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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