”

“Very lonely,” repeated Rogers, and pressed his child still closer to him.

“Father, you’ll be sure and come there too?” and her gentle tone startled him in its deep earnestness.

“I don’t know, Nell; I’m afraid I’m too bad.”

“Oh, Father, but God can make you good; won’t you ask Him? I did, and He heard me and forgave all my sins; and He’ll hear you, too. Father, say what I did, ‘Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.’ Yes,” she went on, “I know you’ll come to heaven; I’ve asked God so often.”

The father’s heart was too full to speak, but a silent petition went up that moment to the throne of grace, “The Lord have mercy on my soul.”

Chapter 13

For some days, Nelly was too weak to leave her bed. She did not suffer a great deal of pain but felt very tired. Jane Millar seldom left the child’s bedside, and a kind and gentle nurse she was. She could repeat many hymns learned in her childhood, which Nelly loved to listen to. She knew which were Nelly’s favorite passages in the Bible and would read them to her over and over again, for the child was never tired of hearing them. And often the dying little one would talk so touchingly of the goodness and love of God and of the beautiful home where she was going, while Jane listened in silence, learning many a lesson of faith and hope at the child’s bedside. But she often turned away her head that Nelly might not see the tears that would come.

One Sunday morning, the child seemed better. She asked to be taken downstairs, so her father carried her down to the room below and settled a comfortable place for her to lie on.

Rogers sat beside her the whole day, and he told her he would stay with her for several days to come, for he had obtained a leave of absence from his work for a week. Nelly smiled, then looked grave.

“Father,” she said, as just then the church bells began to chime for morning service, “you’ll go there, won’t you?”

“Not today, Nell.”

“No, not today. I mean when I’m gone.”

Rogers promised he would, and, “Father,” she added, “you’ll read the Bible often. Will you bring it to me now?”

Rogers brought it, and Nelly found all the parts she wished him to read and feebly drew a pencil line along the margin to mark them. This occupied her some time, and then she talked to him of God and heaven, till she was too weak to talk anymore.

Ruth came to see her in the afternoon. Nelly asked her to sing, and Ruth sang all her favorite hymns, while Nelly lay with closed eyes, looking calmly at rest. Hearing the bells ringing for evening service, she said, “Ruth, before you go, please sing the evening hymn.”

The girl sung it very softly, and her voice trembled when she came to the last words.

“Ruth,” said Nelly, when she had done, “sing that verse over again.”

Ruth paused. She knew why Nelly liked that verse, and she feared to trust herself to sing it again, but seeing Nelly’s eyes fixed upon her, she made a great effort to steady her voice, and again she sang –

Teach me to live, that I may dread

The grave as little as my bed;

Teach me to die that so I may

Rise glorious on the Judgment day.

Ruth felt a strong desire to be alone and cry but bravely restrained her feelings and then knelt for a minute at the bedside and uttered a simple childish prayer. She rose to go away, kissed Nelly affectionately, and promised to bring her some primroses the next day. Nelly looked at her with eyes full of love and gratitude and softly murmured, “Dear, dear Ruthie.”

At a late hour of the evening, Mrs. Harrison looked in to see how the child was. One look was enough to show her that life was ebbing fast away from the little, exhausted frame. Rogers sat gazing at his child in silent grief. Mrs. Harrison bent tenderly over her and whispered, “Rest is not far off, dear. Jesus won’t leave you.”

Nelly opened her eyes one moment, and a heavenly smile lit up her sweet face. For hours Nelly lay apparently unconscious, and Rogers never moved from her side. Mrs. Millar had noiselessly entered the room several times and gazed long and lovingly at the child, but neither was aware of her presence. When it grew dark, she lit a candle and placed it on the table, so that the light might not shine in Nelly’s eyes, but that the father might still see her. Then, with one more long look, she went away.

“Father,” said Nelly, “take me in your arms.”

Rogers lifted her tenderly. It was strange to see how gently those strong arms, accustomed as they were to rough labor, supported the little fragile form, while he soothingly rocked her to and fro.

“I’m so tired,” Nelly murmured, and for a long time she lay very still with her eyes closed. Then she moved uneasily, and said in a tone of distress, “Father, why are we in the dark?”

Rogers turned her face towards the light. Her eyes were wide open, but they looked, oh so changed!

“Father,” she said, still distressed, “I can’t see you, it’s so dark.”

The father could not trust himself to speak, but he pressed his lips to the cold forehead. She was immediately soothed and murmuring faintly, “I’m so sleepy, I want to go to sleep,” and she laid her head down again upon her father’s shoulder. Now and then she seemed troubled in her sleep, and once, half sobbing, she stretched out her little wasted hands and caught her father’s arm and said something in a distressed tone about going alone. Then she grew calm, but her breath came short and uneven.

Just as the long night was changing into day, the child awoke. She looked up into her father’s face and smiled faintly. Then the weary eyelids drooped again, but her lips moved. Rogers bent down his head over her. He could just hear something about Jesus and the angels. His eyes were blinded with tears. When he looked again, the same sweet smile rested on the peaceful little face, but the happy spirit was released from its frail tenement and had left the dark room and the crowded city and was soaring up, up beyond the sky, to the city which hath no need of sun.

Early in the morning, Mrs. Millar came down and found Rogers sitting in the same place, still holding the little lifeless form in his arms, but he made no resistance when she gently took it from him and carried it away.

Chapter 14

Ruth was up at almost earliest morning light. She dressed herself quickly, then quietly left the house and hastened along through the nearly deserted streets. They looked dismal in the cold, grey light. Nearly all the shutters were still closed, and but few people were astir, but Ruth was full of the pleasure she would give Nelly in bringing her a nice bunch of fresh primroses. After walking a good way, Ruth came upon streets that were wider and more open, and in the outskirts of the town, Ruth passed pretty villas with blooming gardens in front and balconies filled with beautiful plants. Ruth gave them many a wistful glance and sighed to think of the delight one of those beautiful flowers would give Nelly; but she could not procure one, so she hastened on to where the flowers grew for everybody. At last a good way out of the town, she reached a little green lane with primroses and dog violets growing in wild profusion under the hedges.

Eagerly, Ruth filled her hands, and then the child sat down on the bank to enjoy the sweetness of an early spring morning. The birds were singing in the trees, and the grass looked so green, and the flowers so fresh, all wet with dew, that Ruth sighed to think that her home lay in the city instead of the country. A neighboring clock struck six and reminded Ruth she had no time to linger, so she started off at a quick run, until she reached the town. The streets looked very different now from what they did before – the bustle and excitement of the day had begun.

Fresh and rosy with her early exercise, and her hands filled with flowers, Ruth hastened on, penetrating deeper and deeper into the city, through narrow lanes and winding alleys, till at length she reached the tall, dingy house where Nelly no longer lived. Ruth paused a moment at the door, wondering whether Nelly would be awake. Then she remembered Nelly had told her she always awoke at an early hour. The door was open, and Ruth went in. Rogers was sitting in the room downstairs; his arms were folded on the table, and his head leaned down upon them. Ruth felt afraid of disturbing him, so she passed on without asking any questions. She noiselessly approached Nelly’s door. The sun was shining gladly into the room, and Nelly’s canary, rejoicing in its bright beams, was pouring forth its joyous song. Ruth stopped a minute at the open door to see if Nelly were asleep – yes, she was very fast asleep, so fast that Ruth could not awaken her. On the bed lay the little well-known form, still and motionless. Ruth came quite close and bent over it in silent awe; there was no breathing, all was still – quite still. The poor girl threw herself on the bed in an agony of tears, and there she remained till her mother’s voice roused her.

Mrs. Harrison, having found that Ruth had gone out, guessed where she must be, and also guessing what she might find, she came to seek her. She soothed the poor girl and then told her she must come away. Ruth imprinted a fervent kiss upon the cold forehead and scattered the flowers she had brought over the bed. With a last long, lingering look at the little face, now angelic in its calm repose, she allowed herself to be drawn away.

Together the mother and daughter went over to old Micky, to tell him his little friend had gone.

The old man listened quietly, only saying, “Well, well, I thought the old man would have been taken first, but then she’d have grieved. But after all, I shall not be long following her to glory.” And so it was. A day or two after, he pledged his dying faith and love in receiving the Lord’s Supper, and the clergyman’s last prayer was hardly ended when he departed in peace, resigning his soul into the hands of its faithful Creator and most merciful Savior. The aged form was laid in its last resting place, in the same churchyard with the little child who had first awakened him to prepare for eternity, and his spirit joined hers in paradise.

Dear reader, may this story teach you a lesson. Do you not wish to go to heaven after you die? How was it that the old man and the little child had a good hope of being admitted into that holy place where “there shall in no wise enter in anything that defileth”? Because, as they trusted, their sins were washed away in the blood of Jesus. May Nelly’s prayer be yours, “Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Whiter than Snow

© 2022 by Aneko Press

All rights reserved. First edition 1900.

Revisions copyright 2022.

Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

Illustrations: Max Bondarchuk

Cover background: Shutterstock/1892686795

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