“You do care, don’t you, Grum dear?” said Lily when Joel had gone downstairs again.
“Care, what for?” asked the old woman, “for you, my darling?”
“No, for that beautiful story,” said the child.
“Don’t you see, Grum, we can go to heaven, though we are so bad, because Jesus has been punished instead of us.”
“Teacher told us about a man,” said Albert Joseph.
“Yes, a bad man,” said Lily, “who was going to be put in prison. He had to pay ever so much money or else go to prison.”
“And he hadn’t any money,” said Albert Joseph, “not a farthing!”
“And then a gentleman went and paid instead of him,” said Lily, “such a kind gentleman. And teacher asked us if the man would have to pay too!”
“And we all said ‘No,’” said Albert Joseph. “Then teacher told us it was like Jesus and us. Jesus had been punished, and paid for us, and we could go free.”
“Isn’t it wonderful, Grum?” said Lily again.
“Yes, I s’pose it is,” said the old woman; but she asked no more questions, and began to be very busy, getting out the tea-things and preparing for tea.
Lily watched her for some time, and then she asked suddenly, “Grum, what else do you think teacher said? She said if the man would have nothing to do with the gentleman or his money, why then he’d have to pay himself!”
“ Yes,” said Albert Joseph, “he’d have to go to prison, because he couldn’t pay; he hadn’t any money. And that’s why she taught us that verse and wanted us to say it to God.”
“And teacher said, if we ask Him, He will make our souls white like the lily,” said the little girl.
“Yes, and take all the bad in us away,” said Albert Joseph. “So me and Lily are going to ask Him, Grum.”
The two children knelt down, hand-in-hand, in a corner of the room, and repeated together the prayer with which the hymn ended—
“Oh! Wash me Lord, I pray Thee,
That so my soul may grow
As pure as is the lily,
And whiter than the snow.
Pour down upon me, daily,
Thy Holy Spirit’s dew,
To cleanse me, and to strengthen,
And give me life anew.”
“Come and say it too, Grum,” said Lily, pulling her by the apron to the place where they had been kneeling.
The old woman could not refuse the child. It was the first time she had knelt to pray for many, many years, but though she repeated the words after her darling, she was not praying; she was thinking of her, and not of the loving Lord, who was standing, waiting to bless her. The third link must be added to the chain before Old Grumpy would care for His love.
And the third link was coming very quickly. For her Lily, her lovely cherished flower was fading fast.
Everyone knew it except the old woman, who loved her so much, and who watched her so tenderly.
Mrs. McKay knew it; and she wiped her blue eyes many times in the day, as she thought how soon her Albert Joseph’s little companion would be gone. Mr. McKay knew it, and he took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked after her each time she passed down the court. Mrs. Perkins knew it, and she would tell her lodgers, over and over again, how she had said when the mother was dying that she and the child would not be parted long. All the neighbors in Ivy Court knew it, and the little presents that found their way to Old Grumpy’s room were more numerous than ever. Old Joel knew it, and he would carry the child up the stairs in his arms when she came in that she might not be tired, and a tear often fell on her little arm as he did so. Even the children in the court knew it and would stroke her face, or kiss her cheek, or bring her flowers as she passed by. But Old Grumpy would not believe it; she shut her eyes to it, and refused to allow that it was true. Yet day by day the child grew thinner and more languid; day by day the cough, which had at first come so seldom, increased and grew worse; day by day Lily grew weaker and more weary.
One by one, all her little ways were changed. She no longer sat on the doorstep or played in the court. She no longer looked in at the shop windows with Albert Joseph or stood at the churchyard-gate watching the sparrows. And at last the day came when Joel carried her upstairs for the last time.
But Old Grumpy did not know it. She would be better in a few weeks, she said. But the weeks on earth were getting very few for little Lily. She was going to the land that is very far off, the land where her mother had gone before.
“It’s a pity this is such a cold place,” said old Joel, one day, “such cold east winds we get here; and it’s so damp, too. If she could only go for a bit to a warmer country, maybe she’d get over it. I have heard of folks getting better when they went away.”
All at once there flashed into the old woman’s mind the remembrance of the letter in the box. Perhaps there was someone belonging to the child who lived in a warmer country, and who would take her for a time, and then bring her home again, well and strong. Would she ever come back? That was the question. Was it not more likely, that once having found her, they would keep her altogether? There was a fierce struggle in the old woman’s mind. But true love for the child won the victory over selfish love for her.
“Anything for her;” she said, “anything for the pretty bairn! If the letter is to anyone in a warmer country, it shall go if it breaks Old Grumpy’s heart to send it.”
She took it from her box, and hiding it under her apron, she took it to Joel.
“Joel, man, can you read,” she said. “Have a look at this!” and she told him where she had found it, and why she had hidden it so long.
Joel put on his spectacles, and read the address—
“Mrs. Havercroft, Elm Cottage, Near Bideford, Devonshire.”
“It’s a fine warm country that is,” said old Joel. “One of my mates came from there. I know all about it.”
Grumpy was almost sorry to hear this; now she must find out more.
“Open it, Joel, and see who it’s to,” she said. “We shall need to know that.”
So Joel opened the letter and read:
“MY DEAREST MOTHER—Lily and I are on our way to you and hope to be with you in two days’ time. I am very ill indeed and am coming home to die. Since John was taken, I’ve had a hard time. I took in washing and went out to work. That is why I never wrote all these months. I couldn’t bear to tell you; I was afraid you would fret. Mother, I have learned to love Jesus, and He has forgiven my sins, and I shall soon go to be with Him. I know you will look after my darling when I am gone. Hoping to soon see you,
“Your loving daughter,
“EMILY TURNER.”
“P. S.—We left our old home and went to Northampton, so I never got any letters from home for a long time.”
“It’s to Lily’s grandmother,” said Old Grumpy. “Now, Joel, you must write me a letter to go with it.”
So Joel, with much trouble, and with many mistakes in spelling, wrote as follows—
“DEAR MADAM—I hope this finds you well, as it leaves me at present. Your daughter died in this city, near two years ago, and an old lady took the child, and a blessed child she is, and as welcome, when she comes to see me, as never was! And Old Grumpy (meaning the old lady) makes an idol of her, and loves her like her own. But she (meaning the child) is ill and thin. And she (meaning the old lady) is willing to spare her to you if you can fetch her to Devonshire, which folks say is a warm country.
“But if you will let her come back again, as soon as restored to health—for reason of this that we can’t get on without her—you will forever oblige all parties concerned.
“From your sincere friend and well-wisher,
“JOEL SMITH.
“Address—Mr. J. Smith, lvy Court, Cathcart Street, Ledminster.”
This curious letter gave great satisfaction to Old Grumpy, to old Joel himself, and to Mrs. McKay, who alone was admitted into their secret. The old woman posted it herself. She felt as if her heart would break as she saw the letter fall into the box, for surely soon someone would be coming for the child.
She little thought who was coming, nor how soon!