During the next two or three weeks Susan grew very fond of the children, and took great interest and pleasure in them. They were left very much to her charge — they slept with her, and were almost entirely dependent on her for their happiness. They often spoke of their mother, and it was some days before they grew reconciled to the thought of not seeing her again on earth. It was a happy thing for them that Susan could lead their thoughts away to the place where Jesus lives, and that she spoke to them in such a loving way of the Saviour that their young hearts were attracted to Him. Soon their greatest delight was to listen while she talked of Him and the happy world above.
Mrs. Clark watched over and was really kind to little May. She began to take a great pleasure in dressing her, and, as May's stock of clothes was very small, her aunt searched through the drawers and trunks to find material to make some tiny dresses and jackets.
She was not unkind, as a rule, to the other children, yet sometimes treated them as if they were in the way. When irritated or annoyed by their childish ways, and the troubles children do get into, she grew very angry and sometimes treated them harshly. She found she could make use of Rose, and therefore kept her pretty constantly employed one way or another.
The little girl's mother had taught her to work neatly, and Mrs. Clark was very glad to get kitchen cloths and pocket handkerchiefs hemmed. Now Rose did not like to sit at the work very long at a time, and, being only eight years old, it often became tedious. Sometimes she would take her hemming into the dairy, and talk with Susan while she was busy there, or into a lumber room, which Robin and May played in. Sometimes, when Susan had sewing to do too, they used to sit on a seat under an old apple tree and work together.
Then their aunt found they could shell peas, top and tail gooseberries, and string currants, and, as this was preserving time, there was plenty to do.
Little children should always be glad to help, but there is such a thing as older people making the task pleasant as well as useful.
One morning when Mrs. Clark was a little out of temper, several baskets full of fruit were brought in to the kitchen for preserving. There were fine ripe gooseberries, as well as currants. The children were playing very happily in the barn, May being seated on a large bundle of hay, and crowned with a wreath of flowers. Robin had made himself a nest close to her, and was pretending that he was her pony in the stable. Rose was putting sticks together to build a pretend fire, while round her she had collected all sorts of leaves and flowers, and the droppings of the fruit trees to make dinners with. They were having one of those delightful games so dear to all children, when the barn door opened and Jenny put in her head.
"Come away both of you at once. You're to pick over the fruit. Missus has a great big heap indoors. Oh! the bonny wee May!" she cried, catching sight of the baby.
"Oh, dear! what a pity," cried Rose. "I was just getting dinner. I don't much like stringing so many currants; we were having such a fine game."
"I'm not going to come!" cried Robin. "I'm a horse, and horses never have to pick over fruit, and May is a grand lady, and Rose is a servant. Rose is the only one that can do such things, but we want her here."
"What?" cried Jenny, who longed to watch their game, but dared not. "You had better come at once; Missus will be crazy if you don't, and there's a good bit of work to do." So saying, Jenny vanished.
Now all their merry play was over, and the sudden summons had roused Robin's rebellious feelings.
"I can't get going," he said; "I just hate pick, pick, picking gooseberries. I shall stay here."
"I wish we could," said Rose, kicking her dinner away with her feet, "but it's no use, we must go or we shall have a scolding." She lifted May, but May was too happy on the hay, and struggled, and cried. Rose tried to soothe and coax her, but she would not be quiet. "You come, Robin, and then baby will."
But Robin was reckless. He never thought of consequences, and scampered about in the hay, crying out he was a real wild horse. Rose was in despair, and some minutes passed, during which May regained her good temper, and scrambled after Robin, screaming with delight, but would not let her sister carry her. No sooner did she try than May made herself stiff and struggled to be free.
The barn door soon opened again, and this time their aunt came in. She was very angry. She seized Rose, who was nearest to her, and asked what she meant by going on playing when she was sent for.
"I was trying —"
"Be quiet; don't answer me! Go in to the house, and I'll keep you there a pretty good spell this time."
"I'm not coming," shouted Robin; "I am a wild horse, and you can't get hold of me."
His aunt made a dive after him, but he escaped, and, quite forgetting the serious nature of the affair, laughed heartily.
"Try again," he cried; "I'm that colt in the field."
She was very angry with him now, and by a sudden turn laid hold of him, and nearly shook him out of his jacket.
"You bad boy, to give me such trouble. You shall not get any dinner today. You may go and get it where you can. Those who won't work won't eat."
She grasped his arm a little harder than she perhaps intended. Anyhow, a large crimson patch there showed he had reason to call out.
"Stop roaring now," she cried, a little ashamed, as her anger spent itself, "and come with me," and catching up May, she followed Rose.
Robin pulled away, but she held him tight.
"You are very rough," he sobbed. "My mother never shook me like that. I wish I was along with her, if the angels would only take me."
"Aren't you ashamed, Rose, of setting May such an example," said her aunt, paying no attention to the little boy. "She will grow up as disobedient as yourself." Rose was silent, and she first thought of her mother, then of Susan, but Susan was away.
Robin was brought into the kitchen with a jerk that made Jack burst out laughing. He was very busy filling his mouth with fruit when they entered.
"Don't," cried Robin. "You make me feel so angry in my heart."
His anger was not noticed, and in a few minutes they were both seated before a large pile of gooseberries, and were told that they would get no dinner till those were "topped and tailed." The little fingers moved very slowly, and with downcast eyes and unhappy looks they went on with their work. Robin did not long disguise his feelings. He soon fidgetted, and drew very long breaths and yawned.
"Get along, like a good wee boy," whispered Jenny, when her mistress's back was turned, "or you'll get no dinner. See, I have done many more than you."
"I don't care a bit if you have, Jenny. Susan will get me some dinner — she is my friend. My aunt is very unkind."
An hour passed. Rose had finished the gooseberries, and half done her share of currants, while Jenny was clearing the table for dinner. Robin's pile was only half finished. His aunt took no notice of him, but suddenly swept the remainder of the gooseberries into a basin, and carried them across the room, and placed them on the dresser. Then she turned Robin off his chair.
"I'm real glad I'm done," gasped Robin.
"You're no such thing," replied his aunt, "and therefore you go without dinner. If you won't work you won't eat. Now, go and find your own dinner along with the fowls."
"Won't I get a scrap?" he asked, with his head on one side — but she merely opened the kitchen door and put him out, and hurried to set the table for the midday meal.
Their uncle was away at market, or perhaps Mrs. Clark might have chosen another punishment, as Robin sat by his uncle, and generally chatted away to him. Mr. Clark was very fond of the little boy, though being constantly out of doors, he had not much to do with him. Now and again Robin would accompany him a little way on his walks round the farm.
Susan, too, was away cleaning another part of the house. Just as they sat up to the table, she came down, broom in hand. "Where's my boy?" she asked of Rose.
The window was open, and a rosy face was peeping in. Robin had been rubbing his fists into his eyes crying ("greeting," as Jenny called it).
Now he was eagerly watching the dinner, expecting to be called in.
"Here's your boy, Susan. I want you," he said. "I've had no dinner, and I know I'm starving."
Rose looked frightened. "Let me give him some of mine, please, Aunt."
"Not a crumb. He shall learn to obey me when I speak, and so shall you."
Jack made faces at him across the table, and held up a piece of meat on his fork. Robin turned away crying lustily, "Oh, dear, what will I do? I'll starve. I know I shall."
Susan slipped out at the other door, and beckoned him in.
Jack followed her. "Mother says you are not to give him a crumb."
"Very well," said Susan, and Jack returned to his dinner.
"Come here, Robin, and dry your eyes, and tell me all about it."
"I'm not to get any dinner — not a scrap." "I know, but why?"
"Cause I wouldn't tail goosegogs."
"Why would you not?"
"Cause it is such nonsense for her to want such a lot."
"That was not the reason. You were a lazy boy, not my handy little Robin. The bees work hard to get honey, and the ants are busy, and the birds. The horses on the farm draw the plough, the dogs have their work, and surely little boys can do something. Now, if I show you a pretty way to top and tail the gooseberries, will you be quick at them? Remember, Robin, God sees you, and He wishes you to be obedient. He has been so good to you, and you ought to try and please Him. You told me the other day you loved God so much for giving Jesus for you."
"So I do now, Susan, and I'll try again if you will keep beside me, and let me be your helpful boy," he answered, clambering on her knee and nearly choking her with hugs. "Do you think I'll get dinner? I know you wouldn't like me to die!"
"I surely wouldn't, but you must finish the fruit before you think of dinner." ,
She slipped into the kitchen, and brought out the gooseberries. Then she seated Robin on a low stool, and putting a little board in a slanting direction in front of him, and the broom handle longways on the floor at a little distance, told him as he tailed them to run them down the board and the broom would keep them from rolling far. It was a fine game, and Robin laughed as the gooseberries scampered down. He eagerly worked away while Susan busied about and talked to him, till called to help her mistress clear the table.
"Where is Robin?" she asked. "In the back kitchen, Ma'am." "Have you been feeding him?" "No," answered Susan.
"What is he doing."
"Finishing the gooseberries."
"I dare say he is getting hungry, but he'll have to learn that I keep my word," and she locked the pantry and larder door.
When Robin had finished, and Susan had cleared the fruit away, he asked about his dinner. She told him he must wait patiently, as he had not finished his task at the right time.
"I'll go and ask my aunt," he said, and followed by Rose he entered the kitchen. She was not there, so he walked on to the parlor. There she sat at work, with May playing on the floor.
Robin peeped in his head. "Aunt," he cried timidly. No answer. "Aunt, may I get my dinner? I've done ev'ry scrap of the gooseberries and I'm sorry."
"The dinner is eaten and cleared away, I can't have it set again," she replied. "You'll get no meat today."
She did not say "no food," but Robin looked at it in that light, and unable to contain his feelings, he turned away crying. Had he waited, Mrs. Clark after a little discussion would most likely have told him there were some dry crusts he could have, but she would not rise and go after him, and he turned back to Susan.
Susan advised him to be quiet, and if he were really sorry, to sit quite still on his little stool in the kitchen. As he always obeyed her, he sat down saying, "If I die, what shall I do?"
"I don't think you'll die, little man. You will just learn to obey another time. I would sit quite still till my aunt comes in, if I were you, and perhaps if she sees you are not troublesome she may give you something."
Robin's fit of temper was gone, now, and he sat quietly, except that every few minutes he caught Susan's dress in his hand as she went to and fro.
"Tell us a Bible story," asked Rose, coaxingly. "Well, what about?"
"About someone who was hungry," suggested Robin.
"Very well."
Then she told them how our Lord was hungry when He was on earth, He the Lord of heaven who makes the corn to grow, and upholds everything. He was the object of praise and worship in heaven, but He came down here and took the form of a man and humbled Himself, even to death, in order to save us from hell. She told them the story of His being in the wilderness with the wild beasts for forty days and nights, and that afterwards He was hungry. Then Satan came and tempted Him to turn the stones into bread, but Jesus would not listen to Satan's voice. He answered him with God's word, and afterwards angels ministered unto Him. There is a hymn which says,
"There's a wicked spirit Watching round you still, And he tries to tempt you To all harm and ill.
"But you must not hear him, Though `tis hard for you To resist the evil,
And the good to do."
Satan is very busy trying to tempt us every way. He tries to prevent you from coming to the Lord Jesus, and believing on Him, and, if you do believe, and become a little lamb in the Saviour's fold, Satan will try to lead you astray, and tempt you to wander from the right path. But the Good Shepherd knows all His sheep and lambs, and if he misses one from His presence, he will seek it and restore it again to peace and happiness. Jesus hears the feeblest cry for help, and, when Satan tempts you to do evil —little ones who love and trust Him — look up to the Good Shepherd, speak to Him, and ask His help, and you will surely conquer through Him."
When Susan had finished telling them about Jesus in the wilderness, she told them about Elijah's being fed by the ravens, and this so engrossed their attention that more than half an hour passed away. Then their aunt came in and Susan slipped out. She could trust Robin to answer in his straightforward, truthful way, now that his anger was gone.
"Am I naughty yet, Aunt?"
She turned to him, and her face softened as Rose stood close to him, and May toddled up and put her arms round him, crying "Poor."
"No, you don't look naughty now, but what have you had to eat?"
"Nothing; not — the tiniest scrap." "Why are you sitting there?"
"I thought I'd best be quiet."
"Are you sorry for being naughty?"
"Yes, I am, but you don't know how nice it is to be playing at a real wild horse."
"Well, if you are sorry, you'll take that and be glad." And his aunt placed a thick slice of bread and a cup of milk before him. He took it, and as he ate eagerly, she asked how he liked it.
"Lots. I am real glad to get it, I can tell you." And, bearing no malice, he began chatting to his aunt.
It was Susan the children clung to and went to in any kind of trouble, and, remembering that they were little orphans, she cared for them and smoothed their path as best she could. She mended many a torn garment, and rose early to put together new ones for them. Mrs. Rivers's clothes were cut down by Susan for the little girl, and an empty room was fitted up with a few pieces of furniture from Cherry Cottage, while the farmer took care that articles of any worth, which their parents had possessed, should be reserved for them.