Ben and Kit
Mary Emma Drewsen
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Good Bye
IN a small, dull back room, in one of the alleys of London, sat a very poor woman.
She had drawn her chair close to the fireplace, where some potato peelings and cinders were smoking, as though she expected to obtain warmth from them. A sack was thrown across her shoulders, for her clothing was ragged enough to let in the cold damp air that blew from the cracked and broken panes of glass behind her. From time to time she buried her head in her hands and groaned aloud, as if she were in pain, causing two little children, who were crouching on the other side of the grate, to start and clasp each other's hands with terrified looks.
They had scarcely moved or spoken for more than an hour, when the elder said timidly, "Mother, are you very ill?”
The woman gave the child no answer, and again the little group was silent, save for the groans she did not try to keep back, and for the whistling of the wind.
The only other articles in the room were a large horse-cloth up one corner, upon which the family slept, a man's ragged coat, that hung upon a nail behind the door, a few cracked and broken pieces of earthenware on a shelf, and a three-legged stool.
The eldest child was a boy of between nine and ten years old, a sharp intelligent little fellow, with brown eyes and a round pale face; the other was a little girl of five years old, and such a tiny, delicate little thing, that she looked as if a strong puff of wind would blow her away. They did not seem thoroughly neglected; their scanty garments were put on with care, their faces were not begrimed with dirt, and there were no rags or tatters visible though their clothes were very poor and gave you the idea of having been carefully worn for a long time. Who cared for these little ones? We shall see.
After a few minutes more had passed, Mrs. Rogers, for that was the woman's name, turned to the children, and said in a sharp voice, as if answering the question put a little while before, “Ill? I should think I am, but I'll bear it no longer. Off with you for East, the parish doctor; tell him to come quick. Look sharp, Ben, or it will be the worse for you. You Kit, keep where you are." And again she buried her face in her hands.
Ben jumped up. He knew too well what would happen if he were not brisk, and throwing a rag of something over his shoulders, prepared to start into the rain.
The little one had risen, but at the woman's last words sunk down again, with a pitiful look at Ben.
"Never mind," he whispered, "I shall go quicker alone; and it is so wet. Who knows but what I may find something for you? Keep quite quiet while I'm gone; I'll soon be back.”
"Be off," said the woman, and he was gone.
After the door was closed, she added, "Mind I'm not going to have any of them ways, Kit, as if you couldn’t be left with me a few minutes alone. What do you think I'm going to do with you, eh? I'll tell you what I will do, I'll shut Ben up where you can't get him.”
After this most dreadful threat, and well the woman knew its effect, she moaned again with pain, and for some time could think of nothing else.
The little one had grown whiter than before with fear. Her large gray eyes filled with tears, but they never moved from the door, whilst her baby mind was wondering how she could keep her darling Ben from being shut up.
Before a great while the door opened, and in walked the doctor, with Ben at his heels. He was a bluff, stern man, and immediately came to the point.
"Put out your tongue," he said. "Let me feel your pulse-Ah! What's the matter with you?" And before the woman had said a dozen words he added, "I see! Send these children out to play," quite forgetting that the rain was falling heavily.
When the little ones were gone (and the place they retired to was a little wood-shed just outside the back-door), the doctor spoke again to the woman.
"You are very ill; you have the small-pox; and in an hour's time you will be removed from here. I will leave you this bottle of medicine to take some of in the meantime." And with one or two more directions he took his leave. As soon as he was gone she broke out into a torrent of words:-
"Taken to an ‘orspital, indeed, to be killed outright; oh! dear, I am bad, but I can't die; no, that I can't, and I'm sure I shall. Oh! my poor head; and those dreadful children, what 'ul they and Dick do when he comes home and finds me gone? Why, he'll be glad; he would have been a quiet fellow if I'd of let him. Oh dear, if I might only get well, I think I'd be different."And in a loud, but not an angry voice, she called the children-"Ben-Kit.”
She had thrown herself on the rug, and as they entered she held up her hands.
"Don't come near me I've got the small-pox, and am going away. Very glad, ar'nt you? Oh, don't pretend you are sorry" (as Kit began to cry); "you are very glad I can't shut Ben up. I may come back again, and then if you've been naughty I shall do it. I can't talk much, so listen. The woman up stairs owes me sixpence, and Mrs. Bly up the next street owes me a shilling. Never mind what for, it will keep you from starving, if you can get it, and I don't want you to starve, mind; it would not answer my purpose. Be off now! You Ben, you see to Kit; don't let her die while I'm gone, mind. Good bye." And she turned away from them, impatiently.
"Good bye, mother; may we kiss you?”
"No, you may'nt; and don't call me mother. It will drive me wild.”
In another hour the woman was gone, and as the little children sat on the floor the youngest began to cry.
"Don't do that, Kit; there's a dear," said Ben, soothingly putting his arms round her, "we shall be ever so happy together. Why, we shall have the place all to ourselves; no one to scold us or beat us till father comes home, and he doesn't often come. Oh Kit, we'll have fine times if you cheer up.”
"But we sal starve, Ben.”
"Oh, no, we won't. I know how we can get some bread. I heard a woman ask mother to lend her half a loaf yesterday; I'll go and ask her for it to-day; besides, I shall try and earn you some money, Kit. You forget how big I am growing!”
This sounded so grand that Kit began to cheer up. "I wonder if mother 'Il soon come back," she said.
"I don't think so," answered Ben; "when folks go to them 'orspitals, they keeps them there a long while; any how they gets good things to eat, chickings and eggs-such things as you and I never tasted, Kit. But see, I did find something when I was out. I looked about very sharp, and I saw this 'tator roll off a truck a man was pushing along, so I picked it up; now if we can only make the fire get up, we'll roast it for our supper, Kit.”
"Was that stealing, Ben?”
“Oh no I didn't take it off the truck, I only picked it up; besides, I couldn’t make the Doctor wait while I ran back. Now we'll see what there is on the top shelf, where mother keeps the things," said he, climbing on the stool; "of course they are ours now.”
"Oh, Ben! How dare 'oo," said Kit, looking towards the door, as if she expected the sick woman to enter.
They had been forbidden on pain of a flogging to touch anything there. Once when very hungry they had disobeyed, and the remembrance of the punishment they both received caused the little girl, to tremble so much, that Ben was obliged to jump down and kiss her; and tell her that he heard a woman say, when their mother was carried away, that she would not be home for a month at least.
"Then se'll forget to lock 'oo up, Ben.”
"I hope so," he answered. "I don't care for myself, but I don't like you to be left alone, Mousie." (It was a name the woman up stairs had given her because she was such a quiet little thing.) "Perhaps if things go straight and I can earn her a few ha'pence, she won't do it. Oh, Kit," he said, brightening up, "I've such a thought, I'll tell it you when we're in bed.”
She clapped her little thin hands, and began to think it would be very nice to be left alone together there.
"Now I'll look at the shelf again, and hand the things down to you. What's this? Two tallow candles! Hurray I Just think how grand it'll be for you and me to sit each side of the fire and stick this on the mantle-piece while we eat herrins," said he, throwing two down; "and here's a bit of soap; why, we'll clean up the place; and a bundle of fire-wood and matches. I wonder what's in these two parcels? Some tea and sugar, I declare; and up the corner is mother's black shawl and apron, that's all. Well, we shall get on now," said he, jumping down and hugging Kit.
After a little talking, they decided to clean the room up first, for they had not inherited Mrs. Rogers' love of dirt. These little ones had often tried to tidy themselves a bit, and had borrowed a scrap of soap and bowl of water from time to time of a woman named Perrin, who lived in one of the upper rooms, and who had a little blind boy and a baby. This woman was as kind to the children as her poverty would let her be. She pitied their lonely, neglected state, and would often put a stitch in their clothes for them, or give them a morsel of food. Now they ran up stairs and tapped at her door. She had seen Mrs. Rogers taken away, and was just thinking of giving the children a look.
"Please, Mrs. Perrin, would you be so kind as to lend me your scrub brush?" said Ben.
"What do you want that for?" she said kindly.
"I mean to try and scrub the floor," he answered. "I believe I can, if you'll please lend it me; I have found a bit of soap.”
"You're too small," said the woman; "your little arms have not got the strength. Wait a bit, I'll come down and help you; perhaps if it's once done ye'll keep it clean; ye're careful children.”
So Mrs. Perrin brought down her pail, scrubbed the floor, cleaned the windows, and swept up the grate.
"It's a dreadful bad night," she said to the little ones, who were perched on one of the shelves watching her operations; "I don't like to think of ye without a fire, and a cold March wind blowing, for all it's April. if you'll come along o' me, Ben, I'll give you a lump of coal for to-night; so you can eat your supper comfortable like.”
And the kind-hearted woman sent down by the little boy enough coal to make them a good fire. She also told them that she was going to give her children a wash, and that if they liked to come up, she would do them altogether, whilst-their room was drying.
The little ones lost no time in accepting the invitation, and before ten minutes had passed, they were all standing in a row before brisk Mrs. Perrin, while she went from one to another with her flannel, covering their heads and faces with soap, and paying little heed when, every now and then, one cried out, "Oh! the soap is in my eyes," so anxious was she to get them clean.
In due time each had been rinsed in her tub, and had their hair neatly combed. Kit was the last, and Ben stood by with admiring eyes whilst Mrs. Perrin combed her pretty flaxen curls round her fingers.
"It's a shame," she said, "not to keep her hair nice. See how pretty she looks!”
And she did look pretty, for the little face, generally so pale, was rosy with the rubbing it had undergone; her large gray eyes were fixed contentedly on Ben, at seeing him so happy, and her hair hung in soft fair curls round her face.
"That she does," said Ben, delightedly, "try and always keep you so, Mousie; but I do wish I'd a better frock for you.”
It seemed a vain wish, and the little faded brown one, which hardly hung together, was just going to be put on, when Mrs. Perrin stopped and wiped away a tear.
"Wait a bit," she said, "there's the little one bought my Liza just afore she died, you may as well have that; it can't do no good to lay it by. Baby won't want it; for it wouldn't suit a boy. Your father won't pawn it, I fancy; and your mother, God only knows whether she'll come back.”
So she tried the little blue frock on, to Ben's unbounded joy, which he showed by jumping the baby till it screamed, and begging blind Tommy to look at Kit, telling him he never saw anything half so pretty in his life before.
"I never saw nothing at all," said Tommy, peevishly, "I dunno what you mean;" but he passed his thin fingers over the child and added, "I wish you'd let me come and sit down stairs with you sometimes; it's ever so dull here with nothing to do.”
"That we will," answered Ben, proud at being able to give permission. "Come to-morrow, Tommy; we've got herrins and tea for dinner, and you shall have some with us.”
"Poor little things," said the woman, "look on the bright side as long as you can, ye’ll have hard times afore you've done.”
At this moment there was a loud rap at the door, which nearly caused the children to jump out of their skins. Mrs. Perrin went to see who it was, and mine back in the course of a few minutes to say that folks had been sent by those who attend to the public health to take away any bedding the woman Rogers had used, and to put in its place a hard second-hand mattress and colored blanket. So the old horse-cloth and sacking were removed, and for the first time that they could remember, the children laid on a bed. Laid down, thankfully and very happy, clasped in each other's arms, while kind Mrs. Perrin carried off their dirty clothes to wash, "along with Tommy's and baby's.”
"Poor little things," she said to her husband, a weakly, spare little man, who could only earn from ten to twelve shillings a-week, "I felt as if I must give 'em a fair start; its precious little I can attend to 'em next week, when the shoe-binding work begins; and God grant, if I am taken away, some one will see after my blind boy, for we are neither of us long livers, Tom.”
The next morning the children found many a little hole run up, and button or string put on that was wanting; yes! though the poor woman at up till late to do it. If blessings and prayers could repay her, surely she was well repaid before many months were passed!
"Ben, what was that nice fing you was going to tell me?" said little Kit, as she lay curled up close to Ben, with her arm round his neck.
"I'll tell you," he said, "but ar'nt there lots of nice things to-day; it seems as if we should never be unhappy again. Well this is what I think I shall do. You know that sixpence and the shilling mother spoke of. I shall get some of it if I can, and then I shall either buy a broom to sweep a crossing, or some matches or Echos to sell.”
"And go right away from me," said Kit, in a dreary tone.
"No, no, that's the fun; you'll come too. I'll find a place where you can sit and watch me, and keep the money that I get.
This was the height of her happiness that day, for the little boy had often been separated from her before Mrs. Rogers left them. Her whole heart seemed bound up in Ben; and was it strange that Kit should cling to the only one who had really loved and cared for her? True, she was seldom cruelly treated, but the little sensitive child had been dreadfully neglected, and had it not been for the unwearied love and care of a boy of nine years old, must have pined away and died. But many a time he had stinted himself to bring her some morsel he thought she could fancy; for he was sharp and quick for his years, and when with boys a little better off than himself, would get something eatable in exchange for help given to them, and occasionally he would get employed in carrying a parcel or holding a horse, and so earn a copper. Sometimes when this happened, he would go to the confectioner's and buy a bun or sponge-cake for his little darling, and bring it home with a beating heart to be eaten in secret, but more often there was need for a penny loaf, or a half-pound of potatoes; then he would sit by and watch her eat, taking the tiniest bites, to quiet her, as she held the food to his lips, never making a meal till she was satisfied.
Once Mrs. Rogers had found them so, and upon learning from Ben that he had earned the money, she beat him severely, and ordered him to bring her anything he could get. But it made no difference; he feared far more to see Kit grow thin and die, than he did his mother's cruelty.
Chapter 2: In the Hospital
IT was Sunday evening, and some rays from the setting sun beamed through the windows of one of the small-pox hospitals. There was a long room, with its row of beds filled with poor sufferers. Some were tossing about and groaning aloud, others lying in an unconscious state. But I want to tell you about one in particular; we have seen her before in the back room in Peter's Street. It is Mrs. Rogers, and she is much worse. The doctor told the nurse in the morning that he thought she would have the disease very badly, and he was afraid that she would not get over it.
About the middle of the afternoon she fixed her eyes upon a verse of Scripture which was printed on a card and hung upon the wall opposite her bed. It was this-"The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.”
"'The wicked'-Oh! I am one of them-'shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God;' then that's where I must go, for I have done nothing but forget Him; but I can't, I daren't. Woman," she called to the nurse, "take that readin' away. I can't bear it; I won't see it.”
The nurse came to her bedside, and begged her to be quiet, smoothing down the untidy bedclothes, and telling her that she disturbed the other sick ones.
"Then take away that readin'," she cried.
The nurse replied, it was against orders; she could'nt do it, but advised her to turn her head away so that she could not see it.
"It ain't no use," said the woman; "them words stare me in the face, ‘The wicked shall be turned into hell.' Oh! I have been a wicked woman, but I shall get better. Promise me I shall get better.”
"I hope so," answered the nurse, "but 'tis not likely, if you excite yourself so. Wait a bit, here's the good lady. I'll ask her to speak to you, she may be able to give you some help;" and, in the course of a few minutes, a person in a neat dark dress was standing by Mrs. Rogers' bedside, and in a kindly voice said, "What is the matter with you, my poor woman?”
"I am very bad," she groaned; "my head is dreadful, and them words dance before my eyes, The wicked shall be turned into hell. I'm afraid, I'm going there, for I have been ever so bad, and I don't believe I shall get over this. So please take the readin' away. I can't bear it.”
The lady rose, and removed the card to a higher part of the ward, and hung another in its place.
"I hope this will bring you comfort," she said, repeating those precious words, "‘The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.' It is true that the wicked-that is, those who die in their sins-can never enter heaven; but God loved sinners, and sent His beloved Son into the world to die instead of them; to bear the punishment they deserved. And the Lord Jesus has done it. He shed His precious blood on the Cross, and was laid in the grave, but rose again, and now from God's right hand offers you pardon. Yes, though you may have forgotten Him, He will pardon your sins, if you are truly sorry for the past, and trust in the Lord Jesus Christ alone.”
The woman lay still, and said quietly, "Let that readin' stay there, I like it better than the other. But there's something I want to say to you, whether I live or die. Will you hear it? It's a sin that's weighing me down; perhaps if I confess it, God will forgive me.”
"God will only forgive you for Jesus' sake, that is, if you believe God's Word, which says Jesus put away sin on the Cross. Still it is right to confess to God and man, and I am quite willing to hear what you have to say, but you must keep as quiet as you can.”
"Oh! my head is dreadful bad, and my body is in great pain, but it's nothing to my mind. There is words which was said to me four years ago that rings in my ears, and if you'll be so good as to listen, ma'am, I'll tell you all about it," said Mrs. Rogers, groaning uneasily.
"Four years ago, my sister-in-law was living at Hornsey, and I lived in Kentish Town, some two or three miles off. Well, she was took very ill of a fever, and when she thought she was dying, she sent for me. I went to her bedside, and there she lay looking very ill. ‘Oh Polly,' she said, in a low tone, I am glad to see you; I shan't get over this, and I want to know whether you will take care of my baby for a time when I'm gone. She is just a year old, and too young to shift for herself. I have saved five pounds, which I'll give you as a start, and my husband will let you have more in six months' time. Will you take the little thing-she's a pretty dear-and care for her like your own? Bring her up with your Ben.”
"Well, my lady, the money was tempting, and I agreed to do it. She asked me to take the baby away with me then, for the doctor had said it ought not to be in the house with the fever. The little thing was brought to the door of the room where its poor mother was lying, so that she might see it once more "-
Here Mrs. Rogers shifted uneasily, and groaned again, but went on.
"The baby was such a pretty child; very small it was, with large gray eyes, and light curly hair. I took it in my arms, and the poor mother said, ‘You will be good to her, sister, won't you? and promise me faithfully that you'll bring her up in the right way. Let her see her father once a month, and when she is four years old I wish her to come back to him. Take my hand, and promise me that you'll attend to these things.'
"She did not speak as I am speaking now, but gasped between her words; she was sinking fast as it seemed, and the perspiration stood on her face. I took her hands, and I promised to do as she told me, and carried the child away. Oh I shall never forget the look she gave as the baby threw out its arms to her, for she might not kiss the little thing. The poor mother turned away her head and sobbed, ‘Oh, my darling, my sweet one, I may never see your pretty face again.'
"I can't say much more now. I took the child home, and my husband he got hold of half the money directly, and spent it; and I had some debts to pay, and at the week's end it, was all gone. I called to hear how my sister was, and they said she was getting a little better.
"What was I to do? I could'nt return her the money if she got well, and the worst was that the baby sickened, and I fancied it would die, so we moved away where they could not find us.
"The child did not die. She's living still: a delicate little thing with large gray eyes, that can't meet, they look so pitiful; and she is not like other children, she does not care for noisy play. Her whole heart is wrapped up in my Ben, and his in her. She's been useful to me, for before we moved away from Kentish Town, a woman told me I could make a fortune out of her by begging along with her, and her pretty little sad face drew many a penny, so I did not like to part with her; and, God knows, I've broken my word to her mother, and I've left her to get along as best she could. Often I've wished she'd die; and only a little while ago I thought I'd take her back to her friends, and through another party get the reward they offered, but my heart failed me, and now I'm here and may not get well. Oh! promise me, that if I die, you'll find Kit out, and send her home.”
"I will, indeed, as soon as I have the opportunity, if you can give me your address and that of her friends.”
The woman did so, and sunk back exhausted with her eyes fixed upon the verses opposite to her. Blessed words which have brought peace to many a sin-stricken soul.
The next morning Mrs. Rogers was unconscious, and on the Tuesday evening she died. The disease had turned inwards. A person sleeping in the next bed told the good lady that the poor woman had been repeating the two verses, and running them together all that Sunday night, saying, "The wicked shall be turned into hell," but "The blood of Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin." Here we must leave her. God alone sees the heart, and knows in such cases whether there is true repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; but of this we are sure, the Judge of all the earth will do right.
Mrs. Rogers' kind friend was kept busily employed for three months at the hospital, as fresh cases were brought in constantly. At the end of that time she made inquiries about little Kit, but she had left Peter's street, and it was another month before she found a clue to where Mr. Rogers had gone.
Chapter 3: How Ben and Kit Heard the Good News
IT was twelve o'clock on Saturday night when the man Rogers came home. He opened the door of his back room, and stumbled in. It was quite dark, and as usual he flung himself down on what he supposed to be the old rug. True, he was rather surprised at not feeling the hardness of the boards, but he was not himself, for he had been drinking freely, and before five minutes were passed he was in a heavy sleep. The man knew nothing of what had happened through the day; and as it was the middle of the night, he did not notice that his wife was absent.
About three o'clock Ben was wakened by hearing Kit call him, "Oh! Ben, I'm so cold, I've got nuffin over me.”
"Hush," said Ben, "father's here; I'll soon make you warm, ducky. You come over here next father, he's got nearly all the blanket, but there'll be a little bit for you," and he scrambled over Kit, pushing her gently into the warm place, In a few minutes she was asleep; but the boy lay shivering there for an hour, with nothing to cover him but his little thin shirt. He was used to that sort of thing, and did not much mind suffering himself as long as his little Kit was comfortable. After a time his father turned round, and Ben ventured to put a little piece of the blanket over himself No wonder that the little boy did not sleep very soundly, and that by eight o'clock he gently roused Kit.
"Mousie," he said, "let's eat our breakfast and go out before father wakes. If we're quick we can manage it; I think it is a fine morning," and he climbed on a chair, by which means he could see a little bit of sky. "Yes, it's blue, so we'll go and watch the folks go in to church.”
After getting down a piece of bread, and breaking off a crust for each of them, he pushed the herrings and tea and sugar out of sight, and they both set out for their morning's walk.
First of all though, Ben, with intense pleasure, put on the little blue frock, and tied, with a sigh, the rimless hat round Kit's tiny face; after which he took off his own boots.
"I'm not going to wear any boots, Kit.”
"What for 'oo do that, Ben?”
"Why," said he, "we mayn't be able to get any more for a long while, and I can do without."
"Sal I take mine off?" exclaimed Kit.
"No, no," he answered quickly, "I wouldn't see your little feet in the mud for something. When your boots are quite worn out, you shall have mine; they'll be too big, but they'll be better than nothing.”
"Ben, I don't like 'oors to get dirty," said Kit, standing before him with a grave face and small folded arms.
"Oh, never mind that!" he cried, "I can wash them in the yard. It don't matter what boys do, but for little girls like you it's very different. I wish you had nice clothes like some of the children I see in the big streets, but then you'd have a servant to wait on you, and I should be of no use, so perhaps it's best as it is; anyhow, we love each other, don't we, Kit? better than most folks do.”
They turned out into the cheerless streets about nine o'clock. It was not raining, and that is all that one could say to recommend the weather; heavy clouds were passing across the sky, and a chilly north-east wind blew. Dirty children were playing or quarreling on the door steps and pavements; here and there an untidy woman appeared in the doorway to hail a costermonger, who was selling salt herrings and stale fish. Some were starting out to buy vegetables and meat for their Sunday, and perhaps their only, dinner of the week; others were fast asleep in their close rooms, the torn blinds, or threadbare shawl at the window telling that the family were not up.
The children passed along three or four dirty streets, till they reached a better neighborhood; the houses were rather larger, and more tidy, with iron railings in the front.
Ben led the little girl carefully by the hand, carrying her over the small pools and muddy places which lay in their way. At last they reached the church and school-rooms of the neighborhood. Plain old buildings they were, grimy outside, and dull inside. Few of the poor people could be persuaded to enter them, either on the Lord's day or during the week; but still the clergyman-who was a true Christian, and a kindhearted, earnest man-toiled on, getting a little encouragement from time to time, and seeking above everything his Master's approval, and the conversion of souls. His daughter, Miss Randolph, worked hard in the Sunday-school, and on the Lord's day morning and afternoon gathered many of the little ones together to hear the Good News. Ben and Kit seated themselves on the stonework outside the school-room to wait for the churchgoers.
"I don't think they'll come for a long time yet, Kit, so we had better keep here a little while, out of sight, for if a peeler sees us he'll be sure to order us off.”
"What do people go to church for?" said Kit, who thought Ben knew everything.
"Well," said he, speaking slowly, and not feeling very sure of his ground, "some go for one thing, some for another; mostly it's to hear the music, and to show off their fine clothes. If folks have grand things to wear, they like others to see 'em.”
Kit patted her blue frock in a contented manner.
"Ben, sal I go and let 'em see my f'’lock?”
"No, ducky, we won't go there, no one would care for us; but we'll follow these children and see where they go," said he, jumping her down.
They passed into a small school-room with a crowd of children, who took their places upon some low forms.
Evidently the teacher had not arrived, for most of the little ones were talking busily, or climbing over the benches, while some were quietly waiting her arrival. All kinds of children were there, and by half-past nine they numbered more than a hundred. There were neat, tolerably clean little children, with tidy heads of hair, without bonnets, hats, or jackets. There were a few who were smartly dressed, with bright ribbons or berries stuck in their hats, and clothes which had been regularly pawned every Monday morning and taken out on Saturday evening, when the week's wages came in. Most of them, however, were neglected, untidy looking children, whose mothers sent them to school merely for the sake of getting them out of the way.
As soon as Miss Randolph arrived, with her pleasant look and her bright happy face, there was a general hush, and then "Good morning, teacher," went round from one to another. The little ones greeted her lovingly, as if glad to see her again, and after two or three had presented her with little offerings- such as a sprig of "old man," gathered from some dusty back yard, or a weather-beaten apple-school began.
The children sang, “I think when I read. that sweet story of old," repeating it line by line after the young lady; Ben and Kit did the same, gazing at her in an awe-stricken manner, having seated themselves up one corner on the front form; then they all folded their hands, and repeated after their teacher, in a solemn manner, with subdued voices, a little prayer.
When they had said through several verses of Scripture, Miss Randolph said-
"I have a new text which I want you to learn this morning, and another this afternoon, also the first verse of a hymn. Any child who can remember them through the week and repeat them perfectly next Sunday, shall receive a book; now repeat altogether, 'He loved me and gave Himself for me.' It is a very short text, and one you can easily remember; and after I have asked you some questions about it, we will repeat it again.”
"Who was it that loved us?”
Some of the children answered "Jesus, teacher;" others were quiet.
"My little boy, you did not answer," said the young lady, looking at Ben.
"Tell me, who loved us?”
"I don't know," said the child, shaking his head. "No one loves me but Kit," he added, pointing to the little girl, who had nestled close to him.
The lady smiled; with such a large number of restless little beings to keep in order, she could not attend much to one at a time, so she answered-
"I do not think I have seen you here before, perhaps you do not know anything about the Lord Jesus;" and in a simple and earnest manner, she told them the "old, old story" of His love for sinners, and how He left His home in heaven to suffer, bleed, and die for them.
"You cannot see Him," she went on to say, but “He can see you, and watch over you all the day. You may be unhappy, you may be naughty, but if you go to Jesus and tell Him all about it, and ask Him to bless and help you, He will do it.”
"Please, m'am," said Ben, holding up his hand, “me and Kit would like to go, if you'll tell us the way; we're often unhappy, at least we used to be.”
"Well," she said, kindly addressing them all together, “Jesus loved you and gave Himself for you. You are sinners-that is, you have often done naughty things-and God must punish sin, and what you deserved was to die and go to hell forever; but God loved you, and Jesus loved you, and He came down into the world and suffered instead of you. He was punished so that those who love and believe in Him might never be punished; so that they may go and live with Him in His bright beautiful home forever. Now Jesus invites you to come to Him. You cannot see Him, but He is near to you, and you may thank Him for what He has done, and tell Him that you wish to please and serve Him as long as you live-that is what I mean by going to Jesus. Oh, dear little children, think how He loved you, so much as to give Himself for you. Will you not love and trust Him?”
The two little ones had, while she talked to them, sat with clasped hands, and eyes that never moved from the lady's face, and at her question both of them, with a few others, answered, "Oh, yes, we will.”
For two lonely, neglected, unloved, little children to hear suddenly that some One loved them so much that He gave His life for them, seemed wonderful news, almost too good to be true; and to hear that if they returned His love, and believed the good new; He would take them to a bright happy place, when they died, made them feel very happy.
Those who teach the little ones in a poor and ignorant neighborhood, if they teach faithfully and lovingly, must know of many, very young in years, who love and trust the Savior; whose greatest delight is in singing the little hymns they learn, and in hearing of the love of Jesus.
Parents who care nothing for these things, can tell of the almost babies who go to sleep at night repeating their, favorite hymns, and who sing them as soon as they are awake.
Let none who teach the infant children think it labor thrown away. It is while they are very young that the strongest impressions are received-impressions which will deepen as they grow up. No one can expect more in a little child than a simple loving trust in the Savior; faith which never doubts His word or His love. And is not this enough? He will deepen the work as the child grows up, and hears more of divine truth; or, should it be removed from those who would help it on in the right path, and should it wander from the Good Shepherd, in after years He will bring it back to the fold, when it has learned the evil of the old nature, and longs for the peace which passes all understanding.
I will give the entire hymn, the first verse of which the children learned that morning-
"Jesus, Lord, we come before Thee,
Much we need Thy tender care,
Fold Thy loving arms around us,
Gently in Thy bosom bear.
Blessed Jesus!
We are happy when we're there.
"We are very weak and sinful,
Lost and ruined without Thee,
But the precious blood can save us
Thou didst shed upon the tree.
Blessed Jesus!
Make us now its worth to see,
"Help us every day to please Thee,
Make us gentle, kind, and good,
Take us, when we die, to heaven,
Washed in Thy most precious blood.
Blessed Jesus!
Then we'll praise Thee as we would.”
They repeated the first verse over and over till they knew it perfectly, and their teacher told them to say it the last thing every night before they went to bed, and she would teach them the other verses on the two following Sundays.
Ben and Kit scarcely spoke till they reached their little dull back room, and had seated themselves on the window sill; their father was gone out and they were alone; then the little boy began.
"Well, Kit, did you ever hear such beautiful things before about that One who the lady called Jesus, who has been watching us and taking care of us ever so long, and we did'nt know it? What a good thing we went to school this morning; we'll always go, shall we?”
"Yes, Ben dear; she was a nice kind lady to tell us such nice fings. Can 'oo say 'em, so we can get a little book?”
"Oh, yes," he answered, "I tried very hard, and we shall say 'em again this afternoon I expect; let us try, Mousie." And they repeated perfectly the words, "He loved me and gave Himself for me," but at the fourth line of the hymn they stopped, and could get no further, so were obliged to look forward to the afternoon.
"Just think how nice it will be, Kit, if I have to go out in the wet and leave you for a little while, you'll never be alone I Jesus will be here, in this room, and will hear all you say. The lady said you can talk to Him, and He will listen.”
"The lady said He died," she answered; "how can Him hear if Him is dead?”
"Ah I don't know all about it yet," the little boy said, "but I'm sure He isn't dead now. She said God took Him back to heaven, and that He wants us to love Him and thank Him. Let's do it now; but we must shut our eyes, and kneel down, and put our hands together as those children did;" and kneeling down at the window sill, the two little ones put up their first prayer, and gave thanks for the first time to the One who gave Himself for them.
Ben began, "‘He loved me and gave Himself for me.' We thank you, Jesus, for doing this. We are two poor little children, who didn't know that anybody loved us, or we would have thanked you before; and the kind lady says you died for us, and will always keep by us, and will listen to what we say. We are glad to hear it. Help us to be good, and take us to your happy home one day. Amen.”
Chapter 4: The Dinner Party
SOON they began to prepare dinner. Ben jumped on the stool, and felt for the herrings. What was his disappointment to find only one, though the tea and sugar were quite safe.
"Father's been and took an 'erring," he said, with a doleful face, but seeing that Kit looked ready to cry at the news, added quickly, "Never mind, there'll be enough for us;" and he began to light up the remains of the fire of the day before with the wood that was left, while Kit busied herself with placing two cracked plates, the tin mug, and only cup and saucer, with a battered tea-pot, upon the table.
The herring was held on a fork before the fire till it was considered sufficiently cooked and smoked, whilst the potato was hung in front of the bars by a piece of string, then some tea was put in the tea-pot, and water was heated-not boiled-and poured upon it, and the children were perfectly happy. They had never remembered such a meal before, at least such a variety.
Mrs. Rogers generally took her meals away from home, leaving the little boy and girl sufficient bread to keep them from starving. Sometimes she left a few scraps on her plate, most likely because she had as much as she could eat, and these were eagerly devoured by the hungry pair.
To-day Kit was in her glory, putting the plates first in one place, then in another, squeezing her own very close to Ben's whenever she moved them; opening the lid of the tea-pot and peeping in to see what color the tea looked, and chattering to Ben all the while; every now and then putting up her face to be kissed, and asking leave, to wet the tip of her little finger and dip it in the sugar. Then when all was ready, and the last piece of bread was cut into two good sized portions, they had a little talk about who should have the stool and who should go without a plate. It was settled that as Tommy was a visitor, he should have a plate and the cup and saucer, while Ben should go without a plate.
"I shall be too busy helping Kit, to care," said he, "and we will share the tin mug together," but he very much wanted her to have the stool.
"She would look so nice with her new frock on, sitting at the table, and helping me to pour out tea," he thought; but at last it was arranged that Tummy should have the stool, and that the table was to be drawn up to a single shelf fastened to the wall, upon which the little girl should be perched.
Tommy came down, and the dinner passed off well. Kit sugared the tea as Ben poured it out, and though served to two of the party in a slightly rusty tin mug, it gave great satisfaction. To be sure the herring was salt, but hunger was their sauce; and Tommy brought with him three small slices of bread and butter and three potatoes, which were a great addition to the feast. Ben could easily have eaten his slice of bread, but as he raised it to his lips, a thought seemed to strike him, and he put it on the top shelf.
"Now we have something grand to tell you, Tommy," said he, and in an eager manner the children related what they had seen and heard through the morning.
"Is'nt it good to have some One to take care of us, now mother is gone," said Ben; "some One who loves us like I love Kit; who'll take us to a jolly place when we die. We are going to say that little verse every night before we go to sleep. Have you ever heard of Jesus, and would you like us to teach it to you?”
"Mother tells us to say ‘Now I lay me down to sleep' at night," he answered, "and after it we say 'for Jesus' sake, Amen.' Once I asked her what it meant, but she said she did'nt know, only we ought to say it every night, and if we did'nt God would punish us.”
"The teacher said Jesus is God's Son, and that God loves us too, and let Jesus come and die. But I'll listen well this afternoon, and tell you some more if you like. I expect it will soon be time to go.”
"Tommy, come wif us," said Kit.
"You always think on everything, Mousie," said Ben proudly; "let's go and ask his mother.”
But Mrs. Perrin said she dare not trust him far away; he might not go that day, but some time when she was not busy she would bring him round.
So again the children set forth hand in hand, anxious to hear more of what made them so happy.
Miss Randolph told them a little story that afternoon which deeply interested them; it was the first they had ever heard, and this was it:- "One afternoon a gentleman was walking over a large field, and he saw a great bird flying in the air. Presently a little sparrow flew straight towards him, and hid itself under his coat, next his heart. The gentleman took it gently in his hand; its heart was beating, poor little thing, and it was trembling all over. Just above his head hovered the large bird, which he now saw was a hawk.
"A hawk pounces upon small birds and eats them; and this one had been following the sparrow, and was going to seize it, when the little thing flew right under the gentleman's coat. Did he throw it to the hawk? No; he held the little thing safely in his hand till danger was past, and then took it to his own garden and let it fly.
“Little children, "said Miss Randolph," you are very much in the same state as the sparrow. Some one is pursuing you; some one is trying to devour you. He watches you, and hopes sometime to get you to a dreadful place where he must live forever. What are you going to do? Will you fly to some One I can tell you of who loves you, and will take you in His arms, and keep you from that dreadful enemy who wants to get you? Satan is the name of that cruel one. Jesus is the One who wants to shelter you, and take you forever to His happy land, where the devil cannot harm you. Fly to Him at once; do not wait a moment, or it may be too late. Just as the little sparrow flew to the gentleman, so do you come to Jesus. He will not drive you away, He will fold you in His arms of love, as our little hymn says. The Lord Jesus is quite close to you, and if you breathe a little prayer to Him He will bear you, and if you give yourself to Him, believing that He loves you, and died for you, and is willing to wash away your sins, then you are His little child; you do not belong to Satan, and he can never harm you.”
They learned the first verse of their hymn perfectly, and after their teacher had spoken to them a little about prayer, telling them to remember and pray to the Lord Jesus before they went to bed and in the early morning, and to thank Him for whatever they received, the children went away.
Chapter 5: A Night in the Wood-Shed
WHEN Mr. Rogers heard from the neighbors that his wife was taken away to the hospital, he made very little show of sorrow; in fact, he was relieved, for he was rather afraid of his wife, who was a powerful woman and had a very bad temper. When roused she could be very violent, and generally had the best of it in any quarrels that took place between the two.
About a year before this illness occurred, Mrs. Rogers had overheard a conversation between her husband and some of his friends; they were talking over the gains obtained from a robbery in which they had taken part not long before.
This robbery had made a great stir in the neighborhood, as it had been committed in a respectable house not a great distance off, but though a search and inquiry had been made, the robber could not be traced.
Mrs. Rogers was very glad to overhear the conversation, as it gave her a great hold upon her husband. She did not hesitate to threaten that she would make his guilt known if ever he denied her the money she thought it necessary to have, or if he upbraided her with having played her sister false about Kit. Once she had spoken of the robbery before the children, but after her husband left the room, she took care to promise Ben such a beating as he had never known, if he mentioned the affair to a single person.
It is not to be much wondered at then, that the man was glad to find his wife had left home for a time. He was very uncertain in his movements; sometimes he would stay away from home for a week, on business best known to himself; at other times he would come in for two or three nights together, never troubling the inmates with much of his presence.
Rogers was most to be dreaded when he had taken sufficient drink to make him abusive, then he would kick and swear at whatever came in his way; no matter whether it was a child or a stool.
Such was the state he was in that Sunday afternoon, when the two children entered the room after their happy afternoon at the Sunday school. No sooner did they open the door than they saw too plainly the state of things, and were going to retire in haste to the wood-shed, but Rogers was in a very perverse and angry mood.
"Come in," he said, staggering to the door; "do you think I'll have you slinking away in that style? No, indeed! I'll teach you to behave, now your mother is gone," and he seized Ben roughly by the arm, and flung him into the middle of the room; I might say flung both, for Kit clung to him, crying piteously.
"Stop that," he answered, kicking out his heavy boot towards her, "I'll shut you up in the wood-shed if you don't stop.”
The blow did not reach her, for Ben drew her quickly back, but that made his father angry, and he gave him a sound box on his ears, which caused him to fall on the ground for an instant.
He was on his feet, however, directly, and placed himself in front of the little girl.
"Do what you like to me," he said, "but don't touch her.”
"Father, don't 'oo hurt Ben," cried Kit, "please, please, don't!”
"I'm not your Father," said he. "Thank goodness, you don't belong to me, and, what's more, I'll have nothing to do with you.”
"Touch her!" he added, turning to Ben, "since you're so fond of her, you'd better find her bread; you're quite welcome to her. If I find you a place to lie down on, it's all you'll get from me. You earn your own victuals from this time; you're big enough. I'm not going to have a great lazy boy about the place.”
Rogers did not spare bad words during his speeches; it was not his custom. Ben shuddered as he heard them, and would have stopped his ears, but he knew this angered his father, and Kit was too young to understand them.
"Where've you been?" said Rogers; sober enough to feel a little ashamed of himself, yet anxious to pick another quarrel.
A flush rose to Ben's cheeks; this was a hard question, but he was a truthful child, and had learned enough in this one day to know that if he wished to please the Lord Jesus who loved him and died for him, he must do what was right.
"To the Sunday-school," he answered, in a low tone.
"The Sunday-school!" said his father, in a great rage; "that's where you learn your bad manners, is it? Then you'll not go again, that's all. Do you hear?" he added, shaking him.
"I hear," said Ben, in a dreary tone. Already this thought of going to school had become the pleasantest in his life, and it was with a pang of regret he heard his father's words. He knew it was useless to say anything, and although he appeared to agree, made up his mind that they would go if they could.
Rogers then flung himself down on the mattress, and prepared to sleep off his ill temper; first of all he ordered the children from the room, and bade them not come back while he was there. They crept softly to the wood-shed, and cried out their grievances in each other's arms; even Ben's tears mingled with the shavings when he thought of giving up the class. Suddenly he brightened.
"Kit, what are we thinking of?" he said, "Jesus is near us, the Lord Jesus, as the lady said. Let us ask Him to help us to get there. Of course He wants us to go; Satan doesn't, and he's trying to keep us away, but we love Jesus, don't we, ducky?”
"Yes, us do," said Kit, "and Satan's a very wicked man. I like talking to Jesus, Ben; we'll kneel on the s'avings;" and she wiped the tears off her own face and his, with her little hand, which he seized and kissed.
"I'm very glad you belong to me now, Mousie," said he proudly. "Father's given you all to me; I am to work for you, and get you bread; and we can always ask Jesus to help us.”
After they had asked Him to let them go to the Sunday-school, and repeated their little hymn, they began to feel hungry, and remembered the bread on the shelf.
"I'm so glad I left it," said the little boy; "it will do us before we go to bed; but I'm very much afraid we shall have to stay here all night. If father found us on the bed when he told us not to come, perhaps he'd kick us out. Are any fathers kind, I wonder? Not those that drink I know, and they nearly all do. I've seen one or two kiss their tiny little children, but I don't think they cares for boys like me. If you had'nt a loved me, Kit, I think I should have drowned myself.”
This seemed a dreadful thought to the little one, for she coaxed his face, saying, "Good Ben, kind Ben, my own Ben.”
They sat so till it grew dark; then he said, "I'll go and get the bread, so as father don't hear;" and he succeeded in slipping in and out of the room without being heard. In fact, Rogers was in a heavy sleep. Ben had the sense to bring out of the room his mother's shawl and apron, with his father's unused coat. This done, he laid the coat upon the floor of the shed, and spread the apron over it.
"Now, Mousie, lie down," he said, but the child's lip trembled. She was generally tractable enough, but to-night her little sensitive frame had received a shock, and the excitement had been too much for her. She was faint, yet turned from the bread; she felt cold and upset, for it was raining; and she wanted soothing.
"Ben, snug me," she said; "Ben, 'oo sing to me. I tired, I can't lie there.”
In another moment he had her in his arms, making a comfortable place for her with the clothes. He laid her little curly head on his shoulder as he leaned against the wall, and coaxed pieces of the bread into her mouth, till she had eaten enough to keep her from being faint; then he sung to her in a soothing monotonous tone their little hymn, and she fell asleep. He held her so for an hour or two, till the clouds passed off, and he could see one or two stars through a hole in the wall. They seemed to twinkle at him, as much as to say, "We are watching you, little Ben; we will shine down upon you every clear night as long as you love Kit and take care of her.”
"Yes, I will, little stars," he said. "I'll give her bread, even if I am hungry and don't eat anything myself. I think you live all day in heaven, and shine on poor little children at night. If you ever see the Lord Jesus, tell Him we want very much to come to His happy home.”
After talking to the stars a little longer, he laid his little charge down on a pile of soft shavings, and after covering her over, flung himself down, and slept till morning.
When Rogers awoke it was just seven o'clock, and he saw at a glance that the children had not been in the room all night. When sober he was not a cruel man, but generally left them alone. Now he remembered something of what had happened the night before, although he had a very confused idea, and felt by no means sure that he had not treated the children very badly. After Rogers had dressed, he took sixpence out of his pocket, and walked towards the wood-shed, and opened the door and looked in. The children were lying peacefully asleep; Ben, with his arm under Kit, was smiling happily, as though he was dreaming of the stars and what they said to him. His father called him, and the child started up, the expression of his face changing to one of fright.
"Now," said the man, relieved at seeing them safe, "I dare say you are sorry for behaving so badly last night, and, for a start in life, I am going to give you sixpence. If you're a sharp lad, you can get on; find out where Jim Stephens buys his fusees, and you do the same. Remember, I shall give you nothing more; and you'd best keep out of my way till your mother comes back, and then I shall have something to say to her, and you must make up your mind to part with Kit," looking at the child with something like interest. "I shan't take any of my meals at home but if you can find an odd crust left on the table, you can eat it.”
What had caused this sudden change in the man? Only the night before he could have knocked the children down, and now he was providing in a little measure for their wants.
The fact was, Rogers had had a dream, which made a great impression upon his mind. He thought that his brother-in-law (Kit's father) had come to him in the night, and had begged for the little girl-begged that he might see her once more, but that he (Rogers) had given the child a blow only a few minutes before which had caused her death, and she lay white and still in a little coffin; and he himself seemed dumb, and though he tried to speak, he could not answer his brother-in-law. He dreamed that at last he slowly retreated, and passed out of the door, but no sooner was he gone than her mother came in, and with a mournful cry asked for her child. As soon as she spoke, Kit rose from the coffin, and glided into her mother's arms, saying in a sorrowful voice, "Good bye, poor wicked Uncle Rogers.”
When he woke he tried to shake off the impression, but could not, and it was upon him in full force when he turned to the little girl, on leaving the shed, and said, "If you're good, you shall see your own father and mother one day, but don't say a word about it;" and the little thing, seeing him give the sixpence to Ben and look kindly at her, though not fully understanding what he meant, got up and said, "Thank you, father, dear.”
For one minute Rogers looked at her, and seemed as if he were going to kiss her, but he turned away quickly and left them alone. From that day he never treated Kit badly, though poor Ben came in for occasional blows. The effect of the dream wore away, in one respect, after a few days; that is, he took no trouble to restore the little girl to her parents; but he never lifted his hand against her, and sometimes took a little kindly notice of her.
That Monday was an important day to Ben.
He went to the women his mother told him about, but only succeeded in getting four pence from one of them, with the promise of full payment from both in a few days.
The children had had no breakfast, so one pennyworth of bread was bought, and the rest of the money saved for another time; then Ben seated Kit on the door-step to watch for his return, and told her to go indoors if any one spoke to her, while he went to Jim Stephens to learn about the fusees, and where to get them.
Jim was then starting to buy some for himself to begin the week with, so they walked together, Ben with his bare feet on the cold flag-stones.
The boys bought eight boxes for sixpence, and sold them at one penny each, so that if they parted with all, they earned two pence.
"We must be quick home," said Ben, "I've some one waiting for me.”
"Oh, I shouldn't go back," answered Jim, "take your stand here, it's a very good place. I'm stationed a quarter of a mile further on.”
It was not far from the Bank, where gentlemen who come from Bayswater, Paddington, and many other places, get down from the omnibuses.
"I shall go home," said Ben, in a decided manner; "I wouldn't disappoint my little Kit for Anything.”
"What's that; a girl?" said Jim disdainfully. "Catch me going home for a girl.”
"Ah! but she's not like the girls you know; they are rough, cross things, but you should see her, she loves me ever so much, and is such a pretty little thing! She is coming with me to help to sell fusees. I daresay I shall have to carry her part of the way, 'cos it's pretty far for such a little mite, but Kit's very light, and if she weren't I'd do it.”
"Just as you like," said Jim; "one day I'll give her a look, if she's such a wonder as you make out. But look you here; I'll tell you a dodge. When you get home, take one or two fusees out of each box, and keep 'em till you get a dozen or so, then sell 'em cheap in an old box to men about your part; that's the way to earn an extra penny.”
"N-o," said the little boy thoughtfully, I might 'a done it a week ago, perhaps, but I can't now, Jim. I don't think it would please some One I want to please; it don't strike me it is quite right or fair, and you see, Kit and me, we've heard of some One called the Lord Jesus, who loves us, and who died for us, and who is one day going to take us to a beautiful place; but no one will do anything wrong there, and He don't want us to do anything wrong here, and we mean to try and do what He wishes us to.”
"Well, I never!" said Jim, with a whistle, "you are a funny one! That's what parsons and such like talk about; it ain't meant for boys like you and me. Whew!" he said again, "I don't much fancy we could get to heaven, as they call it, if we tried; at any rate, no one ever told me anything about it but once, and I've nearly forgotten all I heard. That was at a night school for boys, where a gentleman was a preachin'. I remember I tried to be good after it, but, lor', it warn't no good.”
Ben displayed his boxes of fusees to Kit with great pride, after which the children set off for the busy thoroughfares. He found the little girl a seat under a narrow archway, not far from the place where he stood, where she could watch him easily, unless, indeed, he ran some little distance from the spot. He promised her that another morning he would bring an old hamper from the wood-shed for her to sit upon; it was not likely she would often be disturbed by comers and goers, for the passage led to a little court, where only five or six houses stood, and he had placed one or two large stones close to the entrance, out of every one's way, and seated Kit upon them. Here she sat and watched the passers by. At first she felt very frightened at the noise and bustle, but knew that if she complained, or hindered Ben, she might be obliged to stay at home alone, so the little thing bore up bravely, and soon became very pleased to watch him. The boy had often noticed those of his own age who were engaged in selling matches, papers, &c., and was quite up to it after the first half hour was gone. And so they passed several days.
Ben disposed of eight pennyworth of fusees that day. He spent a penny for bread on Monday, and another on Tuesday morning; by this means he had nine-pence left to buy twelve boxes of fusees with.
But little Kit looked pale and tired when they went home on Tuesday night, and fell asleep, with her head on his shoulder, as he carried her home. One of the neighbors saw them enter the house, and the boy heard her say, "How can that little thing thrive without a drop of milk? I'll be bound to say she never tastes any; and she'll die, that's what she'll do.”
Ben looked at the little pale face, so near to his, and kissed it; and something very like a tear glistened in his eye.
"Milk," he said to himself, "of course she ought to have it; and she shall, too, if I can anyhow get it. Oh dear! don't I wish I had a lot of money.”
He laid Kit gently down upon the bed-she slept heavily from weariness-and then looked at his money. He had just a shilling, having sold all his boxes. Many boys made sixpence and ninepence a day at match selling, and Ben hoped to be able to do so in time. He put ninepence away to buy more fusees with on the morrow, and turned the other three pennies over, saying to himself, "I should have liked to lay it all by, and eat the bread to-night that father has left for us, but Kit must have something better.”
Suddenly a thought flashed upon him, and he knelt by the side of Kit, while the tears ran down his cheeks, and repeated his little hymn-
"Jesus, Lord, we come before Thee,
Much we need Thy tender care,
Fold Thy loving arms around us,
Gently in Thy bosom bear.
Blessed Jesus!
We are happy when we're there.”
"Blessed Jesus, I am very hungry, for I've hardly eaten anything today; do give me enough money to buy poor Kit what she wants. She looks very pale and thin, please don't let her die; or if she does, let me die too. Amen.”
He turned into the street, and went again to the women, begging them to pay him something more of what they owed. One gave him two-pence, and the other a penny, and told him not to come again before Saturday. But this was all he wanted, so he hastened to the nearest shop, and drew out his little tin mug for a ha'porth of milk; then he bought a pennyworth of bread, which, with what his father left, would last them till the next night. Now came the difficulty. Four potatoes would be a penny, but they had no fire, and he longed for something besides bread; herrings, too, would want cooking, but they were the cheapest things, and such as Kit could eat.
After thinking a little while, he decided to buy the potatoes, and beg Mrs. Perrin to cook them. He took them to her at once, and she greeted him kindly.
"Glad to see you, Ben; I was a wondering how you were getting on. Is there anything I can do for you, and is Kit well?”
"She is very tired, and has gone to sleep," he answered, "so I went out to buy a few things. I thought she'd fancy a hot potato, but we aint no fire. Would you mind boiling 'em for us, Mrs. Perrin?”
"No, that I wouldn't," she answered, "you've come at the right time too. I was just a goin' to put on one
or two for my old man, so they can all boil together.”
"Oh thank you," said Ben delightedly, "how long will they take, Mrs. Perrin?”
"About twenty minutes," she answered; "and as the fire is pretty clear, if you'd fancy a piece of toast, bring up any dry bread you may have, and attend to it yourself.”
Ben ran down quickly, and gently opened the door. The little girl was still asleep, so he put the remains of a tallow candle on the table, and the mug of milk, cut two or three slices of bread, and put the rest by with one potato, for the next day; then he carried some crusts up stairs, and poured boiling water over them. He afterward toasted the slices of bread, and soaked the crusts in a basin lent by Mrs. Perrin. The potatoes were now ready, so he went down again, poured the milk over the sopped bread, lighted the candle, and gently wakened Kit.
At first she could hardly believe her eyes, but Ben told how he had been out to buy the things, and cooked them at Mrs. Perrin's fire, and talked till the little one smiled, and stretched out her hands to what seemed to her very good; so that they had a happy meal in the end, and, for the first time for some days, ate as much as they wanted. Ben looked on with great satisfaction while Kit ate the bread and milk, almost as if he expected to see her grow fat and rosy at once.
Then they said their little prayer, and snugged each other to sleep under the rug.
The children lived very much in this way through the week. Sometimes they had enough to satisfy their hunger, sometimes they were obliged to go to bed cold and hungry; but Ben never ceased his loving care over the little girl, and they never forgot to repeat their little prayer night and morning. With a great longing they looked forward to the Sunday-school, for Ben did not doubt but that his father had forgotten what he had said about their not going, and every night after they had repeated their hymn and text, Kit would say, "We sal soon have our little books now, Ben, dear.”
Some words that his father and mother had said, Ben never forgot; they were those about Kit not being their own child. The boy pondered them over and over, and particularly those words that his father had said when he left them in the wood-shed-"You must make up your mind to part with Kit when your mother comes back." Sometimes he thought of running away with her, and living any where, even in empty barrels at night, as some boys did, so that they could be always together; for he felt it would break her heart to leave him; but then he knew that she was too delicate to live in that way, even if he could, On Thursday the news of Mrs. Rogers' death reached them. At first they were startled and frightened, death seemed such a dreadful thing to them to think of. Mrs. Perrin told them about it with tears in her eyes, and upon seeing her cry they began to cry too; but suddenly the consoling thought occurred to Ben, "Father can't tell mother about Kit now; perhaps he'll let her stay with me." This helped to cheer him greatly though Mrs. Perrin seemed to look on the dark side of things.
"Poor children," she said, drawing her hand across her eyes, "what will become of ye, I can't think? sure your mother warn't much good to ye, but then she was better than nothing. I wonder whether any one can give you a bit of mourning.”
"There's mother's black shawl," said Ben, "per'aps you could do something with that for Kit, Mrs. Perrin.”
"Ah, so there is; go and fetch it," she said.
Ben ran off, and soon returned with the shawl. It was thin, but still it was black, and a double one.
"This will do very well," said the woman, "I will run a frock up for Kit, and then there'll be enough for a little shawl for her; and, if there's nothing better to be had, I'll put a bit of it round your old cap and Kit's hat. It'll make you look decent like.”
When they were in bed that night, Kit said dreamily, "Where's mother now, Ben?”
"Well, I'm not quite sure, Mousie.”
"Has Jesus taken her to His happy home, do 'oo fink?”
"The lady said He only took those there who love Him. I never heard mother say anything about Jesus, did you?”
"No, I didn't; but if she is there, don't let her get me when we go.”
"No! no! ducky; it's a happy place, you know, and it wouldn't be happy if people were unkind there. Everybody will be good. Perhaps an 'orspital is something like a Sunday-school; if it is, she heard about Jesus, and I 'spect she's sorry for what she's done.”
This seemed the most comfortable light in which to look at the affair, and they settled it so.
When Rogers heard of his wife's death, it disturbed him very little. He had evidently never expected to see her again, and, as we said before, it was a relief to him to know that she would not come back. He refused to go to the expense of a funeral, so she was buried by the parish.
Just about this time Rogers' thoughts were occupied with a fresh scheme for robbing some stables of new harness, corn, &c. A companion of his was to help him in the undertaking, and to supply a cart, which was to be stationed a short distance from the spot. They were obliged to wait for a good opportunity, and had fixed upon the second week in May, as there would be no moon. He also decided to remove from Peters Street about that time, as it might be desirable for him to leave the neighborhood.
Chapter 6: Kit's Mourning
ON Saturday evening Ben was paid the remainder of the money by the two women. They pitied the children, and not being very hard-hearted, did not refuse Ben's urgent demands. Very likely they thought that the child was sent by his father, and that if they did not pay their debts he might visit them, and a call from Dick Rogers was not very desirable. Ben had now fifteen-pence in hand with that day's earnings, after laying aside a shilling for fresh matches, but there was food to buy for two days and a little bit of firing, so that after he had bought bare necessaries for the Sunday, including the ha'porth of milk for Kit, he had only sixpence in hand.
By this time their clothes were very shabby, and Ben knew that he must try and put a few halfpence by occasionally, to get fresh ones with. A hole in the wall served for the hiding-place; and here, on this Saturday night, he stowed two-pence. Then they wandered out together, and passed a few shops that were lighted up. As they drew near to a second-hand clothes shop, Ben said, "Mousie, dear, I'm going to see if I can get you a little 'at; yours is all in tatters, and if we can go anyhow tidy to school, we ought to. If I see a little decent black one for four-pence, I shall buy it.”
"And a cap too, Ben?”
"No, no; mine's good enough for a little while. But here we are. Please, sir, have you a little 'at in your shop that would fit this little girl? I can't give more than four-pence, and it ought to be black, 'cos mother's dead.”
The man looked at the little pair, as they stood in the gas-light, with pale anxious faces, and a look of pity came across his face.
"Was your mother named Rogers, and was she taken to the hospital this week and did she die there of small-pox?”
"Yes, she did; and my father has given me this little girl to take care of," said the boy, shielding Kit, as if he fancied the man would seize her away from him.
“I aint a going to make off with her, don't you fear," said the man; "little girls are cheap in these parts; but, considering your mother was a customer of mine, I'll see what I can do.”
He opened a box and displayed some hats.
There was one which he took hold of directly and placed on Kit's head. It was a small black one, with a little piece of black velvet round it, and a slightly faded bow of violet ribbon in front Ben held his breath. To get such a hat for Kit would be grand; it made her look so pretty; but then it ought to be black. He told the man so again.
"Nonsense," said he, "many folks wear that color for mourning; and, if you don't like it, take the color away, and put a piece of black there instead. You may have it for four-pence, and cheap enough too.”
The little boy paid the money, and carried away the hat; and when they reached their room, they found the little black frock and shawl laid neatly on a chair, ready for use
Chapter 7: How Ben and Kit Told the Good News
THE following day, dressed in decent mourning, Kit was led in a triumphant manner to the Sunday-school, and they were told about Jesus feeding the five thousand. It was a wonderful story to them, and from that time they never ceased to put their entire trust in One who could do such wonders. If they were hungry, they prayed for bread to the Lord Jesus, and would not have been much surprised at its being sent in any remarkable way. For instance, Kit was one day very hungry, and was standing at the window telling Jesus about it, when a child from an upper story threw down or dropped a crust of bread into the yard. The child joyfully picked it up, and firmly believed it had fallen from the sky. It was a pretty story to tell Ben when he came back from the streets, where he had been wandering in search of something to eat.
They received their little books with delight from Miss Randolph, who recognized the children, and was pleased with the perfect manner in which they repeated their texts and verse. They showed these to Mr. Perrin in the evening, and he read stories aloud from them to the little group. One was about the storm at sea, and the other about the raising of the widow's son from the dead. Ben and Kit felt that the Lord Jesus, whom Mr. Perrin read about, belonged to them, for the little girl said, as soon as he finished reading, "That's our blessed Jesus, Mr. Peddin. He loves Ben and me; we often talk to Him. He can make b'ed out of nuffin for lots of little boys and girls, and He can stop the wind from blowing." At this point however, she was overcome with shyness, at seeing them all look at her, and sank down into Ben's lap.
"Do you love Him, Mr. Perrin?" said Ben.
The man was looking thoughtful. "It's a long while since I heard this kind of thing," said he. "No, I don't suppose I do as I ought; but times have been bad, and I have had other things to think of.”
"I don't think you know what I mean," said Ben; "the lady says, Jesus walked about with poor people when He was On earth. He made them well when they were sick, and helped them in their trouble. She told us little children to go to Him, because we were naughty and unhappy, and He would put all our sins away, and make us ever so happy; and she said He was cold, and tired, and hungry when He was on earth, so that He might know how we feel. I listened so hard that I might tell blind Tommy all about it, as I promised, and it seems written on my mind, like as if I couldn't forget it.”
"I like to hear you talk very much," said the man; "I went to the Sunday-school when I was a boy, and it all comes back to me again, though it seems as if a great heap of rubbish had been 'cumulating on the top ever since. Go on, boy.”
"Our teacher says that the devil is watching us, and wants to get us to his miserable place forever; but that Jesus loves us, and if we only ask Him to take care of us and bless us, and if we love Him, He won't let Satan have us, but will take us to a bright beautiful home, up, up higher than the stars, where we shall never be unhappy. I hope you and Mrs. Perrin will go, and take Tommy and the baby; then we could all be such a happy party.”
When Ben looked up, he saw tears in Mrs. Perrin's eyes, and Mr. Perrin was making himself very busy with his boot. They asked the children to sing their hymn before they left, and Mrs. Perrin kissed them both, and stuffed a lump of sugar into their mouths, while she invited them to come again.
Little Kit sat patiently under the arch way for several days. She preferred it to staying at home alone, though she often became very tired; but Ben would come running up to her every now and then, sometimes to tell her a thing that made her laugh, and sometimes to show her the pennies he had gained.
At last there came a very stormy and rainy day, when Ben shook his head, and said she must stay at home-there was no help for it; but he said he would ask if Tommy Perrin might come down a little while to keep her company. Mrs. Perrin gave leave, and the two little ones amused one another for some time, but at last Tommy grew tired and left her, and Kit stayed down stairs alone. She played at setting out tea with the plates and odd things they had on the shelf, but at six o'clock it began to grow dusk-for very little light came into that dull room on a cloudy day-and by seven it was dark, and Ben had not come. What was the matter?
The little boy had had a bad day, and had not been able to sell more than eight boxes of lights by six o'clock; and though he generally started for home before that time, he knew that if they were to have both supper and breakfast, he must stay and sell out; so he waited till seven o'clock, when he sold his last box, and hastened home, thinking that Kit was sure to be in Mrs. Perrin's room. On his way he met Jim Stephens.
"If you want to know a short cut to your place, I can show you one," said he; "you'll be home ten minutes earlier than usual.”
Ben did want to get home quickly, so they agreed to walk together. After a few minutes, Jim said, "This is my place. If you go straight on, and take your first turning to the right, and your second to the left, you'll come out by Shoreditch station, then you can find your way. Good night.”
Ben ran on, but either he took the wrong turning, or Jim did not tell him right, for he was quite at a loss. It was raining heavily, and the streets were pretty clear. He asked his way but people would not stop on such a night to tell him, and one or two little shops he passed were full of people; so he wandered on, vainly hoping that he should find himself in a familiar street.
At about eight o'clock, a kind-hearted woman showed him the way, for she was going to the station herself, and at last, tired, anxious, wet, and hungry, he arrived at Peter's Street. He rushed up to Mrs. Perrin's room. "No, she had not seen Kit; she quite thought she had heard Ben come in three hours before.”
He ran off before she had finished speaking, and tried the door of his room. It was bolted; he could not get in. He knocked gently at first, but no answer came; then he called to her, "Kit, dear little Kit, open to me-it is Ben come home to you," but she did not reply. He ran into the yard, and tried to open the window; it was unbarred, and he pushed it open and jumped in.
The room was quite dark. Poor little fellow, he was dreadfully frightened. He groped his way to the bed, and felt about, calling on her as well as his trembling lips would let him. At last he felt a little cold hand. He almost screamed; he thought, "Perhaps she is dead!" but he lifted her off the bed on to his lap, and struck a light, and lighted a bit of tallow candle.
Then he saw that she was not dead; she partly opened her eyes, though she did not seem to see or move. He threw some water on her face, when she started, and he cried, "Kit, darling, what is the matter? Are you ill? Tell me; speak to me!”
But she did not seem as if she could speak, so he took a morsel of bread and dipped it in the milk he had brought, and gave it to her.
Her face was ashy white, and her little hands and feet were cold. He turned off his wet coat, and knelt and rubbed them with might and main, but very little warmth would come, so he carried her up to Mrs. Perrin.
"Bless her little heart, she has been fainting," said the good woman; "give her to me." And she took her in her arms, and sat down by the fire with her. "Give me that milk, Ben;" and after warming it for a minute, she poured some down her throat; then the little one began to revive, and stretched out her arms to Ben.
"Take me, take me I" she cried; "I fort I was in Jesus' happy place. I was so fitened 'fore that. Don't let 'em get me.”
By degrees, after she had eaten a little bread and butter, she told them, in broken words, that she sat in the dark till she got frightened; then she said her little hymn, and tried to think she was not alone-that Jesus was in the room with her, and she asked Him to let Ben come, and to take care of her. Soon she heard a loud noise outside, and bolted the door, lest any one should come in; and she was so hungry, and then she fell on the bed, and "fort she was in Jesus' happy place," with lots of stars and bright things, but she couldn't find Ben there.
She was snugged and petted by Mr. and Mrs. Perrin and Ben to her heart's content, and stroked by blind Tommy, and crowed at by the baby, but the long fasting and the fright did her no good, and for some days she looked paler and thinner, and grew more tired than before; but she would not stay at home, so Ben carried her backwards and forwards to the city.
Chapter 8: Little Kit and Dick Rogers
SIX weeks have passed since the commencement of this story, and Rogers started out one dark night on his deed of wickedness. He had often stayed away from home for two or three days together, since he found the children in the wood-shed; and had come home late and slept late, so that they had stolen away without speaking to him. At other times he had come in to rest in the day, and stayed away at night. Going on in this way, he seldom saw Ben and Kit, and when he did, said little to them. Well, he started out that dark night, and all seemed to go well for some time. He entered the stables by a little window at the back, when, just as he was taking down the harness, he heard a slight noise. He listened; surely it was some one speaking from under the wall on the other side He dropped the harness, and crept to the window. Bill, his companion, stood ready to receive anything he might throw down.
” You'd better come back, Dick," he said in a whisper; "I believe we're found out. I fancy there's two men 'ull be round in a minute. Close the window, jump down, and run for it. The horse and cart's close by; we'd better be off.”
Dick Rogers climbed outside the window, and was closing it, when his foot slipped, and he fell to the ground. As he did so, he groaned with pain. "I'm done for, Bill," he said; "oh! my arm." Bill caught him up.
"We shall be done for, if you make that noise; for goodness' sake, stop," and he half carried, half dragged him to the spot where the horse and cart stood, for he was a great strong man, whereas Rogers was short and not over stout.
In another minute they were off, and Bill was lashing the horse on to his utmost speed; but it would not do long, for they attracted the notice of one or two policemen, who were quietly walking along the deserted streets. Rogers groaned incessantly, and declared his arm hurt him dreadfully, and was broken, so Bill decided to drive him home at once, and get a doctor to set the bone, grumbling dreadfully at their bad luck. It would not do to go to the hospital; it would look suspicious. So Ben and Kit were wakened from their sleep in a dreadful fright by the entrance of the two men. They swore and grumbled awfully; and Bill turned the children out of bed to make room for Rogers.
What to do they did not know, but as the night was mild, they retired once again to the woodshed, and lay there, covered with the shavings and a bit of carpet, till morning. The injured man was in too much pain to care whether they went or remained, and if ever a thought of them crossed his mind, he said to himself, "The woman upstairs sees after them, I suppose.”
After some delay, the doctor came and set the bone, and ordered him keep it in one position for some weeks. He was also shaken by the fall, and obliged to stay at home for three or four days.
Those days were very wet, and Ben was sorely tried to know what to do with Kit. He never tired of having her by him-she was such a cheerful, patient little child. If she knew there was no bread, she never worried him; if he looked tired and sad, she would coax his face and kiss him till he smiled, and do it in such a winning way; but he saw plainly that her strength was not so great as it used to be. These days, in the bustle and wear and tear of the city, did not suit her; and she had caught a little cold, and ought to be kept warm. He cried over it when he thought she did not see, but her eyes-so seldom off his face-found it out, and as they sat in the wood-shed, after having seen and spoken to Rogers, she said, "What 'oo cry for, dear?" in such a sweet little voice, that he began again. Then she grew frightened, it was such a strange thing to see Ben cry, and begged him so hard to tell her what was the matter, that he did so.
She saw it all at once. Anything to do with privation and hardship she could easily understand, though so young, and at last spoke again, "I not be fitened again. I stay wif father while it rains. He will be kind to me; he never beats me now, and we'll say ‘Blessed Jesus' first.”
So Ben was comforted, and they said their little morning prayer, and then it was decided that Kit should stay at home, and Ben should come back in the middle of the day to see her. They slipped into the room. The man was asleep, and Ben made Kit as easy a seat on the floor as he could, and brought her some shavings, some bits of wood, and one or two flower-pots, to amuse her whilst he was away. When Rogers woke and found her there, he seemed pleased; it amused him to watch her, as he had nothing better to do, and then he began to talk to her, and her little innocent prattle, as she grew accustomed to him, interested him. When she became tired, he called her to lie down outside the blanket, and asked her to tell him something, so she told him about the Sunday-school, and what she remembered of the texts and hymns. Once he said, "Not that," but she did not heed him, and went on telling him things, and asking him questions that he did not know how to answer. She would say, "Do 'oo know who God is, father?" and as he did not answer, she went on, "Do 'oo know who Jesus is, then? Why He lives up wif the stars, and He is so good; He loved me, and gave Himself for me, and He is going to take us to live wif Him, but 'oo mustn't go if 'oo don't love Him too.”
Dick choked. "Stop," he said. "Go to sleep, there's a good girl, and I'll give you some dinner along with me.”
"I mustn't go to sleep till I've sung my hymn," she said, and her faint, sweet little voice faltered out the words; but even as she finished, her eyelids drooped, and she was soon asleep.
Dick Rogers looked at her.
"She looks much as I fancy angels must look," he said. "She shames me, and makes me feel like a fool; for all ter dull, hard life, she's happier than me. I have acted like a brute to her and her father, but she shall be righted yet. Those words that she kept saying remind me of something I used to hear when I went with my mother to church-
“I am very weak and sinful,
Lost and ruined without Thee.
"Ah, didn't she try to get me there? But I only went a few times. It's a good thing she's dead, for it would break her heart to know I had grown so bad.
"Lost and ruined! That's true of me. I wish the child would wake and talk to me; it keeps my thoughts away.”
At this point Bill came in with some dinner for the man.
"I thought you couldn't have much done for you here, so my old woman has been frying us a bit of steak, and I've come to eat mine with you," said he, disclosing a basin with a good supply of beef, potatoes, and a piece of pudding. "We will square up accounts another time. What I have you got the child here?”
"Yes," said Dick, "she won't hinder us; you needn't mind talking afore her, she is such a young un.”
They ate their dinner together, and talked over the unfortunate affair of the night before.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Bill, I'm tired of this sort of life; when was a youngster, I was a pretty good sailor, and I seem to be turning that way again. I think I shall go to sea.”
"What's that for? Just 'cause we had a bit of ill luck last night, I 'spose, and you damaged your arm a bit. When that's righted, you'll be as lively as ever!”
Whilst Rogers was eating his dinner, Kit awoke. She was frightened at first to see a strange face, and crept to Dick. This seemed to please him. It was a new thing for a child to creep to him for protection; and he put his arm round her.
"Look here," said he, "you shall have some meat and pudding with me to-day," and he began to feed her.
How the little thing relished it. It was enough to touch his heart to see how she smacked her lips, and looked as if she had not tasted such things for many a day. Suddenly she stopped.
"Will 'oo leave a little bit for Ben?" she said; "him likes meat.”
"No," said Rogers, "he don't want any-eat it yourself;" but she clenched her teeth and pressed her lips
together, and would not eat a morsel more till a few mouthfuls were put aside for him. She had got her own way with Rogers for once, and she kept it. She was no longer afraid of him, and he grew very fond of her. The next day, and the day after, he kept her at home, and she was happy. She would sing to him and pat him to sleep, and play at getting dinners and teas for him, and amuse herself in a hundred ways; but as the time approached for Ben to come home, her little face wore a very contented look, and she would steal out to the front door and watch for him; and when she saw him would run down the street to meet him, and throw her arms round his neck with joy. Perhaps in those four or five days Ben suffered a little from jealousy. It was rather hard for him to feel that Kit liked some one else, and that his father seemed so fond of her; but he need not have been afraid. His was untiring, unceasing love, even though shown in a little child; and if any should not feel inclined to believe in it, I can only say that they must have had very little to do with these kind of children. He need not have been troubled. Rogers was but a selfish man, though he really liked the child; and no sooner was he able to get out and see after his own business a little, than he in a measure forgot Kit. True, he would ask for her whenever he came in, and play with her occasionally, and give her things; but the care of her fell to Ben's share, and he gladly took it again. But Rogers never to his dying day forgot the child's innocent talk, and some of the lines of her little hymns kept by him to the last; and when he was afterward tossed on the stormy sea, that little figure kneeling by the bedside would come across his vision, and he would say, "If ever I get to heaven, it will be through what that child taught me." He heard a good deal of the truth in these three or four days; for when Ben came in at night, Kit would ask him to tell, her the Bible stories they heard at school, and he would go over the tale of Jesus blessing little children, the storm at sea, and others; but when he spoke of Jesus' death on the cross, his voice would sink to a whisper, and tears would fill his eyes.
Chapter 9: Nearly Lost
THE third day when the little one ran to meet Ben, he caught her up in his arms, and she showed him a little piece of pudding wrapped up in a newspaper, which she had saved for him.
"Father so kind to me," she said, "he gave me large piece.”
"I'm very glad, Kit," he answered, rather quickly. "You won't want me soon, will you? Poor Ben may go away, right away where you'll never see him again.”
The jealous feeling was strong on him at that moment, so he must be forgiven for teasing her a little for the first time in his life. He did not really doubt her love to him, but he wanted at that moment to be assured of it in an unusual way, and he was satisfied, for her little lips went down with a jib: She had never known Ben speak so before, and as she always believed what he said to be true, she thought he meant it now The tears filled her eyes, and she began to cry.
"I not naughty, Ben dear; I be good. If 'oo go away, take me too," and she clung to his neck.
He kissed her and hugged her. "I won't go if you'll always love me," he said. "No, Kit, I'll never, never leave you. Dry up your eyes, What a cross boy I am.”
The next evening at six o'clock she stood at the door waiting for him again; but he was late, and she waited till it grew dark. A woman who had watched her the day before passed by. She was a hard-featured looking tramp of a woman; one of those who hire babies or delicate-looking children for the day, and who sit with them on the side of the pavement, to attract the pity of the passers by. She glanced at Kit.
"Ah!" she said to herself, "you are just the kind of child that would bring me in a fortune if I could only lay hands on you.”
There were but a few people in Peter's Street, and they were not looking at or thinking of her. She leaned against the railings in front of the house, and said to Kit, "Who are you looking for, my little dear? Your mother?”
"No," said Kit, shyly, "I havn't got one; I've only got Ben.”
“Oh! I see; you are looking for that little boy, are you? I met him just now, and he told me to come and fetch you, and to bring you to him. He's buying something for you in a shop down there, and he wants you to come directly.”
She jumped off the step, and put her hand into the woman's.
"Which way does he come?" she said, anxious to hurry the child off the other way.
"Sometimes there, sometimes there," said Kit, pointing both ways.
The woman drew her towards the thoroughfare, where they might pass along unnoticed.
"I'll carry you," she said to Kit, but the child wouldn't let her, and began to cry.
"Don't you do that, or I won't let you see Ben," said she, dragging her along.
At this moment they turned the corner, and the little girl screamed out, "There he is. Ben! Ben!”
He heard her and stopped.
"Why, Kit, who have you got with you? Come with me. Are you running away?”
The woman turned upon him angrily.
"Be off," she said, "you've nothing to do with us.”
"I have," he said, clinging to Kit; "she belongs to me; she is my little girl. Give her up.”
Had it not been for one or two people who stopped to listen, she would have torn the child from him and made off, but it would not do; it was too evident that she belonged to Ben, so the woman slunk off, and the boy bore Kit home, and there learned how she had been decoyed away.
"Oh, I am glad I came then," he said, "and that you saw me; I shall always take you with me now. As I was walking home, I was so happy, Kit; I had something in my pocket I bought for you, for I have had some good days lately, and I was thanking our Father in heaven for being so kind to us, and I had just asked Him to take care of us both, and to make you strong and well, when you called me, so you see He did watch over you, Kit! We will thank Him tonight. To-morrow is Sunday, and it is school-day again. We've been twelve times now; and, don't you remember, the lady said last time she had something nice to tell us to-morrow.”
What Miss Randolph told the children was this-that she intended to give them a treat the first or second week in June. She thought of taking them to a large meadow at Hornsey; and that, as they were most of them very young, they were to go in vans. Then she talked to them in a kindly pleasant way about what they should do when they got there.
"We shall start early in the morning," she said, "and have a nice ride to Hornsey; then you will play with balls and all sorts of games, and have swings under the trees; but, best of all, I expect you will like the tea. There will be piles of bread and butter and cake, and you may eat as much as you like; and after we have finished, we will sing hymns under the trees before we ride home.”
It sounded like a fairy tale to Ben and Kit. They never remembered to have been in a meadow in their lives, and as to the thought of games of play, and trees, and bread and butter, and cake and swings, it nearly turned their brains. Of course they talked of nothing else for many a day; but they had three weeks to wait and talk it over.
Chapter 10: The Wallflower, and Blind Tommy's Prayer
THE next Sunday afternoon, when school was over, Mrs. Perrin came to the children's back room.
"Will you let Tommy and baby come down and stay with you?" she said; "I am obliged to run out for an hour or so, and I can't leave them alone, as baby is awake. If I did, they'd be sure to get burned to death.”
"Oh yes, do let them come," said both the children. "I'll nurse baby," added Ben, "and Kit has a beautiful thing to show Tommy. No, not show, though-I'm sorry he won't be able to see it-but she can tell him about it.”
Tommy had paid several visits to the children's room of late, and they had taken pains to teach him one or two verses of that hymn, "I think when I read that sweet story of old;" and though he disappointed them very much at first, by showing little real interest in what they told him, yet the last time he was with them he had asked several questions about the Lord Jesus, and had gone so far as to say, "It beat him to think of any one loving us enough to die for us.”
"Now, Tommy, what do you think Kit has got?" asked Ben, as he swayed beneath the weight of the year-old baby, which had never so much as thought of standing alone, but whose little legs were growing sadly crooked.
"A horrenge," said Tommy.
“Guess again.”
"An 'erring?" he asked impatiently, hoping it was something good to eat.
"No," said Ben.
"Then I give it hup.”
"Well, it's a wallflower. I know you can't see it, but you may smell it, if you like; and I'll tell you how I came by it. I was standing selling matches one day, when a lady and a little girl stopped afore a man as had a basket of plants on his 'ed, and began to choose some. Well I 'spose I looked rather eager like, for I got up close to 'em to watch, and when the lady was talking to the man, the little girl, who was a bit older than Kit, asked me if I liked flowers, so I said, ‘Yes, Miss, that I do, and so do my little Kit as you see sitting there; but we never had none of our own, 'cept a bit of lilac I broke off a bush in a gentleman's garden once when I didn't know no better, and Kit was ill.' Then she asked me if I should like a little wallflower of my own, and I ran off for Kit, and brought her with me, and the little girl picked out one that was coming into bloom, and laid it in Kit's hand; and got out a little purse with a sixpenny bit in, and she said it was all her own to do as she liked with, and she should pay the man tuppence out of it for the plant.
"Just then the lady turned round, and she looked very cross with the little girl for speaking to us, and asked what she was doing with those dirty children. Then the little girl's face turned red, and she said she did not think we were dirty little children, though we were very poor, and had never had a flower of our own, and she begged the lady in such a pretty voice to let her give it to us, because her papa had given her the money to do as she liked with. Then the lady laughed and said, ‘You are a funny child, why didn't you buy some sweets? but I 'spose you'll do as you like;' so Kit and me thanked her, and I made a bow with my front hair. And I've watched for that little girl every day since; and yesterday she passed again, and while her nurse was looking in a shop window, she took out her purse and gave me a penny, and said it was all she had, and I told her the plant was getting on beautiful. And she said, ‘Little boy, one day when I pass I shall give you a present for your little Kit, if I can get mama to give it me. It's a little jacket of mine that's too small now.' What do you think of that? But now, Kit, bring the plant, and tell Tommy about the buds, and how we are keeping it to give to our teacher next Sunday.”
It was a pretty sight to see the little girl bend over the wallflower, as she placed it on the window-sill, keeping one arm round it lovingly, while she put the other round blind Tommy's neck, and drew him down to gently feel the opening buds. It had been a splendid day, and a few gleams from the setting sun were reflected from the window of a high factory right down into their back room. The beautiful rays of light streamed on to Kit's and the blind boy's head, lighting up her pretty flaxen hair till it looked like pale gold in the sunlight, and casting a glow over her sweet, eager, pale little face, while she turned her soft gray eyes up to Tommy's sightless ones, and bade him gently feel each little leaf, and touch the opening buds. The sunlight danced on the pinched face of the baby, too, and caused it to spring in Ben's arms, and make some feeble attempts to show the spirit of stronger babies, by kicking out its little twisted legs, and beating the air with its thin arms, while it uttered a tiny shriek-between the noise of a hoarse crow and a pussy cat-which caused the children to look up and burst out laughing too. But the sunlight faded away, and the little group were left in gloom; the bright rays came very seldom to visit them at Peter's Street, and, when they did, made haste to depart, and now a chilliness seemed to come over the children on account of the sudden darkness.
"There won't be any sun in heaven to go away and leave us in the dark," said Ben. "Teacher says, God is the light there, and they need no sun.”
"Tell us 'bout it," said little Kit.
"Well if you get under the blanket first, baby and I'll come too, and then I'll tell you what teacher told us to-day about heaven. Blind Tommy, you'll see there!”
"Shall I?" said he, with a sigh; "don't much think it. Mother says I havn't got proper eyes."
"Ah, but Jesus will make them all right. When He was on earth He went about and ‘cured poor people who were blind.' I expect He'll touch your eyes, and they'll just see directly; only you must love and trust Him before you die, or you can never go where He is, and then you'd have to be blind forever. Oh! Tommy, think how dreadful!”
"I wish He was on earth now," said Tommy, plaintively, "then He could make me see, and I should love Him.”
"Ben and me love Him now," said Kit; "do you love Him too?”
"I don't see how you can help it," said Ben, rather indignantly, "when He died for you; of course He could make you see now if He thought it best, but perhaps He wishes to open your eyes in heaven, so you can see all the beautiful things there first. Would you like us to ask Jesus to make you love Him? He always does the things we want, and sometimes more too. We didn't say anything about the wallflower, but you see He sent us one.”
Tommy, who was beginning to feel rather softened, and yet slightly frightened at what the consequences might be if he did not yield, said he wished they would speak to the Lord Jesus for him. So they buried their faces in the blanket whilst they prayed-
"Oh Lord Jesus, we have something fresh to ask you to-day. Teach poor little Tommy, who can't see, to love you; and take him to heaven, when he dies, with me and Kit, so that you can open his eyes. And give us all bread to eat, and bless us, for Jesus' sake. Amen.”
"Now, Tommy, if you pray too about it, you'll be sure to love Him, and He will wash away your sins in His blood that He shed on the cross.”
And it seems that their prayer was heard, and their faith rewarded, for Tommy crept down to their room every night after that for the next fortnight, and listened with pleasure to what they, had to tell; and Mrs. Perrin found him several times on his knees near the window, "whispering to Jesus," as he said. At first his only words were, "Please Jesus, help me to love you;" but after a little he used to add, "better than I do.”
Chapter 11: The Children's Treat
AS the days grew warmer, Kit became languid and ill. She could scarcely walk any distance, and Ben counted the days till the 10th of June (the one fixed for the treat). It would do her a world of good to get into the country for one day, he thought; but the weather was unusually close for May, and she sat in a listless manner in her little corner near the narrow passage, with the boxes of fusees on her lap; and many a one, seeing the little girl's pale face, bought of her; still it took all they could earn to keep them both in food, and every now and then they had to buy some article of clothing.
The days passed by, as all days will pass, and Kit laid aside her thin black frock, and was arrayed in the blue one by Ben for the treat. He carried her up to Mrs. Perrin to have her hair curled for the occasion. It was a time of great excitement for the children. They were to start from the school-room at ten o'clock, and were to take their own dinners with them. Of course they turned out of bed earlier than they need have done for fear of being too late, and then Ben went out to buy some food. He said he should be rather extravagant that day, so he bought two penny loaves of bread, and a pennyworth of shrimps to eat with them; then he gave Kit a penny to spend on the meadow on what she liked best, and kept one for himself. He bought a ha'porth of treacle to eat for breakfast with some dry bread which his father had left, so altogether it was a day not to be forgotten.
It was a beautiful morning; the sky was without a cloud, and the sun shone brightly, while a nice fresh air blew softly in the children's faces as they rode along. Ben and Kit had a comfortable seat up one corner of the van, where they could see whatever they passed. They were intensely happy. How often they had looked with longing eyes at little children riding in omnibuses or in cabs, when they had to drag their weary feet along; but now they were actually being driven along the London streets, and, after half an hour's drive, began to see nice houses and wide roads, and every now and then Ben pointed out with delight a tree, or a pretty garden full of flowers, to Kit. But the little child had had more excitement than her delicate little form could bear; her eyes drooped, and she sunk back on Ben's shoulder in a heavy sleep. He was a little disappointed that he could no longer show her the beauties of the way, but Miss Randolph, who was in the same van with them, lifted the little girl on to her lap into a comfortable position, and advised Ben not to wake her, for she looked very pale and tired.
Miss Randolph had so many little scholars that she could not visit them all, and had only been once to see these children, and then they were out selling matches. But she saw Mrs. Perrin, and had a long talk with her, and learned a great deal about the children-particularly about Ben's love and care for little Kit. She preferred taking her class-of between ninety and a hundred children-all by herself, with the exception of a girl of fourteen years of age, who helped to keep them in order; but on this day two or three other young ladies, and one or two gentlemen, had offered their services in amusing the children, so they drove with them in the vans.
At last they reached the country, and then the children cried "Hooray," with might and main at the sight of the fields covered with buttercups and daisies, and the hedges where the May flowers were still in blossom. Oh, happy little children! to lose sight of your dull dirty streets, and your wretched homes, for one long day; but how many of you must return in the evening-return to the toil and strife of a London life!
When the vans stopped at a large meadow, well sprinkled with buttercups and daisies, and with tall leafy trees round the sides, there was a great rush to get out, and little Kit woke up to be lifted into Ben's arms and to be placed under a shady oak tree. Then she revived for a little while, and filled her hands with the flowers, and ran a few steps after the balls, but was soon glad to rest again. The fresh breeze seemed almost too much for her after the close street in which she lived, but she smiled and clapped her little hands to see Ben run after the balls and throw them in the air, and to hear him shout as he joined in the ring games that some of the other children seemed to understand, for they had often played them in backyards and courts. Then she had a gentle swing for a few minutes, but liked far better to see Ben go up high in the air. He seemed quite a hero to her that day.
"Kit," said he, after a little while, "there are donkeys on the field. I mean to spend my penny on a ride; I never had one, and I suppose I shall never have another. Will you come too, or would you like to lie and watch me till you are quite rested, and then buy a pennyworth of sugar candy?”
"I like to stop still, and buy sugar candy.”
So Ben rode a donkey which galloped well, and occasionally kicked up its heels to show its spirit, and caused the little girl to laugh as she had not laughed for many a day.
Then Miss Randolph and another lady and a gentleman came and spoke to her, and asked her if she were better, and one of them gave her a penny to spend, so she went to the stall and asked for two pennyworths of candy, to be done up in two separate parcels, and presented one to Ben on his return from the ride; after that they ate their dinner, at least he did, for Kit tasted but a few mouthfuls, and then put the rest of hers away.
At four o'clock they were to have their tea. Shortly before that hour Ben was playing at a little distance from Kit; every now and then he turned his eye upon her, to see that she was safe, as she had fallen asleep, but at last the game drew him further off from the place where she lay, and he lost sight of her for about five minutes. During this time she woke and looked round for him, and, in getting up, her frock caught in a thorn in the hedge which tore a hole in it, but still it held her fast, and she could not get away. She was frightened and vexed at the prized blue frock being torn, and began to cry, and here we must leave her for a few minutes while we take a peep into a little cottage not far off.
Chapter 12: Home at Last
IN one of the roads not far from the meadow stood a little cottage. It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and a strong, good-tempered looking man came in from his work to get his dinner. A little child about a year old toddled to meet him, and his father caught him in his arms and tossed him in the air. The child crowed and laughed merrily, and the man said, as he set him down, "Wife, there's a children's treat in Mr. Goodall's meadow; won't you carry Harry down to see it? Mr. Goodall will let you in and welcome; and it would please the boy, and do you good. The little things look so happy, swinging and playing on the green; they come from the city somewhere and I'll be bound never saw a green field before.”
His wife, Mrs. Turner by name, turned round to him. She was a sweet but sad-looking young woman, with the air of one who had known some great sorrow, and yet who was trying to be patient and cheerful.
"Henry," she said, "you don't know how I feel when I see children at play. I can hardly bear it; I think of our two lost little ones, and it seems as if my heart would break. If I knew they were both in heaven, I wouldn't grieve so much; but perhaps our little Kitty is now pining in some wretched place, with no mother to see to her, perhaps she is even cruelly treated. Ah! I remember her as well as if it were yesterday when I parted from her; how she stretched out her little arms to me! She had such winning ways. Oh! why didn't I trust God about the fever? Why did I let my baby go?" and she burst into tears.
"Don't, wife, don't," said her husband, kindly; "it will do no good to fret, though I often think of the little thing myself, and wish we had her, but God can give her back to us yet; I never give up hoping. Any how, go and see the children's treat to-day, it will cheer you up; and thank God as you go for this healthy boy.”
“I do," she said, hugging him close to her, "and God knows I don't repine that He took our little Annie away; but that bad woman to have our other child, if indeed she be alive, I can't bear it.”
Poor Mrs. Turner busied herself with washing up the dinner things and tidying the cottage after her husband went away: then she took down her bonnet and shawl, and put them on, and dressed the baby in a clean frock and pinafore, and tied a pretty little white hat on his head, and started out for the meadow.
Go on, poor woman, you'll have cause to thank God soon that you took your husband's advice. When she reached the gate, she leaned on it in a listless way, looking at the happy scene, and wiping away the tears that would fall. But this was too slow for the baby; he kicked with his legs and flung his arms about so, that his mother could hardly hold him, and was obliged to open the gate, walk inside, and sit down with him.
About two dozen yards from her lay the child she was breaking her heart over-little Kit.
Oh! had she known it, would not the poor woman have run to the little thing, and left her baby for: the time being to kick to its heart's content upon the grass?
It was then that Kit woke up, and caught her frock in the hedge and tore it; she tried to unfasten it, but could not, and began to cry out to Ben.
Mrs. Turner looked round at the cry, and put her baby down whilst she went to help the little girl. Kit's face was turned the other way looking for Ben, but the woman spoke kindly to her whilst she disengaged her frock from the thorn, and the child looked up at her, with her large gray eyes full of tears, and her little arms stretched out, just as she had stretched them out to the same person four years ago.
"Take me to Ben, please; he has gone away.”
Oh, the thrill that went through that mother's heart! It seemed to her for the moment it was almost cruel to have come across one so like in appearance and size to her poor lost child. But when Kit untied her black hat and threw it on the grass, and showed her little curly head, the mother's heart beat wildly-she looked so like the image that was engraven there.
"What is your name?" she said, taking her on her lap.
"Kit," said the child, and again the blood rushed to her face.
At this moment Ben came up, and had it not been for the kind and sorrowful look in the woman's face, would have taken the child away.
"Don't leave me," said the woman; "you are just like a little girl I lost some years ago, and her name was Kitty; that's something like yours, and just your size she would be now.”
"But this is not your little girl," said Ben; "she belongs to me. Father gave her to me a long while ago," he added, half afraid that the woman meant to run off with her.
Strange to say (was it strange?) the little one nestled down in Mrs. Turner's arms. She was quick in finding out who was kind to her, and having met with little or no love beside what Ben gave, she valued it when she found it.
"What is her other name?" asked Mrs. Turner again.
"She hasn't no other but Kit," said the boy.
"Where do your father and mother live?”
"Father lives in Peter's street, and mother died in the 'orspital some weeks ago, and me and Kit were left alone; but we're very happy, leastways when we get enough to eat.”
"Ben! Did she call you Ben?" said Mrs. Turner.
"That's my name," said the boy, "Ben Rogers; but I wish you'd give her to me. She is ill; look, she's going to sleep.”
"No, no," said the woman, starting up and not heeding him, "I can never give her up again; oh I it is, it must be, my own, own little baby.”
Ben was alarmed; he thought the woman was mad: then he recollected his mother's and father's words to Kit, "I am not your mother," and again, "You shall go to your own mother one day.”
"Come back," he said, as the woman was running towards the gate, "you have left your baby. And indeed you mustn't take her from me; I shall die if you do.”
The poor mother began to collect her senses, and sat down again, covering the child's face with kisses. Then her long pent-up feelings gave way in a burst of tears.
"It was Mrs. Rogers who took my child away, and she had a little boy named Ben, so this must be my own little Kit," she cried.
The baby, who was a good-tempered thing, crept up to them at this minute, and the mother clasped them both together.
"You have a little sister again, Harry, dear," she said, "Oh, what will father say? Thank God for bringing me here to-day! How little I thought that this would be the happiest day of the year.”
Kit, who was half asleep, was roused up by the baby patting her legs with his plump little hand, and said dreamily-
"Ben! I must go to Ben. Where is he?”
Ah, poor little fellow! he had thrown himself down, and was crying bitterly. In a moment the little girl was beside him, kissing him, and telling him how she loved him.
"But you'll go away from me now," said he; "she'll take you away. She says you are her little girl. Oh, what shall I do? She says she is your mother.”
"Mother's dead," said Kit; "I'll stay wif you, Ben, dear.”
At this moment Miss Randolph came up and heard Mrs. Turner's story. She was very much interested in it, and told all that she knew about the children, dwelling much on what Mrs. Perrin had said to her of Ben's love and untiring care, adding "I heard from the woman with whom they lived, that the little girl must have died but for the boy's goodness to her.”
Mrs. Turner's kind heart warmed to him; she kissed him, hugged him, thanked him, and told him she was his aunt, and would always love him for his kindness to Kit. By degrees Kit was taught that this was her real mother, and Ben was comforted with the assurance that, if possible, he should not be parted from her.
It was agreed that Mrs. Turner should go and break the news to her husband, while the little party sat under the trees waiting for tea. She was to bring him with her if possible, so that they might all have their tea together. She found him in the work-yard, and he hastened to her, surprised at such an unusual thing as seeing her there.
"Is anything the matter?" he said, as he noticed that she trembled and looked agitated. Is anything amiss with the child?”
"Nothing-nothing. Oh, Henry, you'll think it too good to be true; our little Kitty, our lost baby!" and she nearly fainted.
"Do you mean that she is found?" said her husband.
“I do; I do! Is not God good to us? She is waiting for us in the meadow.”
With deep feeling the man listened to his wife's story; and when she guided him to the spot, and he raised the child in his arms and kissed her, he uttered a heartfelt "Thank God!”
"But she looks ill, wife, and very thin," he said, shaking his head.
"Why, she's hardly eaten anything to-day," said Ben; and encouraged and questioned by the man, he told all there was to tell of their London life.
The mother's lips quivered, and her tears fell fast, when the children spoke of their privations and hardships, and the father's chest heaved at the sad tale, but they spoke of brighter days to come if God would spare her life; and they all agreed, as they saw Kit creep to her old protector, and clasp her arms round his neck, that it would never do to separate them-that they must try and get his father's leave to keep him, for he was at an age when he might be made useful. They could not well afford to support him, but if the circumstances were made known, he might be able to get a situation as errand-boy.
The whole class of children were now assembled for tea. They sat in rows upon the grass, and sang two or three hymns. Miss Randolph would not separate the little group, so they made a happy party, close to the others, under the oak tree, and joined with them in singing a song of grateful praise. Then Ben and Kit sang one or two hymns through by themselves, to the delight of the happy parents; and the little girl, lying in her father's arms, prattled on in her pretty way about the Lord Jesus, and His love to them, and how He gave them bread when they were hungry; and wanted very much to know whether this wasn't His "happy place," only she couldn't see Him.
The bread and butter and cake were eaten by the children eagerly enough to prove that it was a great rarity, and the sweet milk and water gave great satisfaction. Then the vans drove up, and ninety-eight children were packed in; and Miss Randolph kindly undertook to send a letter to Peter's Street to explain that the children would not come home that night. The only person who would be uneasy was Mrs. Perrin. Rogers might not come home; and if he did, he would not notice their absence at night, and would think they were off to the city when he awoke. But a letter was sent to him to say that the Turners claimed their child. Little was said by way of reproof or upbraiding-for his wife was most in the wrong-but they begged to be allowed to keep his boy, at any rate for a time.
The next evening they received a letter from Rogers. He confessed his sin. He said it had weighed heavily upon him since he had met with his accident, and he was even then planning how to restore the child. Her innocent talk had sunk into his heart; it reminded him of early days. And now he should give up his old life and go to sea; but he should never forget the four lines of a little verse she had repeated over and over again-
"I am very weak and sinful,
Lost and ruined without Thee,
But the precious blood can save me
Thou did'st shed upon the tree;”
and if God did have mercy on Him in the end, it would be through listening to the words that fell from her lips. As to Ben, they were welcome to him; the boy would be better off with them, and he hoped to be able to repay them something if he was successful on the seas.
Dick Rogers went off to sea as a sailor about a fortnight after the children left. When he returned, two years after, he brought back with him one of the children's little books, which he said he had always kept by him. It was the story of the storm at sea, and pointed the sinner to Christ, who though He humbled Himself and came down into this world as a man, and died on the cross to put away sin, had power over the winds and waves. Rogers said that often when the sea dashed over the ship, and they were tossed to and fro on the stormy ocean, those words of Jesus sounded in his ears-"It is I; be not afraid.”
He soon started on another voyage, but though the Turners looked out for a letter, none came, and, after a time the news arrived that the ship had been wrecked, and all hands lost.
His friends could only hope that he had really come to Jesus and confessed his sin, and had looked to Him as the only One who could save the lost.
The children had left nothing behind at Peter's Street worth having, except the wallflower and three little books, which Kit begged for; these Mr. Turner went after, as he was anxious to see the place where his little girl had lived so long, and to thank the Perrins for their kindness to the children.
Mrs. Perrin cried at the thought of losing them but was much cheered by an invitation to visit the Turners every month; and about a fortnight afterward she and her husband, with blind Tommy and the baby, spent a very happy day at Hornsey. The hay was lying in the fields, and the little ones were nearly wild with delight as they tossed it about, and buried each other under the sweet-smelling mounds.
And now just a closing word about the little ones. At first her parents were afraid that Kit was passing away from earth. She was strength-less and without any appetite; but after a week or two, by God's blessing and a mother's care, she revived, and gained strength. Ben was no longer jealous; he came in for much love and kindness, and felt that he, as well as Kit, had gained a real father and mother.
Mr. Goodall took him as his errand-boy on bearing the story from Miss Randolph, who was a friend of his. He at first paid Ben three and sixpence a week, with a promise to raise his wages to five shillings if he was found useful and honest.
And the mother's face grew bright and happy as the little one learned quickly enough to return her parents' love; and it was a pretty sight to see little Kit guide her baby brother to meet their father and Ben returning from work, while their mother stood at the cottage door and watched them. Then Turner would come in with his arms full-and his heart full too-to the pleasant evening meal, and Ben's face would brim over with delight as he sat close to Kit in her clean print frock and white pinafore, with her pretty curls brushed, by her mother's loving hand, into a shining row.
And in the long summer evenings Ben used to take the two little ones into the sweet fields, and gather bunches of daisies and buttercups for them; and he and Kit would thank their Father in heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ for bringing them to their kind friends, and pray that they might never forget Him who had loved them and given Himself for them.
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