Old Grumpy was sitting in her desolate room, rocking herself backwards and forwards, and uttering the same pitiful moan.
“Nobody loves me; nobody does! Nobody loves me; nobody does!”
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, but she took no notice of them. It was, she thought, only Mrs. McKay coming to bring her a cup of tea.
She heard a knock at the door, but still she did not move. It was only Mrs. Perkins or some of the neighbors coming to talk to her, she said to herself, and she did not want to talk to any of them. None of them knew what her darling had been to her, nor how utterly wretched she was without her. Then the door opened, and the footsteps crossed her floor, and still she would not look round, but, burying her face in her hands, she rocked herself again with the same sad wail: “Nobody loves me; nobody does. Nobody loves me; nobody does!”
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she heard a voice close to her ear.
“Thee mustn’t say that,” said the voice; “thee must never say that again; it isn’t true!”
What was it in the voice that reminded her of her little girl? Old Grumpy started and turned round. It was not a child’s face that she saw, but the face of a middle-aged woman, whose hair was streaked with gray, and whose eyes were full of tears. And yet there was something in the face, too, which reminded her of her darling.
“Are you her grandmother?” she said.
“Yes,” said her visitor. “I am Lily’s grandmother, and I have come to thank thee for all thee hast done for her. I want to tell thee how grateful I am to thee, and how I pray God to bless thee for it.”
Old Grumpy gave up rocking herself and let Mrs. Havercroft take her hand and hold it lovingly between her own.
“We have both had trouble,” Lily’s grandmother began as her tears fell on the old woman’s hand.
“Trouble—trouble—trouble,” Old Grumpy interrupted her, drawing away her hand, and beginning to rock herself again—“trouble—trouble—trouble—the world is full of trouble; I’ve never had nothing but trouble! I’ve lost them all—all I ever cared for. Nobody loves me; nobody does! Nobody loves me; nobody does!”
“Thee mustn’t say that,” said Mrs. Havercroft in a very firm and decided voice; “stop, dear Grum, stop! It isn’t true, and thee must never tell a lie.”
“It is true,” said the old woman, almost fiercely; “nobody loves me; nobody does!”
“Hush, dear,” said Lily’s grandmother in a soothing voice as if she were talking to a child—“Hush, dear! —quiet! Will thee listen for a minute, Grum! Lily would like thee to listen; wouldn’t she? Lily would say, ‘Grum, dear Grum, stop a minute—please stop a minute, and listen to my grannie!’”
The voice reminded her so much of the child’s that it quieted her at once—she did not speak or move again, but clasping Mrs. Havercroft’s hands tightly within her own, she waited to hear what she had to say.
“I want thee never to say again, ‘Nobody loves me,’ Grum, because, dear Grum, it’s a lie; it isn’t true. I know somebody who loves thee far better than our darling did. He does indeed, Grum, and she would tell thee so if she were here. The dear Lord loves thee, Grum. He came all the way from heaven because He loved thee, and He died for thee on the cross. Think of that, Grum! Christ also hath loved us, and hath given Himself for us.”
Then the old woman spoke—“Ay,” she said, “that’s just what she said when she lay a-dying, ‘Grum, dear Grum, you do care, don’t you?’ she said, ‘for Jesus dying instead of us?’”
“Did she say that!” said her grandmother wiping her eyes again. “Dear Grum, won’t thee believe that He loves thee?”
“Does He really love me?” repeated the old woman slowly.
“Yes, He really does,” said Lily’s grandmother, “and He wants thee to love Him. Ever since thee wast a little child He has been waiting for thee to love Him, and He is waiting still.”
“How do you know He loves me?” said the old woman. “Who told you?”
“He told me Himself, Grum,” said Mrs. Havercroft.
“Told you Himself—how?”
“In the Bible, Grum—it’s a letter from Him, thee knows.”
“And it’s really true?” said the old woman looking her well in the face.
“Oh! Grum, if I could only make thee know how true it is!” said Lily’s grandmother with fresh tears in her eyes.
“And He died instead of me,” repeated the old woman; “my darling said so.”
“Yes, instead of thee, Grum. Thee couldest never have gone to heaven, never have gone to the lovely land where our little girl is now, not with thy sins, Grum. He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be His God, and He shall be my son. But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, . . . and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone.”
“Ay, that’s what she said again,” said the old woman. “‘Adam and Eve was bad, and all their children was bad, and you and me is bad too, Grum,’ she said; ‘and God won’t have us in heaven like we are now, Grum.’”
“No, God would have to shut us out, thee and me too, Grum,” said Mrs. Havercroft. “Ay! and the child too; because He is holy, and He couldn’t have aught that’s sinful in there, and He would have been forced to punish us instead. But then He, the Lord Himself, thee knows, Grum, was punished in our place; and now if we ask Him to be our Saviour, then we can go in, thee and me, Grum, through the gates into the city. For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through Him might be saved.”
“She used to say a bonnie little prayer,” said the old woman, “and she made me say it too. She said it scores of times, over and over again:
“‘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.’
It was almost the last words she said.”
“Let us say it now, dear Grum, thee and me,” said Lily’s grandmother. “The dear loving Lord is in the room now, Grum; think of that!”
“Here, in my room?” repeated the old woman doubtfully.
“Ay that He is, waiting for thee to come to Him, Grum. He sees thee, though thee don’t see Him. Let us go and tell Him thee wants to love Him.”
Together the two knelt down in the once dark and desolate room. But it was not dark now, for the Sun of Righteousness Himself was there, shining into Old Grumpy’s soul; and it was not desolate, for His unchanging, unfailing, unending love was filling her poor, sorrowful old heart.
“Dear Lord,” said Lily’s grandmother, “Grum thanks Thee very much for dying instead of her. She thanks Thee for Thy love and for waiting so patiently for her. Dear Lord, save her now; shine in her heart now; make her happy in Thy love now; and don’t let her ever say again that nobody loves her. Lord, we know Thou loves her; help her to love Thee back again, for Thy Holy Name’s sake. Amen.”
And then Old Grumpy added, in a trembling voice—
“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.”