The great church clock struck eight, in the same solemn and deliberate way that it had struck that morning, now so long ago, when Old Grumpy was lighting her fire, and the lost kitten was mewing at her door. Old Grumpy counted the strokes as she sat in her chair by the fire, just as she had done that other morning, so many months before.
“One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight!” counted the old woman. And the voice of the clock set her thinking.
She would not hear its voice many times more, for this was the last day she would spend in her old room, that room in which she had spent so many years, and which she had thought it would break her heart to leave.
How much had happened in that little room! Old Grumpy could not leave it without a pang. There was the smart paper on the wall with the ladies and gentlemen going to the hunt, which had amused her little girl so much and so often. There was the stool on which Lily had sat, and the window-seat into which she had climbed, and the shelf on which she had kept her pretty little cup and saucer, Mrs. McKay’s present to her at the fair. Then there was the clock on the mantelshelf, still ticking away, as it had done on the last night in the year, and saying over the same words in Old Grumpy’s ears: “He—said—I—was—a—skel—ling—ton.”
She was going to leave all these well-known things behind and Mrs. McKay was to get them sold for her, at some auction, after she was gone. She could not leave them without tears, and she would take the remembrance of them with her wherever she went. She would often picture to herself that little room, with the sunbeams shining in at the window, lighting up the pictures on the wall, the faded chintz, and her little girl’s pretty hair, as she sat on the stool at her feet.
This was her last day in her old home, and she wanted to think it all over before she went away. All the old cheerless days she had spent there came back to her mind when she had even been proud of saying that she loved nobody, and nobody loved her. How wretched she had been then and how foolish! She saw it all now.
And then she remembered the day when she had first begun to love; the day on which that poor kitten had come to her door. She remembered how strange it had seemed to her to have anything to care for, and how still stranger it had seemed to have anything to care for her. And then the cat had been lost, and she was left unloved again.
But after that her darling had come. Old Grumpy covered her face with her hands as she thought of this and of the happy time that followed. And then God had taken her, and once more she was left alone, and, as she thought, unloved.
But now the Lord Himself had come, the living, loving Lord, and had lighted up her dark heart with the sunshine of His love. How wonderful it was! It seemed to the old woman too good to be true!
And this love would never leave her. Lily’s grandmother had read a verse to her, the night before, about that love. She could not remember the words, but she remembered the meaning very well. It said that nothing could separate her from the love of Christ; not life, nor death, nor anything at all. And Old Grumpy loved Him with all her heart; she could not help it now. Had He not died instead of her? Had He not been punished that she might go free? Had He not hung on the terrible cross that she might go through the Golden Gates into the city where the dear child had gone before her?
And now what could she do to show her love to Him? That was the question. That was the one great thought in the old woman’s heart. He had done so much to prove His love for her; how could she prove hers in return?
Thank God, He was going to give her a good opportunity for doing so. She was going back with her little girl’s grandmother to her home in Devonshire, that warm country where she had so longed to send her fading Lily; and Mrs. Havercroft had told her that there would be plenty for her to do there for the Lord and for the Lord’s people.
Lily’s grandmother was a Bible-woman who worked hard amongst the poor mothers in the parish in which she lived, trying in every way she could to lead them to the Saviour and to help them to keep straight on the way to heaven. She lived alone, for her husband had been dead many years, and all her children were married; and she had asked the old woman to go back with her, and to spend the rest of her days in her little home.
“Thee wilt go from Ivy Court to Ivy Cottage,” she had said, “so it won’t seem strange to thee. Only we’ve got some real ivy there, covering us up to the chimney, and sweet fresh air blowing all round us; it will do thee good, dear Grum. And thee wilt keep my house and have it all cozy and snug for me when I come in tired from my work, and thee wilt help me to look after the sick folks and the poor tired mothers, and the dear little children who’ve got no mother to look after them. Thee wilt love them and help them, Grum, for our little girl’s sake, and for the Lord’s sake; won’t thee, Grum?”
And the old woman had answered with her eyes full of tears—“God and you are both too good to me, Mrs. Havercroft!”
No one in Ivy Court had taken any notice of Old Grumpy the day she had first come to live there. No one had asked who she was, or where she came from, or why she came there. But it was very different on the day that she went away.
Although it was very early in the morning when the old woman started, everyone was up to see her off and to give her a kind word at parting. Everyone in the court knew her now, and they knew where she was going, and why she was going, and they all wished her a happy journey and a comfortable home at the end of it.
Even the children wanted a kiss of Old Grum before she went away. Indeed, they had all so much to say, and so many wanted to shake hands with her, that it is more than likely that she would have missed her train had not Mrs. Havercroft, who had been lodging for the last few days with Mrs. Perkins, come into the court and hurried her away to the cab, which was waiting outside.
But even that was not the last Old Grumpy saw of the inhabitants of Ivy Court, for old Joel, Mrs. McKay, and Albert Joseph ran to the station and were on the platform to say good-bye again, and to wave their pocket-handkerchiefs to her till she was out of sight.
“Why, everybody seems to love me now!” Old Grumpy said with tears in her eyes as the train moved away.