Joan's Crusade
E Heming
Table of Contents
Chapter 1.
How It Began
TWO little girls sat on the top of a wall, swinging their legs and reading a book. Behind them was a garden, leading to a big house, and in front of them was a wood. There was a path running through the wood to a little green door in the wall; the other end of the path led down the hill to the village.
One of the little girls was small and dark. Her name was Wendy Morris, and she lived in the big house. Her friend was a bit bigger, and had blue eyes and fair hair. Her name was Joan Butler, and she lived in a little cottage in the village. She was nine years old, and Wendy was eight.
They always played together, these two, when they were not at school. Sometimes they played in the garden, and sometimes they played in the wood. Sometimes Wendy would persuade her mother to let them have sandwiches and something to drink, and they would disappear into the woods for a whole day. They usually came back from these expeditions looking very grubby, but they had enjoyed themselves.
Wendy had a lot of books, and sometimes when they were tired of playing they would choose one, and then go back into the garden to read it together. Their favorite place for reading was on top of the wall. No one disturbed them there, and they could read all afternoon if they wanted to, without being told that they were in anyone’s way.
On this particular day, they were reading a history book. They did not always find history interesting, but Joan had told Wendy about a tremendously interesting lesson they had had in school, and they had brought out the history book to see if they could find out more about it. So Wendy was now reading all about the Children’s Crusade.
“Wait a minute,” cried Joan, as Wendy was going to turn over the page: “I haven’t got there yet!”
“Sorry,” said Wendy; “but I do want to know what happened.”
“There’s a picture on the next page,” said Joan, “of the man preaching to the children, and all of them holding up their hands because they wanted to go to the Crusade. All right — I’ve reached the bottom of the page now.”
They turned over and studied the picture. There was the monk, standing preaching to hundreds of children, just as Joan had said; and it looked as if most of them were ready to do as he said they must.
“Oh!” cried Wendy in dismay, as they turned over and found several pages missing. “Oh, it’s all torn! That must be Roy — he’s always tearing books.”
“What a shame!” said Joan, turning over more pages in the hope of finding the end of the story. “No, it’s all gone.”
“Well, you tell me what happened,” said Wendy. “It was like this,” said Joan, screwing up her eyes and trying to remember. “The Holy Land — that was what they called the land where Jesus lived, you know — well, it had been captured by wicked men. Turks, I think they were. And every now and then a Christian king would take an army and try to drive the Turks out. They called it going to the Crusades.”
“What fun!” sighed Wendy. “Kings do have a lot of fun, don’t they?”
“I suppose they do. But it wasn’t much fun going to drive the Turks out, and being driven out yourself! That’s what happened. So then the man in this picture had an idea. He said that the reason the armies didn’t win was because they weren’t good enough; so he said he’d take an army of children, because children hadn’t had time to grow wicked.”
“He must have been bats!” said Wendy. “Most of the children I know are wickeder than grown ups. The boys are, anyway. And all the grown ups think so, I’m sure.”
“Well, that’s what he said,” said Joan. “So he preached to the children, and they left their homes and followed him.”
“What happened?” asked Wendy. “I don’t suppose they got far.”
“I forget most of what happened, but it didn’t do any good,” said Joan. “Something went wrong somewhere.”
Wendy sat silent, and they both looked at the picture for a few minutes. Then Joan sighed.
“I’d like to go on a crusade!” she said.
Wendy looked startled.
“What for? The wicked men aren’t still in the Holy Land, are they?”
“Oh, no! And I didn’t mean as far as that, either. I’d like to go on a crusade, though.”
“And fight?” asked Wendy, her eyes sparkling.
“No. Not that sort of a crusade. Look here — why did the children follow that man?”
“Because they thought it was helping God,” said Wendy.
“Yes, that’s it. Our Sunday-school teacher’s always telling us we ought to do our best to help God. She says every nice and kind thought that comes into our heads comes straight from God, whispered to us by one of His holy angels. And the naughty, unkind thoughts — well, you know where they come from, don’t you?”
“Satan,” said Wendy.
“Yes. She says the thoughts that suddenly come into our heads always come from somewhere — we don’t invent them ourselves. They either come from God, or from Satan. And she says we ought to be awfully careful about them. You see, if God wants a job done, and asks you or me to do it, and we don’t listen, what’s going to happen about it? He might have to look an awfully long way for someone else to do it.”
“And have you had one of those thoughts about a crusade?” asked Wendy anxiously.
“Yes, but not a fighting crusade. Let’s think a bit, and see what we could do.”
There was a sharp bark from the bottom of the wall, and there was Wendy’s big dog, Pluto, wagging his tail and trying to persuade them to go out into the woods with him.
“Not now, Pluto,” said Wendy. “Go and lie down, there’s a good dog. We’re thinking of some very important business.”
Pluto gave another bark, but he could see that they didn’t mean to come; so he sat down at the foot of the wall, and laid his nose between his paws, and waited.
“It would be fun to go about like the old monks and friars and people, and stand on the village greens and preach,” said Joan.
“We couldn’t do that!” cried Wendy. “No one would listen.”
“I don’t suppose they would,” said Joan. “And I don’t blame them, really: we wouldn’t want to listen to anyone younger than ourselves, would we? Can you see yourself listening to Roy preaching at you?”
“Certainly not!” cried Wendy. “Besides, Roy’s a very naughty little boy.”
“Well, even if he grew good I don’t suppose you would. So that knocks out preaching. What a pity! I do so want to do something!” sighed Joan.
“What would you preach about, if you did go preaching?” asked Wendy curiously.
“I don’t know,” admitted Joan. “I wonder how the Vicar knows what to preach about? Perhaps an angel tells him.”
“Well, he always starts off by saying something out of the Bible,” said Wendy thoughtfully. “I wonder if he looks in his Bible till he finds something?”
“That’s a good idea,” said Joan joyfully. “Where’s your Bible?”
“By my bed, with my Bible Fellowship card in it. Shall I get it?”
“Yes, do. I’m sure we’d find something there.”
Wendy jumped down from the wall and went racing across the garden, followed closely by Pluto, who evidently thought he was going to have a game now. He chased her up the stairs, nearly upsetting her several times, and jumped round her while she got the Bible from the table by her bed. She slid down the banisters, partly because it was the quickest way to get down, and partly because Pluto couldn’t upset her if she went that way; so he barked at her all the way.
He sat down, wagging his tail, as she clambered up on to the wall again. He was disappointed to see her go back to her perch, but it had been a nice run while it lasted. He dropped his nose on to his paws again, and watched the two girls once more.
“I’ve got it,” panted Wendy, as she settled herself comfortably. “Where do you want to look?”
“We’re reading in St. John now,” said Joan, wanting Wendy to know that she belonged to the Bible Fellowship, too, and read her portion every night.
“I know. Shall we look in to-day’s bit?”
“We might as well,” said Joan.
Wendy opened the Bible at the place where the card was sticking out, and began to read: “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us―” She stopped and looked up.
“That’s nice!”
“So’s the next verse,” said Joan: “If God so loved us, we ought also to love one another.”
“I wonder if people have forgotten that?” said Wendy. “There doesn’t seem to be much loving about, does there?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Joan. “My Mum loves me all right, and so does Dad.”
“Well, of course the family does, but what about outsiders? What about the postman and the policeman, and all sorts of people like that?” asked Wendy.
“Do we have to love everybody?” Joan asked doubtfully.
“It doesn’t only say the family, does it?” Wendy pointed out.
“Perhaps that’s what we’ve got to tell people, then. Golly, it’s going to be difficult!” cried Joan.
“We said we couldn’t preach, because they wouldn’t listen, as we’re not old enough,” said Wendy firmly. She did not like the idea of preaching at all.
“So we did,” said Joan; “but I’ll tell you what we can do. If you love people, you do things for them, don’t you? I mean, I like helping Mum, and all that sort of thing. I don’t like helping other people much, except you — but you’re my friend. Still, if we went on a crusade of helping people, we should be doing something, shouldn’t we?”
“Lots of people help other people. Scouts do,” objected Wendy.
“That’s no reason why we shouldn’t do it, too, is it?” asked Joan. “And if they ask us why we’re doing it, we can tell them about this text. I expect there are lots more, really.”
“Let’s see if we can find any more,” said Wendy. “And write them down,” Joan suggested. “Have you got a pencil and paper?”
“I’ll get one from Mummy,” said Wendy, and once more she scrambled down from the wall and ran into the house, followed by the barking Pluto.
“What on earth’s all this noise about?” asked her mother, as she came running in.
“Mummy, can I have a pencil and paper for a most important thing?” panted Wendy. “Joan and I are doing the most important thing, but it’s a secret— at least, I think it is. I must ask Joan before I tell you, but please have you got a pencil and paper, please?”
Mrs. Morris laughed.
“Yes, of course I’ve got a pencil and paper. Let me have the pencil back when you’ve done with it.” She went over to her desk and found a pencil, which she handed to Wendy.
“Thank you so much, Mummy. And please may I have some sandwiches for to-morrow? We want to go out for the whole day.”
“You and Joan?” asked Mrs. Morris.
“Yes, plummy.”
“All right, then. What time are you going?”
“Oh, as soon as it’s light!” said Wendy, with a little skip of excitement.
“As early as that?” laughed her mother. “Well, don’t be too late home. Try to get in before dark this time.”
“Yes, Mummy,” said Wendy, and she ran out with the pencil and paper to Joan.
They spent some time copying out suitable texts from Wendy’s Bible, and then it was tea-time, and Joan had to go home. They had made all their plans, and Wendy’s mother said the sandwiches would be ready on the kitchen table in the-morning.
Wendy really found it difficult to get to sleep that night, she was so excited about the crusade!
Chapter 2.
The Start
WENDY sat up in bed. The sun was streaming in through her bedroom window, and her watch said a quarter to six. She got out of bed and listened: no, no one was moving. The house was still and quiet. She dressed quickly, remembering to wash, and said her prayers bore she crept down the stairs with her shoes in her hand.
She found some interesting looking parcels on the kitchen table. There was one labelled SANDWICHES and another labelled CAKE and another labelled PIES. And there was a little bottle of milk, and another little bottle of lemonade. And two apples.
Wendy had her school satchel with her, and she packed the food away inside it. Then she began to look for something for her breakfast. Her mother evidently had not supposed she would really be down so early, so nothing was ready. However, Wendy knew where things were kept; she found a packet of corn-flakes, a big jug of milk, and some sugar, and settled down to make a good breakfast.
When she had finished she put everything tidily away, and found another apple to eat on her way down to the village. Then, with the paper on which they had written their chosen texts, in her pocket, she set off down the hill.
Joan’s cottage was quite silent when Wendy arrived. She stood outside and whistled for a minute or two, and then, as there was no reply, she climbed up the ivy on the wall, and tapped on the tiny window of Joan’s room. The window was open, and presently she squeezed inside.
“Wake up, you lazy thing!” she whispered, shaking her friend. “I’ve been up simply hours. Have you forgotten our crusade?”
“Eh? Oh! What? Who’s that?” mumbled Joan, pulling the sheets up round her head. “Go away”!
“Joan! It’s me — Wendy! Aren’t you coming? Wake up, you fathead! It’s growing late
“Wendy?” Joan blinked and sat up. “Coo! Is it late really?”
“Ever so late,” said Wendy severely. “It’s long after six.”
“It can’t be. My Dad’s alarm goes off at six, and that always wakes me up,” said Joan, getting out of bed and hunting round for her clothes.
“Well, it is. I woke up at a quarter to six, and I got up at once. And Mummy had put out some lovely sandwiches and pies and cake and drinks for us. And I had some breakfast — do you want any breakfast, Joan?” asked Wendy.
“Of course I do!” said Joan crossly. “Oh, where is my frock? You’re sitting on it, Wendy! I must say, you might be more helpful on an important thy like this!”
“Sorry! I hope I haven’t crumpled it,” said Wendy, getting off the frock in a hurry. “Shall I go down and get your breakfast ready while you wash?”
“I’ll wash in the back kitchen. There — I’m ready now. Go quietly! Perhaps Dad doesn’t have to go to work this morning,” said Joan.
They went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Joan found a loaf of bread, some butter and jam, and settled down at the table. It looked so good that Wendy felt that she would like some, too, but she didn’t like to ask. However, Joan saw her eyeing the jam wistfully, and asked her if she’d like a slice. Wendy thanked her joyfully, and hacked a great doorstep off the loaf for herself, and spread it thickly with butter.
“Here’s the jam,” said Joan, pushing it over. “It’s Mum’s own make — strawberry. It’s jolly good.”
“It’s super!” said Wendy, with her mouth full.
When they had finished eating, Joan brought out some packages of her own that her mother had put ready for her the night before.
“There’s pies and cakes and buns in here,” she said. “I think we shall have enough to eat, don’t you”? When they had tidied away the things they had used for breakfast, and Joan had washed them up in the sink, Wendy had an inspiration.
“Let’s light the kitchen fire for your mother, shall we?” she suggested.
“All right,” said Joan. “Here’s the bucket for the ashes. I’ll get some sticks from the shed.”
“I suppose your father hasn’t gone to work already?” asked Wendy, as she raked the ashes out of the fire. I mean, he doesn’t usually stay at home, does he?
“I’ve never known him do it before,” said Joan. “Perhaps he thinks it’s Sunday!”
At that moment a shrill sound from the bedroom upstairs startled them.
“It’s the alarm!” exclaimed Joan. “Here — let’s look at that watch of yours! Why, there! It’s only just six! Whatever time did you get up, then?”
“It must have been a quarter to five!” gasped Wendy.
“Well, you are a silly little cuckoo”! cried Joan.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” snapped Wendy. “We’re up now. And I don’t think this fire wants to burn, somehow.”
“Let me have a go,” said Joan. “We must get it done before Dad gets down, now. He always lights it for Mum, and takes her up a cup of tea while he washes and gets his breakfast. Then she gets up and does our breakfast and sweeps the kitchen. But I’d like to get this lighted for Dad — he’d wonder what had happened!”
“But it wouldn’t really be part of the crusade,” said Wendy, pushing in sticks between the bars, hoping they would catch. “The crusade is helping people who aren’t our own families. And, anyway, your Dad doesn’t want telling about God — he sings in the choir.”
“Oh, yes, he’s all right!” said Joan. She sat back on her heels. “I think this fire’s going to burn now. I ought to wash again now — what a nuisance!”
“I’d better, too,” said Wendy. “What shall we do with the ashes first?”
“Oh, put the bucket outside the back door. Mum takes them down the garden when she feeds the chickens and gets the eggs. They like ashes — they hath in them, didn’t you know?”
“I wonder what it’s like, to bath in ashes,” said Wendy thoughtfully. “It must feel funny.” “Try it some day.” Joan grinned. “It won’t get you very clean, though. Now hurry up! Dad’ll be down in a minute, and we ought to be gone before he he’1l think of some jobs for me to do. It isn’t often he finds me up at this time of day, and he’d be sure to suggest that I took Mum’s tea up if he found me here.”
“We might as well put the kettle on,” said Wendy.
“Oh, all right!” said Joan, hopping first on one foot and then on the other in her anxiety to be gone. “Hurry! Hurry! Don’t slop it all over the place, silly! Now come along.”
Wendy put the heavy kettle on the stove, and then gave the fire a final poke, just to show that she wasn’t going to be ordered about by Joan! Then she heard a heavy footstep on the stairs, and she rushed out of the back door into the garden, where Joan was already half-way down the path.
“He’s coming!” she panted.
“And you didn’t shut the back door!” reproved Joan. “We’d better hide behind the raspberries for a bit.”
They crouched down behind the raspberry canes, and watched the back door. They were only just in time, for Joan’s father appeared at the door, evidently wondering why it had been left open. He stood there for a minute or two, looking round the garden; and then, not thinking that anyone was watching-him, gave a mighty yawn and stretch.
Joan began to giggle, but Wendy pinched her to make her keep quiet. Then Mr. Butler went indoors again, and was doubtless surprised to find the fire going and the kettle on. He came again to the door, wearing a puzzled look, and stared all round. But he did not see the two girls, who were by now eating raspberries hard, and when he went in they decided that it would be safe to proceed with their journey.
“Why didn’t you bring Pluto?” asked Joan.
“Oh, I forgot him!” cried Wendy, stopping short in the middle of the path. “Shall we go back and fetch him?”
“It’s out of our way,” grumbled Joan. “We are going to cut through the woods and go along the road that leads to the town. It’s no good trying to tell anything to the people in the village — they know us too well!”
“All right. We’ll leave him behind, then,” sighed Wendy, but she felt very sad about it. However, a surprising sight met her eyes as they reached the little white gate: there on the dusty road, with his tongue hanging out and wagging his tail hard, was Pluto! She gave a cry of joy, and rushed to put her arms round his neck.
“Good old Pluto!” she cried. “However did you know I was here? Now you can come with us.” They set off very happily now, through the quiet village until they came to the lane that led to the woods. Here Pluto bounded ahead, looking back as if to invite them to follow, and he barked with delight when he saw that that was just what they meant to do. Wendy called to him to be quiet — that he’d wake everyone up!
It was cool and fresh in the woods, and Pluto scampered off after rabbits. Of course he was so big and made so much noise that all the rabbits scuttled off into their holes long before he could reach them. Some jays started scolding him for disturbing them, and some wood-pigeons cooed rather severely. But Pluto didn’t care: he was enjoying himself, and he didn’t mind who knew it!
Suddenly Wendy stopped short.
“You didn’t say your prayers before we came out!” she said accusingly.
Joan went red.
“I forgot,” she said.
“And on this important morning, too!” said Wendy. “How can you expect to teach people about God if you don’t say your prayers?”
Joan sighed.
“Don’t preach at me! I know I ought to have remembered. I’ll say them here. God won’t mind.” “I’ll say mine again, to keep you company,” said Wendy “Will you? Oh, good!” said Joan, and they knelt down together. Pluto sat at a little distance away, with his head on one side. He was wondering what they were doing, kneeling there on the mossy ground underneath a big tree. But he didn’t disturb them; he must have realized that it was something important.
They each said, within themselves, the usual prayers that they said every morning, and they said “Our Father” together. Then Wendy looked at her friend shyly.
“Shall we ask God to let us help some people?” she asked.
“It’s a good idea,” said Joan.
“Well, you do it,” said Wendy.
“No, you,” said Joan.
They looked at each other for a minute or two, and then Pluto gave a sharp bark of impatience. Wendy shut her eyes, and gulped nervously. It was a very different thing from saying prayers that had been taught you, to talk to God about things, and she did not know quite how to set about it. However, her Sunday-school teacher had said that one could do it, so she tried.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she began, “Joan and I are going out to tell people that You love them, and we thought it might help if we did things — kind things — to help them. I expect You know all that, really, because if all good ideas come from You, I expect You sent the idea to Joan yesterday. Well, please will You send us some people that want helping, please? For Jesus’ sake. Amen.”
And Joan echoed “Amen,” too.
They got up and went on their way through the woods. Joan thought that Wendy was awfully clever to have thought of a prayer like that, and presently she told her friend so. Wendy looked pleased.
“I hope it was polite enough,” she said. “It hadn’t got the sort of long words in it that church prayers have, but perhaps God doesn’t mind that. He knows we’re only eight, anyway.”
“I’m nine,” said Joan.
“Well, you do it next time, and see if you can do it any better!” said Wendy.
“No, you did it beautifully. I could never do it as well as that. If ever we want anything, you must do the asking for it,” said Joan. And I’m sure long words don’t matter. My Mum says they don’t, and she knows.”
Chapter 3.
Mrs. Grumbleshanks
THE children stood close together, and stared at a small cottage that appeared suddenly just as they reached the end of the wood. Both felt that they must do something here. If this crusade was to be anything more than just a day out in the woods, they would have to make a start on the purpose that had brought them there. But they suddenly felt very nervous about it.
Wendy’s hand sought Joan’s and gripped it tightly. “I think everybody’s asleep in there,” she said hopefully.
“They wouldn’t like to be wakened up so that we could tell them about God,” said Joan. “They might be cross.”
“If we just tip-toe past, we shan’t wake them,” said Wendy, but she did not move to do so.
“Yes,” said Joan, but she did not move either. They stood still for a moment or two, wishing that they could go away, but not liking to do so.
“I suppose we’d better just have a look,” said Wendy at last. “Perhaps they’re lighting their fire, or something.”
“Or perhaps they’re ill,” said Joan. “Come along!”
Still hand in hand they approached the cottage and opened the little gate. As they went more and more slowly up the path, they heard a voice coming from inside: a moaning sort of voice, and at first they stopped short, scared by the sound of it, and then they went on and peeped in through the kitchen window.
A very fat old woman was trying to light the fire; but as soon as she bent her knee to get down to it, she groaned and mumbled to herself, and this was what the children had heard.
“Oh, my poor knees! Oh, my rheumatics! I shall never get this fire lit, and I shall never get a kettle on, and I shall never get a cup of tea! I shall live here and starve till I die! Nobody loves me! Nobody cares if I live or die! Oh, my poor knees! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”
Wendy turned with shining eyes to Joan, and nodded her head hard. Then they ran round to the kitchen door.
“Please may we light your fire for you?” she asked.
The old woman, who had got one knee bent and now could not bend the other, stared at them both.
“And who might you be? Oh, my poor knees!” she moaned.
“We can light fires all right,” said Joan. She went into the room and put her hand under the old woman’s elbow. “I’ll help you up. I often have to help my Gran.”
“I’ll help, too,” said Wendy, and together they did help her to her rocking-chair.
“Well, I never did! Oh, my poor knees!” said the old woman, and she sat staring at the girls and rubbing her knees, while they became busy with the fire.
Wendy cleared the ashes out, while Joan ran outside and found some sticks. Then Wendy screwed up the newspaper that the old woman had put beside the grate, and Joan took the kettle out and filled it at the well. Wendy was laying the sticks in a neat crisscross pattern over the paper, and putting lumps of cinder and coal on top, as if she were building a house with toy bricks. Joan grew impatient.
“No need.to be so fussy!” she said. “Just bung it on!”
“It’s all ready now,” said Wendy. “Please, have you got a match?” she asked the old woman.
“Just inside the cupboard,” was the answer.
“Where shall I put the ash?” asked Joan.
“In the hen-run. Don’t you spill it, now!”
“Shall I feed the hens, too?” asked Joan.
“If you like. The grain is in the wash-house. And don’t you drop the eggs! You be careful!” said the old woman.
“Please, what is your name?” asked Wendy, standing up and watching the crackling, spluttering fire with great pleasure.
“I’m Mrs. Grumbleshanks — and who might you be?”
“I’m Wendy Morris, and my friend is Joan Butler.”
“Never heard of either of you,” said the old woman crossly.
“Well, would you like me to sweep your room now? The kettle won’t boil for a little while,” said Wendy, wishing that Joan would hurry back.
“I ain’t paying a farthing for this, mind!” said the old woman. “I didn’t ask you to come, now did I?”
“No, and we don’t want paying,” said Wendy, going rather red. “Is this the broom?” she asked, spying one in the wash-house.
“What does it look like — a frying-pan?” snapped the old woman. “Don’t ask silly questions!”
Wendy got the broom in silence, thinking that it was a pity they had to be kind to such a nasty old woman. And fancy having to love her! Poor Wendy wanted to cry at the bare idea. But their text said that they must, and that God loved her. That was what they had come to tell her. Wendy swept, while Mrs. Grumbleshanks snapped at her and told her she wasn’t doing the corners properly, and the poor girl wondered if it really was true that God loved this old woman, as she seemed so cross and unkind.
When she had swept the dust outside, she saw Joan coming up the path, and went to meet her.
“Joan, she’s an awful old woman! She’s as cross as cross! She’s been saying horrid things all the time I’ve been sweeping. Do you think God can possibly love her?”
Joan looked thoughtful.
“Perhaps she’s cross because her knees hurt,” she said. “I’m cross when I’ve got tummy-ache, aren’t you?”
“Oh!” said Wendy, looking startled. “Yes — I hope God doesn’t stop loving me then!”
“Of course He doesn’t. And I expect He still loves her too, poor old thing. I don’t suppose she means it, anyway.”
They went indoors again, to find the kettle boiling all over the stove.
“Just like a couple of silly children!” said the old woman. “What did you want to fill that kettle so full for? Now look at the mess!”
“I’ll clean it up,” said Wendy, sighing.
“Make me a pot of tea first,” said Mrs. Grumble-shanks.
“Where do you keep the tea?” asked Joan.
“Well, of all the stupid questions! In the tin on top of the mantelpiece, behind the clock, of course!” snapped the old woman, still rubbing her knees.
After that, they dared not ask any more questions, but found a teapot and a cup, and some milk and sugar, by looking for them, and at last the tea was made and the old woman was sipping a cup, and groaning about her rheumatics with every second sip.
“Have you got any liniment?” asked Joan suddenly. “I always rub my Gran with liniment when she gets rheumatics.”
The old woman looked surprised, and admitted that she had some liniment somewhere. Joan found the bottle, and began to rub the poor old knees, and presently the old woman stopped grumbling and seemed to feel better.
Wendy brought some bread and butter to the table, and, seeing bacon in the cupboard, asked if she should fry some for Mrs. Grumbleshanks. The idea was approved, and she did so. At last the old woman gave a sigh.
“That’s much better. The pain’s quite gone now. I must say, it was good of you two, to come and help a poor old woman that nobody loves! What did you do it for?”
“Well, we heard you say that,” said Joan, putting the liniment bottle away and washing her hands. “And we came to tell you it isn’t true. There is someone who loves you.”
“You’re wrong there, because there isn’t,” said Mrs. Grumbleshanks very positively. “I know what I’m talking about. I haven’t anybody left in the world but my brother, and I haven’t been on speaking terms with him for twenty years.”
“Well, I didn’t mean your brother, I meant your Father,” said Joan.
“My father’s been dead sixty years, dead and buried!” said the old woman.
“I meant your Heavenly Father. He loves you,” said Joan.
The old woman looked terribly sad.
“Ah! How do you know that?” she asked.
“Because it says so in the Bible. Where’s your Bible? I’ll show you the place.”
“I used to have a Bible somewhere,” said the old woman slowly. “But I don’t know where it is now. At the back of some cupboard, I expect. I don’t read it now.”
“I’ll find it,” said Wendy quickly. “You see, if you had read it, you wouldn’t have thought that no one loved you, because it says quite plainly there that God does.”
“You don’t understand, dear. He couldn’t love a wicked old woman like me. He’d turn from me!” sighed Mrs. Grumbleshanks.
“No, He wouldn’t. It says in the Bible that Jesus died for sinners; so, I suppose, the worse sinner you are, the more He died for you. Anyway, we’ll find your Bible and show you the place,” said Joan.
The two little girls began a hunt through the cottage, and finally found the Bible in the front parlour, under a plant pot. It was a very old Bible, with large print, and it was very heavy to carry. Wendy bore it carefully, with Joan walking behind her, watching in case she dropped it, and so together they put it down on the kitchen table beside the old woman’s cup of tea.
“There it is,” said Joan triumphantly. “Now I’ll find you the place.”
The old woman put on her spectacles and watched while the two girls found the place for her. They consulted their list first of all, to see if they could find a more suitable text for their new friend, but came to the conclusion that the one in the Epistle of St. John, where he said that God first loved us and so we ought to love other people, was the best. So they turned it up, and pointed it out to her; and she read it, and tears began to run down her cheeks.
“I’ll be a better old woman now, as long as I keep on remembering this,” she said, mopping her eyes.
“I’d forgotten it, and I thought no one in all the world cared whether I was in pain or whether I lived or died. I won’t forget again.”
“We’ll come and see you again some day,” said Wendy.
“Yes, come and see me again. I’m sorry if I spoke sharply to you about the sweeping, but really the pain in my knees and the pain in my heart just drove me distracted.”
“I hope they stay better,” said Joan sympathetically.
“Well, I don’t care so much about the pain in my knees, as long as my heart doesn’t ache,” said Mrs. Grumbleshanks, with a smile that made her face quite different. “If I can only go on remembering that the dear Lord loves me, even a cross old woman like me, I shan’t feel so lonely. Thank you, dears. And God bless you!”
Joan and Wendy were so pleased with the result of their first task, that they danced down the path to the gate, and ran along the road, with Pluto barking at their heels.
“That was lovely!” panted Wendy, as she slowed down to a walk. “Wasn’t it lovely, to see that horrid old woman turn nice? She had quite a kind smile at the end.”
“I wonder if we shall get lots of jobs like that?” said Joan, skipping merrily. “It wasn’t as hard as I expected, once we were started. I believe I’d make an awfully good preacher, really!”
“You are clever!” Wendy said admiringly.
“Well, so are you. We’re both clever, really, to have got that old woman good in such a short time. I wonder what the next job will be?”
Poor Wendy and Joan! They thought that it was all their own cleverness that had brightened the life of poor Mrs. Grumbleshanks, forgetting that the Holy Spirit of God was working with them and through them. They forgot the holy angels that they had talked about on the previous afternoon, and went along the lane feeling tremendously pleased with themselves, instead of giving God the glory and thanks.
The old woman in her lonely little cottage thought about the things she had heard. She turned the pages of her Bible, and found more and more things there to make her happy. At last she got down on her poor old knees and asked God to use her life, the little that was left of it, to use it as He willed. She asked pardon for having forgotten Him and so gone astray; and she thanked her Heavenly Father for sending Joan and Wendy to point her to the right way.
“Little angels, they were,” she said fondly. “Little messengers of God!”
But the two little girls were dancing along the lane, rather too much pleased with themselves; which was a pity, for when people are pleased with themselves, they usually begin to make mistakes!
Chapter 4.
The Lost Cow.
“LOOK at that cow!” cried Wendy.
Just in front of them, as they turned a bend in the lane, was a cow, eating the long grass by the side of the road.
“It’s all right,” said Joan. “You’re not afraid of cows, are you?”
“Of course not!” said Wendy indignantly. “But where’s it come from?”
“How should I know?” asked Joan.
“Well, don’t you think we ought to find out?” said Wendy.
“Oh, I see what you mean,” said Joan, looking pleased. “We must find the owner, and take it home, and then preach to him — is that it?”
“Of course,” said Wendy. “He can’t be a very good farmer, or his cows wouldn’t roam loose. I shall tell him that, too.”
“How shall we get the cow to come with us?” asked Joan, eyeing the placid animal thoughtfully. “It looks very happy where it is.”
“We must make a halter, somehow,” said Joan. “I know! — the straps from our satchels!”
“We shall have to carry the satchels in our arms, then,” said Wendy: “and they’re awfully heavy!”
“We’d better put them in the ditch, and cover them with grass, until we’ve finished with the cow.
We can come back for them afterward,” said Joan.
They sat down on the grass and took the straps off their satchels; they were threaded through rings of leather on the back, so it was quite easy. Then they joined Wendy’s strap to Joan’s, and it gave them a nice long piece. Then they threaded one end through the buckle to make a loop, and went gingerly up to the cow, to throw their halter over her head.
Of course the cow moved, just as they were getting the halter over, and it caught up on her horns. She shook her head impatiently, and jerked Joan off her feet, so that she fell in the ditch. It was a dry ditch, however, and she soon scrambled out; but by that time the cow was walking up the road, with the strap dangling from her horns.
“Silly thing!” cried Wendy, grabbing the strap and jerking it. Pluto ran up beside her, but the cow did not like the look of him very much, and backed into the hedge.
“Oh, come out!” cried Joan, very much annoyed. “You silly thing, you! Come out!” She grabbed hold of the strap, too, and pulled. Pluto, thinking it was all a fine game, danced round, barking wildly.
“Oh, Pluto, do stop, you idiot!” cried Wendy, who was growing worried. “Joan — pull this way, not that way! Why can’t you do it properly?”
“I am doing it properly!” snapped Joan. “Shut up, Pluto — it’s you that’s causing all the trouble!”
Suddenly the cow decided that she had had enough, and she turned down the road at a canter. The two girls went, too, because they couldn’t help it, and Pluto galloped along beside them, not barking any more, but giving little yelps of excitement.
Then the weight of the girls, pulling on the strap, checked the cow, and she put her head into the hedge.
“Come out, you wicked thing!” cried Wendy furiously. She ran round to the other side and began punching the cow’s broad flanks with her fists. “Come out! Come out and go home!”
Now this was just what the cow wanted to do; but with girls and dogs all over the place, she felt a bit flummoxed. She buried her head deeper into the hedge, while Wendy hammered her and Joan pulled the strap, and Pluto sat on his haunches and watched with his tongue hanging out.
All at once the girls heard a shout, and there was a very angry-looking man on a bicycle coming down the road.
“What are you doing with that cow?” he shouted.
“Trying to get her to go home,” said Wendy.
“No, you’re not — you’re stealing her! What did you want to let her out of the field for, then?” said the man angrily, getting off his bicycle and putting it against the hedge.
“We didn’t!” said Joan indignantly.
“Yes, you did! You opened the gate and let her out, and now you’re taking her off somewhere. Look at this great strap!”
“We put that on to take her back, you stupid man!” cried Wendy.
“Oh, so I’m stupid, am I?” said the man angrily, taking her by the arm. “Not so stupid as to believe your tales, anyway. What were you leading her down this way for, then?”
“We weren’t! She came down here of her own accord,” said Joan.
“Yes, with you tugging at the rope and the dog chasing her, I suppose! That’s a likely story!” He sounded very cross indeed. “I’m not so stupid as I look, let me tell you!”
Wendy began to cry.
“Let go my arm! You’re hurting me,” she sobbed.
“And that’s not true, either,” said the man. “You’re coming along with me, both of you. I’ll teach you to go around stealing cows and calling people stupid!”
“I’m sorry I said that,” whimpered Wendy. “Please let me go. We didn’t mean to steal the cow, really we didn’t!”
“You shouldn’t have let her out of the field, then,” said the man. The cow had taken her head out of the hedge when she heard his voice, and now began to walk up the road as quietly as though she had never run away in her life. The man, still holding on to Wendy’s arm, walked behind, and Joan, crying, too, now, followed them. Pluto walked warily a long way behind, and sat down from time to time on the dusty road, looking highly perplexed at what was going on.
Presently the cow shook her head, and the strap, which had been lodged on her horns, fell off. The man kicked it out of the way, but Joan picked it up and wound it round her waist like a belt. She wondered what the man was going to do to them, but she would not desert Wendy, so she followed close behind.
Soon they came to an open gate, not far from where the girls had first seen the cow. The animal walked inside and the man shut the gate and fastened it.
“Now you come along with me,” he said, and tramped on up the road.
It was very hot and very dusty, and Wendy and Joan began to feel thirsty and tired. It seemed a terribly long way; but at last they saw some farm buildings, and presently he took them through a gate and towards a big barn.
“In you go,” he said, pushing them both inside. “Now I’m going to fetch the police. Children like you ought to be stopped, letting people’s cows out all over the place!” And he shut the door with a bang.
Wendy sank down, sobbing, on the floor, and Joan crouched beside her, with one arm round her friend’s shoulders.
“Oh, dear! We shall go to prison, and then what will happen to us? Mummy and Daddy will think we’re lost. Oh, whatever shall we do!” sobbed poor Wendy.
“Did he hurt your arm?” asked Joan.
“No, it’s all right really, but he did hold tight,” said Wendy, with a sob and a hiccough. “Oh, Joan, whatever shall we do?”
“We’ll tell the policeman all about it,” said Joan. “Yes, but supposing he doesn’t fetch a policeman? Suppose he keeps us here till we starve to death?” moaned Wendy. “Oh, why ever did we come out on this crusade of yours, Joan!”
“I can’t think why it happened,” said Joan sorrowfully. “We were getting on so nicely.”
“He’s just a horrid man!” said Wendy with a sniff.
“Well, I can see his point of view a bit,” said Joan. “He thought we’d let his cow out and were trying to steal her. How was he to know we were bringing her home, when it looked as if we were taking her the wrong way?”
“Well, we told him,” said Wendy.
“Yes; but if we’d been real cow-thieves, we’d have said the same thing, wouldn’t we? People who steal always tell lies, too. So that’s what he thought. Don’t you understand?” said Joan.
“I don’t see why it happened at all. I don’t see why our Guardian Angels didn’t stop it,” said Wendy.
“I suppose we went wrong somewhere,” said Joan. “Mum says that if we’re naughty or disobedient or prideful, our ears get stopped up and we can’t hear the angels.”
“But we weren’t naughty or disobedient!” cried Wendy indignantly.
“Perhaps we were a bit prideful,” said Joan. “I remember thinking we were awfully clever about Mrs. Grumbleshanks. I think I said so, too.”
“We both did,” said Wendy, suddenly remembering. “Oh, dear — that’s where we went wrong! I remember now, saying that you were clever.”
“I said we both were, to have made her good in such a short time. That was wrong, Wendy. It was God who made her good, not us. We were simply puffed-up with pride, like two toads!” said Joan.
“I suppose we’d better tell God we’re sorry,” said Wendy, “and ask Him to help us. I’m sure that man means to leave us here to starve.”
“I know God wouldn’t let that happen,” said Joan stoutly. “Remember that the Lord Jesus loves little children, and He wouldn’t let the man starve us. Yes, let’s tell Him we’re sorry.”
So they knelt down and said, very simply, that they were sorry for their misdoings, and asked for help in their sad predicament.
Almost at once they heard a cautious bark.
“That was Pluto!” exclaimed Wendy.
“Where is he?” cried Joan.
“I don’t know!” said Wendy, and they both got up and hunted round the barn, but they could not find him.
They heard another soft bark, and then Wendy looked up, and there was the dog’s head peeping in through a tiny window, very high up.
“However did he get up there?” gasped Wendy.
“I don’t know, but I expect he’s showing us the way out,” said Joan. “If he could get up, we could get down, couldn’t we?”
“I should think so,” said Wendy. “But how are we going to get up to the window?”
“Climb!” said Joan valiantly. She began to look around, and presently crawled along a beam that led to another beam higher up, and was at last perched on a great big oak beam that ran right across the width of the barn.
“Is it safe?” asked Wendy.
“Yes, if you hold on tight,” said Joan. “Come along!” She unwound the strap that was round her waist, and held down the end for Wendy to grasp. Then she helped her friend up, until both were sitting on the big oak beam.
“Shuffle along sideways,” said Joan, and Wendy did so. When they reached another baulk of timber, one that ran upwards in a slanting direction, Joan lay flat on it and pulled herself up. Wendy shut her eyes and held on tightly, because it looked so dangerous, and then she heard Joan laugh.
“It’s quite easy. Come on, silly. Take hold of this strap, and just pull yourself along.”
Wendy did as she was told, and just as she was thinking that she couldn’t move another inch, she felt a warm, wet tongue on her face, and opened her eyes to see Pluto’s face smiling at her. She had got there!
“Now through the window — quickly!” snapped Joan, and Pluto moved back to make room.
Wendy held on tightly and peeped through the little opening. Just below it was a roof, and just below that another roof, and so on, ever lower and lower until the last was only a tiny jump on to the ground.
“Oh, good!” she cried joyously, and climbed through. Pluto led the way, Wendy followed him, and Joan brought up the rear. Down and down they went, jumping carefully from one roof to the next, until at last they were on the ground again. And then they ran and ran until they were out of breath. “Oh, what a wonderful escape!” cried Wendy, as they slowed up. “Jesus was helping us, I’m sure.”
“I’ll bet He sent Pluto to show us the way,” agreed Joan. “And now we’d better go back and collect our satchels. But I think we’ll take a short cut across the fields, then. I don’t really want to go past that farm again!”
Chapter 5.
The Milk-Bottle Boy
THE milkman’s cart was rattling gaily along the village street, with all the bottles and cans jumping about and singing a merry song inside it as the driver shook the reins and whistled to his horse. Wendy and Joan heard it coming, and stood on one side to let it pass. They were in a strange village now, and were thinking how different it was from their own. They did not know its name, and it struck them as very odd and amusing. For instance, at home the milk was brought by Old Tom with a handcart, while here they used a horse. And there were other things, too. The church was on the left-hand side of the road instead of on the right, and it had a steeple instead of a square tower. And the post office did not sell sweets, as theirs did at home. Joan and Wendy thought they would not like to live there at all.
As they walked up the street, talking about the place, they saw the milkman stop his horse, jump out of the cart, and go into a gate, still whistling, carrying his wire tray full of milk bottles with him.
Suddenly a small boy appeared, looked round carefully, and jumped on the back of the cart. Then he jumped down again, but now he had a bottle of milk in his hand. He looked round again, and then darted down a turning.
“Did you see that?” cried Wendy.
“He was stealing that milk!” ejaculated Joan. “Shall we tell the milkman?”
“I wonder where he’s gone?” said Wendy thoughtfully.
“He went to that cottage. I can see him at the door now, talking,” said Joan.
“No, I didn’t mean him — I meant the little boy,” said Wendy. “He went down that turning over there. Let’s see if we can find him.”
“Not tell the milkman?” asked Joan.
“No, let’s talk to the boy,” said Wendy, and she led the way down the turning.
At first they could not see any place where the boy might be hiding; but as they went round a bend in the lane, they saw a haystack in a field a little way farther on.
“I bet that’s where he is,” said Joan, beginning to run. “Come on!”
Wendy ran after her, and they passed through the open gate of the field, and towards the haystack. As they rounded it, they saw a startled looking boy pushing something into the stack, and Joan bounded forward and thrust her hand in after it.
“Go away!” shouted the boy, pushing her off. But Joan brought out her hand triumphantly, with the missing milk bottle held in it!
“There!” she cried.
The boy burst into tears, and threw himself down on the ground with his face buried on his arms.
“Don’t send me to prison,” he sobbed. “I won’t do it again! Don’t tell the policeman!”
“What did you do it for?” asked Wendy, sitting down beside him.
“I was thirsty,” said the boy, turning his head away and sniffing. “There wasn’t no milk at home, so I thought I’d pinch some. I done it often before, an’ I never bin caught yet till you two come along.”
“Don’t you know it’s wrong to pinch things?” asked Wendy.
“Yah! It doesn’t matter,” said the boy. “If I hadn’t been caught, it wouldn’t have mattered. No one saw me but you.”
“God saw you,” said Joan.
“And it made Him very sorry,” added Wendy.
“Sorry?” The boy laughed miserably. “He don’t care about me, He don’t! He wouldn’t have nothing to do with me. I’m too bad. Everyone says so.”
“Don’t be so silly!” cried Wendy. “He loves bad people best!”
“Not better than good people, Wendy, does He?” asked Joan anxiously.
“Well, He died for bad people, to make them good,” said Wendy. “We’re all bad really, so He died for all of us. But the badder you are, the more you need Him to have died for you, don’t you?”
“He never died for me,” said the little boy. “Everyone says I’m the baddest boy in the village, and old Mrs. Baxter said God wouldn’t love me if I was bad, so there you are, you see! He doesn’t love bad people — He only loves them if they’re nice and clean and good. I’m a little sinner, I am. My Dad says so, and everyone says so.”
“I expect you are; but still Jesus died for you,”
said Wendy, who was feeling terribly sorry for the little boy.
“It says so in the Bible,” said Joan, remembering one of the texts they had copied out. She began to rummage in her pocket. “Wendy — have you got our text paper?”
Wendy searched in her pocket and found it.
“Yes, here it is,” she said. “Now you listen to this, boy. This is what the Bible says. You believe the Bible knows more about God than Mrs. Baxter does, don’t you?”
I suppose it does,” said the little boy.
“Well, the Bible says: ‘While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ That’s good enough, isn’t it? That means you, doesn’t it?”
“Do you mean that Jesus knows how bad I am, and yet He died for me?” asked the boy, sitting up and staring at the two girls. “How could He?”
“It says so here, so it must be true,” said Wendy. “And I know it is true that He loves us all, even if we are naughty.”
“Ah, but I’m more than naughty — I’m real, right- down, wicked bad, I am!”
“Well, He still loves you. I’ll tell you another thing it says in the Bible: ‘Nothing can separate us from the love of God.’ That’s clear enough, isn’t it?” said Joan.
“I don’t understand it,” said the boy, rubbing his head in a puzzled way. “You see, it was like this. I wasn’t very bad at first, just a bit naughty sometimes— like most people, I suppose — but that Mrs. Baxter, she told me that God wouldn’t love me if I was naughty. And then, I suppose, I was pretty bad sometimes, and Dad said I was a little sinner, and the lady next door said I was the worst boy she’d ever known, and then I thought of what Mrs. Baxter had said, and I guessed God didn’t love me any more, so I thought I’d be real bad then!”
“I suppose it didn’t seem worth while to try to be good, then, if you thought that what they said was true,” suggested Joan.
“That’s right. I thought it wasn’t any good trying to be good, if He’d given me up, so I got badder and badder,” the boy answered. “It wasn’t much fun, really. At first I felt awfully proud to be the worst boy in the village; but it soon stopped being fun. And I’m sick of it now!”
“Well, it seems to me a silly idea!” said Joan.
“God never gives anyone up,” said Wendy indignantly. “You’ve only got to be really sorry, and tell Him so, and put the things right that you’ve done wrong, and it’s all right.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked the boy doubtfully. “It sounds too easy.”
“It’s easy enough for anybody,” said Wendy.
“I shall have a lot of things to put right,” said the boy thoughtfully. “But, oh, it’ll be marvelous not to have to be thinking of bad things to do all the time! I had to show them that I really was the worst boy in the village, you see, and I grew so tired of it! It was fun at first, but I did grow tired of it! Now I shan’t have to bother any more.”
“Well, that’s a good thing,” said Wendy.
“Do you go to Sunday school?” asked Joan.
“What’s the use? — what was the use, when God didn’t love me anymore?” asked the boy. “Mum thought I went, but I used to pinch some fags and smoke behind this haystack. But it wasn’t much fun, doing it all alone. I used to watch the other kids going to Sunday school, and wish I hadn’t been so bad, sometimes. I used to wish God loved me again, sometimes. Are you sure He does?” asked the little boy anxiously.
“Dead certain sure!” said Joan.
“Absolutely plumb certain!” said Wendy.
“Well, I suppose I’d better give this milk bottle back first,” said the boy, with a comical grin. “I’ve drunk a bit of it. I’ll bet he clips me — but I can run!”
“I’ve got some milk here,” said Wendy, undoing the satchel she was carrying. “We’ll fill the bottle up, and then he can’t grumble.”
“I say, you are a sport!” said the boy.
They poured in some of the milk, and then found the cardboard top of the bottle among the hay, and dusted it, and put it in place again. Then they all got up.
“Well, so long,” said the boy. “Er — thanks!”
“We’re coming with you,” said Joan decisively.
“Are you really?” He brightened up at once. “That’s fine! Let’s go. He’ll have got to Windmill Cottages by now, I expect.”
The three children ran off. Windmill Cottages were some distance away by road, but they dodged over fields and reached them in pretty good time. The milkman was standing at the back of his cart, packing bottles into the tray, when they saw him. The little boy marched up to him.
“Hello, Jimmy, what do you want?” asked the milkman, watching the boy narrowly. “What are you doing with that bottle?”
“I pinched it. I’ve come to give it back,” said the little boy, putting the bottle down hurriedly on the cart, then backing out of range of the milkman’s long arm.
“Oh, you did, did you?” cried the man indignantly. “And what have you put in it, I’d like to know? Water? Salt? Pepper? Flour?”
“No, nothing,” said Jimmy, shaking his head. “Only some milk these girls gave me, because I’d drunk some of yours.”
The milkman sat down on the end of his cart, tilted his cap back, and scratched his head.
“What’s the game?” he asked at last.
“There isn’t a game. Only, I’m not the worst boy in the village any more,” said Jimmy.
“Who is, then?” asked the milkman.
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy; “but it isn’t me. I’ve suit. So I had to bring your bottle back.”
The milkman looked at him thoughtfully, and then at the two girls.
“Is he speaking the truth?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Joan.
“You see, people had been telling him lies about God, so he thought he might as well be bad,” Wendy explained.
The milkman looked grave.
“Ah, that’s bad!” he said. “People do tell you such things! I’ll give you a bit of advice, my lad: don’t you believe what people tell you — you go and read in His own Book about Him, and you won’t go far wrong. I’d make an exception in favor of your Sunday-school teacher and the Vicar — they’re to be trusted to tell you right about God. But other people— you be very careful what you listen to about Him. Read it up for yourself, and you won’t go far wrong.”
“I don’t know where to read,” said Jimmy in perplexity.
“You can ask your Sunday-school teacher, can’t you?” said the milkman. “She’d be only too pleased to tell you. Don’t be shy. Just up and ask her!”
“That’s a good idea,” said Joan.
“All right, I will,” said Jimmy. “And” — he turned to Wendy —“could you tell me where the bits are that you told me about, when we were by the haystack? I’d like to read those for myself. About Jesus dying for me when I was a sinner, I mean, and that bit about the love of God.”
“I’ll write them down for you,” said Wendy promptly, and she did.
“And now,” said the milkman, “if you like to come round with me this morning, and help me to deliver the milk, you can have this bottle, the one you took, back again. Any morning during the holidays, or on Saturdays, that you like to come round with me, I’ll give you a bottle of milk. Is that O.K.?”
“Coo, yes!” said Jimmy gleefully. “Can I ride in the cart, too?”
“Yes, of course you can. Did you think I meant you to run behind like a little dog? Up you get! Now say good-bye to your friends — we’ve got to be off!”
So Jimmy said good-bye and thanked them again, and the milkman shook the reins and whistled to his horse, and then went riding down the road with all the milk bottles and cans playing a merry tune as they went. And Joan and Wendy and Pluto watched them out of sight, waving good-bye, and feeling very happy indeed.
Chapter 6.
Saucy Sally
THEY were a long way from the village; passing a small cottage with a white gate, when a little girl who was swinging on the gate put out her tongue at them.
Wendy and Joan stopped short in surprise. “What’s that for?” asked Joan.
“What’s what for?” asked the little girl, swinging more energetically.
“What did you put your tongue out at us for?” asked Wendy.
“I never!” said the little girl. “But I will now!” And she did it again.
“Why?” asked Wendy.
“Because you’re silly, you’re silly, you’re silly!” chanted the little girl. She jumped off the gate, turned head-over-heels on the grass, and jumped back on to the gate again.
“We’re not silly!” said Joan indignantly.
“Well, you’ve got silly faces,” said the girl. “I don’t like you. Don’t stand by my gate. Go home!” And she jumped off the gate again, and began throng stones at them.
Joan bent down to pick up a stone to throw back; but Wendy stopped her.
“We mustn’t do that,” she said. “We’ve got to turn the other cheek.”
“What?” asked Joan, blinking at her friend.
“Don’t you remember what Jesus said?”
“Oh!” said Joan, dropping the stone and looking disappointed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
The little girl, who had rushed into the cottage when she saw Joan bend to pick up the stone, now peeped out.
“Can’t hit me!” she taunted from the doorway.
“I don’t want to hit you,” said Joan.
The little girl did not quite know what to say to this, and came very cautiously out of the door as if she did not believe that Joan was in earnest. Hover, as nothing was thrown at her, she came back to the gate.
“It’s no use your coming in here and hitting me,” she said defiantly. “I’ve got a dog in here, a million times bigger than your silly dog, and he’ll eat you up if you come inside our gate.”
“We don’t want to come inside your gate, do we, Wendy?” said Joan.
“Why don’t you go home, then?” asked the little girl.
“We want to talk to you,” said Wendy.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” said the girl.
“Why not?” asked Joan.
“Because you’re silly, you’re silly, you’re silly!” sang the little girl, swinging harder than ever on the gate.
“I think that’s a silly song,” said Wendy. “I know better ones than that. We learn them at Sunday school.”
“Oh, I don’t go to Sunday school!” said the girl. “I think that’s silly.”
“You think everything’s silly, don’t you?” asked Joan.
“Nearly everything,” said the little girl.
“Except you, of course,” said Wendy.
“Oh, I’m not silly!” said she.
“Well, I think you are,” said Joan. “Very silly, if you don’t go to Sunday school. Look what a lot you’re missing.”
“I’m not missing anything. Silly old hymns, silly old stories. I don’t want to go to the silly old Sunday school.”
“I suppose you think God’s silly, too,” said Wendy; “but He’s a lot cleverer than you are.”
“Why is He?” asked the little girl, frowning.
“Well, He made everything. Can you make anything?” asked Joan. “Can you make daisies and birds? Could you even make a gate to swing on, or a pudding to eat? I think it’s you that’s silly. You’re missing all the interesting things.”
“Why did He make everything, if He didn’t have to?” asked the little girl.
“Because He loves everything. He made you, too, and He loves you,” said Wendy eagerly.
“How can He love me?” asked the girl, stopping her swinging for a moment. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“Of course He knows you,” said Joan. “He knows your name and all about you. Don’t you ever talk to Him?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Well, I expect He talks to you,” said Wendy. “And I know He talks to Joan and me.”
“What do you love best of all in the world?” asked Joan.
“My kitten and my puppy and my baby brother,” said the little girl promptly. “And my little bird — he hurt his wing, and I kept him till it was better, and now he comes and sings outside my bedroom window in the mornings before I get up. And the poor little rabbit that the stoat hurt — I’ve got him in a cage, and he’s doing quite nicely. Oh, there are lots of things I love!”
“Well, it was God put it into your heart to love all those things,” said Wendy. “Because God is love, and when we love anyone or anything very much, it’s a little bit of God in us that’s doing it. If God didn’t love you, you couldn’t love your baby brother, because the love wouldn’t be inside you for you to use.”
“Anyone would love my baby brother,” declared the little girl. “He’s the sweetest thing in the world.”
“Well, God made him, and God loves him, too. And God went into your heart and made you love him. It’s all God,” said Joan.
The little girl opened the gate and joined the other two.
“Let’s sit down over here,” she suggested, “and you tell me more about it. How do you know God loves me?”
“Because He came down from heaven to die for you,” said Joan quickly.
“Why did He do that?” asked the little girl.
“It was to save you from Satan. You see, every time you do something naughty or unkind, Satan gets hold of you and makes you do more bad things, so that when you die you have to go to him and not to heaven. And Satan was getting hold of people so much that God knew that nothing they could do would save them, unless Jesus came down from heaven and died instead of us; so that we’re safe from Satan now.”
“Do you mean that if Jesus hadn’t died, Satan might get hold of me?” asked the little girl.
“Well, it was Satan who told you to put your tongue out at us, and say unkind things to us; so you see he would have got you, wouldn’t he?” said Wendy.
“I suppose so,” agreed the little girl. “I say, my name’s Sally,” she added. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Joan, and this is Wendy.”
“I didn’t know all this,” said Sally thoughtfully. “I knew wicked men hung Jesus on a cross, but I didn’t know He died for me. I — I don’t think it’s quite fair to do naughty things if He really did die for me, do you? I mean, I usually swing on the gate and try to make people cross, and then when they come after me I rush up the path and my big dog barks at them and frightens them off. But that doesn’t seem fair now, somehow, does it?”
“No, it isn’t, really,” Wendy agreed.
“I don’t suppose Jesus would like it,” said Sally, with a sigh.
“He doesn’t like people to be unkind,” said Joan. “He likes people to love each other.”
“Well, I love lots of things and lots of people,” said Sally cheerfully. “I’m afraid I tease them all, too.”
“I don’t think ordinary teasing matters,” said Wendy. “It’s only if you make people unhappy, or hurt them, that it makes Jesus sorry.”
“I don’t want to do that ever again,” said Sally.
“Well, why don’t you go to Sunday school, and hear more about Him?” asked Joan quickly. “I’m sure the more you hear about Him, the more you’ll love Him. He’s so kind and so strong and so brave. When He lived on earth, everyone loved Him, especially children; everyone except the wicked people.”
“I suppose I’d better,” said Sally. She stood up. “I’ll ask my Mum. You come and ask her, too.”
They all went in through the little white gate, Pluto following. A big black dog came prowling round from the back of the cottage, growling deeply in his throat, and Pluto growled back. Wendy flew to grab Pluto’s collar, and Sally rushed to her own dog and smacked his head.
“Be quiet, you wicked thing!” she scolded. “Can’t you see these are friends of mine?”
The dog looked ashamed of himself, and sat down by the side of the path. Wendy kept hold of Pluto’s collar as they went past, in case there was any trouble. However, although the two dogs eyed each other very hard, nothing happened, and Wendy let go of the collar, though she still kept an eye on the dog.
A plump woman with a merry face was putting a baby out in his pram from the kitchen as they came up, and she smiled at them.
“Dear me, visitors?” she said. “Have you brought your friends to see Baby, Sally?”
“Yes, and to ask you something, Mum,” said Sally. She ran to the pram and pushed her head in, to kiss the little baby. “Hullo, darling!” she cried, kissing his nose and his cheeks and his tiny hands. “Smile for Sally, now! Smile, darling! There! Look, Wendy — look, Joan — he’s smiling! Isn’t he the loveliest baby in all the world?”
“You’ll wake him up so much that he won’t go to sleep all morning,” laughed Sally’s mother.
“Oh, he is a darling!” cried Wendy. “I remember when my little brother was just like that. I do love babies!”
“So do I,” said Joan, leaning over the other side of the pram. “Will he smile for me?”
“expect so, if I ask him to,” said Sally. She tickled the baby under his chin. “Smile for Joan and Wendy, darling!”
However, the baby had had enough of smiling, and put his thumb into his mouth instead, and closed his eyes.
“He’s sleepy,” said Sally’s mother firmly. “Off you pop, all of you. He must have his sleep now.” And she wheeled the pram down the path away from the house.
I’ll ask her when she comes back,” said Sally. “You can come and see my bird and my rabbit now, if you like.”
“Is the bird in a cage, too?” asked Wendy.
“Oh, no: he lives in the tree nearest to my window, and he’s usually there. Look up — yes, there he is!
At least, I think that’s him. If you listen, I expect he’ll sing for you. He always sings to wake me up in the mornings.”
They stood and listened for a minute or two, but the bird did not sing, and soon Sally’s mother came back up the path. Sally forgot the bird at once, and rushed over to ask her mother if she might go to Sunday school on Sundays to learn more about Jesus. “Well, the times I’ve tried to get you to go!” exclaimed her mother. “But you never would!
What’s come over you all of a sudden?”
“Well, my new friends, Wendy and Joan, go there, and they’ve told me about Jesus, and I want to go and learn some more about Him,” said Sally.
“Well, I think it’s a very good idea, and I’m glad you’re getting a little sense at last,” said her mother.
“Now, what about a nice glass of milk and a slice of cake all round, eh? Wendy? Joan? What do you say to that?”
“Ooh, I think it’s a lovely idea,” said Wendy, and Joan agreed. They went into the cool, red-tiled kitchen, and sat down at the table, while Sally’s mother brought an enormous cake out of the larder and cut off three magnificent slices. Then she filled three glasses with rich, foamy milk, and set them before the young people.
It was a lovely cake, and the milk was delicious. Joan and Wendy had been feeling the least little bit tired, for they had come a long way; but after this snack they were as fresh as daisies again! They ate their slices until not a crumb remained, and then Sally’s mother cut them each another, in case they were still hungry! Wendy had to put half the second slice into her pocket — she said she was full right up! But Joan managed to finish hers, though she sighed several times before she reached the end of it.
“I am glad you came,” said Sally, as she saw her new friends off at the gate. She closed it and climbed up on it. “Isn’t it funny that I started making faces at you, and now we’re friends? I never thought we should be friends when I first saw you, did you?”
“You never know!” said Joan.
Chapter 7.
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.
Chapter 8.
Pluto and the Kitten
THE lanes had turned to streets with pavements before the girls had their next adventure. They were walking along, looking at the gardens, when suddenly they missed Pluto.
“Where can he have gone?” cried Joan. “He was following us just now.”
They turned and stared back along the way they had come.
“Yes; there he is,” cried Wendy. “Look―he’s got his front paws on the top of that gate. What can he be looking at? Pluto! Pluto! Come here, you had dog!”
But Pluto paid no attention to the call; and even when his little mistress whistled loudly, he still would not come.
“We shall have to go back and get him,” said Wendy.
“All right,” said Joan. “It’s funny that he should be naughty now — he’s been so good all day.”
“I can’t think what’s come over him!” declared Wendy. “Oh, look! — run! He’s jumped over the gate now!”
Both girls began to run as fast as they could down the road, and presently came to the house where Pluto had disappeared. Wendy opened the gate quickly, and then stopped short.
“Look at him!” she said indignantly.
Pluto was sitting on the wide doorstep of the house, playing with a tiny white kitten. The kitten was standing on its hind paws, smacking Pluto’s nose with its front paws, and the big dog was shaking his head, and pretending to be mightily afraid of the tiny thing.
“Pluto! Come here!” called Joan, but Pluto took no notice.
“Pluto, you wicked dog, come here!” scolded Wendy, but still the dog went on playing with the kitten, and would not even look at them.
“What shall we do?” asked Joan.
“Oh, look — the kitten’s standing on his head now!” cried Wendy, and she began to giggle.
“We ought to get him away,” said Joan, but she, too, began to laugh as the wee thing danced up and down Pluto’s back, holding its tail high in the air, and then sprang on to his head again.
Pluto seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and now shook his head, but gently, so that the kitten did not fall off but slithered gently down his neck and between his front paws. Then the big dog put one paw squarely on the kitten’s back.
“Oh, Pluto―you’ll hurt her!” cried Wendy, and she rushed forward. Joan followed her, and Pluto looked up with a doggy smile, and lifted his paw, showing the kitten to be none the worse. It frolicked about, smacking him with its little white paws, not a bit frightened of him, until he put his paw down on its back again, and held it prisoner.
“Pluto, you’d better not do that,” said Wendy firmly, lifting up his paw and freeing the kitten. Pluto, of course, was not putting his full weight upon it, or he would have made it mew; but Wendy was afraid that he might become too rough, so she would not let him trap the kitten again, but held on to his paw whenever he raised it.
Joan sat clown on the step, and stroked the kitten; but the little thing did not want to play with her — it wanted to play with Pluto! And so it darted away, and then ran out from behind a bush and bit his tail, causing him to jump in the air with a startled yelp. Wendy and Joan laughed delightedly.
“Whatever is all this noise in my front garden?” cried a shrill voice, and both little girls got up hurriedly, and Pluto bounded down the steps, and the kitten disappeared behind the bushes. A thin, gray-haired woman was standing on the top step staring at them. Her eyes looked gray and cold, and her mouth was thin and cross-looking. Both little girls felt rather frightened.
“I’m sorry,” said Wendy. “We were playing with the kitten.”
And how dare you come into my garden and play with my kitten! And whose is that horrid great dog? Take him away — take him away at once! He’ll eat the kitten — he’ll eat Snowflake! Take him away at once!”
“He won’t hurt it,” said Joan hurriedly. “He jumped over the gate to play with it.”
“He’ll kill her! He’ll eat her! Take him away at once or I’ll call the police! “screamed the woman. “Pluto! Go outside!” commanded Wendy.
“And you, too, both of you,” said the woman angrily. She snatched a big walking-stick from just inside the door, and shook it at them. Pluto departed hurriedly, but Wendy tried not to show how frightened she was.
“Please, we only came in to fetch Pluto,” she said. “And we’re sorry we made a noise.”
“You came in to steal Snowflake!” said the woman. “Be off with you, before I call the police!”
“Honestly we didn’t!” cried Joan, deeply shocked that anyone could think such a thing. “We were afraid Pluto might hurt her, that was why we came in.”
“Of course he would have hurt her!” said the angry woman. “He would have killed her, and you would have stolen her — it’s a good thing I came out when I did! I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard all that noise in my front garden: I thought it must be in the road. And then, when I opened the door to tell you to be quiet, I found you actually on my own doorstep! Now be off with you, before I come after you!”
She looked so threatening, waving the walking-stick at them, that both girls thought that it was high time to depart! So they went out, closing the gate behind them, and saw Pluto in front of them, walking sedately down the road.
“He is a wretch!” said Joan indignantly. “He got us into that scrape!”
“Well, it was a lovely little kitten,” said Pluto’s mistress apologetically. “I wish it was mine!”
“So do I!” sighed Joan. “I wish she had let us stay and play with it for a little while.”
“She was a horrid, bad-tempered old thing!” said Wendy. “Fancy thinking we meant to steal her kitten!”
“Fancy being so cross, just because we made a little noise in her garden!” said Joan. “We only laughed — I could make much more noise than that!
“So could I,” agreed Wendy. “Of course, we were calling Pluto, and trying to stop him from squashing Snowflake, and we did laugh rather a lot when she bit his tail. And he yelped, too. Oh, dear, that was funny!” And Wendy began to giggle again, and Joan joined in, and they both sat down on the pavement to have their laugh in comfort.
Meanwhile, Pluto had gone on quite a bit ahead, and now he stopped to see what they were laughing about. When he saw them sitting down, leaning against each other, nearly crying with laughter, he trotted back and stood in front of them with his head on one side.
“Oh, dear, that was funny!” said Joan, and she wiped her eyes. She patted Pluto’s side. “You wicked dog! — you did make us laugh, though!”
Pluto did not say anything, but put his head a little more on one side.
“What’s he got in his mouth?” cried Wendy. “Oh, look, Joan — he’s got something white hanging out of the side of his mouth!”
“Where?” asked Joan, and bent round to look. “Oh, it’s the kitten!” she screamed. “It’s the kitten’s tail!”
“Oh, wicked, wicked, wicked Pluto!” cried Wendy, nearly sobbing with fright. “What have you done to it? Put it down, you wicked dog! Put it down at once.”
Pluto lay down on the pavement and opened his mouth. The little white kitten, looking a bit damp and ruffled, rolled out and at once began boxing him with its tiny paws. The game began all over again, and both girls were tremendously relieved that Snowflake was not harmed.
“When could he have done that?” cried Wendy. “Do you think he just picked it up while that cross old thing was shouting at us?”
“I expect so,” said Joan. “Oh, dear — what a nuisance he is! What shall we do now?”
“I suppose we ought to take it back,” said Wendy slowly.
“Well, we can’t steal it,” said Joan.
“And we can’t leave it alone here — it might get lost or run over,” said Wendy.
“We might take it to the police station,” said Joan doubtfully. “I expect they’d know where it lived. I don’t like the idea of going back to that cross old thing, do you?”
Wendy sat still with her head down, thinking. Pluto and the white kitten were playing happily, but she knew that he could not be allowed to keep his new playmate. She sighed.
“I suppose we ought to take it back, really,” she said. “I expect she’ll be cross, but we’ll have to do it.”
“All right,” said Joan, and she picked up the little kitten. They walked back slowly, with Pluto staring up at his new friend, and the kitten trying to get out of Joan’s arms to continue the game. At last they reached the gate — and then a strange sound met their ears: someone was crying; crying, and calling “Snowflake! Snowflake!” in a most heart-broken way. Joan pushed open the gate and ran forward.
“Here she is!” she called. “She’s all right! Here she is! Our dog stole her, hut she’s quite all right.”
The woman gave a cry and snatched the kitten. She wept over it and petted it, and did not seem to notice the two girls and the dog at all. After standing for a moment, not quite sure what to do next, they turned to go; but then the woman remembered them.
“Thank you for bringing her back,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You evidently didn’t mean to steal her, and I apologize for saying that you did.”
“That’s all right,” smiled Wendy. “She’s such a lovely little kitten, anyone would love to have her. And I’m afraid our dog did steal her! But they’re such friends.”
“Surely she’s terrified at such a big, rough dog?” said the woman.
“She isn’t — not a bit,” said Joan. “She bit his tail. That’s what we were laughing at when we made such a noise.”
“I can hardly believe it,” said the woman, kissing the top of the kitten’s head.
“Do put her down for a minute, and watch them play,” urged Wendy. “They’re so lovely, and Pluto is as gentle as can be.”
The woman hesitated, and then put the kitten down. At once it bounded over to Pluto and tried to climb up one of his forelegs; but it got stuck halfway and stayed there, mewing angrily, until even the woman had to laugh.
“I shouldn’t have believed it,” she said. “Well, I owe you some amends for having been so sharp with you this morning; but, you see, Snowflake is my only friend. Now come and have a glass of milk and a piece of sponge cake.”
Of course the girls thanked her, and accepted the offer at once. As they sat in the cool under a shady tree, watching the big dog and the little kitten playing together, the woman told them that her name was Miss Twiss, and then asked them where they came from and what they were doing so far from home.
This gave them the opportunity they were hoping for, and they began to tell her of the Heavenly Friend who loved her and was only waiting for her love. But to their disappointment she shook her head impatiently.
“Don’t talk that sort of nonsense to me, children!” she said. “I call that real impertinence, little girls of your age speaking like that to me!”
“It’s all in the Bible,” said Wendy, feeling rather frightened, now that Miss Twiss seemed so unfriendly again. “We copied out some texts — do look at them.”
“I haven’t time,” said Miss Twiss. She looked at her watch. “Now, if you children have quite finished, I’ve an appointment in the town. I’m very grateful to you for bringing Snowflake back, and I’m sure you mean well; but that’s no excuse for preaching to me. I never heard of such a thing!”
“We — we only wanted people to know that they’d be happier if they remembered that God loves them,” said Joan, backing towards the gate.
“That’s quite enough! Good-bye. Call your dog,” said Miss Twiss, and she shut the door very firmly.
“I wonder why she wouldn’t listen?” said Wendy, as they went on down the road. “She was quite nice when we brought the kitten back, and then she turned all horrid as soon as we started talking about God. I don’t understand it.”
“I suppose the Holy Spirit hadn’t had time to prepare her heart for the message,” said Joan thoughtfully. “Perhaps when we asked God this morning to send us people who wanted helping, we ought to have asked for the Holy Spirit to begin preparing their hearts right away. Then Miss Twiss would have been ready to listen by the time we came to her. A heart like hers must take an awful lot of preparing. I expect it’s like the stony ground that Jesus talked about.”
“Well, it’s too late now to say a prayer about it,” sighed Wendy. “It’s awfully disappointing, though.” Joan thought for a moment.
“I don’t think it’s too late. We put the seed in the ground when we told Miss Twiss about God loving her and wanting her to love Him, and I’m sure God could still water it and make it grow, even though we forgot to ask for the ground to be prepared first.”
“But we shan’t know if it grows or not,” objected Wendy.
“No, but God will―and we’re doing it for Him,”
Joan pointed out. “Besides, don’t you remember that text we learned at Sunday school, about if we ask God to do things we know He wants, we know He hears us...?”
“And if we know He hears us, we know we have the things we asked for!” finished Wendy triumphantly. “That’s in one of John’s Epistles.”
“Well, we know He wants Miss Twiss to love Him, so He’s sure to answer our prayer.”
“So He is!” Wendy cried. “Let’s ask Him now.”
Chapter 9.
In the Park;
WENDY and Joan were well into the town by now, and the pavements were thronged with hurrying people. Somehow it did not seem possible to talk to any of them, as they all seemed in such a hurry. They walked on for some time, stopping to look in shop windows, but after a while they grew tired of this.
“I wonder if it’s dinner time yet?” suggested Joan.
Wendy looked at her watch.
“Why, it’s nearly two o’clock!” she exclaimed. “No wonder I’m feeling empty. Let’s go somewhere and eat our dinner, shall we?”
“I can’t understand how we didn’t think of that before,” said Joan in wonderment. “I always have my dinner at twelve!”
“Well, we’ve had lots of snacks,” said Wendy, with a laugh. “Cake and milk and apples! That’s why we didn’t think of looking at the time before, I expect.”
“Well, where shall we go?” asked. Joan, who was terribly hungry now she thought of it.
“Let’s find a park,” said Wendy. “Towns always have parks.”
“But how do you find them?” asked Joan crossly. “We can’t just walk about forever and ever, looking for one. We might never find it, and go on walking till night!”
“Let’s ask a policeman,” said Wendy. “They always know everything.”
“But where” began Joan, but Wendy interrupted her.
“There’s one, over there, holding up the traffic. We’ll wait till he isn’t so busy, and then ask him.”
They walked up the pavement and came opposite the policeman, who was directing the traffic at busy cross-roads. They waited until he held up the stream of traffic that separated them from him, and then ran across in front of the waiting cars and buses and stopped beside him.
“Go on — right across!” said the policeman. “It’s all safe. Go on.”
“But we want to ask you something,” said Wendy.
“Ah, well, I’ll release this lot first,” said the policeman, and they stood very close to his long blue legs while he turned and waved on the cars that were standing still and put up his hands to hold up those coming in the other direction.
“Now, what is it?” he asked, when everything was going on nicely.
“Please can you tell us where there’s a park where we can eat our dinner?” asked Wendy. “We’ve got it with us.”
“Yes, there’s a nice park down the High Street, second turning to the left and third on the right. The gates are in St. Martin’s Road. Think you can remember that?”
“Second turning to the left down the High Street, and second on the right,” said Wendy.
“No, third on the right: St. Martin’s Road. Look out for that. Now hold on a minute, and I’ll get you across the road and on to the right pavement,” said the policeman.
Once more he switched the traffic over, and, when it was flowing evenly, he took the two little girls by the hand, and with Pluto marching sedately behind, led them across the road. All the traffic went on just as if he were there, for the drivers could see what he was doing and knew that he would soon be back at his post again. When he had put them on to the right pavement, he repeated his instruction.
“Down this street here — this is the High Street. And second turning on the left and third on the right. Do you know which is your left hand?” he asked.
“Of course!” said both girls indignantly, holding up the proper hands.
“Quite right. Well, it’s a nice park. So long!” said the policeman, and he strode back to his post.
“Thank you so much!” Wendy and Joan called after him, and then they set off down the High Street.
They took the second turning on the left, and then the third on the right, and, sure enough, this was St. Martin’s Road.
“I can see the park gates, right down there,” cried Joan, pointing, and they began to run.
It was a lovely park, with tidy beds, full of flowers, near the gates, but lovely grass and big trees over all the rest of it. There was a lake, with some ducks on it, and lots of children playing about with boats, too.
“Let’s sit under the trees and eat our dinner, and then perhaps we could paddle in the lake,” said Joan. “Lots of children are doing it.”
“All right,” said Wendy. “But dinner first — I’m starving!”
They sat down in a quiet spot where there weren’t any other people and began to unwrap their parcels. Among them was a bone, all neatly wrapped up and labelled “Pluto.”
“We ought to have brought some water for Pluto,” said Wendy. “However could I have forgotten that? But then, I forgot Pluto himself! Mummy must have guessed he’d come, too, though, anyway.”
“He can drink the lake,” said Joan.
“I hope he doesn’t drink it all,” giggled Wendy. “Fancy if all the boats found themselves sitting on the mud because Pluto had drunk all the water!”
“Fathead!” said Joan. “He couldn’t drink all that. Pass the sandwiches, please.”
“Are you going to say Grace?” asked Wendy, as she passed them over. “We always do at home.”
“So do we,” said Joan, “but then that’s sitting up to a table in a room. Do we have to say it out here?”
“Well, it’s only saying thank you, isn’t it?” said Wendy. “Does it make any difference if we’re outside or inside, if we think we ought to say thank you? I’d much rather say thank you for all these lovely pies and things than for semolina pudding; but I have to say it at home whether there’s semolina pudding or not, and God must know that I don’t like semolina pudding.”
“Oh, but semolina pudding’s lovely!” cried Joan. “All yellow and creamy under the skin!”
“I hate the skin,” said Wendy firmly. “But I still have to eat it, and I still have to say thank you.”
“Well, it’s better than starving,” said Joan. She eyed all the good food in front of her. “Yes, I suppose we ought to say Grace,” she said. “But everyone will stare.”
“We can say it quickly. I don’t think anyone’s looking at us,” said Wendy. “What Grace do you say?”
“Well, when I was very little I used just to say ‘Thank God for my good dinner’, afterward. But now I say ‘For what we are about to receive’ — or ‘For what we have received’ may the Lord make us truly thankful’. He doesn’t always — if it’s semolina! — but I’ve done my best. Mummy always says that one, and I just say ‘Amen’.”
“My mummy says rather a difficult one, about blessing the gifts and making us strong to serve Him; but I say one that goes: Thank You for the food we eat, Thank You for the flowers so sweet, Thank You for the birds that sing, Thank you, God, for everything.”
“I like that,” said Joan. “You say that one, and I’ll say Amen.”
And so they did. Then they tucked in to the good food, and thoroughly enjoyed it.
They had eaten as much as they could, and were rather slowly tidying up the rest, when a man came up to them and asked the time.
“It’s half past two,” said Wendy, looking at her wrist-watch.
“Thank you, dear,” said the man. “That’s a nice little watch you’ve got there. Mind if I have a look at it?”
“Not at all,” said Wendy politely, holding out her arm.
“Mind if I take it off?” asked the man, beginning to undo the buckle.
“You can see it on my arm,” said Wendy, not quite liking the idea.
“Ah, but I want to see the works. It’s a fine little watch, this is, and I want to see the works,” said the man, speaking very quickly and fumbling with the buckle.
“No!” said Wendy, and she tried to withdraw her arm; but the man grasped it firmly, and she let out a little cry of fright.
Pluto had been having lots of fun with his bone, but at the sound of Wendy’s cry his head bobbed up like magic. He saw what was going on, and, with a growling roar, bounded at the man, bowling him over like a skittle.
The man had just got the watch undone as Pluto hit him, and he rolled over still clutching it. Pluto put one massive paw on his wrist and growled terrifyingly. The man howled with fear and dropped the watch. Pluto was putting more weight into his paw than he did when he put it on the white kitten!
Wendy darted forward and picked up the watch. “Let him go, Pluto!” she called, running back to where Joan was standing.
Pluto got off the man, but growled.
“Call him off, miss,” whined the man. “I daren’t get up with him standing there.”
“He won’t touch you if you go right away,” said Wendy.
The man moaned with fear, and Pluto growled in reply. However, the dog did not move, so the man slowly and carefully began to sit up. Pluto watched him, still growling softly, and he got up at last and fled off down towards the park gates, casting terrified glances behind him all the way.
“Oh, what a horrid man!” said Joan. “Did he hurt you, Wendy?”
“Not really, but he frightened me,” Wendy admitted. “I thought he’d steal my watch.”
“He would have done, if Pluto hadn’t rescued you,” said Joan. “Good old Pluto! Shall I give him a cake?”
“He likes biscuits best,” said Wendy. “Chocolate ones. Let’s give him two.” So they did.
After they had packed up the remains of their dinner, they wandered down to the lake and took their sandals off for a paddle. It was lovely in the cool water, and they became tremendously interested, watching the boats. Pluto caused a little excitement by chasing one of the ducks. He splashed about in the water, barking madly, and sending the ducks flying — and that sent the boats sailing — in all directions. But Wendy called to him, very sternly, to be quiet, and at last he settled down in the sun, with his nose between his paws, and just watched without making a nuisance of himself.
“Some of those children over there are bathing,” said Joan. “I wish we could bathe.”
“We haven’t got our bathing-costumes,” said Wendy.
“Neither have they,” said Joan.
“I think we’d get into trouble,” said Wendy. “They don’t let us do that in parks.”
“There’s someone coming now,” said Joan, hopping about with excitement. “Look! It’s the park-keeper, and he’s waving a stick and chasing them out! Oh, what fun! We are having a lovely day, Wendy!”
They both laughed to see the children rushing about as the park-keeper threatened them with his stick. The children made grabs at their clothes, but dared not go too close to the man for fear lest they got a smart tap on their bare skin. But when he thought he had taught them a good enough lesson, he moved away and let them dress.
“I suppose he won’t chase us now?” said Joan nervously. “Perhaps we’d better put our sandals on again.”
“Well, it’s time we got on with our job, anyway,” said Wendy, sitting down and drying her feet on her handkerchief. “We didn’t come out to play in the park all afternoon, did we? It’s time we found someone else to talk to.”
“What about the park-keeper?” asked Joan, doing up the buckle of her sandals.
“He’s busy, and he’s right on the other side of the lake,” said Wendy.
“Yes, I suppose he is. Oh, well, we’d better go out again, shall we? But it has been fun in here!” sighed Joan.
“Life isn’t all fun!” said Wendy severely. “We’ve got work to do. Come on!”
Chapter 10
In the Market
WHEN Wendy and Joan left the park, they did not return by the way they had come to the High Street, but turned aside into narrower roads that led to the poorer quarter of the town. The streets grew smaller and smaller, the houses dirtier and dirtier. There were children playing in the roads, and hungry-looking cats slinking about. There did not seem to be any cars or buses going down that way, and there were very few shops. Some of the windows had curtains up, and some had not. The front doors were open on to the pavement, and a few women had brought chairs outside, and were actually sitting there, gossiping across the road with one another.
Wendy and Joan thought that this was a very queer part of the world indeed: there was nothing like it in their village. In the houses and cottages that they knew, people had clean curtains, and mended them when they became torn, instead of leaving them to hang all tattered across the window. Nor did they leave their windows broken when some silly boy kicked a ball and smashed a pane, as they seemed to do here. Wendy and Joan walked very close together, and Pluto stalked at their heels to guard them.
Nobody took much notice of them — and that was different, too. In their own village, if two strange girls had walked down the road, someone would surely have asked them where they had come from, what their names were, and where they were going: then, if they were lost, something could be done about it. But here, nobody seemed to care whether they were lost or not. And, though they did not realize it, lost, of course, they were! They had turned down so many turnings to the right and turnings to the left, that they no longer had any idea how to get back to the High Street. However, they were not worrying about that at all, only about the strange look of the streets they were in, and the sad, dirty look of the people in them.
“Do you think these are what they call slums?” asked Wendy in a whisper.
“I suppose so,” said Joan. “I shouldn’t like to live here, would you?”
“Not a bit!” said Wendy, shaking her head vigorously.
“I wonder where it leads to?” asked Joan. “I wonder if it goes on getting worse and worse forever?”
“It couldn’t do!” said Wendy. “It couldn’t get any worse than this.”
“I wonder if they know about Jesus here?” said Joan thoughtfully. “They look so sad, most of them— or cross — that I don’t think they do.”
“How could we tell them?” asked Wendy, looking worried. “I’m afraid to start talking to them. Some of them look like the man who tried to steal my watch.”
“I don’t know what we could do,” said Joan. “But someone ought to tell them. I’m sure they don’t know that God loves them. How could they look like that if they knew?”
“There’s something going on down there,” said Wendy, pausing as they came to a side street. They stood for a moment, looking down. At the far end they could see a crowd of people, and at once they turned their footsteps in that direction. As they went on, they could hear quite a lot of noise. People were shouting, and there seemed to be quite a turmoil of a sort. But when at last they arrived, they found that the street led into an open-air market, and that the noise was the sellers shouting about what they had to sell, and the buyers shouting all sorts of things at the sellers. And, of course, there was noise from some hens that one old woman was selling, and from a group of puppies that a man had tied up in front of him. There were dozens of children running about and shouting as well.
Suddenly one of the children caused a disaster: a big boy with a stick was chasing several smaller boys, and they were all shouting and bawling as hard as they could go; the big boy evidently thought that he could take a short cut to catch up with the others, and, in so doing, he knocked over the table of the man who was selling the puppies.
Now the puppies were tied with bits of string to a nail driven into the side of the table; and as the table went down with a bang, the nail hit the ground sideways and came flying out. The puppies were startled by the noise, and all jumped up quickly-and found that they were free. In a moment, yelling with delight, they had scattered in all directions among the crowd.
The man roared some very angry words at the boy, who was now dodging about in quite a different quarter of the market, and rushed out to recapture his puppies. But the puppies did not want to be caught, and they ran and dodged and ducked under stalls, while the man rushed after them and banged into people, and generally caused a very great commotion indeed.
Wendy and Joan were laughing, of course, having a very good view from where they stood of all the affair. And then came more confusion. One of the puppies took a dislike to the hens who were sitting quite calmly now in a big crate, and stood in front of them barking like mad. The hens naturally resented this, and began to cackle again most indignantly. Then two or three of the other puppies frisked up, and began jumping up at the crate, and, before the old woman could stop them, they had upset it, and all the hens were rushing about too.
“Oh, dear! We ought to help, not stand here laughing!” cried Joan. “Look at that silly man — he’s caught a hen, but he doesn’t know how to carry it, and it’ll get away in a minute!”
Sure enough, the hen, which was being carried very carefully by a man who had a stall full of alarm clocks, suddenly gave a shrill cackle, flapped its wings in his face, and flew straight out of his arms. But Wendy was near, and she knew that you should carry hens by their legs, so that they cannot escape; and in a moment she had got hold of it in the right way, and was carrying it back to its owner.
“Thanks, love,” said the poor old woman. “If only these folk wouldn’t frighten the poor things, they’d come back fast enough when I scatter a little grain. But look at the way they’re scaring them! And when they do catch ‘em, they can’t hold ‘em. Oh, dearie, dearie, dearie me!”
However, she put the recaptured hen back in its crate, which was now in place again, and then Wendy and Joan darted off into the crowd to catch some more. Pluto did not take any part in this. He did not like hens, and he knew that any dog who chases them is likely to earn for himself a bad name. So he sat on the pavement and yawned, and watched the agitated puppy owner and the excited hen chasers having a rough time together.
At last all the fun was over, and the hens were back in their crate, the puppies tied once more to their table. And then the girls heard the sound of a distant drum.
“What’s that?” asked Wendy wonderingly.
“Let’s go and see,” said Joan, and they made their way through the crowd to where the sound was coming from. There they found a little group of people, the men wearing red jerseys and the women wearing wide bonnets. One of the men was putting up a small platform, and another was beating the drum, and one of the women had a bunch of small books in her hand.
“It’s the Salvation Army,” said Joan.
“Oh, good!” said Wendy. “Someone does tell these people about Jesus, then, after all.”
They stood rather shyly back behind one of the stalls, as the little service began. The women began to sing a hymn, and the drum joined in very briskly. But none of the buyers or the sellers at the stalls joined in at all, and the children still rushed about and made a noise.
“Poor things! No one’s listening!” whispered Joan.
“We are,” said Wendy.
“Well, they can’t see us,” said Joan.
“Let’s go out in front of them, then,” said Wendy, quaking rather, but sorry for the people who were trying to teach the crowd about Jesus if only they would listen.
So the two little girls went and stood quite near the little group, and joined in the singing. Noticing them, one of the men suggested a children’s hymn, and they joined in that harder than ever. A few of the noisy children also saw them, and some made rude remarks; but others came and stood beside them, to find out what it was all about. Then one or two grown ups came, too, and finally there was quite a little crowd.
At the end of the service, one of the women came forward to speak to Wendy and Joan.
“I hope you enjoyed our service, dears,” she said.
“We loved it,” said Joan. She smiled rather shyly. “Do you know, Wendy and I came out this morning to tell people about Jesus, and that God loves them, because we thought lots of people couldn’t know it or they wouldn’t be so unhappy and unkind. And we’ve talked to lots of people, but I do wish we could do it as you do!”
“What a wonderful thing for two little mites to do!” exclaimed the woman, and she called up some of the others and told them what Joan had said, while the two little girls went quite red and wished that she would stop talking about them.
“Tell me what you’ve done,” said the man who had beaten the big drum. “Whom did you talk to first?” He sat down on the steps of the little platform, and Wendy and Joan sat down beside him, and told him the whole story. When they got to the last part of it, about the streets that had made them feel so sad before they got to the market, the man nodded his head.
“I know those streets,” he said. “Well, shall we all go there now? You show us the street you felt most particularly sad about, and we’ll hold another service there, shall we?”
Everyone agreed that this would be a marvelous plan, and then the man had another good idea!
“We’ll march there, singing,” he said. “And you two can walk beside me, and each take a drumstick and heat the drum for me, will you?”
Well, this was a grand idea, and you may be sure that Wendy and Joan took to it at once. So the procession set off, led by the drummer and the two girls, each beating on the drum with great, hard whacks, so that it boomed out and nearly drowned the singing behind them. But the singing went on as well, and sometimes Wendy and Joan sang, too, when they knew the words, and at other times they only beat the drum.
“This is the road,” said Joan at last. The drummer was singing so hard that he did not hear, so Joan tapped him on the hand with her drumstick. He looked down at her at once, and she repeated: “This is the road.”
“Right!” said the man. “Give me the drumsticks.” Then he beat a terrific tattoo that brought heads popping out of windows and doors, and sent all the cats scuttling for safety out of sight.
The service started; but at first no one seemed to pay any attention to it. That disappointed the girls more than anything — they had hoped so much that the people would be delighted with their news. Hover, the Salvation Army soldiers did not seem to be troubled at all, but went on singing and praying and preaching, and at last a very few people came and listened.
At the end, the members of the party went off to speak to some of the people who had listened; but Wendy and Joan sat down on the steps of the platform and waited for them to come back. Pluto sat down with them, and they watched everything that went on until their friend the drummer returned.
“Well, you’ve done a good day’s work to-day,” he said to them with a smile.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” said Wendy, a little breathlessly.
“Ask away,” he said. “Want to beat the drum again?”
“No, it isn’t that,” said Wendy. “I wanted to know how you can keep going on when no one takes any notice of what you’re saying. That’s why we joined you in the market — we were so sorry for you. No one seemed to be listening at all, and it was just what they wanted to hear, really, if only they’d have listened. Why didn’t you get fed up and go away?”
“Ah!” said the man. “Now that’s very important. You see, our job is to preach the gospel. Whether anyone seems to be listening or not, our job is to preach. God takes care of the rest. You don’t know, and I don’t know, how many people were listening from behind those torn curtains just now, for instance. And the same in the market. People might not seem to be listening, might not even know that they were listening; but the seed would be sown, and God would take care of it. Some day, perhaps riot for years, some of them would remember something they had heard in the hymns or the prayers or the preaching, and it would lead them to the foot of the Cross. I might be dead and gone, but the Word goes on. Nothing is ever wasted. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Wendy. “Thank you so much. I think we’d better go now, but we’ll remember what you said. Good-bye.”
Chapter 11.
A Visit to the Dentist
WENDY and Joan felt very light-hearted and happy as they went on their way. Presently they came upon a strange scene. A little girl was sitting on the pavement, crying bitterly, while a bigger girl pulled at her arm and tried to make her get up.
“Come on, do!” said the bigger girl. “Come on, Joy — stop crying. You’ve got to have it out, you know you have. The school dentist said so. Now stop crying and come on.”
“No! No! No!” sobbed the small girl, wriggling her arm away. “I don’t want to. I want to go home.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Wendy, and Pluto went up and tried to comfort the little girl by licking her face. She put her arm round his neck, but she did not stop crying.
“She’s got to go to the dentist’s clinic,” explained the older girl, who was not much bigger than Wendy herself. “The school dentist said she’d got a bad tooth, and that she must have it out. She was crying with toothache in the night, too, but now she’s got here she won’t go in.”
“Where is the clinic?” asked Joan, looking round. “In that place there,” said the big girl, pointing to a big dark door just behind her. “Mum was busy, and said I’d got to take her; but if she won’t go in, I’ll take her home again!”
“I won’t go in,” said small Joy, hugging Pluto tightly and shaking her head.
“How is the tooth now?” asked Wendy, sitting down on the pavement beside the little girl.
“It hurts,” said Joy.
“There you are!” said the older girl triumphantly. “It hurts! Why not have it out, then?”
“Because that would hurt more,” said Joy. “It’s all very well for you, Marion — it isn’t your tooth!”
“Well, I’ve had lots of teeth out,” said Marion. “They didn’t hurt much. I told you, they give you something to stop it from hurting.”
“You said they pushed a great big needle in, and it hurt a lot,” said Joy accusingly.
“It’s only a bit of a jab,” said Joan. “I’ve had a tooth out at the school clinic, too. First there’s a little jab, and then you feel a funny feeling when they pull the tooth out; but it doesn’t hurt,”
“It does hurt,” said the little girl. “I know it does. I’m not going in. It hurts now, too!”
“I’ll come in with you and hold your hand,” said Wendy.
“No, I’m not going in!” said Joy.
“Would you like a jam tart?” asked Joan, opening her satchel and getting out some of the good things left over from their dinner.
The little girl looked interested.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Here you are,” said Joan, and handed her one, which she began to munch happily. Then she happened to touch her bad tooth with a piece of jam, and she gave a little cry: “Ow”
“Oh, did it hurt your tooth?” cried Wendy. “What a shame!”
“I don’t think I’d better eat any more,” whimpered Joy. “It hurts my tooth.”
“Well, let’s go in and have it out, and then you can finish your jam tart and I’ll give you another one,” said Joan. “Come along. Wendy will hold one hand, and I’ll hold the other. And we’ll bring the jam tarts, too.”
The little girl got up very slowly, and took her arm away from Pluto’s neck.
“Can he come, too?” she asked.
“We’ll see if they’ll let him,” said Wendy, and so they all went in through the big dark door.
Inside there was a kind-looking nurse, who smiled at them.
“Well, who’s the patient?” she asked. “One of you, or the dog?”
That made them all laugh, even joy.
“She’s the patient,” said Marion, pointing to her sister. “She’s got to have a tooth out, and she’s frightened.”
“She doesn’t look frightened. She looks very brave,” said the nurse. She held out her hand. “Come with me, dear.”
“Please, we promised to hold her hand,” said Wendy, as little Joy hung back. “May we come in, too?”
“Yes, if you’re quiet and sensible,” said the nurse. “What’s that she’s got in her hand?”
“It’s half a jam tart,” explained Joan. “It hurt her tooth when she tried to eat it, so she’s keeping it till the tooth’s out.”
“I’m going to have another one, too!” said Joy. “Good!” said the nurse. “Well, come along. And what about the dog?”
“He’d better stay here,” said Wendy. “He’ll wait for us.”
They all went in, and the dentist pretended to think that they all wanted to have their teeth out, and soon had Joy laughing like anything. It was all very quickly over, and then she was eating her jam tart quite happily.
“There, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Joan, as they went outside.
“It did hurt a hit,” said Joy. “Where’s my other jam tart?”
“Here it is,” said Joan, passing it to her.
“You won’t mind going to the dentist again, will you?” asked Wendy.
“Not if there’s jam tarts,” said Joy.
“Will you come home with us?” asked Marion. “I expect Mum would like to say thank you for being kind to Joy.”
“Yes, do come home, then I can play with the dog,” said joy. “He is a lovely, great big dog!”
So they all went off together, and Wendy and Joan told Marion what they had been doing all day. The older girl was very much interested.
“Why, that’s like missionaries!” she said. “We had about missionaries in Sunday school last week, didn’t we, Joy? Oh, no — she’s in the Infants, of course, so she wouldn’t have the same lesson we do.” “We had about Jesus going to a party,” said Joy. “I’m glad He liked going to parties, because I like going to parties, too.”
“He always likes people to be happy,” said Wendy. “When did He go to a party?” exclaimed Joan. “I don’t remember.”
“What about the wedding at Cana?” asked Wendy, proud that she could remember so well.
“That was a wedding feast,” said Joan.
“Well, isn’t a feast the same thing as a parry?” asked Wendy. “Of course it is!”
“I can remember another party,” said Marion. “Do you remember about Zacchaeus?”
“That’s the party we learned about last week,” said Joy. “The little man climbed up a tree, and Jesus saw him and told him to come down. And he said he was sorry he’d been a bad man, so Jesus said He would go to a party at his house, and they had a wonderful time. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got a jolly good memory, for a little scrap!” said Joan admiringly. “How long have you been going to Sunday school?”
“Oh, a long time. Years and years and years!” said Joy.
“No you haven’t, you little fibber!” said Marion. “You started six months ago, when you were five.”
“How long is six months?” asked Joy. “How many times at Sunday school?”
“About twenty-six times,” said Marion.
Joy began counting up on her fingers, and then stopped and looked puzzled.
“I haven’t got enough fingers!” she complained.
“Start on your toes, then,” said Joan jokingly, but Joy took her seriously, and sat down on the pavement and took off her plimsolls to count her toes.
“There aren’t enough of those either!” she said.
“Well, look,” said Wendy. “Joan will put all her fingers together, and you put all yours, and I’ll put six of mine, and then you’ll see how many weeks it is.”
Joy looked at the forest of fingers with interest.
“That is years and years and years!” she said. “Look at them all! And this one” — and she pointed to Wendy’s thumb — “this one is the story about the man up the tree and Jesus at the party.”
They all laughed at that, and gave up the attempt to teach her how many weeks there are in six months. They helped her to put her plimsolls on, and then continued on their way to her home.
Joy’s mother was waiting for them at the front door, with a baby in her arms. She looked rather worried, but her face cleared as Joy ran up quite cheerfully.
“Are you all right, love?” she asked, stroking the child’s hair. “Did it hurt very much?”
“Not much,” said Joy. “And my friends Wendy and Joan gave me jam tarts, because I was brave. The nurse said I was brave, too, and so did the dentist man. And I was brave, too! — I didn’t cry one bit afterward.”
“She did before, though,” said Marion. “She sat on the pavement and cried, and wouldn’t go in!”
“Well, anyone that age would be frightened,” said Wendy indignantly, going to the rescue of her small friend. “And she was jolly brave once she made up her mind to go in, and didn’t make a fuss at all.”
“That’s cause you held my hand and gave me a jam tart,” said Joy. “Mum, can they come in and have a party?”
By this time Marion had taken the baby from her mother, and was trying to make him smile. It was evident that the baby was her especial pet, and when her mother said that they could all come in, she led the way into the kitchen and sat down with him on her knee, on a low chair, while her mother bustled about and made some tea.
“Isn’t he lovely!” said Wendy admiringly. “I do love babies.”
“So do I,” said Joan. “Do you think I could hold him a little while? I’ve got a baby brother at home.”
“If you’re very careful you can,” said Marion, and Joan took her place on the low chair and took the baby on her lap.
“Come and see my kitten,” said Joy, pulling Wendy’s arm impatiently. “Where’s your big dog? I’d like him to see my kitten, too. Does he like kittens?”
“He loves them,” said Wendy, looking round for Pluto. “There he is―under the table. I wonder what he thinks of the baby?”
But Pluto did not think anything of the baby at all — in fact, he was actually scared of it! When Wendy grasped his collar and dragged him out to the chair where Joan was sitting, he held back and turned his head away, and behaved in a perfectly ridiculous manner. Wendy grew quite cross with him. “It’s a nice little baby, Pluto!” she cried. “Look, he’s waving his hands at you. Don’t be so silly — he can’t hurt you!”
But the more the baby cooed and waved his tiny hands, the more Pluto tried to get away, and at last Wendy let him go.
“He likes my kitten best,” said Joy, as the big dog retired under the table again. “So do I. I think babies are silly!”
“You little wretch!” scolded Marion. “He’s the loveliest baby in all the world.”
“He’s not as nice as my kitten,” said Joy, and she brought a little black furry animal out of its nest by the kitchen fire, and cuddled it. “Look, Pluto, here’s my kitten. You like it best, don’t you?”
Then Joy’s mother called them to come to tea, and the kitten was put back in its basket and the baby in his cradle, They all gathered round the table, suddenly feeling terribly hungry at the sight of a big round currant cake and some delicious looking jam. There was a great plate of bread and butter, too, and they could hardly wait politely for it to be offered to them, they felt so hungry.
“Who’s going to say Grace?” asked Joy’s mother. “One of our visitors, eh?”
“No, me,” said little Joy. She put her hands together and shut her eyes tightly. “Thank God for my good tea. Please can I have the jam, Mummy dear?”
They all laughed at her eagerness, and settled down in good earnest to make a hearty meal.
Chapter 12.
The Blind Man
“LOOK at that poor blind man!” said Wendy pityingly.
They had left the home of Joy and Marion, and were now back in the shopping center of the town again. It would soon be time for the shops to shut, and there seemed to be more people about than ever, all intent on getting their shopping done before closing time.
The blind man was standing at a corner that opened from the road where all the shops were. He was leaning against the wall, and carried a tray in front of him on which were boxes of matches, shoelaces and studs. In front of him, on the pavement, sat a small dog. There was a tin on the tray, and into this people dropped pennies as they passed.
Not everyone put a penny into his tin, of course, but most people did. Some stopped and talked to him for a moment, and some bought a box of matches or shoe-laces; but most people just dropped something hurriedly into his tin and passed on.
“Poor man!” said Joan. “It must be terrible to be blind. Fancy not being able to see anything!”
Then a most strange thing happened. An elderly man had dropped something into the tin, something that rang with a different sound from the pennies that went in so frequently. Evidently the blind man noticed a difference, too, for he turned away, lifted his eyeshade, and then looked in the tin for the coin that had just been dropped. When he had found it, he looked at it for a moment with an expression of satisfaction on his face, and then put it in his pocket. Then he put down the eyeshade again, and turned once more to face the busy street.
“That was funny!” said Wendy, very much puzzled. “He looked as if he could see!”
“But that notice on his tray says ‘Totally Blind’,” said Joan. “How could he see if he’s totally blind?”
“Well, didn’t you see what he did? He lifted up the black thing over his eyes and looked in the tin. When he’d found what he wanted, he put it in his pocket. He must be able to see!” insisted Wendy.
“But that’s cheating!” Joan objected.
“Well, let’s stay here and watch. If he does it again, we’ll know he was cheating,” suggested Wendy.
Joan agreed to this, and they stayed where they were, on the other side of the quiet road.
For some time nothing happened. People dropped in pennies, and the man thanked them, and occasionally someone bought a box of matches. And then an elderly woman stopped in front of him.
“Oh, you poor man!” she said. “I think sight is one of the most precious of God’s gifts; and in thankfulness that I’ve still got mine, I’m going to give you something.” She opened her purse, took out something which she put in his tin, and then hurried away as he thanked her.
“Now we shall see,” said Wendy.
Sure enough, the man waited for a moment or two, and then turned his back on the busy street. Up went his eyeshade, and he snatched something out of the tin — something that rustled. He opened it, looked at it, and then thrust it into an inside pocket. Then, in a moment, his eyeshade came down again, and he turned round once more.
“There!” said Wendy. “That lady gave him a note, arid he wanted to see if it was a pound-note or a ten-shilling note, so he looked at it. He isn’t blind at all!”
“We must talk to him,” said Joan decisively. “He oughtn’t to do that sort of thing. It’s wicked.”
“Come along, then,” said Wendy, and together they went across the road and planted themselves in front of the blind man.
“Why do you pretend you’re blind?” asked Joan. “Don’t you know that it’s very wicked?”
The man started violently.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “Go away! If you were as blind as I am, you’d know all about it!”
“You’re not blind at all!” said Wendy. “Vie saw you lift up your eyeshade and look at the note that lady gave you.”
“Hush! Hush!” said the man hurriedly. “How can you say such wicked things? Supposing someone heard you?”
“Everyone ought to hear us,” said Joan. “It’s wicked to cheat people like that. That poor lady gave you some money out of thankfulness to God because she’d got her eyes all right. You ought to give it back!”
“Now, you clear off!” said the man threateningly. “I’ll set my dog on you if you don’t clear off.”
“My dog wouldn’t let you!” said Wendy, and Pluto growled.
“But why do you do it?” asked Joan. “Why don’t you take off that silly notice, and just sell the matches without cheating anybody?”
“That’s none of your business,” snarled the man.
“I suppose it’s because people wouldn’t want to buy his matches, if he did,” said Wendy. “Now they give him pennies because they think he’s blind, but if he was just an ordinary man selling matches, they wouldn’t bother.”
“Now, look here, you two,” said the man in wheedling tones, “I’ll give you sixpence to go away and say nothing more about it, see? I don’t want any trouble. I’ll give you sixpence each to go away and say nothing. Eh?”
“No,” said Wendy, shaking her head. “We can’t do that.”
“A shilling, then. What about that, eh? A shilling each,” said the man.
“That wouldn’t be right,” said Joan. “You ought not to be cheating people, and we can’t take money to keep quiet about it. You must take off that eyeshade and that notice, and stop being a cheat. Don’t you ever think about God? What do you suppose He thinks, seeing you standing here pretending to be blind?”
“I’m not worrying my head about that,” said the man. “When God troubles me, I’ll trouble Him, but not before. It’s you I’m worrying about. Will you clear off for half a crown?”
“No!” said Wendy sharply. “You’re a wicked man, and we wouldn’t touch your money. And you’d better start thinking about God before it’s too late. He’s bound to punish you some day. Sinners always get punished if they don’t repent.”
“I’ll repent in good time, thank you,” said the man. “I’ll repent before I die, when I’ve made all the money I want. You won’t frighten me with all this talk about sinners. There’s plenty more as bad as me, so why should I worry?”
“All sinners will get punished if they don’t repent,” said Joan.
“I’ll repent all right, in my own good time,” said the man. “And if you two won’t see reason, and take good money when it’s offered to you, I’m going home. Good-bye!” And he jerked the string that was tied to his little dog’s collar, and set off at a good pace through the crowd.
“I wonder if he will repent,” said Wendy rather dolefully. “He didn’t look as if he was repenting much.”
“It’ll be an awful shame if he makes thousands of pounds by cheating, and then repents when he’s got enough, and lives happily ever after!” said Joan.
“Yes, but that wouldn’t do!” said Wendy, remembering something. “What about Zacchaeus? He gave back all he’d taken by cheating, and more besides, didn’t he? You have to do that if you really repent. So he couldn’t keep the thousands he got by pretending to be blind — he’d have to give them up. I wonder if he’s thought of that?”
“I bet he hasn’t!” said Joan. “I say — what a sell for him! Poor man — he thinks he’s cleverer than God, but he’ll get such a surprise some day.”
As they talked, they walked down the busy street, and presently saw quite a crowd in the road in front of them.
“I wonder if there’s been an accident!” said Wendy.
“Let’s go and see,” said Joan, and they took hands and ran forward, Pluto lolloping at their heels.
As they reached the fringe of the crowd, they heard the distant ringing of the ambulance bell, and knew that it really was an accident. They squeezed in between people — being quite small, they could push in where bigger people could not — and presently saw a motionless figure lying by the pavement, two cars and a bus standing by, a small dog sitting motionless by a broken tray. A policeman was doing something to the figure on the ground.
“Oh! It’s the blind man!” gasped Wendy. Joan poked a man standing nearby in the ribs. “Please, what happened?” she asked.
“The poor chap stepped right out into the road in front of that Cor,” answered the man. “The Cor swerved to avoid him, and then the other Cor had to swerve, and it hit the bus. But the man was hit, too. Poor chap! — he was blind, you see. He couldn’t see where he was going.”
“Is he dead?” asked a woman.
“Looks like it,” said the man.
Wendy squeezed Joan’s hand.
“Oh, he’s dead, and he hadn’t repented!” she whispered. Then she closed her eyes and prayed hard. “Oh, God, please don’t let him be quite dead! Please give him another chance, and let someone teach him what repenting really means. Please give him another chance, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.”
Just as she opened her eyes, the ambulance drove up, and the crowd scattered to make room for it. The two uniformed men got down and brought out their stretcher.
“I think he’s a goner,” said the policeman quietly; but one of the attendants bent down and examined the man carefully.
“Not quite,” he said. “I don’t think he’s got a chance, but he’s not quite dead yet. He’s pretty bad, though. The sooner we get him to hospital, the better it’ll be — if he lives till we get there.”
They put the unconscious man on to the stretcher, and placed it carefully inside the ambulance. Then the doors were shut, the engine started up, and they drove away. The policeman began taking notes from people who had seen the accident, and Wendy and Joan turned away.
“Oh, look at that poor little dog!” cried Joan suddenly. The blind man’s dog had tried to run after the ambulance, but it couldn’t keep up, and now it was sitting in the middle of the road, howling with grief.
“Poor little thing! Let’s take it home, Joan,” said Wendy eagerly. “I don’t suppose it’s got any friends. Pluto, you’ll be his friend, won’t you?”
Pluto wagged his tail, and snuffed the other dog all over.
Joan was quite willing, and they ran up the road, calling coaxingly to it, and finally Wendy got hold of the string that was tied to its collar.
“Poor old boy, then! Poor old boy!” she said soothingly, stroking it gently. “I wonder what his name is, Joan?”
“Look on his collar,” said Joan, and together they looked and found the name Jack.
“Jack! Jack!” called Joan, and they could tell by the way he perked up his ears that he recognized the name.
“Good old Jack!” said Wendy. “Now you come with us. We’ll look after you. Have you got anything left in your satchel that he could eat, Joan?”
“Let’s go down a quiet side road and see,” suggested Joan. “There are such a lot of people here, and the traffic will be starting tip again any minute now. Did you see that one of those cars was fixed to the bus?”
“What do you mean by fixed to the bus?” asked Wendy.
“Well, it had hit it so hard that it was jammed into it somehow. I wonder which Cor it was that knocked the man down? Perhaps it was the bus.”
“Nobody seemed to know,” said Wendy. “I expect it all happened so quickly after he stepped into the road. I suppose he was hurrying to get away from us, really, in case we told everybody that he wasn’t blind.”
“I do hope he isn’t dead,” said Joan.
“I asked God not to let him be dead just yet,” said Wendy. “I do so want him to have a chance of repenting properly first. You see, he said he’d repent in good time before he died, but he didn’t know he was going to be knocked down by a Cor so soon, did he?”
“I prayed about that, too,” said Joan. “Perhaps if God lets him live for a little while he’ll think about what we said, and he’ll repent properly. I’m going to pray for him to-night, Wendy. I’m sure he needs it”
“I will, too,” said Wendy. “Now, this is a quiet road — let’s see if there’s anything left that Jack would like to eat.”
And they gave Pluto something, too, for not minding about having Jack tagged on to them.
Chapter 13.
The Hospital
“IT’S a hospital!” exclaimed Wendy.
The two children had left the shopping streets behind, and now found themselves in front of some gates in a fence that ran round a wide field. Beyond the gates was a drive that ran right up to a big building, some distance away across the field. At first they had thought it was another park, but then Wendy had noticed some beds out on the grass, and then she had realized that it was a hospital.
“What a nice one, with all those fields and trees,” said Joan. “Fancy being ill in bed out of doors!”
“You wouldn’t feel ill at all,” said Wendy. “You’d feel as if you were pretending.”
“Well, you might be in bed with a broken leg,” said Joan. “You wouldn’t really be ill, but you’d have to stay in bed. It would be nice to be out of doors then.”
“Oh, look!” cried Wendy, pointing: “there’s a bed coming down the drive all by itself!”
“Someone must be pushing it, silly!” said Joan; but then she laughed, because it really did look as if the bed were coming down the drive by itself. There was a little girl in the bed, and as it drew nearer they could just see the white cap of the nurse who was pushing. The bed ran on wheels, rather like small pram wheels, and came down quite silently and smoothly along the asphalt path.
“There!” said a cheerful voice. “Now I’ll push you on to the grass, and you can see the road and everything. Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes, thank you, nurse,” said rather a tired little voice.
The bed ran on to the glass, and a small woman in nurse’s uniform appeared from behind it. She looked rather hot with pushing, and she sat down for a minute on the edge beside the little girl, to get her breath back.
“Well, you can stay here for a little while, and then it’ll be time to go inside for the night,” she said. “You’ll take your medicine like a good girl when I bring it down to you, won’t you?”
“Ugh!” said the little girl, and turned her face away.
“Well, have you got a book?” asked the nurse.
“No, thank you,” said the little girl.
“I’ll be back for you presently,” said the nurse, and she went back up the drive towards the hospital.
The little girl lay quietly and watched the cars going up and down, an occasional horse and cart among them. Then she saw Wendy and Joan watching her through the gates, and she smiled at them.
“Hullo” she said.
“Hullo!” said Wendy.
“Come in and talk to me,” said the little girl coaxingly, so of course Wendy and Joan went in at once.
“You can sit on my bed if you’re very careful not to make it untidy,” said the girl. “What are your names? Mine’s Mary Ella Morrison, but I’m always called Mops.”
“I’m Wendy and this is Joan,” said Wendy.
“is she your sister?” asked Mops.
“No, she’s my friend. Why are you in hospital?” asked Wendy.
“I’ve had an operation!” said Mops importantly. “What sort of one?” asked Joan with great interest.
“An operation. Don’t you know what an operation is?” asked Mops scornfully.
“There are all sorts of operations,” argued Joan. “You might have had your leg cut off.”
“That wouldn’t be an operation,” said Mops. “An operation is something inside you, and I’ve had it.”
“Well, I hope you’re getting better now,” said Wendy quickly, seeing that Joan was going to argue the point.
“Yes, I am, a bit,” said Mops. “I’d get better much more quickly, though, if they didn’t give me such nasty medicine!”
“I hate medicines, too,” said Wendy sympathetically.
“So do I,” said Joan. “Once when I had a very bad cough, they gave me some horrid medicine. It was awful!”
“I wouldn’t drink it, if I were you,” said Mops. “I’d throw it down the sink!”
“Well, it’s best to take it, really,” said Wendy. “It does make you better.”
“It makes me worse!” said Mops. “Are those your dogs?”
“Yes, that’s Pluto, and the little one’s Jack,” said Wendy. “Jack wants to make friends with Pluto, and Pluto wanted to at first, but now he won’t take any notice of Jack. It makes Jack so sad.”
Indeed, Pluto had begun to sulk about Jack.
“What a shame!” said Mops. She held her hand over the side of the bed. “Jack! Jack! Poor old fellow, then!”
Jack came running up and licked her hand. Then he put his forepaws up on the bed, and tried to lick her face. As he could not reach to do this, he sprang on the bed, amid the squeals and shrieks of the girls, and licked Mops all over the face and hair.
“Go down, Jack! Bad dog! Go down!” screamed Joan.
“You wicked dog! Get off the bed at once!” cried Wendy.
But Mops seemed to be enjoying it, and she laughed, and put her thin little arms round Jack’s neck, and let him lick her face as much as he wanted to.
“I don’t think you ought to do that,” said Joan, looking worried. “Won’t it upset your operation, or something?”
“I’m all right,” said Mops. “He is a darling, isn’t he?”
“Lie down, Jack, there’s a good dog,” said Wendy coaxingly, and Jack curled up on the pillow beside Mops and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He knew a friend when he saw one!
“He’s awfully dusty— look at the marks his paws have made,” said Joan, trying to clean up the sheet. “Whatever will the nurse say?”
“She’ll grumble — or Sister will, anyway — and I’ll pretend to feel awfully ill, and then they won’t grumble any more!” said Mops, with a grin.
“Oh, that’s the way you do it, is it?” laughed Joan.
“Yes, and it works beautifully,” said Mops. “Come here, Jack, and be cuddled! What a darling soft thing he is! Oh, I do wish he was mine!”
“Haven’t you got a dog?” asked Wendy.
“No. I haven’t got a dog, and I haven’t got a cat. I haven’t got anything!” said Mops, looking terribly pathetic.
“What about brothers and sisters?” asked Joan. This time Mops looked genuinely pathetic.
“No, I haven’t any brothers and sisters either, but my Mummy and Daddy are the best in the world,” she said.
“I’m sure they are,” said Wendy quickly. “Wouldn’t you like to have a dog of your own, though? Won’t they buy you one?”
“Oh, they keep on saying they will, but they never do,” said Mops crossly. “They were going to give me one for Christmas, and then they were going to give me one for my birthday, but they said they couldn’t see one that was just right for me. So I suppose I shall go on waiting forever!”
“Oh, you’ll get one some day,” said Joan Consolingly.
“No, I shan’t. Jack is the only dog I’d really like, and he belongs to you,” said Mops with a sigh. Then she smiled wheedlingly. “You wouldn’t give him to me, would you? I’m terribly ill, really! I’ve had a real operation!”
“If your Mummy and Daddy say you can have him, I’ll give him to you,” said Wendy.
Mops bounced in the bed in a way that ought to have been very bad for her if she was as ill as she made out, but it did not seem to do her any harm.
“Will you really?” she squeaked. “Really, really, truly? Mummy and Daddy will be coming to see me soon. Will you stay till they come, and then introduce them to Jack? Will you?”
“All right, but you’d better keep quiet,” said Wendy, quite alarmed at the way the small person was behaving. Then she thought of something. “Now, keep quiet and listen to what I say,” she said in her most grown-up manner. “If you have Jack, I want you to do something for me, too.”
“Anything in the world,” said Mops rapturously. “What is it?”
“Well, keep quiet a minute,” said Wendy. “I can’t talk to you if you bounce about like that.”
“Let me get hold of dear, darling Jack’s collar, and I’ll keep perfectly quiet,” promised Mops.
“Here you are, then. Now listen. Do you go to Sunday school?”
“No,” said Mops wonderingly:
“Or Children’s Service or anything?” continued Wendy.
“No,” said Mops, shaking her head.
“Well, will you ask your Mummy, when you’re better, if you may go?”
“All right,” said Mops rather doubtfully.
“You’ll like it when you get used to it,” said Joan. “Do you say your prayers, Mops?”
“Sometimes,” said Mops. Then she colored and hung her head. “I did ask God to make me better, when I was so awfully ill; but since I’ve been getting better I’ve forgotten my prayers, I’m afraid. But I will remember them, truly I will.”
“Yes, do,” said Joan. “I expect God is awfully disappointed that you haven’t thanked Him for making you better. You will, when you go to sleep to-night, won’t you?”
“Yes, and I’ll thank Him for sending dear, darling Jack to me. I’m sure it was His idea.”
“I’m sure it was, too,” said Joan. “Now, there’s one more thing. I know you can’t go to Sunday school or church while you’re ill in bed, but you could read about Jesus, couldn’t you?”
“In the Bible, do you mean?” asked Mops uneasily. “But it’s awfully difficult to understand. I did have a Bible once — I think it’s still in a cupboard in my nursery — but I never understood it much. My godmother gave it to me. It has such awfully long words in it.”
“Well, parts of it are difficult, I know,” admitted Joan. “But if you belonged to the Bible Fellowship, you’d get little booklets that tell you where to read, and explain it to you, too. We read ours that way, don’t we, Wendy?”
“Yes, and it’s awfully interesting, really,” said Wendy eagerly. “Will you do that?”
“How could I get hold of the booklet things?” asked Mops.
“I’ll give you mine for this month,” said Wendy.
“I’ve got it in my pocket. And you can get your mother to bring your Bible next time she comes. And I’ll arrange for the booklets to be sent to you regularly.”
“All right,” said Mops. She took the booklet that Wendy fished out of her pocket, and looked at it. Then she began to read it. “Why, this is interesting!” she exclaimed.
“Of course it is,” said Wendy.
“Oh Here’s Mummy and Daddy” cried Mops, as a Cor drove into the drive. “Mummy! Mummy I’ve got a dog, and I want my Bible, please. Will you get it for me?”
“What’s all that?” exclaimed her father, getting out of the Cor and accompanying her mother across the grass.
“I’ve got a dog, and I want my Bible, please. And these are my two friends, Wendy and Joan, and this is Jack, my dog. And can I have him, please, please, please?”
“Well, you do seem better!” said her father.
“I’m quite better,” said Mops impatiently. “Can I have Jack? This is Jack.”
Jack opened one eye, looked at the newcomers, and shut it again. Mops put her head down on his back “Mops, darling, he might have fleas!” cried her mother.
“I don’t think he has,” said Wendy. “He doesn’t scratch at all.”
“Is he your dog?” asked the father.
“Well, he’s our adopted dog,” said Wendy. And then she told Mops’s mother the sad story of the man who had been run over, and of how they had rescued Jack — the dog who had lost his master. “This is my real dog,” she added, pointing to Pluto, who was now sleeping peacefully in the sun.
“I’d much rather you had a dog like that, darling, than this little mongrel,” said Mops’s mother.
“I hate big dogs. I hate Pluto. I love Jack,” said Mops, looking mutinous. “And I was feeling much, much better just now, but I’m beginning to feel ill again.”
“All right, darling, you can have him,” said her father hastily. “Just as long as you continue to get better, and take your medicine like a good girl, you shall keep Jack.”
“And when I’m quite better, too, and come home?” asked Mops.
“Yes, he shall be your dog forever and ever,” sighed her mother. “Only hurry up and get well, darling.”
“And you’ll remember to bring my Bible?” asked Mops.
“Well, really, I’m not sure where it is,” said her mother. “What a funny thing for a little girl to ask for!”
“I want to read it, that’s why,” said Mops. “I want to join the Bible Fellowship, like Wendy and Joan. You won’t forget, will you?”
“No, darling, I won’t forget,” said her mother, kissing her.
“Well, I think we ought to be going now,” said Wendy. “Good-bye, Mops. Good-bye, Jack.”
But jack only snuggled down deeper into Mops’s pillow, and did not even open his eyes.
And Mops’s mother said that she would call at the other hospital and tell them about Jack, just in case his master recovered consciousness and began worrying about what had happened to the dog.
And Pluto stopped sulking, as they left Jack behind!
Chapter 14.
Home Again
“IT’S growing cold,” said Joan suddenly. “I wonder what the time is?”
Wendy looked at her watch.
“It’s eight o’clock!” she gasped. “We shall never be home before dark now! We ought to have started back hours ago!”
“Oh, dear, and I’m so tired!” sighed Joan. “It’s an awful long way home.”
“Yes, it is,” admitted Wendy. “Shall we have a rest first, or shall we start straight away?”
“Which way do we go?” asked Joan.
“I don’t know,” said Wendy. “Let’s find the way to the place where that policeman was, and ask him. He’ll know.”
They went on walking, but their feet seemed awfully heavy, and the pavements seemed awfully hard. A chill little wind was blowing, now that the sun had gone down, and both of them shivered once or twice.
“I don’t know — we seem to have been walking for ages, and we’re not anywhere near the place where the policeman was!” said Joan with a little sob.
“Let’s sit down somewhere and think what to do,” said Wendy, whose legs were aching badly.
“It’s too cold to sit down anywhere,” said Joan. “I can see a church over there, with its lights on.” said Wendy. “Let’s go inside and rest a bit. Perhaps God will tell us what to do next, if we ask Him.”
An evening service was going on as the children crept into the church, and they stole quietly into a back pew and kept very quiet until it was over. They did not follow the service, because it was a special service, different from theirs; but they recognized some of the psalms, and they liked the prayers. They added their own prayer for help, in silence, and then rested quietly while the people who had attended the service went out without seeing them.
But someone had seen them. The clergyman who was conducting the service had noticed them, and now, as they did not go when everyone else went, he came quietly down to where they were sitting.
“I don’t think I know you, do I?” he asked with a kind smile.
“No,” said Wendy. “Please, we’re lost. But we’ve been asking God to find us, and I’m sure He will.”
“I think He told me just now about it,” said the clergyman. “He said ‘Look up!’ and I looked up and saw you two creep in as quietly as mice — so quietly that I should never have known you were here if I hadn’t looked up just then. And then He told me to come along, instead of going straight home, to have a talk with you. And here I am, so how can I help you?”
“Oh, God is good!” cried Wendy, with tears in her eyes. “We were so tired, and we didn’t know how to get home. But we’ve had such a wonderful day!”
“What have you been doing?” asked the clergyman, and they told him, both speaking some of the time, and jumbling it all up, as people do when they’ve got a lot to say. But he understood all right. “Well, you’ve been on the Lord’s service,” he said, “so you could rely on Him to see that you reached home safely. Now we’ll all go to my house, which is just next door to the church, and I’ll telephone to your parents, in case they’re worrying. And then I’ll get the car out and drive you home, shall I?”
“Oh, thank you so much!” said both Wendy and Joan, and they did not feel nearly so tired as they followed him out of the church and into his own house.
“Mabel!” he called, and an elderly lady came out of the drawing-room to meet him. “Mabel, I’ve two very tired little missionaries here. Very tired, but very happy little missionaries, I think. And a glass of warm milk, with sugar in it, would suit them very well while I’m doing some telephoning. Get them to tell you what they’ve been doing, Mabel — you’ll be interested.”
Wendy and Joan felt rather embarrassed at all this, but the lady fetched them the warm, sweet milk, and they sat by the fire and drank it and told her some of their adventures. Pluto was given a drink of water, which Wendy said he preferred to milk, anyway, and then he sat down by the fire, with his nose between his paws, and went sound asleep.
“You have had a wonderful day!” said the lady, and then she told them some tales of when she and the vicar, her husband, had lived in China as missionaries. They were very interesting tales indeed, and Wendy and Joan were quite sorry when the vicar returned and said that his car was ready, and that their parents had been told that they were all right.
“What about my Mum and Dad?” asked Joan. “We haven’t got a telephone.”
“That’s all right, my dear,” said the vicar. “Mr. Morris said he would go down himself and tell your parents. They won’t be worrying any more by now.”
“Was my Daddy worried?” asked Wendy.
“No, my dear. I think he and your mother were getting just the least bit cross, as they had told you to be in before dusk, and it’s quite dusk now; but they hadn’t grown worried yet. I told them a little of what you had been doing, however, and I don’t think you’ll find them at all cross when you get in,” said the vicar.
“Thank you so much,” said Wendy gratefully. “Mummy doesn’t usually worry when we go out into the woods for the day, because sometimes I am a bit careless about time; but if we’d had to walk home she would have been awfully worried, because I’ve never been as late as that, never!”
They said good-bye to the vicar’s wife and thanked her for the glass of milk. Then they got into the vicar’s car — and went straight off to sleep! They were so tired that they didn’t wake up even when the car stopped at the door of Joan’s cottage.
Joan’s mother came running out as the car stopped.
“Don’t wake her,” said the vicar. “I’ll carry her in. She’s so fast asleep, bless her!”
“My husband’ll carry her in,” said Mrs. Butler. “Thank you very much for bringing her home, I’d no idea they’d wandered so far; and when Mr. Morris told me what they’d been doing, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry!”
“She’s a good child,” said the vicar, as Mr. Butler lifted his daughter tenderly, and carried her, still fast asleep, straight up to her little room. “She’ll make a fine woman some day. It was a privilege to be able to help them — wait till you’ve heard the story of their adventures! Good night.”
Wendy roused a little as her father lifted her out of the car.
“It’s been a wonderful day,” she murmured. “Please thank that kind man, Daddy. He brought us home in his car, because God told him to. We were so tired.”
The vicar stayed for a little while, talking to Mr. and Mrs. Morris, and expressed his admiration for the things the two little girls had done that day.
“They told me that they had set out on a crusade,” he said, “and a real crusade it has been! They have been wonderfully guided and wonderfully preserved. They both have the missionary spirit, I’m glad to say. They will be full-time workers in the Lord’s vineyard one day, I know.”
Well, Wendy and Joan were quite ordinary little girls, you know, not saints nor angels, not anything like that. They did not spend all their time going on crusades, but played with their dolls and with Pluto, and had picnics in the woods most of the time. But they never forgot the wonderful time they had had on their crusade, and they certainly managed to keep in touch with some of the friends they had made. They used to pop down sometimes to see old Mrs. Grumbleshanks, and found that she had made it up with her brother and that they were now the best of friends. And they saw quite a bit of Mops and Jack, when they could persuade Mr. Morris to drive them into the town, and they often called on the vicar, too.
But Wendy and Joan remembered how wonderful it had been to feel that they were doing a special work for their Heavenly Father, and that they were under His special care and protection; and they both decided that when they were old enough they, too, would go out as missionaries. Sometimes they thought they would go to China, and sometimes they thought Africa would be more exciting, and sometimes it was the Eskimos who were most in favor. But although they might change their minds several times on that point before they were old enough to start their training, one thing they were quite certain about — that wherever God called them to go, there they would be one day.
“Lord, here am I. Send me.”