“No, not yet,” said his wife, who had not forgotten this duty, but had been uncertain whether the little one would be welcome in the faith.
“No, of course not,” sneered Gerhardt, whose opinion of his wife’s religious devotion was not any too great. “Such carelessness! Such irreligion! That is a fine thing.”
He thought it over a few moments, and felt that this evil should be corrected at once.
“It should be baptised,” he said. “Why don’t she take it and have it baptised?”
Mrs. Gerhardt reminded him that some one would have to stand godfather to the child and there was no way to have the ceremony performed without confessing the fact that it was without a legitimate father.
Gerhardt listened to this, and it quieted him for a few moments, but his religion was something which he could not see put in the background by any such difficulty. How would the Lord look upon quibbling like this? It was not Christian, and it was his duty to attend to the matter. It must be taken, forthwith, to the church, Jennie, himself, and his wife accompanying it as sponsors; or, if he did not choose to condescend thus far to his daughter, he must see that it was baptised when she was not present. He brooded over this difficulty, and finally decided that the ceremony should take place on one of these week-days, between Christmas and New Year’s, when Jennie would be at her work. This proposal he broached to his wife, and, receiving her approval, he made his next announcement. “It has no name,” he said.
Jennie and her mother had talked over this very matter, and Jennie had expressed a preference for Vesta. Now her mother made bold to suggest it as her own choice.
“How would Vesta do?”
Gerhardt heard this with indifference. Secretly he had settled the question in his own mind. He had a name in store, left over from the halcyon period of his youth, and never opportunely available in the case of his own children — Wilhelmina. Of course he had no idea of unbending in the least toward his small granddaughter. He merely liked the name, and the child ought to be grateful to get it. With a far-off, gingery air he brought forward this first offering upon the altar of natural affection, for offering it was, after all.
“That is nice,” he said, forgetting his indifference. “But how would Wilhelmina do?”
Mrs. Gerhardt did not dare cross him when he was thus unconsciously weakening. Her woman’s tact came to the rescue.
“We might give her both names,” she compromised.
“It makes no difference to me,” he replied, drawing back into the shell of opposition from which he had been inadvertently drawn. “Just so she is baptised.”
Jennie heard of this with pleasure, for she was anxious that the child should have every advantage, religious or otherwise, that it was possible to obtain. She took great pains to starch and iron the clothes it was to wear on the appointed day.
Gerhardt sought out the minister of the nearest Lutheran church, a round-headed, thick-set theologian of the most formal type to whom he stated his errand.
“Your grandchild?” inquired the minister.
“Yes,” said Gerhardt, “her father is not here.”
“So,” replied the minister, looking at him curiously.
Gerhardt was not to be disturbed in his purpose. He explained that he and his wife would bring her. The minister, realising the probable difficulty, did not question him further.
“The church cannot refuse to baptise her so long as you, as grandparent, are willing to stand sponsor for her,” he said.
Gerhardt came away, hurt by the shadow of disgrace in which he felt himself involved, but satisfied that he had done his duty. Now he would take the child and have it baptised and when that was over his present responsibility would cease.
When it came to the hour of the baptism, however, he found that another influence was working to guide him into greater interest and responsibility. The stern religion with which he was enraptured, its insistence upon a higher law, was there, and he heard again the precepts which had helped to bind him to his own children.
“Is it your intention to educate this child in the knowledge and love of the gospel?” asked the black-gowned minister, as they stood before him in the silent little church whither they had brought the infant; he was reading from the form provided for such occasions. Gerhardt answered, “Yes,” and Mrs. Gerhardt added her affirmative.
“Do you engage to use all necessary care and diligence, by prayerful instruction, admonition, example, and discipline that this child may renounce and avoid everything that is evil and that she may keep God’s will and commandments as declared in His sacred word?”
A thought flashed through Gerhardt’s mind as the words were uttered of how it had fared with his own children. They, too, had been thus sponsored. They too, had heard his solemn pledge to care for their spiritual welfare. He was silent.
“We do,” prompted the minister.
“We do,” repeated Gerhardt and his wife weakly.
“Do you now dedicate this child by the rite of baptism unto the Lord, who brought it.”
“We do.”
“And, finally, if you can conscientiously declare before God that the faith to which you have assented is your faith, and that the solemn promises you have made are the serious resolutions of your heart, please to announce the same in the presence of God, by saying ‘Yes.’”
“Yes,” they replied.
“I baptise thee, Wilhelmina Vesta,” concluded the minister, stretching out his hand over her, “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Let us pray.”
Gerhardt bent his grey head and followed with humble reverence the beautiful invocation which followed:
“Almighty and everlasting God! we adore Thee as the great Parent of the children of men, as the Father of our spirits and the Former of our bodies. We praise Thee for giving existence to this infant and for preserving her until this day. We bless Thee that she is called to virtue and glory, that she has now been dedicated to Thee, and brought within the pale of the Christian Church. We thank Thee that by the Gospel of the Son she is furnished with everything necessary to her spiritual happiness; that it supplies light for her mind and comfort for her heart, encouragement and power to discharge her duty, and the precious hope of mercy and immortality to sustain and make her faithful. And we beseech Thee, O most merciful God, that this child may be enlightened and sanctified from her early years by the Holy Spirit, and be everlastingly saved by Thy mercy. Direct and bless Thy servants who are intrusted with the care of her in the momentous work of her education. Inspire them with just conception of the absolute necessity of religious instruction and principles. Forbid that they should ever forget that this offspring belongs to Thee, and that, if through their criminal neglect or bad example Thy reasonable creature be lost, Thou wilt require it at their hands. Give them a deep sense of the divinity of her nature, of the worth of her soul, of the dangers to which she will be exposed, of the honour and felicity to which she is capable of ascending with Thy blessing, and of the ruin in this world and the misery in the world to come which springs from wicked passion and conduct. Give them grace to check the first risings of forbidden inclinations in her breast, to be her defence against the temptations incident to childhood and youth, and, as she grows up, to enlarge her understanding and to lead her to an acquaintance with Thee and with Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent. Give them grace to cultivate in her heart a supreme reverence and love for Thee, a grateful attachment to the Gospel of Thy Son, her Saviour, a due regard for all its ordinances and institutions, a temper of kindness and good-will to all mankind, and an invincible love of sincerity and truth. Help them to watch continually over her with tender solicitude, to be studious, that by their conversation and deportment her heart may not be corrupted, and at all times to set before her such an example that she may safely tread in their footsteps. If it please Thee to prolong her days on earth, grant that she may prove an honour and a comfort to her parents and friends, be useful in the world, and find in Thy Providence an unfailing defence and support. Whether she live, let her live to Thee; or whether she die, let her die to Thee. And, at the great day of account, may she and her parents meet each other with rapture and rejoice together in Thy redeeming love, through Jesus Christ, forever and ever, Amen.”
As this solemn admonition was read a feeling of obligation descended upon the grandfather of this little outcast; a feeling that he was bound to give the tiny creature lying on his wife’s arm the care and attention which God in His sacrament had commanded. He bowed his head in utmost reverence, and when the service was concluded and they left the silent church he was without words to express his feelings. Religion was a consuming thing with him. God was a person, a dominant reality. Religion was not a thing of mere words or of interesting ideas to be listened to on Sunday, but a strong, vital expression of the Divine Will handed down from a time when men were in personal contact with God. Its fulfilment was a matter of joy and salvation with him, the one consolation of a creature sent to wander in a vale whose explanation was not here but in heaven. Slowly Gerhardt walked on, and as he brooded on the words and the duties which the sacrament involved the shade of lingering disgust that had possessed him when he had taken the child to church disappeared and a feeling of natural affection took its place. However much the daughter had sinned, the infant was not to blame. It was a helpless, puling, tender thing, demanding his sympathy and his love. Gerhardt felt his heart go out to the little child, and yet he could not yield his position all in a moment.
“That is a nice man,” he said of the minister to his wife as they walked along, rapidly softening in his conception of his duty.
“Yes, he was,” agreed Mrs. Gerhardt timidly.
“It’s a good-sized little church,” he continued.
“Yes.”
Gerhardt looked around him, at the street, the houses, the show of brisk life on this sunshiny, winter’s day, and then finally at the child that his wife was carrying.
“She must be heavy,” he said, in his characteristic German. “Let me take her.”
Mrs. Gerhardt, who was rather weary, did not refuse.
“There!” he said, as he looked at her and then fixed her comfortably upon his shoulder. “Let us hope she proves worthy of all that has been done today.”
Mrs. Gerhardt listened, and the meaning in his voice interpreted itself plainly enough. The presence of the child in the house might be the cause of recurring spells of depression and unkind words, but there would be another and greater influence restraining him. There would always be her soul to consider. He would never again be utterly unconscious of her soul.
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