Little Christie was the only mourner who followed old Treffy to the grave. It was a poor parish funeral. Treffy’s body was put into a parish coffin, and carried to the grave in a parish hearse. But, oh! it did not matter, for Treffy was at home in “Home, sweet Home.” All his sorrows and troubles were over, his poverty was at an end, and in “the Father’s house” he was being well cared for.
But the man who drove the hearse was not inclined to lose time upon the road, and Christie had to walk very quickly, and sometimes almost to run, to keep up with him; and on their way they passed another and a very different funeral. It was going very slowly indeed. There was a large hearse in front, and six funeral carriages, filled with people, followed. And as Christie passed close by them in the middle of the road he could see that the mourners within looked very sorrowful, and as if they had been crying very much. But in one carriage he saw something which he never forgot. With her head resting on her papa’s shoulder, and her little white sorrowful face pressed close to the window, was his little friend Mabel.
“So her mother is dead!” said Christie to himself, “and this is her funeral! Oh, dear! what a very sad world this is!”
He was not sure whether Mabel had seen him, but the little girl’s sorrow had sunk very deep into Christie’s soul, and it was with a heavier heart than before that he hastened forward to overtake the hearse which was carrying his old master’s body to the grave.
So the two funeral processions—that of the poor old man, and that of the fair young mother—passed on to the cemetery, and over both bodies were pronounced the words: “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” But all this time their happy souls were in “Home, sweet Home,” far, far away from the scene of sorrow, for a few days before, just at the same hour, two souls had left this world of woe, and had met together before the gates of pearl; and as they were both clean and white, both washed in the blood of the Lamb, the gates had been opened wide, and old Treffy and little Mabel’s mother had entered the city together. And now they had both seen Jesus, the dear Lord whom they loved well, and in His presence they were even now enjoying fullness of joy.
Christie was obliged to give up the little attic after Treffy’s death, for the landlady wished to let it for a higher rent. However, she gave the boy leave to sleep in the great lodging-room below, whilst she took possession of all old Treffy’s small stock of furniture, in payment of the rent which he owed her.
But the organ was Christie’s property; his old master had given it to him most solemnly about a week before he died. He had called Christie to his side, and told him to bring the organ with him. Then he had committed it to Christie’s care.
“You’ll take care of her, Christie,” he had said, “and you’ll never part with her, for my sake. And when you play ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ Christie, boy, you must think of me and your mother, and how we’ve both got there.”
It was hard work for Christie, the first day that he took out the organ after old Treffy’s funeral. He did not so much mind playing “Rule Britannia,” or the “Old Hundredth,” or “Poor Mary Ann,” but when he came for the first time to “Home, Sweet Home,” such a rush of feeling came over him that he stopped short in the middle and moved on without finishing it. The passersby were surprised at the sudden pause in the tune, and still more so at the tears which were running down Christie’s cheeks. They little thought that the last time he had played that tune had been in the room of death, and that whilst he was playing it his dearest friend on earth had passed away into the true “Home, sweet Home.” But Christie knew, and the notes of the tune brought back the recollection of that midnight hour. And he could not make up his mind to go on playing till he had looked up into the blue sky and asked for help to rejoice in old Treffy’s joy. And then the chorus came very sweetly to him, “Home, sweet home; there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.”
“And old Treffy’s there at last,” said Christie to himself as he finished playing.
One day, about a week after Treffy’s funeral, Christie went up the suburban road, in the hopes of seeing poor little Miss Mabel once more. He had never forgotten her sorrowful little face at the window of the funeral coach. And when we are in sorrow ourselves, it does us good to see and sympathize with those who are in sorrow also. Christie felt it would be a great comfort to him to see the little girl. He wanted to hear all about her mother, and when it was that she had gone to “Home, sweet Home.”
When Christie reached the house he stood still in astonishment. The pretty garden was there just as usual, a bed of heart’s-eases was blooming in the sunshine, and the stocks and forget-me-nots were in full flower. But the house looked very deserted and strange; the shutters of the lower rooms were up, and the bedrooms had no blinds in the windows, and looked empty and forlorn. In the nursery window, instead of little Mabel and Charlie’s merry faces, there was a cross-looking old woman with her head bent down over her knitting.
What could be the matter? Where were the children gone? Surely no one else was lying dead in the house. Christie felt that he could not go home without finding out; he must ask the old woman. So he stood at the garden-gate, and turned the handle of the organ, hoping that she would look out and speak to him. But, beyond a passing glance, she gave no sign that she even heard it, but went on diligently with her work.
At length Christie could wait no longer; so stopping suddenly in the middle of “Poor Mary Ann,” he walked up the gravel path and rang the bell. Then the old woman put her head out of the window, and asked what he wanted. Christie did not quite know what to say, so he came out at once with the great fear which was haunting him.
“Please, ma’am, is any one dead?” he asked.
“Dead? No!” said the old woman, quickly. “What do you want to know for?”
“Please, could I speak to little Miss Mabel?” said Christie, timidly.
“No, bless you,” said the old woman, “not unless you’d like a walk across the sea. She’s in Europe by now.”
“In Europe!” repeated Christie, with a bewildered air.
“Yes,” said the old woman, “they’ve all gone abroad for the summer”; and then she shut the window in a decided manner, as much as to say, “And that’s all I shall tell you about it.”
Christie stood for a few minutes in the pretty garden before he moved away. He was very disappointed; he had so hoped to have seen his little friends, and now they were gone. They were far away in Europe. That was a long way off, Christie felt sure, and perhaps he would never see them again.
He walked slowly down the dusty road. He felt very lonely this afternoon, very lonely and forsaken. His mother was gone; old Treffy was gone! the lady was gone; and now the children were gone also! He had no one to cheer him or to comfort him; so he dragged the old organ wearily down the hot streets. He had not heart enough to play, he was very tired and worn out; yet he knew not where to go to rest. He had not even the old attic to call his home. But the pavement was so hot to his feet, and the sun was so scorching, that Christie determined to return to the dismal court, and to try to find a quiet corner in the great lodging-room. But when he opened the door he was greeted by a cloud of dust; and the landlady called out to him to take himself off, she could not do with him loitering about at that time of day. So Christie turned out again, very heart-sore and disconsolate; and going into a quiet street, he sheltered for some time from the hot sun, under a high wall which made a little shadow across the pavement.
Christie was almost too hot and tired even to be unhappy, and yet every now and then he shivered, and crept into the sunshine to be warmed again. He had a strange, sharp pain in his head, which made him feel very bewildered and uncomfortable. He did not know what was the matter with him, and sometimes he got up and tried to play for a little time, but he was so sick and dizzy that he was obliged to give it up, and to lie quite still under the wall, with the organ beside him, till the sun began to set. Then he dragged himself and his organ back to the large lodging-room. The landlady had finished her cleaning, and was preparing the supper for her lodgers. She threw Christie a crust of bread as he came in, but he was not able to eat it. He crawled to a bench in the far corner of the room, and putting his old organ against the wall beside him, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the room was full of men. They were eating their supper, and talking and laughing noisily. They took little notice of Christie, as he lay very still in the corner of the room. He could not sleep again, for the noise in the place was so great, and now and again he shuddered at the wicked words and coarse jests which fell on his ear almost every minute.
Christie’s head was aching terribly, and he felt very, very ill; he had never been so ill in his life before. What would he not have given for a quiet little corner, in which he might have lain, out of the reach of the oaths and wickedness of the men in the great lodging-room! And then his thoughts wandered to old Treffy in “Home, sweet Home.” What a different place his dear old master was in!
“There’s no place like home, no place like home,” said Christie to himself “Oh, what a long way I am from ‘Home, sweet Home!’“