The Lonely Old Man
“WHAT a lovely day!” cried Joan, capering along the road, with Pluto running and leaping at her heels. “Wendy! — don’t walk along in that sober way! Dance and sing, like me! Aren’t you happy, too?”
Wendy laughed.
“Of course I am. I was wondering whom we should see next, that’s all.”
“We’re getting near the town,” said Joan, slowing down. “We shall see the church spire just round the next corner.”
“Yes, and then nice little houses, with pavements in front of them. I wonder if we shall get talking to any of the people who live in those little houses.”
“I expect so,” said Joan cheerfully. “We seem to have talked to almost every sort of person so far. Boys and girls and old women.”
“No old man yet!” said Wendy with a chuckle.
“Well, there’s an old man digging in that garden,” said Joan, standing on tip-toe to look over a hedge. “Shall we talk to him?”
“He doesn’t look as if he wanted any help,” said Wendy doubtfully. “He’s digging awfully fiercely. I don’t think he’d let us help him, somehow.”
Certainly the old man was digging with great vigor, and it was not at all clear how two little girls could help him in his task. However, they were unwilling to go away, so they stood watching him until, when he reached the end of his row, he looked up and saw them.
“Well?” he said. “What are you watching me for? Anything funny about me?”
“We were just watching,” said Joan shyly.
“Well, if you want anything, say so. But if not, pop along. I’ve got something better to do than talk to little girls,” said the old man.
“We wondered if we could help you somehow,” said Wendy, going rather red.
“Help me?” He scowled at her. “Now, what’s this? Is it a joke? Do I look as if I needed help, or something?”
“No — oh, no!” said Wendy hurriedly. “We just wanted to help. We like helping people.”
The old man looked at her for a moment or two, and then turned his back without a word and went on digging. After a few minutes, however, he turned round again.
“Still there?” he called to them.
“Yes,” said Joan.
“Well, you can go and get me a cup of water from the pump, then, if you’re so anxious to help,” he said, and turned back to his digging again.
Wendy and Joan ran joyfully to the gate, and went into the garden; shutting Pluto outside, however, because they did not know how the old man felt about dogs. Poor old Pluto put his nose to the gate and whined, but the girls took no notice. They were far too intent on getting the drink of water for the old man.
“You go and get the cup, and I’ll look for the pump,” said Joan, and Wendy sped along the little red-brick path to the back door and tapped timidly. No one answered, and she tapped again. Then she pushed the door a little and looked inside. There was no one there, but the kitchen was beautifully tidy, and there was a cat asleep beside the fire. A canary hung in the window, and it started to sing as she went in. But there was no one else about at all.
Wendy looked round and spied a cup hanging on the dresser. She took it and ran out quickly, calling Joan.
“Here I am,” said a voice, and there was her friend under a little wooden shelter just near the back door. “Here’s the pump. What a time you’ve been!”
“There wasn’t anybody there, so I had to go in and get it,” said Wendy, holding the cup under the spout of the pump while Joan worked the handle. “That’s enough, Joan.”
They took the cup of water out to the old man, and stood by while he drank it. Suddenly there was a great howling and yelping from Pluto, outside the gate.
“That’s Pluto! Oh, whatever is the matter with him?” cried Wendy in great distress.
“Sounds as if he’d been stung,” said the old man. “Come along, and we’ll take a look at him. Poor chap — he is in trouble!”
They all hurried to the gate, and there was poor Pluto jumping about and trying to bite his own back— at least, that’s what it looked as if he was doing.
“Poor dog, he’s been stung on the back!” said the old man. “Here, old boy — come here, old boy — come along, then, and let me have a look at it.”
He took hold of the dog’s collar, and pulled him gently down so that he could examine him.
“Yes, here it is,” he said. “It’s swelling up already. Poor old chap, then! I’ll take him inside and put something on that sting. There are wasps about here, you know, and wasp stings hurt.”
He led the dog gently up the garden and into the cottage, and persuaded him to sit down in front of the fire. The cat opened one eye and then closed it again. She was not interested in dogs.
“May we come in, too?” asked Wendy from the door.
“Yes, come in, come in,” said the old man, rummaging in a cupboard. He got up, holding an onion in his hand. “Best thing for wasp stings, and don’t you forget it,” he said.
“What do you do with it?” asked Wendy, putting her hand on Pluto’s head to keep him quiet.
“Cut it, and rub the juice on the sting. You’ll see, the swelling will go down in a jiffy. Now, old man, here we are, and you’ll be better in a brace of shakes.”
Wendy was rather worried, in case Pluto should not let the old man attend to his sting; but the dog seemed to realize that his new friend knew what he was doing, and sat quite quietly while the strong onion juice was well rubbed into the sting. Presently Wendy felt the dog’s tense muscles relax, and knew that the pain was better.
“He’s better now, thank you very much,” she said.
“I know he is; but we’ll put a bit more on for luck,” said the old man. “Now you’re feeling all right, aren’t you, old boy? What about a drink of water, eh? Come and get a drink of water.”
He led Pluto into the garden and got him a drink from the pump, talking to him and stroking him all the time.
“You are kind!” said Wendy gratefully.
“Eh? Oh, I like dogs,” said the old man. “I like animals. Animals are all right, aren’t they, old boy, eh?”
“But you don’t like girls?” asked Joan.
He looked up and smiled for the first time.
“Well, I don’t know any. I don’t know anybody, if it comes to that. I left the sea a few years ago, and settled here, but I don’t know anybody yet. I keep myself to myself, you see. I don’t like people much, what I’ve seen of them in the last sixty years or so that I’ve been wandering about the face of the earth. No, I don’t like people much, but I like dogs. People let you down, and turn sour on you; but dogs won’t. A dog will never let you down. A dog is a good pal and a loyal one.”
“Some people are good pals, too,” said Wendy. “Joan is my pal.”
“I’d sooner have your dog,” said the old man. Joan laughed.
“Wendy is my pal,” she said. “And I wouldn’t swop her for all the dogs in the world.”
“Everyone to his taste,” said the old man. “ell, doggie, had a good drink, eh? What about a bone, now? Bone, eh, Nice bone?”
Pluto wagged his tail and said, as plainly as a dog can, that a bone was a very good idea indeed. The old man chuckled and led the way back into the cottage again, and there found a fine meaty bone in his larder.
“Take it outside, old boy,” he said, and Pluto trotted out obediently.
“There’s one Friend better than a dog, though,” said Wendy, taking her courage in both hands. To her surprise the old man smiled at her.
“I know. I’ve met Him, too,” he said. “In many a storm at sea I’ve heard His voice calling to me out of the darkness, telling me not to fear. Many’s the time I’ve called on Him when I’ve been in danger or trouble, and He’s never failed me yet. The good Book says that the Lord is the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, and I’ve always found Him so.”
“But then―” cried Joan. “I mean, if you love the Lord Jesus, you ought to love other people, too!”
“I don’t see the need for that,” said the old man, shaking his head. “The Lord has never failed me, and so I love Him. But other people have failed me at every turn, so how can I love them? And I don’t want to, either. All my family, brothers and sisters and all — I don’t want to be bothered with them, any of them! I don’t like people, and people don’t like me. My sister, now, she can’t stand the sight of me, and I’m sure I don’t like her! We haven’t spoken for twenty years.”
“I suppose you’ll speak to her if you meet her in Heaven?” asked Wendy anxiously.
The old man looked at her attentively, and then laughed.
“I hadn’t thought of that! I suppose I shall have to — if she gets there, that is.”
“You seem pretty sure that you’ll get there!” said Joan.
“Well, I’ve been a God-fearing man all my life, and I’ve never done anybody any harm,” said the old man. “I reckon I ought to get there.”
“You mean you’ve never broken any of God’s laws?” asked Wendy. “You’ve done all the things the Bible tells you to do?”
“I have!” he said positively.
“Well, you haven’t, then!” cried Joan. “Because the Bible says that if God loved us so much that He sent His only Son to die for us, we ought to love one another, too. If you’ll get your Bible, I’ll show you just where it says that. Have you got the paper, Wendy?”
Wendy produced the paper on which they had written out their texts, and the old man, looking much surprised, fetched his Bible from its place on the dresser. Joan referred to the paper, and then found the place, and he took his spectacles out of his pocket, put them on, and read the passage aloud.
“You’re right,” he said. “I must have read that a thousand times, without seeing that it meant me. Dear me, I’ve been making a fine mistake all these years, haven’t!?”
“Well, it isn’t too late to put it right,” said Wendy consolingly. “You can go and find your sister, anyway, and make it up with her. Do you know, we met an old woman this morning who said she hadn’t talked to her brother for twenty years, but I think she’d be glad to do so now.”
“Who was she?” asked the old man, putting his spectacles away, after carefully marking the text.
“Her name was Mrs. Grumbleshanks, and she lives away over there, through the woods and past the village,” said Joan, pointing the way they had come.
“Why, that is my sister!” said the old man. “So you think she’d be glad to see me, do you?”
“I’m sure she would,” said Wendy eagerly. “She’s very lonely, living there all by herself.”
“Lonely, is she?” mused the old man. “So am I, lonely. It’s a sad thing to come to the end of your days and be lonely....”
“Well, why not go and see her?” asked Joan excitedly. “What a wonderful day it would be if you did! She’s awfully troubled with rheumatics, you know, and it’s a job for her to get her fire started in the morning, to make a cup of tea. Why don’t you go and see her, and look after her?”
The old man blinked a little.
“I wonder if she’d come out here, to live with me?” he said thoughtfully. “I could do with someone friendly about the house. Ah, but would she be friendly? From what I remember of her in days gone by, she was anything but that!”
“Oh, but you’d find her awfully different now!” cried Wendy. “She knows now that God loves her, and it’s made such a difference to her. Do go and see her to-day! Do!”
“I will,” said the old man. He went over to the sink and washed his hands, and then combed his scanty locks with a small black comb that lived on a shelf over the sink. “Am I tidy enough to go visiting?” he asked, when he had finished.
“You look lovely,” said Joan, and he laughed.
“Well, I’ll be off, then. Strike while the iron’s hot, as they say.” He went over to a basket and brought out a couple of apples. “I gave your dog a bone, but I didn’t give you two anything, did I?” he said. “You take these. I’m right glad you came my way to-day, and stopped to watch me digging. I see now why I’ve been lonely all these years. It isn’t enough to love God; you must love His people, too. Goodbye.”
They said good-bye, and watched him go stumping down the road, and then they, too, set off once more upon their travels.