Her appet.i.te grew by what it fed on. She loved sinners from the beginning, but she went on until she could not live without them. She was insatiable. Her soul could not be satisfied in any other way. She was always working for souls, seeking souls, knocking at the doors of mercy for souls, loving souls.

The corps cadet continues:--

I thank G.o.d for sending her into my life. For years she was The Salvation Army to me, all I knew of it; and years before I was permitted to go to a Salvation Army meeting, I had determined that G.o.d and The Army would have all my life.

Her life was wonderful. Even though ill and on rest she had a plan for every hour of the day. Sometimes she would visit the people. If they disappointed her she would try the harder to win them. She was always hunting round to help families in need.

She spent a great deal of time in writing, and when I would persuade her to leave her desk and come for a walk, she would give me what she termed, 'Field Drill.' Oh, those talks; how I treasure the memory of them! On one of the last occasions she said to me, 'The sins of the world will do one of three things for you; they will either harden your heart, or break it, or soften it. _I want you to have a soft, tender heart_.'

Sometimes she would commend me; but, as a true friend, she would also reprimand me when I needed it, yet always in love, showing me where I might be better. She taught me how to study the Bible, and infused into my heart some of her love for it. 'I mean to make the Bible my one book. It is one of my New Year's resolutions,' she told me at the beginning of this year, and at the same time mentioned a new idea which would make study of the Word of G.o.d more easy.

She taught me by example, as well as by what she said, to conquer by prayer.

When she was not writing articles or revising subject notes, she wrote letters to those she had been the means of blessing.

Beautiful letters they were; sometimes she delighted me by dictating them and letting me type them for her.

Although she found her long periods of rest trying because of her great love for souls, she maintained a bright, beautiful spirit, and had a smile whenever one saw her. She compared her last few years to a long dark tunnel, and just before she died, when antic.i.p.ating her new appointment, she said, 'I really believe I'm coming to the end of it at last.'

Surely one of the most beautiful pictures in Kate Lee's life is here.

Ill, in a sense alone and amongst strangers, yet triumphant, filling the days with any little services that came to her hand, performing them as faithfully as she had performed her field duties in the glare of the limelight, and seeking to bring into one young life the spirit that would give to the world a warrior after her own heart, against the day that her own feet could no longer be swift and beautiful for G.o.d.

XV

AT HER DESK

In John Wesley's house in the City Road, London, is a small room which was built expressly to be the prayer-chamber of the Founder of Methodism.

When I entered the small sitting-room of one of Kate Lee's field quarters, I was conscious of feelings of reverence similar to those which possessed me in Wesley's prayer-room. There she had wrestled and prayed, planned and studied, written and interviewed callers who sought her help.

It was holy ground.

The sitting-room of the little home which she enjoyed for the last two or three years of her life, was a reflex of her character in modesty, simplicity, and usableness. A soft green paper covered the walls, dark lino the floor, a rug or two here and there; a writing-desk, book-case, a cottage piano, a couple of easy chairs, and a couch completed the furniture. On the walls and mantleshelf were Army photos, a print of Christ at prayer; a few treasures, 'with a meaning' (her sister explains), picked up here and there as mementoes of her furloughs; a small French bronze of Jesus carrying His cross; a petrified bird's nest, which has served as an object lesson in children's meetings, and so on.

This quiet room was the dearest of retreats to Kate Lee. Here, with her sister, who antic.i.p.ated her every wish and lavished love upon her, she shut the door upon the world with its turmoils, and gave herself up to study and rest. Her books were her greatest treasures. In them she enjoyed the company of the greatest and best of souls, who believed as she believed, fought for the things she counted worth while, and triumphed as she was endeavouring to triumph.

Her bookshelf contained, perhaps, one hundred volumes in all; chosen, as were all her small possessions, with an eye to the highest values.

A notebook furnishes a list of the books she read during her field service; they included The Founder's and The Army Mother's works, Finney's 'Revivals,' many biographies, Meyer's 'Bible Characters,' and more thoughtful studies such as Butler's 'a.n.a.logy.' How she had managed time for reading during those busy, rushed days, is revealed in a reply to a young officer who had consulted her on self-improvement. She wrote, 'I trained myself to read one chapter of some good book every day.'

To sit at the desk where Kate Lee had worked, open its drawers and draw out the contents, was to discover on everything the stamp of the principles which had governed her life. Everything was in perfect order.

Here is her diary, a memorandum of coming events and engagements fulfilled; and her accounts. Here a locked box; in it a tiny leather bag, holding the balance of her 'Lord's money,' with a reference to her diary for the exact amount due; also the covenant mentioned elsewhere. A much-worn 'Where Is It?' contains a record, with shorthand remarks, of every address she had delivered, in alphabetical order of the place where she had spoken. She commenced these entries at her second corps, nearly thirty years earlier, and by reference, could ascertain in a few minutes the addresses or lectures she had given on Holiness, Salvation, Social, or other subjects, whether in Sunderland, Brighton, Croydon, Thetford, or elsewhere. For her there was no unpleasant wondering as to whether she might repeat her subject on a return visit anywhere.

Kate had a peculiar shyness and reserve regarding her subject-notes. They were sacred to her; she had received them on her knees 'in the mount,'

often in loneliness and tears. Commandant Lucy drew out from her sister's desk three half-leather, locked volumes. She handled them gently, smiled and hesitated a moment, 'No one but Kate has ever opened these,' she said. 'Sometimes I used to tease her, and pretend to take one up, but no, until the end that was not allowed.'

A key was inserted in one of the books, and it fell open. Treasure trove indeed! Six hundred pages of most carefully prepared subject-notes and ill.u.s.trations on every imaginable topic that might appeal to the soul.

Every page an example of method, care, and good taste.

Under bold, red headings, in her shapely, flowing hand, the various subjects are cla.s.sified, and set out. The second volume is similar; the third is only half filled, and turning to the end it seems as though she antic.i.p.ated that this was to be her last book, for there are personal notes and entries on the chief events of her life. The latter begins, 'Born August 3, 1872; born again September 17, 1885. First bonnet, Alexandra Palace, 1887; Trade Headquarters, November 20, 1889.

Commissioned Lieutenant, June 20, 1890. Chalk Farm Training Garrison, June 19, 1892.' Then follow her appointments till the last, which appears in pencil, when she was 'Awaiting appointment.'

There are mottoes she chose on New Year's Day for many years. Among the number are 'Keep thy Soul Diligently'; 'Deal Courageously and Deal with the Ones '; 'Obey, Bear, Seek'; 'Stand by the Flag.'

The first of the subject-notes in the last of the volumes deals with Barabbas. One sees him in the dungeon, a thief, a terror. There is a picture of the world in his day. He is called to die. Christ appears.

Christ dies for Barabbas.

The next notes are on 'Life. How to view it. The Servant; the Mistress; the Workman; the Master; the Soldier; the Sergeant; the Local Officer; the Officer.'

Ezekiel seemed to have gripped the Adjutant's imagination during the last year of her life; she had prepared several powerful addresses from his prophecies.

'Paradise Lost' and 'Paradise Regained' provides thought for several closely-packed pages. Then follow a series of addresses to young people on Good Behaviour. I. At Home. II. In the Street. III. In The Salvation Army Citadel. IV. Toward the Opposite s.e.x. V. On Tobacco. VI. Reading.

There are comprehensive notes on Christianity.

Notes of a Session at the College for Staff Officers.

Twenty closely written pages on the Bible. How written? Why so called?

Written by whom? Notes on each book. Translations, etc.

Madam Guyon on prayer.

Many pages on 'Preaching' being expressions from master preachers, showing how to capture the souls of men.

To fill over one thousand pages with careful, close writing, took time.

But Kate Lee did no fancy work; she never gossiped; she kept no pets; she did not even 'garden'; she seldom went for a walk except on a mission.

She cared only for those things that would forward the Kingdom of G.o.d, and while some played with sh.e.l.ls and made sand castles that a day's tide swept away, she delved in the King's mines, finding precious things wherewith to serve the Holy War.

Kate gathered in order to give out again. Her gift of expression was small at the beginning, but she so stirred it up and improved it, that, with increasing ease, she was able by both spoken and written word to express her thoughts in simple, direct English that reached hearts. The knowledge grew upon her that she would not always be able for public work, and she determined to prepare herself to appeal to souls by her pen. In her last letter to her sister, she wrote:--

There are one or two things I would like you to see to for me. In the cupboard, under my writing-desk, you will find some articles I have written. No. 1. 'Temples of Fire.' It is a subject that has been upon my soul for a long time. I did not offer this series for publication as I intended to shape it up again. I hardly know if the articles will be considered worth accepting; but if something could be done with them, I should be glad.

There is another series I was trying to write on 'The Master's Locals.' You will also find, 'The Story of Jesus,' and 'Thoughts about the Cross,' and several other little articles. I am afraid none of them are up to the mark, but if anything could be done with them to help souls, I should rejoice.

These ma.n.u.scripts show how she spared herself no pains to prepare a message. Over and over again she would draft a sentence, a page, or an article until she felt the message to be arresting. Then she sent it forth with much love and prayer. When it appeared in print--often anonymously--sometimes under her name or initials, she delighted and wondered that G.o.d gave to her the broad platform of The Army publications. The following articles, both of which appeared in 'The War Cry,' indicate something of the fresh, crisp heart messages that she gave to saint and sinner from her platform. When pressed by editors of The Army publications for an article, she took some hours from her sleep in order to prepare them for the press. Kate did not speak from notes. She had in her Bible a few headings on a sheet of paper, but having prepared her subject with great prayerfulness, after reading the Scriptures she left the reading desk, and in the simplicity and earnestness of her pure soul, freely gave out her message.

A GLORIOUS CLEANSING _'Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean'_ (Matthew viii. 2)

The story of the leper is, to my mind, one of the most wonderful stories in the Bible, as it so forcibly ill.u.s.trates how G.o.d looks upon and deals with sin. Leprosy was in the days of Christ an acknowledged type of sin, and we see in the condition of the leper a picture of its utter loathsomeness.

I fancy I see the poor fellow outside the city gate--cut off from his home and friends.

But they do not forget him, and each morning some loved one--a mother, perhaps--at an early hour comes to the gate and there places a little basket of provisions sufficient for his needs of the day. Then she goes away, and from a distance watches the poor creature draw near, and take the much-needed food. One morning the basket must, I fancy, have contained, in addition to the food, a message which, as the poor leper reads, brings a ray of hope into his wretched, weary life.

The note tells of Jesus, the wonderful Christ, who is going about healing all kinds of incurable diseases, and even raising the dead to life.

'Oh, if only _you_ could _see_ Him! If only you could get near enough to Jesus, there might be a chance for you, my poor boy!'