“FATHER," said Kate, a little nervously one morning, "do you know our rent is due to-morrow?"
"Due to-morrow, Kate!" repeated Mr. Grahame, with a slight start. “We have not been here three months."
“Three months to-morrow, father," said Kate quietly. “And Mrs. Barnes came up last night to tell me that she should be glad of the rent before four o'clock in the afternoon."
“How much is it, Kate? I almost forget," said Mr. Grahame, with an anxious look.
“Four pounds, seventeen shillings and sixpence," answered Kate quietly.
“I don't know what I shall do about it, Kate," a said her father, after few moments' awkward silence. “I had no idea it was so nearly due as that." And he gave a glance towards his daughter which clearly proved that the matter had come upon him unawares.
"I was afraid you might have forgotten it, father," said Kate, as she glanced at the anxious brow, and the troubled expression of his countenance.
“Kate," said Mr. Grahame, with a great deal of reluctance in his tone, after another awkward pause of several minutes' duration, "couldn't you lend me the money for a little while?"
“Willingly, father, if I had it," replied my young mistress readily; "but Maude and Carrie 's things have cost me so much this week, that I have only one sovereign left."
“What things do you mean, dear?" inquired Mr. Grahame with a little surprise.
“I always send them their summer dresses, when it is time to leave off their winter ones," replied Kate. “Do you not get well paid for your work, father?" asked Kate, as he was about to quit the table some minutes afterward. A strange look of hesitation and evident reluctance to answer the question put to him passed over his features; but the usual expression was rapidly assumed as Mr. Grahame turned to my young mistress, saying,
“What makes you ask such a question as that, Kate?”
“I thought I had been so careful," replied my young mistress, as the tears glistened in her eyes. "I could not think where the money had gone."
“Kate," responded her father as he drew her to his side, and his manly lips quivered with pain as he spoke. “Kate, I will not deceive you any longer. I have tried to keep something from you, but it is better you should know it. I wouldn't have told you, Kate, but for this. You remember Smart with whom I lodged just before we came here; he got me to put my name to a bill for him, in fact, I was surety for him. Some weeks ago he disappeared from Worcester, and, as you may suppose, the payment fell upon me."
“Was it much, father?” asked Kate, as she understood now what had been her father's trouble.
"Forty pounds, dear; if it had not been for that, I should not have allowed you to deny yourself as you have done since we came here. I am not blind, Kate."
“Oh! father," said Kate, as she clasped his arm within her own, "how thankful I am that we have not spent more than we could help. I wish that my salary were due at the Priory!"
“Your salary, Kate!" repeated Mr. Grahame, as if a ray of hope had shone through the darkness. “That must be due; you went there the same time that we came here."
“No, father, a fortnight later, and I could not ask for it beforehand." And Kate's tremulous voice spoke volumes. Eagerly and anxiously did she scan her father's face as he re-entered the room at the usual hour for dinner; but no beams of hope shone from the clouded countenance to give notice that a remedy had been discovered. And very silently the meal passed away. Both were busy with their own thoughts, not knowing what was best to say for the other's comfort.
“Isn’t there something in the Bible, father," asked Kate timidly, later on in the evening, "about what you said this morning."
“What do you mean, my child?" asked Mr. Grahame with a start, for, buried in his own reflections, he had forgotten his daughter's presence.
“I did not quite understand what you said about putting your name to a bill; but you used another term. You said you had been 'surety' for the man you mentioned."
“Yes, Kate," replied the father sadly; “I ought to have been wiser. There is something somewhere in the scriptures about the subject, but I don't remember where. If I had thought of that, it might have saved me from all this perhaps."
“Shall I find it, father? it might help you another time."
“I shouldn't do such a thing again, Kate; I have had enough experience of this matter."
“I should like to find it for both our sakes, dear father," said Kate in a low, clear tone. “We never know how a verse of the Bible may keep us in our every-day life, until we stand in need of it."
“There’s one verse I have thought of many a time since I have had to pay this sum, Kate," said Mr. Grahame mournfully. "It has been in my mind sleeping and waking ‘Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' I have found it very true in my own case."
With her heart full of tender pity for her father, Kate rose from her seat in search of the volume she needed. It took some time to find the passage, for though she had an indistinct impression that there were words of counsel on the subject, she was not sure which would be the most probable place to find them recorded. But it is good to search the scriptures, and persevering research brings its own reward. Sooner or later we find what we seek; and Kate's eyes rested at last upon Prov. 6:1-51My son, if thou be surety for thy friend, if thou hast stricken thy hand with a stranger, 2Thou art snared with the words of thy mouth, thou art taken with the words of thy mouth. 3Do this now, my son, and deliver thyself, when thou art come into the hand of thy friend; go, humble thyself, and make sure thy friend. 4Give not sleep to thine eyes, nor slumber to thine eyelids. 5Deliver thyself as a roe from the hand of the hunter, and as a bird from the hand of the fowler. (Proverbs 6:1‑5).
"My son, if thou be surety for thy friend, if thou hast stricken thy hand with a stranger, thou art snared with the words of thy mouth, thou art taken with the words of thy mouth. Do this now, my son, and deliver thyself; when thou art come into the hand of thy friend; go, humble thyself and make sure thy friend, Give not sleep to thine eyes, nor slumber to thine eyelids. Deliver thyself as a roe from the hand of the hunter, and as a bird from the hand of the fowler."
She also found in her Bible the following verses.
“He that is surety for a stranger shall smart for it: and he that hateth suretiship is sure. A man void of understanding striketh hands, and becometh surety in the presence of his friend. Be not thou one of them that strike hands, or of them that are sureties for debts."
“Father," said my dear young mistress to Mr. Grahame, as he was on the point of quitting the breakfast-table next morning, "I can think of only one way to help you out of this difficulty." And as she spoke, she placed me gently in her father's hand. Her face was very pale, and from the tremulous tone of her voice, it was evident that the surrender must have cost her not a little.
“Kate, my child! my kind Kate!" was all that Mr. Grahame could utter in his astonishment. "You must not do this."
“Father, I must," replied Kate in a low but firm tone. “It is the only way now. I will buy it back at the first opportunity." And with a few more lowly-spoken but earnest words, Mr. Grahame was prevailed upon to receive me into his possession.
Soon I was borne along Foregate Street, past the busy post-office, near Shrub Hill, until at length I found myself in the hands of a stranger. Around me, in all corners of the place I had entered, were articles of various sorts, some arranged on shelves, and some lying in terrible disorder, looking as if they had been the resting-place for the surly cur who was doing duty at the doorstep. Very carefully the sinister-looking shopman examined me for a minute or so, and after handing Mr. Grahame some gold, I was left laid on the shelf in this dirty, uncomfortable shop.