"I am glad to hear it," said the doctor; "but we have another patient here, I am afraid. This girl has taken the fever, and must go to bed at once. Send her to her room, and I will see her there presently."
"Go to bed, Mary," said her mistress, in a blank, bewildered tone.
"I will come and look at you in a minute," said the doctor, speaking to Fanny as she crept upstairs. She was thankful, indeed, to be told to go to bed, and thought nothing of what might happen to her next, for she was now too ill to think of anything. She had only just crept under the bedclothes when the doctor and Mrs. Lewis came upstairs. The result of the doctor's examination, and the talk with Mrs. Lewis that followed was that Fanny was taken to a fever hospital a few hours later, and the next day she was quite delirious. Fanny's things were put together in her box, the new dress taken down from its peg and tumbled in with the rest, and they were all taken away to be fumigated.
The doctor had remarked that Fanny was a strong, healthy girl, and might soon be able to come back; but Mrs. Lewis had her own opinion about this. The poor woman was so bewildered as she thought of what she should do, now that Fanny was gone, that she entirely forgot that the girl had friends who ought to be informed of what had happened to her, and it was not until the following Sunday that the thought of this occurred to her. She was doing something in the kitchen about six o'clock, when there came a knock at the street door, and when Mrs. Lewis opened it, Miriam stared for a moment at seeing the lady, and then said—
"Isn't Fanny coming out to-night?" She spoke rather aggressively, for she had been disappointed the previous Sunday.
"Oh, you mean Mary, I suppose?" said Mrs. Lewis. "Do you know where her mother and father live?" she asked.
"Has she gone home?" exclaimed Miriam, quickly.
"No. She has gone to the hospital, and I could only give the people this address, for she was too sleepy and stupid to tell us anything; so you go and tell her friends that she was taken to the fever hospital last Thursday."
Miriam nodded. "Whatever was the matter with her?" she said.
"She caught scarlet fever, but the doctor thought she would not have it very bad," added Mrs. Lewis; and then she shut the door, without waiting to hear any more from Miriam.
For a minute she stood still, wondering what she had better do, and how she could let Fanny's friends know what had happened to her, considering she knew no more of their address than that they lived at the other end of the town. At length she remembered Mrs. Lloyd, and thought she would be sure to know where Fanny's friends lived, and she felt sure that she should find the lady at home, as she seldom went out on Sunday evening. So she hurried to Mrs. Lloyd's, and, as she expected, that lady answered the door herself.
"If you please, ma'am, can you tell me where Fanny lives?" she said quickly.
"Fanny?" repeated the lady. "She has left my service."
"Yes, ma'am, and she's in the fever hospital, and nobody don't know nothing about it," interrupted Miriam.
"In the hospital! But the authorities there will know where she lives, surely!" exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd.
"No, ma'am, I've just seen the lady at Fanny's new place, and she says Fanny was sleepy and stupid-like when they took her away, and they put down that address, and she doesn't know where Fanny lives. She never told her, and she never told me," concluded Miriam.
"Dear me, what is to be done, then? For I don't think she ever told me her proper address. I know where she went to school, and I will go and see her teacher the first thing to-morrow morning."
This did not quite please Miriam. She had often wondered where Fanny lived, and why she had not been asked to go home to tea with her, and supposed that her home was hardly respectable, or she would have been invited to go there.
In reality it was Fanny's foolish pride that had made her unwilling to let her friend know where she lived; for Miriam had made no secret of the fact that her father was a small farmer, which sounded grand to Fanny, who was painfully conscious of how one thing after the other had been taken out of the home and sold to meet the expense of her father's long illness, and as yet they could not afford to replace this parlour furniture; but Fanny had spoken of it as though it still formed part of her home when Miriam told of the old-fashioned blue parlour that was seldom used, except for weddings and christenings.
Now, Miriam thought she would like to find out what sort of a house her friend's mother did occupy, and so she said—
"I am not going to church this evening, so if you will tell me where Fanny went to school, I will try to find her mother this evening."
But it had occurred to Mrs. Lloyd that it would be kinder to let the school-mistress know what had happened, and ask her to break the news to the girl's friends, rather than send a girl like Miriam to carry the message.
So she said, "Thank you for your kind offer; but I think the friend who recommended Fanny to me would be the best person to break this bad news to her mother and father."
"Well, I suppose it is bad news," said Miriam. "And I heard yesterday that scarlet fever was very much about."
"Very likely," Mrs. Lloyd replied; and then she waited for Miriam to go away, which she was obliged to do at last, without finding out where Mrs. Brown lived.
She went to her cousin's, and asked about Fanny's new dress.
"I took it home last Tuesday. I couldn't get yours and hers both done on the Saturday, I told you. What are you looking at?" said Mrs. Scott, in a tone of sudden alarm.
"Nothing. Only I wondered what would happen next," answered Miriam.
"Happen next! What do you mean? You are not going to tell me she has left her situation and taken that lovely new dress with her."
Miriam shook her head. "She has left her situation, but I don't suppose she has taken the new dress with her, for she has gone to the fever hospital," she said.
"The fever hospital!" almost screamed Mrs. Scott, and retreating from Miriam as though the talking of a fever hospital would convey the infection. "I heard only yesterday that people were being taken to the hospital in hundreds, that they have had to take a house outside the town to send some of the people there because the hospital is so full. And now that poor girl has gone there, you say."
"She's gone to the hospital! Won't they send her clothes with her," asked Miriam.
Her cousin shook her head. "I wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to send that dress home," she said, with a sigh.
"I wish I knew where her mother lived, I would go and tell her all about it," said Miriam.
"Well, I think you ought to know that," said her cousin, "and I ought to have been told before I made that dress. I suppose I may reckon that as lost now;" and Mrs. Scott scolded Miriam for not taking care to know all about her friend before recommending her.
"Oh, I dare say it will be all right, and you will get the money for the dress," said Miriam, crossly; and she bade her cousin good night in no pleasant mood.
"OH, mother, I do wish Fanny could have had her holiday next Monday? It would be so nice for us, and for you too, wouldn't it?" And Eliza kissed her mother in a sort of rapture at the anticipation.
The Vicarage party had returned from the seaside the day before, but Eliza could not be spared to come home until this afternoon, and now she could only stay for an hour; but she had come to say she was to have a whole long day with her mother the following Monday, so she wanted her to send for Fanny that they might spend this wonderful holiday together.
Mrs. Brown was not thinking so much of the holiday as of Eliza, and the change that had been wrought in her by this lengthened stay at the seaside.
"You have grown taller and stouter too, my dear, I am quite sure," said her mother, as though she had not said it half a dozen times before, as she looked at the girl. She was rosy and happy, and there was a quickness and alertness about her that told of increased health and strength, such as she had never before enjoyed.
"Don't you think Fanny will be surprised when she sees how I have grown," said Eliza, who was anxious to stand beside her elder sister and thus prove that she was taller than when she went away.
Mrs. Brown was by no means sure what Fanny might think or say; but she was anxious to please Eliza, and so she proposed that she should write a letter the next day, and ask Fanny if she could come out to tea on Monday if her mistress could not spare her for the whole day.
"Your daddy will want to see you, too, when he comes home on Saturday, and so it would be better, if Mrs. Parsons would allow it, for you to have two half-days instead of one whole day on Monday. Do you think you could ask her this, my girl?" said Mrs. Brown.
"I will, when I go back. Nurse likes me to ask her things," added Eliza.
"And you think she will arrange the nursery work so that you can come and see daddy on Saturday or Sunday?"
"I dare say it will be to-morrow," answered Eliza, "because the Vicar likes us to stay at home on Sunday, I know; but if I cannot come then, you may be sure daddy can have his day on Sunday."
Mrs. Brown took Eliza to see Jessie Collins, and the girl was not a little surprised to see the change in Jessie during the time she had been away. Her foot was better now, although she still limped, and was glad to lean on the table or back of a chair as she got about the room. Still, she managed to sweep and dust, and keep the hearth clean and neat, with her father's armchair ready by the side of the fire whenever he should come in.
By degrees the old chair was beginning to do its work, too, for Collins often spent an evening at home now by his own fireside, instead of going off to the public-house as he had done for some months past.
"If ever I do get father back into his old ways, it will be through your help, Mrs. Brown," said Jessie, as she told her that for the last three nights her father had sat in his chair smoking and reading, as he used to do before he took to going out.
"I don't know what we should have done without your mother in our trouble," said Jessie, turning to Eliza. "My mother would have been buried by the parish, and Polly and I could not have had a bit of mourning for her. Father often talks about that. He thinks more of what you did to save my mother from a parish funeral than anything else you have done, though he likes to see us in our black frocks and hats, looking like decent girls, he says."
Eliza nestled up to her mother's side, looking up at her with affectionate pride.
"Yes, I know what a dear mother she is," she said.
"You and Fanny ought to be proud of her," said Jessie.
"Oh, we are! we are!" said Eliza, warmly; but still she was very glad that somebody else should learn to appreciate her mother; and she talked to Jessie about her visit to the seaside, and explained how it was she and Master Eustace were shut up in the cave. The two girls had a very pleasant hour together, until it was time to go and meet Minnie and Selina coming out of school, and to see her teacher once more.
Mrs. Brown intended to write her letter to Fanny so that she might have it some time during the next day, but the business of getting tea ready, and thinking how well Eliza was looking, put it out of her mind, and she did not think of it again until she went to bed. It was too late then, and so it was not until Saturday's work was nearly done that the letter was written, and Selina sent to post it, as she went to meet her father coming from the railway station.
Just as her father reached home, Eliza came from the Vicarage to spend an hour or two with him.
"This is your day, daddy, and Monday is to be Fanny's day," said the girl. "I am going to have another holiday on Monday, so that I may see everybody, and Fanny is to come on Monday."
"My bonnie lassie! Why, you look almost as well as Fanny herself," exclaimed Brown, holding his girl at arm's length to admire her.
"I shall know whether I have really grown, as people say I have, when Fanny comes, and I can stand at the side of her. I know just where my head used to reach when she was at home," said Eliza, with flashing eyes.
"Why, I declare you are growing like Fanny, my girl," said her father.
"I hope not," said Jack, quickly; "one Fanny is enough in the family. Have you seen anything of her this week, mother?" he asked.
Mrs. Brown shook her head. "I have been waiting for Eliza to come home, that I might have something to write about," she said.
"You have written now, haven't you, mother?" said Brown.
"Yes; but I am afraid she won't get the letter until Monday morning. Selina was rather late in posting it."
"Oh, mother! I hope it won't be too late for her to come out on Monday," said Eliza. "You see, I am to begin the regular nursery work next week, and I shall not have a holiday for a month, so that it will be a pity if she comes another day, when I can't see her."
"Yes, it would; and I think I must send another letter to her mistress, asking her to spare Eliza for Monday afternoon, if she cannot come out for the day."
"Oh yes, mother, do!" said Eliza, clapping her hands, and making almost as much noise as Selina herself.
No one had seen Eliza so noisy and merry before, and mother and father could only look at each other and smile, with satisfied pleasure as they looked at the girl.
Again her father remarked how much she was growing like Fanny, to which Mrs. Brown could only answer by a sigh; for to her it would be bitter indeed if Eliza should show the same wilful, selfish tendency of character that Fanny did.
But at present, every action was like those to which they had been accustomed in the old days, when she was ready to do a kindness to any one who needed her help, and to think of Eliza as anything but the kind, helpful sister seemed impossible.
Now it was Jack and Minnie and Selina who were consulted, and for each she had brought a little present from the seaside; although it had cost every penny she possessed to bring something for each of the dear ones at home.
They were but trifles, perhaps. A shell box for Jack, a similar one for Minnie, some shells she had picked up on the beach for Selina, and a shell pincushion for her mother. Still this trifle was worth its weight in gold to her mother's heart, for it was an assurance to her that, at least for the present, Eliza was unchanged; and all the kind things that had been said to her, and of her, had not spoiled her yet. For her father she had brought a wooden tobacco-pipe; and it seemed to Mrs. Brown that her husband did not value it as he ought.
Fanny had never given him even such a trifle as this, which was, perhaps, why her father did not set such store by it as he might have done, if the gift had come from his darling Fanny.
However, neither said a word to the other as to what they thought of their gifts.
A very happy evening was spent, and then mother and father walked back to the Vicarage with Eliza, who still had another happy day to anticipate, when she should meet her elder sister on Monday.
Husband and wife did not say much beyond the improvement in Eliza's health, and how it had affected her spirits and behaviour. Brown had written a letter to Fanny's mistress, Mrs. Lloyd, asking her to let Fanny come home for at least part of the day on Monday; and he took care to post this before he went home again, that he might be sure it would reach its destination by Monday morning.
Then Mrs. Brown took her basket, and went for her marketing, Polly Collins going with her this time, that Mrs. Brown might make the purchases, and Polly carry them home in her own basket. Jessie hoped to be able to do this for herself soon; but at present she was thankful that her father could give her the money for Polly to go and fetch what they wanted. She did not grudge her little sister this small pleasure, much as she would have liked to go herself.
The Sunday passed in pleasant anticipation of another visit from Eliza on the Monday, and talking over with Jack what he would do for the future, for he could not quite make up his mind that his new work would be worth all the book-knowledge he would have to acquire if he wished to go on learning this branch of electrical engineering.
"Careful, thorough work is wanted everywhere," argued Jack, "and I am not like father. A little hard work, more or less, is nothing to me; but, of course, with father it is different, and he isn't fit for hard work now. But somebody must do it."
"Yes; that is true enough," said his father.
"And the question has to be looked at all round. Hard work there must be for everybody, and the choice you have to make now is whether it shall be hands and muscles that shall be set to work, or brains. If you feel the brains are not ready to take up the task, then let it be hands and muscles. And you can be just as proud of a bit of thoroughly honest work in which the strength of arms has been used as the man who has done a clever bit of work by the nimbleness of his brain."
Mrs. Brown still wished Jack would apply himself to his books, and try to overcome his dislike to study; but she was wise enough to leave her husband to argue it out with him. For the present it would make no difference to him, and they went off to work the next morning, Brown's last words being—
"Now, I hope you will have a very happy day with your two girls, mother; and you must write and tell me all about it afterwards."
His wife nodded and smiled. "Look-out for a long letter on Tuesday," she said. And when they were gone she began at once the work of the day.
The girls went to school at the usual time; but about ten o'clock she saw Minnie running in by the back way. She went at once to open the door, for a feeling of anxiety had seized her, and she was afraid something had happened to Selina.
"What is it, Minnie? What is the matter?" she asked.
"I hardly know, mother; but a lady is coming to see you. It is Fanny's mistress, I think. Teacher sent me with her to show her the way, and I asked her to let me run on and tell you she was coming."
"There! That is her knock, I am sure!" said Minnie; and she ran to the front-door to admit Mrs. Lloyd, and show her into the almost bare sitting-room.
Her mother followed almost immediately, and she guessed at once that the trouble, whatever it might be, concerned Fanny. She had seen Mrs. Lloyd once before, and she said, as she entered the room—
"You have come about my daughter, ma'am? Is she ill? How long has she been ill?"
Mrs. Lloyd looked surprised at the question. "Surely you have heard that your daughter left my service three weeks ago?" she said.
"Fanny left her place!" uttered Mrs. Brown, in amazement.
"I am sorry to say she did. She left me with only a fortnight's notice, that she might 'better herself,' as so many girls do. Before she went, I sent her home to tell you all about it, and where she was going."
"She never came," murmured Mrs. Brown, through her pale lips, for she felt the worst had not been told yet.
"Yes, mother, Fanny came one afternoon. Don't you remember she said they were busy, and she could not have a proper holiday that day?"
"That would be the time," said the lady. "It was about a month ago; and she left me the following week, so that you may be sure I was surprised to receive a letter from your husband this morning asking leave for her to come for a holiday to-day. I was coming to see Miss Martin this morning, for last night one of Fanny's friends called to tell me that she was ill, and had been taken to the fever hospital."
"My Fanny! Oh, ma'am, why didn't you send for me? I would have had her brought home and nursed her myself."
"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Lloyd under her breath, as she saw how greatly the poor woman was upset. "You must not fret," she said. "There is no doubt Fanny will be taken good care of; and very likely they would not have let her come home to be nursed, even if you had known she was ill, and could have sent for her. Certainly the hospital people could move her with more care and less danger to her than you could have had it done yourself," she added.
Mrs. Brown dried her eyes. "I suppose I can go and see my poor girl," she said, feeling that she must do something for Fanny.
"I should think you could," said Mrs. Lloyd, "although I know nothing about the rules of the hospital myself. I dare say Fanny's last mistress would be able to tell you all about it, though. For of course, when they took her away, the messengers would leave word when friends could see and hear about the sick person."
"Do you know where Fanny's new mistress lives?" asked Mrs. Brown.
"Yes. I have not seen her, for she did not trouble to come to me for Fanny's character, and from all I have heard, I should think she is rather a careless woman, but nothing worse, so that you may rest assured that Fanny was taken care of when she was ill. The address is Mrs. Lewis, 16, Mortimer Street—not far from where I live myself," added Mrs. Lloyd, now rising to leave.
Mrs. Brown thanked her for her kindness in calling to give her all the particulars concerning Fanny. When Mrs. Lloyd had gone, she said—
"You had better go back to school, Minnie, and I will go to the Vicarage and see Eliza, and ask if she can put off coming home until we hear more about Fanny. I may be able to see the Vicar, too; and I dare say he can tell me what I want to know about this fever hospital, and when I could go to see her."
Minnie received directions about her own and Selina's dinner, while her mother put on her bonnet; for, as she told Minnie, she did not know when she should get home again.
Her visit to the Vicarage did not take long, and rather depressed the poor woman, for the Vicar told her that, as it was a fever hospital to which Fanny had been taken, he did not think that friends would be allowed to visit the patients, for fear of catching the disease themselves or carrying the infection to other people.
"Oh, sir, but I must see my child," said Mrs. Brown, with tears in her eyes. "If Fanny is dangerously ill, I am sure she will want to see me, for she did not tell me she was going to leave the comfortable place Miss Martin got for her, and I know she will feel better when she has told me all about it."
"Very well. I hope the rules will allow you to see her, Mrs. Brown, for I can understand how anxious you must feel about poor Fanny. But do not forget that, although you may not be able to go to her, God is with her, to direct and comfort her, as He was with the other little woman when she was shut in the cave."
"Oh, sir, but Eliza was doing her duty when she got on those steps she told me about; but I am afraid Fanny has been naughty and wilful;" and there Mrs. Brown stopped.
"But God cares for His wilful children as well as those who try to serve Him in the way of duty. I do not say that they are alike in being happy in His service. The wilful ones may doubt whether God cares for them any longer, and may think themselves forgotten by God, but this does not make any difference in His love and care. You say Fanny has been naughty and wilful, but you are going to look for her the more carefully because you think she needs you the more on account of her wilfulness. Now, try to think that your mother-love is only a shadow of the greater love God has for us, and trust Him to take care of Fanny, although you can do very little for her yourself just now."
Mrs. Brown tried to thank the Vicar for his kindly advice; and having been assured that Eliza should come home some other day for the promised holiday, she hurried away, for she had a long walk before her, and as yet there were no tramcars running between this distant suburb and the neighbourhood of Mortimer Street.
Fortunately for Mrs. Brown, she had little difficulty in finding the address she wanted, and Mrs. Lewis was at home and saw her with very little delay. She also could give the poor woman some little comfort, for she spoke very highly of Fanny as a hard-working girl, and said she hoped she would come back to her when she was able to leave the hospital. But she could give her no information about the rules of the hospital, or whether she would be able to see Fanny if she went there.
THE uncertainty as to whether she would gain admittance to the fever hospital, did not deter Mrs. Brown from going there. Fortunately she found that a tramcar from the neighbourhood of Mortimer Street passed the gates of the hospital, so that she was able to reach it without walking much further. When at last the hospital was reached, and the gate opened to her impatient ringing, it seemed hours that she had to wait, before she could gain any certain news about Fanny. The only thing the porter did seem certain about was that she could not go beyond the porch of the building, where inquiries had to be made. To see Fanny, unless she was dangerously ill, was quite out of the question. So Mrs. Brown had to go back at last with what comfort she could get from the assurance that she was going on very well, and if there was any change for the worse, she would be sent for immediately, as this was the rule of the hospital.
Then the sliding window closed, and Mrs. Brown turned homewards by another road to avoid going through the town. She grew more calm and less anxious about Fanny the longer she considered the matter, for she had heard of this fever hospital before, and knew that the patients received every care, and were as well nursed as if they were at home. She felt sure that Fanny would be taken good care of; but she wanted to see her, and know all that had happened, and why she did not write to tell her she was ill, before she was so bad as to be taken away. There were so many things she wanted to ask her, that it was well for Fanny that her mother could not go to see her just now.
Mrs. Brown had asked about Fanny's clothes, and the lady had told her that, after she had been taken away, the parish authorities had sent to fetch them to be disinfected.
"They had better be sent home when they are ready," said Mrs. Brown. And, at her request, Mrs. Lewis wrote a note to this effect, and this Mrs. Brown left at the office as she passed, telling the clerk that she was the girl's mother, and that Fanny would return home as soon as she was well.
Brown wrote to his wife the next day, when he heard the news from her, saying what he could to comfort her, and that if he had been working at the factory close at hand he could have done no more than she had, and that he was glad she made the necessary inquiries about her clothes, for the poor girl thought so much of her clothes, he knew, and she would want them when she came home.
What a bitter commentary on this the next day brought. A large, blue, official-looking letter came in the middle of the afternoon.
Mrs. Brown's fingers shook as she took it out of the postman's hands, and Jessie Collins, who had been helped to limp over to pay her first visit to her friend, said, in a tone of alarm, "Is there anything the matter, Mrs. Brown?" when she went into the kitchen with the letter in her hand.
"I don't know, I don't know," said Mrs. Brown; and then, with a desperate effort, she tore open the envelope, and took out the large sheet of blue paper and read, "I regret to inform you that your daughter, Fanny Brown, died this morning, and I have to request that her body—"
Mrs. Brown did not read any further. The letter slipped from her fingers, her head drooped, and she would have fallen out of the chair on which she was sitting if Jessie had not saved her.
Jessie was frightened, but managed to reach to the wall, and knock for the next-door neighbour, who was a friend of Mrs. Brown's.
"Whatever is the matter?" she exclaimed, as she rushed in at the back door.
"It was all through reading this blue letter," said Jessie; and when the woman had moved Mrs. Brown to the armchair, she picked up the letter to see what could have caused the fainting-fit.
"Mrs. Poole, Fanny Brown is dead!" exclaimed Jessie.
At the same moment, Selina ran in from school, and was in time to hear Jessie's exclamation.
"I don't believe you, Jessie Collins. What have you done to my mother? Oh, mother, mother, speak to me!" implored the little girl, bursting into tears. "Don't you believe what Jessie Collins says," she went on, as her mother slowly opened her eyes. Selina's cry had done more to restore her than all the water and burnt feathers Mrs. Poole had used. For a minute she looked round the room in a dazed fashion, as though waking from a terrible dream. Then all at once she looked at Jessie, and said—
"The letter! the letter! I thought I had a terrible letter!"
Selina was holding the letter now, and gave it to her. She shuddered as her fingers touched it.
"Yes, yes, it is true then," she said; "and my Fanny is dead."
She did not faint again, but sat and stared at the letter for a minute, and then said—
"I must go to him. I must tell my husband."
Selina had run out and spread the news, and in a few minutes other neighbours had come in. They soon persuaded Mrs. Brown that the best thing she could do was to send a telegram to her husband, bidding him and Jack come home at once, as Fanny was worse.
This would be the best way of telling the sad news, Mrs. Poole thought; so just as he had finished his day's work, the telegram was handed to Brown.
But although he started for home as soon as he could after he received it, he did not reach his wife until nearly ten o'clock, and then it was too late to go to the hospital and ascertain further particulars about Fanny's death.
He went on this sad errand the next morning, leaving his wife in the care of Jessie and Mrs. Poole, for she was now so ill that the doctor had been sent for, and had ordered her to keep her bed for the present. The fatigue of the long walk a day or two before, followed by the shock of the sudden news of Fanny's death, had proved too much for her.
The only person she asked to see was the Vicar, and when he came, she said—
"Where is my Fanny now, sir?"
"In God's keeping," he answered tenderly. "Nothing can take her out of His hands."
"But she is dead," said the poor heart-broken mother; "and I know she had been wilful and selfish, and—"
But there the invalid stopped with a groan.
"And you do not know anything that happened to the poor silly girl after she went to the hospital? But cannot you believe that God was there with your wilful child, as well as in the cave with your brave girl? And could He not lead Fanny to repentance for the past, as well as give courage and endurance to her sister?"
A little something like hope crept into the poor woman's eyes as she listened.
"Do you really think so," she asked.
"I do, indeed. Many a lesson learned at home or at school, and forgotten or neglected, perhaps despised for years and years, often comes back when we are ill. And what is more likely than that your Fanny turned to God and asked His forgiveness for Christ's sake? And though no one may know of this, we are sure that God was ready to forgive all her sins, and receive her to Himself."
Mrs. Brown was too ill to bear much talking; but the Vicar felt sure, from the changed look in her sad eyes, that the few words he had spoken had led her to hope in God's mercy to Fanny. And then he left, promising to help in the business arrangements if his help was needed.
Of these, however, Mrs. Brown heard very little, Fanny's body had been placed in a coffin, and fastened down before her father reached the hospital, and arrangements for the funeral had to be made, and carried out very quickly.
Mrs. Brown was too ill to ask many questions, so she did not know that her husband had not been able to look upon the face of their child. He was careful to keep this to himself as far as he could. By-and-by they might be able to talk the matter over. Now they spoke of the pleasant shady spot where Fanny had been laid in the churchyard, and where several of her old schoolfellows had already placed bunches of choice wildflowers, such as Fanny had often gathered herself in her lifetime.
Jessie Collins insisted upon doing her share of the nursing for her friend, and Minnie allowed her to sit with her mother many an hour, when she would rather have been there herself, because she knew that Jessie longed to show her gratitude by doing what she could for them in their trouble.
Everybody was very kind to the bereaved parents; and when at last Mrs. Brown was able to come downstairs once more, friends and neighbours tried all they could to shield her from any painful reminder of her loss, and tried to interest her in what was going on.
There was one subject that was in the mind of a good many people; although Mrs. Brown herself had apparently forgotten it, and this was Fanny's box of clothes. Brown had sent to the parish authorities asking them not to send them back immediately, as his wife was ill, and his work took him away from home at present.
To this request a polite answer had been returned that the clothes might remain in their charge for a month, if that would suit the convenience of Mr. Brown, and this arrangement being made, Brown thought no more about the matter, and the days and weeks went on, until more than a month had passed since the news of Fanny's death first reached her mother. One morning, after the girls had gone to school, a cart stopped at the door, and when Mrs. Brown went to open it to the man who had knocked, she saw that he had just set down Fanny's box.
"Good morning, ma'am. Will you please look through this, and see that everything is right by this paper?" and he held out a list of what the box had contained when it was taken from Mrs. Lewis's.
For a minute Mrs. Brown felt that she could not open the box; but, after a minute's hesitation, she said—
"If you will lift it into the front room, I will open it."
"All right," answered the man; and he handed the key to Mrs. Brown.
With trembling fingers she unlocked it, and lifted the lid. She did not recognize the first article she lifted out, for it was Fanny's new dress, now limp and tumbled and creased.
Then came articles that Mrs. Brown knew quite well, and these brought the tears to her eyes, and a pang to her heart, but the business had to be gone through, and the articles compared with the list the man had given to her.
At the very bottom, underneath caps and aprons and all the small keepsakes she had treasured, was a cotton bag, and in this was Judds' collecting-card, with its record of what she had paid; and also the watch and chain, which had been the source of all Fanny's trouble, and her mother's sorrow and disappointment.
At the sight of this Mrs. Brown burst into a violent flood of tears.
"I cannot do any more," she said, with a gasp.
The man lifted his cap, and scratched his head.
"It's kind of upset you, missus," he said, in a tone of apology. "But there, we've got to the end now, and if you'll just write your name at the bottom of this paper I shan't want to bother you again."
Mrs. Brown choked back her tears, and wiped her eyes that she might see to write her name where the man told her it was to be written, and having done this, and shut the street door, she could do as she pleased with these memorials of her lost darling. For nearly an hour she sat tearless, but with a bitter pang at her heart; for, try as she would, she was forced to admit that there was conclusive evidence that self, and self-gratification had been the ruling spirit of Fanny's life to the very last. But this should not be known to any one but herself. She would put away the things, lock the box, and keep the key. She replaced the watch and chain in its bag, puzzled a little as she read the rules printed on the collecting-card, but holding to the belief in what Fanny had told her that she had bought the watch for ten shillings. Then, when the well-known articles, which she herself had made, were replaced in the box, the new brown dress was shaken out and examined, and when the quality of the material was noted and the way in which it was made, Mrs. Brown exclaimed—
"Where could the silly girl have bought this? She certainly could not afford it!" And tears filled her eyes once more, for how could she endure to blame Fanny now that the silence of death severed them, and she could not explain how and why she had bought this expensive dress? At any rate, no one else should see it. She would hide her daughter's folly in her own heart, that no word of blame might be spoken or even thought of by any one but herself, and for her she must learn to think kindly and tenderly of poor Fanny, even though bitter thoughts of blame must sometimes mingle with them. She folded the new brown dress carefully, and put it at the top of the other things in the box, then closed the lid and locked it, before either of the girls came home from school.
Selina looked at her mother closely as she came in.
"Is there anything the matter, mother?" she asked.
"No, dear, nothing, only I have a little headache to-day."
"Mother, I met Eliza as I came out of school, and she told me to tell you that she is coming home to tea this afternoon." It was Minnie who spoke, and Selina at once asked when she had seen Eliza.
"As I was coming out of school," repeated her sister. "You always stay behind to the last minute, and so, of course, you missed seeing her, for she could only stay a moment to ask how mother was, and to tell me she was coming home to tea with her to-day."
Selina pouted. "It was all teacher's fault," she grumbled. "She made me go back into the class and sit down because I pushed past Bella Hinton, and the little stupid cried about it."
"Well, it was unkind to push a poor little lame thing like Bella," said Minnie, reproachfully.
"Oh, well, people have to look after themselves if they don't want to be left behind," said Selina.
"My dear, I hope you are not going to make that your rule of life," said her mother. "For I am afraid, if you do, yours will not be a very happy one, nor will your friends have much happiness through you."
Mrs. Brown spoke very seriously, and Minnie looked up at her mother in wondering surprise. "It was only a little thing, mother," she said, by way of excuse for Selina.
"Yes, dear, it is, I know, only a little thing. Straws, too, are little things; but by the way they float on the top of a stream they show which way the tide is running, or the stream flowing; and so a little girl, who will push a lame schoolfellow aside to be able to run past her, will be likely to grow up a selfish girl, considering only her own convenience and pleasure rather than the wishes and wants of other people. Now, I particularly wish my little girls to think of the other people as well as themselves, to try and put themselves in the place of the other, and ask themselves what they would like that other to do to them if they could exchange places. Now, how would Selina like it, if she had a lame foot and could not walk very well, to have a strong girl, who could run anywhere, come and push her out of the way? Would you like to see the strong girl running past you and getting to the playground first?"
Selina shook her head, but did not reply audibly.
"Well, now, I want you in future, for mother's sake, to think of this whenever you are going to do something that is not quite kind. Just wait a moment, and say to yourself, 'Should I like it if I was in her place?'"
Mrs. Brown thought this would be enough for the first lesson; but she was resolved that Selina, who promised to grow up like Fanny, should not be left to follow her own inclinations on these small things, lest by-and-by she too should become a cause of bitter pain and suffering to others, instead of a blessing and comfort, such as every girl should be to her parents.
"I SAY, Minnie, I've got a letter. I'll show it to you as we go to school."
Selina spoke in a mysterious whisper as they were washing their hands in the scullery, and the little girl looked cautiously over her shoulder, lest her mother should hear what she said.
Mrs. Brown was in the adjoining kitchen, and hearing Selina's voice, she told the girls to make haste, or they would be late for school.
Minnie hurried to finish, in obedience to her mother's command.
"What a time you are washing your hands!" she said to her little sister. "I must go," she said the next minute, and with a hasty "Good-bye, mother," she hurried out the back way, but was speedily followed by Selina.
"Wait for me, Minnie! Wait for me!" called the little girl.
Minnie looked back and saw her sister waving a letter in her hand, and she ran back to meet her.
"What have you got there?" she asked, rather sharply.
"The letter I told you about. The postman was at the door when I fetched the milk this morning, and he gave it to me. It's one of those nasty blue letters that come from that hospital where poor Fanny died. Wasn't I lucky to get it before mother saw it?" said the child. "It would be sure to make her ill again if she had it, you know."
"What do you mean, Selina? This letter is for father or mother," she added, taking it out of the little girl's hand and looking at the address.
"What are you going to do with it?" asked Selina, as Minnie turned round to walk home again.
"Why, we must take it to mother, of course," said Minnie, quickly.
"No, no, Minnie; don't do that. You know the last time one of those ugly blue letters came it made mother ill," pleaded Selina.
"That was because it brought the news about poor Fanny," said Minnie.
"Yes; and that will bring some other nasty news, though it can't be about Fanny. Still, it will be sure to make mother cry and be miserable. The sight of the old thing is enough to do that," said Selina. "Tear it up, Minnie," she added.
"Why, Selina, what are you saying? The letter isn't ours to do as we like with it; and even if it should make mother ill again, she must have it, for it wouldn't be right to do anything else with it." Minnie was quite clear in her own mind upon this point.
Selina pouted and tried to snatch the letter away from her sister, and even proposed that they should take it to school and ask their teacher about it.
But Minnie still shook her head. "I know what Miss Martin would say," she answered; "she would tell me to take it home to mother at once. And so you had better tell her I have had to go back; but you run on to school now, or we shall both be late." And as she spoke Minnie turned towards home again, and left Selina still pouting, and exclaiming that she did not love her mother, or she would not want to take the letter to her.
Minnie, however, paid no heed to these upbraidings. She knew that it was the only right thing to do, whatever the consequences might be, and so she went on, though her steps flagged, and she wondered again and again what would happen when this blue envelope was opened.
Mrs. Brown saw Minnie from the bedroom window before she reached the door, and she came down to see what had happened, for she had caught sight of the large official envelope, and she wondered what fresh trouble it could bring to her.
"What is it, Minnie?" she asked, as the little girl reached the doorstep.
"Selina had this letter, mother. She was afraid to give it to you for fear it should make you ill; but I thought you had better have it;" and Minnie handed the letter to her mother.
Mrs. Brown could not repress a shudder as she took it.
"You did quite right, Minnie," she said, in spite of the shiver that went through her. "Come in, dear, and we will see what news this brings."
Minnie watched her mother's face as she tore open the large envelope; but that and a sheet of blue paper fell to the ground unheeded as Mrs. Brown saw another letter, in another handwriting, folded inside the official letter. The writing was weak and shaky, as though the writer was ill, and the colour left Mrs. Brown's face, and Minnie feared her mother was going to fall out of the chair, as she cried out—
"My child, my Fanny, my darling!"
"What is it, mother? What is it?" asked Minnie, putting her arms round her mother's neck, and looking down at the letter in her hand. "Is it from Fanny?" she asked, with a gasp, for the handwriting was strangely like her sister's.
Her mother nodded and smiled, and then the tears came into her eyes, and it was some minutes before either of them could read the letter through, although it was a very short one.
"Dearest Mother," she wrote, "Nurse has just told me that I may try and write a letter to you. I have been ill for a long time, and I dare say you have wondered where I was. I have been a naughty girl, I know now, for I left my place where I was comfortable and went to one where I caught the fever, and had to come to the hospital. I am afraid it has been a great deal of trouble to you, for I know you love me, although I have been so naughty, and do not deserve it. But you will forgive me and send me a letter soon to tell me you have not forgotten me, although I have not heard from you for such a long time."
Mrs. Brown and Minnie read this letter, though it is doubtful whether either of them understood much beyond the wonderful fact that Fanny was not dead, after all.
"Mother, how is it there was such a mistake about Fanny?" said Minnie, at last; and as she spoke she picked up the official letter and envelope from the floor.
In this letter it was explained that two girls of the same name were admitted to the hospital on the same day, and by some mischance the one who had died was supposed to be the one who was surviving; but to make sure that there was now no error, the survivor had been asked to write a few lines to her friends, and give their address, now that she was a little better and in the full possession of her faculties. An answer was asked to be returned, giving the full name, age, and address of the girl whom they claimed as their daughter. A letter might also be sent to the patient, but at present no visitors could be allowed to see her, although she would soon be well enough to be sent to a convalescent home.
It was not until this had been read a second time that Mrs. Brown and Minnie could understand all it meant, and when at last she did comprehend it, Mrs. Brown was all impatience to send the answer required.
"Get me a pen and ink, Minnie. You shall take the letter to the central post-office so that it may go quicker. My poor Fanny! If I had only known this she should not have waited to hear from us."
But Mrs. Brown did not find it so easy to answer the official letter she had received, and she wondered where the parents of the girl they had buried could be found. These people were living in the belief that their daughter was getting better; and what a cruel awakening it would be when they heard she had been buried by strangers in a strange place.
She could not help thinking of these unknown parents as she rejoiced over the news this letter had brought to her.
"It was a good thing we did not tear up the ugly blue letter," said Minnie, as her mother wrote the few lines required as the official reply.
To Fanny she wrote more freely, assuring her of love and forgiveness, and promising to come and see her as soon as visitors were allowed, and that Minnie and Eliza should write to her the next day.
Having sent Minnie with this letter to the central post-office that it might reach its destination the more quickly, she next wrote to her husband, enclosing the letters she had received from the hospital, and telling him what she had done. When this letter was finished, she put on her bonnet and went herself to post it, and send a telegram to him at once, for she could not keep the wonderful news to herself. She wanted to tell everybody she met that it was all a mistake that her Fanny was dead. She did tell several of the neighbours whom she knew, and they, remembering how ill she was when the news of Fanny's death first came, looked at her in wondering surprise, and though they said a few words of congratulation at the time, they shook their heads in a pitying fashion afterwards, and whispered to each other that they feared poor Mrs. Brown had gone out of her mind. This report reached Jessie Collins before Mrs. Brown returned after sending her telegram.
Jessie's foot was better now, and she was waiting at the corner of the street when Mrs. Brown got back from the post-office.
"I have come to see if I can help you do anything this morning," said the girl, looking keenly at her friend.
"Thank you, dear; but Minnie will be back very soon now. She has not gone to school this morning. Have you heard the good news? I told Mrs. Tate when I met her going to the post-office. It is all a mistake about our Fanny being dead. She is getting better. I had a letter from the hospital telling me this morning, and have just sent to let her father know."
Jessie looked puzzled. Certainly her friend did not look like a person out of her mind; but still the news seemed too wonderful to be true.
"Let me come in with you until Minnie comes back," she said, after a pause, for Mrs. Tate had remarked that she ought not to be left alone. "I should like to see the letter they sent to tell you Fanny was getting better," added Jessie.
"Yes, I might have shown it to you before I sent it away; but I have sent it to Brown now. I wish I could go and tell him myself; but he will get a telegram quicker, and the letter will reach him to-night, they say."
Jessie walked home with Mrs. Brown, and very soon Minnie came in, and Jessie at once asked if she had seen the letter from the hospital.
"Oh yes, I saw it. You need not think it is all a dream," answered Minnie.
Jessie had never seen quiet, steady Minnie so excited.
"Now, mother, we have posted the letter to Fanny, and you have sent to let father know about it. Now let me go and tell Eliza up at the Vicarage, for you know how she has grieved about poor Fanny."
"I will stay and help you, or help Minnie," said Jessie, who felt she must do something to help in spreading the joyful news.
Mrs. Brown considered the matter for a minute, and then she said—
"I think I would rather go to the Vicarage myself, Minnie; but you may go to the school and tell Miss Martin and Selina. I dare say the child is wondering what news the letter she was so afraid of has brought to us; and you ought to go at once. Now, Jessie, will you wash up the breakfast things for us? I have stripped the beds, and Minnie can help me make them when I come back from the Vicarage; but I do not feel as though I could stay in the house until I have told all the friends, who were so kind to us in our trouble, that it is all over now, and God has kept our child in life all this time when we thought she was dead."
"Yes, you go to the Vicarage and see Eliza, while I go to school and tell Miss Martin," said Minnie; for she thought it would do her mother good to have a word with the Vicar, as she had talked so fast that Minnie, too, was afraid she might be ill again.
Mrs. Brown was so impatient to reach the Vicarage that she did not notice that Minnie lingered behind to speak to Jessie after she was gone.
"I never saw mother just like this before," she said, as soon as the door closed after her.
"But the news is really true, Minnie?" said Jessie, in a questioning tone.
"What do you mean, Jessie?" asked Minnie.
"Well, I met Mrs. Tate before I came here, and she said your mother had gone out of her mind; and, you see, nobody ever heard of such a thing as this before, and so—"
"Oh, you think the letter never came to tell us such wonderful news!" interrupted Minnie.
"Well, Mrs. Tate seemed to think the trouble about Fanny had turned your mother's brain," said Jessie.
Minnie could afford to laugh at this suggestion. "Oh no; it is quite true about the letter. I saw it and read every word, and mother has sent it on to father, and I hope he will come home as soon as he gets it, for fear the good news should make mother ill. Selina said she knew the nasty letter would make her bad again, and she wanted to tear it up, only I said it would not be right, and mother must have it."
Jessie laughed. "That's just like you Browns. If a thing is right, or you think it is right, then it must be done, no matter what happens through it," said Jessie.
"Why, yes, of course," answered Minnie, as though there could be no two opinions upon this matter. "Selina isn't old enough to think about such things as she ought, or she would not have wanted to tear up a letter that was not her own," said Minnie.
"It would have been a pity if she had torn up this one," said Jessie, "though I am not sure that it won't make your mother ill, after all. There, you go and tell Miss Martin, and get back before your mother comes," she added. For in point of fact Jessie felt half afraid lest her friend was going to lose her senses, and she thought Minnie would know better what to do for her mother than she did.
So Minnie ran off to school, and Selina looked greatly relieved when she saw her sister come in smiling, and looking at her reassuringly, for her long absence had convinced the little girl that the dreadful letter had caused some mischief, and she had informed one or two of her schoolfellows that she knew her mother was ill, as Minnie had not come to school.
But now, instead of going to her own class, Minnie walked straight up to Miss Martin's table, and said—
"If you please, ma'am, mother told me to come and tell you that we have had a letter from the hospital where we thought Fanny had died, and she is not dead, but getting better."
Miss Martin looked so astonished, so incredulous, that Minnie said—
"It is true, ma'am, really."
"But, my dear child, no one ever heard of such a thing before."
"That is what everybody says. And of course we cannot tell how it could have happened; but we have got a letter from Fanny, herself, as well as from the people at the hospital, telling us that a mistake was made, and she is getting better."
"Dear me! How wonderful! But how careless somebody must have been to make such a mistake. Nov, you want to go and tell Selina and one or two of Fanny's friends, I know. Selina does not know the news, or we should all have heard it long ago," added Miss Martin.
Meanwhile Mrs. Brown had reached the Vicarage, and asked to see Eliza. The housemaid looked surprised at such a request being made so early.
"She is not going out to-day, is she, Mrs. Brown?" she asked.
"Oh no. I shall not hinder her more than a few minutes, if she is busy. The Vicar has gone out, I suppose," added the visitor.
"I don't think he has gone yet," replied the servant. "Would you like to see him?" she added, for she knew that Nurse would not be pleased if Eliza was fetched away from her work just now, no matter who might want her.
So she went to see if the Vicar was disengaged, and came back in a minute and took Mrs. Brown to the room where her master received his parishioners.
"Good morn—"
But Mrs. Brown was too eager to tell her news to wait for the usual greeting.
"Oh, sir, I am glad you are at home, for I wanted to tell you. My girl, my Fanny, is not dead. She is not, indeed, sir. It is all a mistake."
The Vicar looked at her in astonishment, and then he said—
"How did you hear this, Mrs. Brown?"
"From the hospital, sir. I had the letter this morning. There was one from Fanny too, and I have sent them both to my husband."
The Vicar hardly knew what to think. Like Mrs. Tate, he feared it must be the effect of her illness from which the poor woman was suffering. He talked to her for several minutes, and tried to persuade her not to tell Eliza until she had some further confirmation of the news.
"Oh, sir; but I cannot wait! Eliza has grieved so about Fanny, that she ought to hear the good news as soon as anybody."
"Yes; and because she has grieved more than is usual for her sister's death, I want to spare her any future disappointment," said the Vicar, kindly. "Will you trust me in this matter? As you know, Eliza has not been well since the news came of her sister's death, and she must be told very gently that she is living, lest the news should do even more harm. Now, leave it to me, and I will go at once and make further inquiries about this report. And if I find it is indeed true, I will bring the news to you at once, and then you shall come and tell Eliza yourself as soon as I get back."
Mrs. Brown found it hard to yield to the Vicar's wish on this point; but she knew it was for her child's sake he asked it, and so, for her sake, she consented, and went home again without seeing Eliza, or telling any one but the Vicar of her wonderful news.
IT was with eager anticipation that Mrs. Brown looked forward to the return of the Vicar, for when she reached home and sat down to rest and think over the matter once more, she gradually came to understand that it was not so strange, after all, that people should doubt if such wonderful news could be true. Indeed, the more calm and quiet she grew the more reasonable this view of the matter became, especially when she considered that none but herself had seen the letter from the hospital.
When, at last, she saw the Vicar walking briskly up the street, she went at once and opened the door, for she felt sure he brought her good news.
"I have seen her, Mrs. Brown! I have seen your Fanny," he said, almost as eagerly as the poor woman herself had spoken that morning at the Vicarage.
She was trembling with excitement now. "Thank God, thank God for me, sir," she exclaimed, as the Vicar stepped in.
When she was seated in the almost bare front room, the Vicar told her more about his visit.
"She has been very ill, indeed, and for some time it seemed likely that if she did not die of scarlet fever, she would succumb to brain fever, for it seems that her brain was more affected than could easily be accounted for," said the Vicar. "The nurses told me all about this complication, and asked me to try and persuade Fanny to tell me what was troubling her. They had failed to do this. They knew from her ravings when she was delirious that it had something to do with a watch, and from what she said she was in evident fear of the police going after her; and, of course, the natural conclusion was that she had stolen a watch from somewhere, but she refused to tell them anything about it."
"Oh, that watch! The misery and trouble it has caused!" said Mrs. Brown, with a groan.
The Vicar looked surprised. "Then you have heard about it," he said: "although Fanny seems to think she has kept the whole matter a secret."
"Yes, sir. I have heard about it; but I cannot say that I understand it clearly. When Fanny came home for her first holiday, she had got a very bright-looking watch, with a chain round her neck, and she told me she had given ten shillings for it. Naturally I was angry that she should spend her money so foolishly—the first wages she had ever earned. I wanted her to tell her father afterwards, and let him see the watch, but she never did tell him, and I never heard any more about it, except what I said myself, until I had her box come home a little while ago, and I had to look through it—for the man brought a list of things that were in it when it was taken away from the place where she caught the fever—and in a bag I found the watch I had seen before, and with it a collecting-card, by which I saw that she had agreed to pay two pounds for the watch, and two or three payments of three shillings had been paid. I will fetch the bag, and let you see it, sir. I have not told her father about it; for how could I let him know how our girl had deceived me as soon as she got away from home?" And poor Mrs. Brown burst into tears as she went out of the room to unlock Fanny's box.
She was away several minutes, and there were still traces of tears on her face when she came back with the little print-bag in her hand.
"There, sir," she said, "that bag made the news of her death doubly hard to bear; and I made up my mind that my husband should not have that sorrow to endure, if I could help it. So I have kept the box locked ever since it came back, and I put the key where I knew none but myself would find it."
The Vicar took out the watch and looked at it. "This is worth about fifteen shillings, I should think," he remarked, as he turned it about in his hand.
"How could they sell it for ten, then?" said Mrs. Brown. "I am sure Fanny told me she gave ten shillings for it," added her mother.
"Yes, I believe she told you the truth about the ten shillings," said the Vicar. "But as you were cross with her for giving even that small sum for it, she kept it a secret that she had so much more to pay. What seems to have upset her so much was that these people claimed the whole two pounds she had agreed to pay, without any abatement for the ten shillings she gave the woman when she bought the watch; and she had had the watch nearly six weeks before they called for the first instalment of the two pounds. Then, if you look at this card you will see that they carefully ignore having received anything on account of the payment to be made;" and the Vicar pointed with his finger to the columns where Fanny's payments had been acknowledged and the amount set down as that still owing.
Mrs. Brown heaved a sigh of relief. "Then she really did tell the truth about the ten shillings? Poor silly Fanny? Why didn't she tell us the whole story, and then we might have helped her somehow," said Mrs. Brown.
She did not enter into further particulars with the Vicar; but she could understand how it was that Fanny could not lend her any money, for there was the bitter knowledge of this debt hanging over her always present to her mind, her mother thought.
"My poor foolish girl! If she could only have trusted her mother and father," she exclaimed, tears of pity filling her eyes as she thought of all the needless suffering Fanny had endured.
"Ah," said the Vicar, "I am afraid there are a good many like Fanny among us. If we would only trust the love and care of the great Father of us all, what different men and women we should be. How much happier. How much more ready to help one another." The Vicar talked a little while to Mrs. Brown, and then he told her what was indeed glad news; for he had obtained permission for her and her husband to go and see Fanny the next day. "You will have to obey orders, and wear a wrap that will cover you and keep you from infection. You will also have to wash your face and hands, and rinse your mouth both before you go into the ward and when you come out," said the Vicar. "I had to submit, and I am sure you will be willing for the sake of seeing your child," he added.
"Yes, indeed, sir, I would do anything to see my Fanny again; and I can never be sufficiently grateful to you for all the trouble you have taken for us."
"Well, Mrs. Brown, I think, from all I have heard, that you would have done the same for me or a poorer neighbour. The poor family you have been helping lately would not have accepted help from me—not, at least, such help as I could give, but you have managed to overcome the man's pride and prejudice. You and Miss Martin between you have helped the girl to begin a new life, so that there is more hope for them all now than there ever was before, and it may be we shall see Collins himself coming to church if we are only patient enough to work and wait without trying to hurry things. I met him as I was coming here, on his way back to his work, I expect, and when I lifted my hat, and wished him good afternoon, he positively returned the greeting, and looked pleasantly at me when he did it."
Mrs. Brown smiled. "Ah, the black frock and bits of mourning Mrs. Parsons sent to Jessie pleased her father quite as much as it pleased the girl!" she said. "They had no money they could spend for black things; but with what Miss Martin and Mrs. Parsons and another friend gave them they were able to go into comfortable mourning for their mother, and this respect paid to the memory of his wife has done more to touch Collins than anything else could. And now he has begun to give up the drink again, Jessie hopes to make the home more comfortable for all of them. Do you know, sir, she has gone to work at the blacking factory three days a week? They need extra help there, and Jessie has gone that she may be able to do something towards paying off the debts that have grown to be such a burden to them lately."
"Brave girl!" said the Vicar. "Tell her that we shall all be proud of her yet, and I shall try to get her father to join our men's club when it is open. I can say a good word to him about his daughter, and that will help me to open the subject as soon as things are forward enough."
The Vicar talked thus, thinking it would be good to draw Mrs. Brown's mind away from her own trouble and joy for a little while. But as he was leaving, he said—
"Now, if Eliza can be spared for an hour, she shall come home for you to tell her the good news yourself. Brown, I expect, will be home to-night, for I sent him a telegram to say he had better come and have matters cleared up."
As Mrs. Brown anticipated, when she thanked the Vicar for his promise that Eliza should come home for an hour or two, it was not long before the girl appeared, and then all the wonderful tale had to be told over again. When Selina and Minnie came home from school, they had a fresh item of news. A friend of Fanny's, not having heard the story taken to school in the morning, had brought a bunch of flowers to put on her grave, and then, hearing what had happened, Miss Martin had suggested that the flowers should still be placed on the grave, but with the inscription, "For the stranger who lies here instead of Fanny Brown."
By the last train Brown himself came home, having obtained leave to come and do what he could towards clearing up the mystery that led to the report of his daughter's death.
Like everybody else, he was disposed to think the present information might prove false, until his wife told him that the Vicar had been to the hospital and actually seen and talked with Fanny.
"We are both going to see her to-morrow," she added. "But we shall have to obey the rules and regulations, the Vicar told me, although they may seem strange to us."
"All right, we will do as we are told, for the sake of seeing our girl," said Brown; "but I shall want to know afterwards how they came to send us that blundering message."
But before they went to bed that night they were destined to hear something more about the matter. Just as they were going upstairs there came a knock at the door, and when it was opened Brown saw a well-dressed man, whom he took to be a clerk, standing on the doorstep.
"Is this Mr. Brown's?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, my name is Brown."
"And you have a daughter ill in the fever hospital?" said the stranger.