“Ah, my child, none of us would have dared to have lifted that Veil or to have placed a foot within the Holy of holies!” exclaimed Mrs. Temple. “No mortal was ever suffered to enter that place, most sacred of all, except the High Priest, and that but on one day of the year – the Day of Atonement. Aaron himself, the first High Priest, with trembling awe must have lifted the Veil, and approached the Mercy-seat over which the cherubims spread their wings of gold!”
Mrs. Temple spoke in so solemn a tone that the children felt that the subject was very sacred, and none of them spoke for several moments. Then Lucius observed – “There is now no place on earth into which no one dare enter, like the Holy of holies in the Tabernacle of old.”
“No, my son, because the Veil has been rent in twain, and the Lord Christ, our great High Priest, has opened a free way for all believers, even into the Holy of holies where God dwells in glory for ever!” said Mrs. Temple, with even greater reverence in her manner, and clasping her hands as she spoke.
“Mamma, I cannot understand you!” cried Amy.
“These are the deep things of God, my love, and it is very difficult to explain their meaning to children. The Tabernacle and the things within it were types, or as we may call them, pictures of heavenly mysteries, revealed to us by the Gospel. But we will not enter now upon these difficult subjects. I think that you know a little about the appearance of the Tabernacle of which you are anxious to make a model, and also of what was contained within it. To understand the meaning of that holy place, and of its contents, will require much earnest thought and attention. We may perhaps converse a little about it to-morrow, which is Sunday. You will have abundance of time, as the fear of giving infection to others obliges me to keep you from going to church.”
V.
Preparation
“I WISH that to-morrow were any day but Sunday!” exclaimed Lucius. “Just when one is setting about a long work, eager to measure and to make, to cut and to clip, it is vexatious to have to stop in the middle of business, to shove away knife, ruler, pencil, pasteboard, and all, into a drawer for the next twenty-four hours!”
“Perhaps it would be better not to begin the work at all until Monday,” mildly suggested his mother.
“O no, we’ve all the Saturday afternoon, let’s set to making our model at once!” exclaimed Lucius.
“Please, please, don’t make us put off!” cried Dora and Elsie.
Mrs. Temple was a very indulgent mother, and was inclined to be all the more so as every one of her children was either suffering from whooping-cough or just recovering from its effects. Their mother felt sorry at the necessity for shutting out her family from many of their usual occupations and pleasures, and even from the privilege of going to church. The lady did not, therefore, in the least press the subject of delay, but offered, as soon as early dinner should be over, to go and search in her drawers and boxes for such materials as she might think suitable for the model of the Tabernacle, which her children were so eager to make. The dinner-bell sounded while Mrs. Temple was speaking, and the family went together to the room in which they took all their meals, and gathered round the table which was spread with a plentiful, though plain repast.
While the young Temples are engaged with their dinner, let me introduce them a little more individually to my reader. There, at the bottom of the table, is Lucius, a sunburnt, pleasant-looking schoolboy, with a mass of brown, half-curly locks brushed back from his forehead. He has quick eyes and restless hands, which are seldom perfectly still, even if they have no better occupation than that of tying and untying a morsel of string; but they are now busily plying a large knife and fork, for Lucius is a skilful carver, and the joint of mutton is placed before him, from which to help all the party.
The pale girl seated on the right of Lucius, with eyes weak and reddened by the effect of her cough, is Agnes, the elder of the twins. Her brow is furrowed, perhaps from the same cause, perhaps because she is more irritable in temper than her brother and sisters. But Agnes is a conscientious girl, one who thinks much of duty: and we may hope that “prayer and pains,” which it has been well said can do anything, will give her the mastery over faults against which she is trying to struggle.
Opposite to Agnes sits Dora, who, though her twin, is not much like her, being a good deal taller, prettier, and more animated than she. Dora is a much greater favorite with Lucius and the younger girls than the elder twin, from being gay, obliging, and clever. Agnes is perfectly aware that such is the case, and has to pray and strive against the sin of jealousy, which is too ready to creep into her heart and poison all her enjoyments.
On either side of Mrs. Temple are her two younger daughters, Amy and Elsie. The former, with soft brown eyes and long flaxen hair tied with blue ribbons, is strikingly like her mother, who has, at least so think her children, the sweetest face in the world. Amy has never been known to quarrel or utter an angry word, and is always ready to give help to any one who needs it. It is no wonder that so gentle a girl is beloved. But Amy knows herself to be by no means faultless, and is much, on her guard against the silly vanity which a mother’s watchful eye has found out to be lurking in the mind of her dear little girl.
Elsie is a merry blue-eyed child, full of life and intelligence, forward – rather too forward for her age. She has for six years held the place of baby in the home of her widowed mother, and her family are rather disposed to indulge her as if she were a baby still. She enters with animation into the amusements of the elder children, and is by no means disposed to be seen and not heard, as Lucius often laughingly tells her that such little people should be.
The conversation during dinner was almost entirely on the subject of the model, and flowed on pleasantly enough, except when interrupted by coughing; but all the children were glad when meal-time was over, and their mother, with Amy and Elsie skipping before her, went off to hunt over her little stores for such materials as might be found useful. Lucius employed the time of their absence in exploring the lumber-room for tops of old boxes or other bits of wood that might, when fastened together, do for the ground-frame of the model, into which the gilded pillars might be fixed. Dora, with pencil and paper, busied herself in trying to make an embroidery pattern, introducing the figures of cherubim. Agnes, who was too weak for much exertion, and who took less keen interest in the work than did her sisters, lay on the sofa reading a book, until the return of Amy and Elsie, each of whom carried some little treasure in her hands.
“Look, Agnes, look at these shining reels of gold and silver thread!” exclaimed the youngest child with eager delight.
“Gold thread – ah! that’s just what I want!” cried Dora, throwing down her pencil.
“And here is mamma’s book of gold leaf; there is a little gold sheet between every one of the pages,” continued Elsie. “But oh! it is so thin, so very thin, one dare not breathe near, or the gold would all fly away!”
“I thought that gold was a very heavy metal,” observed Agnes, looking up from her book.
“But it is beaten out into such extreme fineness that a bit of gold no larger than a pea would gild all these,” said Lucius, who had just entered the room with his arms full of pieces of wood.
“See, Agnes, what we have brought for you!” cried Amy. “Here is a beautiful piece of blue merino for the outer curtains (the badgers’-skin cover, you know), and blue silk with which to sew it; and here is another piece of mohair for the goats’-skin cover, so you are supplied directly with everything that you need; is not that nice?”
Agnes did not look so much delighted as her sister expected that she would; perhaps because she was scarcely well enough to take much pleasure in sewing; perhaps because she had still a lingering feeling of mortification at not having been trusted with the embroidery part of the work.
“I hope that you have brought me the fine linen for the beautiful inner curtains, and the veil for the Holy of holies,” cried Dora.
“No, mamma cannot find any linen fine enough, unless she were to tear up her handkerchiefs, and that would be a pity,” said Amy. “But mamma has promised to