IT was Friday morning, and little Faith was going to the market to see her father. She had waited until Friday that she might be able to see him at the stall, for she did not want to go home to meet Mrs. Gubbins.
Faith had so much to tell her father that he would be pleased to hear. The minister and Mrs. Fraser had had a long talk about her on Tuesday evening, and it had been settled that they should get her father's consent for her to stop in Mrs. Fraser's house for six months, that the old lady and Ellen might teach her and train her to be a useful little servant, and then the minister and Mrs. Fraser very kindly promised to find a nice situation for her, where she might earn money for herself. Oh! how glad her father would be when he heard this good news !
Faith dressed herself very tidily, in the pretty pink frock which Mrs. Fraser and Ellen had made for her, and put on her new brown hat, trimmed so prettily and so neatly with brown velvet.
“I wonder if father will know me?” said Faith to herself, as she looked in the looking-glass before starting: “maybe he'll think it's somebody else.
He'll never think it's me, as smart as this! Oh dear, how pleased he'll be! "
It was quite early when Faith started for the market-place, not more than nine o'clock. She was so happy that Friday morning that she hardly knew what she was doing. She had helped Ellen to get the breakfast ready, but she had spilled the milk and let the kettle boil over, and had let one of the silver spoons fall, and had had so many mishaps in various ways, that Ellen had laughed at her, and had told her that she had better get her breakfast and go at once, for it was clear she was too excited to do anything else.
So now Faith was ready to go. She ran quickly downstairs, and in the hall she found Mrs. Fraser.
" Well, little Faith," said the old lady, " tell your father I will take great care of you—and take this with you to spend at the stall ; you will like to buy something, I know." And Mrs. Fraser put a florin into the child's hand, and told her that she might buy anything she pleased with it.
Two shillings to spend at her father's stall!
If Faith had been in good spirits before, she was almost wild now. Two shillings! What a number of things that would buy! And her father, how pleased he would be I No one had ever spent two shillings at the stall before. Mrs. Gubbins would be almost in a good temper if he took so much money home to her at night.
What should she buy? She thought she would get a nice present for Ellen, who had been so kind to her. What should it be? She turned over in her mind all the contents of the stall, but could not fix upon anything. No, she must wait until she got there, and talk it over with her father.
Oh! how surprised he would be when she appeared, and how glad and thankful when he heard how happy she was, and how good God had been to her I Faith felt as if her feet would not go fast enough: it seemed such a long time since she had seen her father, and it was almost like a dream to think of speaking to him again, and telling him of all that had happened to her during that strange week.
At last the old church came in sight, and Faith turned down the little side street, that she might come out just in front of her father's stall. She was getting very near now; she could see the basket stall and the cap stall, which were just at the end of the street. Another moment and she would be there! Oh, how little Faith's heart beat as she hurried on!
She turned the corner—and then she suddenly stood still—rooted to the spot in amazement and dismay. Her father was not there. ! The stocking stall, the gingerbread stall, the bootlace stall, and all the other toy stalls were going on as usual, but her father's place was empty.
Little Faith was so disappointed that she burst into tears.
What could be the reason? Where could her father be? Had he changed his place? She wandered a little way down the market-place to see, but no —that was not likely, for she had often heard him say that he liked this place at the corner of the two streets better than any in 'the market-place.
And then, too, her father's place was empty, no other stall had been moved there.
What could be the matter? She was sure that no small reason would keep him away from the stall. She could only remember one market-day when he had not been there, and that was the day Mother Mary had died. That sorrowful day! It was very fresh in little Faith's memory still. She remembered how they sat by her bed, and her father was holding her hand, and she had said, “You won't go to-day, John”; and he had said, “No, dear, of course I won't." And then he had sat there, holding her hand, till she had gone away from them to heaven.
Little Faith had thought of all this now, as she sat down on the coping-stone of the church railings, wondering what had become of her father. What could be the matter? Was one of the children dead? Had Mrs. Gubbins been getting drunk, and let them fall into the fire or down the stairs? Little Faith had always been afraid of that, and had always charged Tommy, the eldest one, to take care of the others whilst she was out. Could it be that? It made her shudder to think of it! Or was her father ill —very, very ill, like Mother Mary had been, with no one to nurse him, or love him, or look after him? It was a dreadful thought, and the tears ran down the child's face as her mind dwelt upon it.
Suddenly it occurred to her that she would ask the other stall-keepers if they had seen anything of her father. So she went up to Tom Jenkins, the owner of the basket stall, and asked him if he had seen her father in the market-place that morning.
“Why, bless me!” said Jenkins, looking very closely at her, “is it little Faith?”
“Yes," said Faith, “it’s me. I've got a little place; I came to tell father about it, and he's gone."
“Well," said Jenkins, “I can't think, for the life of me, what's got him. He was here on Tuesday, only half the day, though; but he hasn't been here to-day."
“Did he look ill?” said little Faith.
“Aye," said Jenkins, " very downhearted, he did. I don't know what was wrong with him. I said to my mate there, when we went home at night, says I, ' There must be something amiss with Robinson.' But he never said nothing about it to none of us."
“What can it be? “said little Faith.
" I don't know, my lass, I'm sure," said the basket man, as he turned away to show off his wares to some country people who were passing the stall " maybe yon man yonder will know," and he pointed to the cap-stall proprietor, who was standing idly behind his stall with his hands in his pockets.
Faith went to him, but he could give her no information whatever. She asked at one or two of the other stalls, but with the same result. No one could throw the least light on the reason of her father's absence. There was nothing to be done but to go back and tell Mrs. Fraser.
So with a heavy heart Faith turned back. How slowly she walked homewards, so differently from the way in which she had come down to the market-place. She even turned round once or twice, and looked at the empty place again, as if it could not possibly be anything but a dream that her father's stall had vanished from the place where it had stood so long.
When Faith got to the house Ellen let her in, and was beginning to ask her, in a cheerful voice, if her father knew her, when she noticed how sad and downcast the child looked.
"Where is Mrs. Fraser?" said little Faith, as she began to cry again.
“She’s here in the dining-room," said Ellen, kindly. “Come in and speak to her."
She opened the door, and Faith went in, and, holding out the florin, she sobbed out, “Please, ma'am, he's gone; he isn't there! I can't find him nowheres! None of the stall-keepers has seen him today. Oh, dear, whatever shall I do? "
Mrs. Fraser made Faith sit down beside her, and talked it over with her for a long time; and at last it was decided that, after dinner, Faith should go to her old home to see what was the matter there.
Faith did not eat much dinner that day; she was very anxious and very troubled. She did not forget, before she started, to go into the little bedroom which she shared with Ellen, and, kneeling down, take her trouble to the Lord in prayer, and ask her Heavenly Friend to go with her. For she could not help dreading meeting Mrs. Gubbins again, and she did not know in what trouble or sorrow she might find her father. And as she went down the well-known streets, and got nearer and nearer to Belfry Row, she kept asking again and again for help for whatever was before her.
At last little Faith reached the house, and quietly opened the door. And then she stood still, and felt almost afraid to go farther.
What would Mrs. Gubbins say when she went in? All Faith's dread of the old woman returned upon, her.
She crept cautiously and quietly up the rickety stairs. The house was very noisy, as usual; the two landings were full of screaming, quarrelling children, and bad and angry words were heard on all sides. Faith had never noticed how wretched the house looked before. When she had lived there she was so accustomed to the noise and the dirt and the misery that she had hardly seen it.
But now, when she had come from Mrs. Fraser's beautiful house, where everything was so clean and comfortable, Faith wondered how she could ever have been happy in Belfry Row. It looked so very forlorn and wretched, she thought.
The people on the two landings took no notice of her as she passed by. John Robinson's family had kept very much to themselves, and did not know any of the other people in the house. There was no one now living on the same floor with them, and those below seemed as far away as if they lived in another house, for they never saw them except when they passed by their rooms as they went down to the street door, and they did not even know their names. The people of the house were constantly changing, nearly every week fresh ones came, and so, even if they had wished to get to know them, it would have been very difficult. So Faith passed by, and no one stopped her or noticed her.
At last she reached the top landing, and there before her was the well-known door. She waited for a minute or two, wondering what she should do, and then she knocked.
No one came to open the door, and Faith could not hear any sound inside the room.
Surely the children could not be asleep yet; it was only four o'clock. The church clock in the street struck as she stood at the door.
Faith knocked again, and waited again, but she got no answer. “They must be all out," she thought; " I expect the door is locked; I shall have to come again." She wondered where they could have gone; they had never all been out together since Mother Mary died.
Faith thought she would try the door before she went away; perhaps Mrs. Gubbins had been looking out of the window, and would not let her in, and was making the children sit very quiet that she might not hear them.
Faith's heart beat very fast at the thought. Should she lift the latch and go in? What would Mrs. Gubbins do? Would she knock her down as soon as she went in, and then turn her out? Not if her father was there, Faith felt sure of that. But she did not think her father could be there, unless he was very ill, or he would have opened the door.
No, they must all be out; she would just try the door, and then go away.
So Faith put her hand on the latch, and was almost startled at the sound it made going down.
The door was open, and Faith went in.