CLEAR and bright dawned Christmas morning, and the bells from the churches rang out their joyful notes, calling all the world to come and worship the newborn King, the Prince of Peace. It was a very quiet day for the Blundells. A neighbour came in to sit with Annie, to enable Mrs. Blundell and Maggie to attend the morning service at church. It was the same church where Mrs. Metherell worshipped; and after the service was over, they had a few words with the kind little woman.
Mrs. Metherell was in capital spirits, for she had received loving remembrances from her children, and a present of a warm Shetland shawl from her favourite lodger.
"It is pleasant to be remembered at Christmas," she said brightly. "One of my sons is an engineer settled in Hull, and the other's a clerk in a shipping office in Liverpool. Both are married and have families, but they don't forget their old mother. My only daughter's married too, and living in Dublin: she would like me to live with her, but I think a young couple's best alone. So you see I've no near relations in London, and I sometimes feel a bit lonesome. Your relatives live in the country, I suppose, Mrs. Blundell?"
"Yes, ma'am—many miles away."
When they had parted from Mrs. Metherell, Maggie turned to her mother, and asked curiously: "Have we any relations, mother?"
"Yes, my dear."
"They never write to us, mother?"
"Never."
A cloud seemed to have overshadowed the mother's face, and she sighed. She was unusually quiet all the rest of the day, though the children found so much to talk about, and when they had fallen asleep that night, she still sat on by the scanty fire, deep in thought.
By-and-by she roused herself, and fetched writing materials, and tried to write a letter. It was evidently a difficult task, for after writing a few halting lines, she put down her pen, and covering her face with her hands wept bitterly.
"Oh!" she sobbed, "if father would only forgive me for the children's sake!"
She turned to her letter again, but she could not express in words the feelings of her heart, and at last she laid down her pen in despair. The next few days passed uneventfully; but one evening there was a knock at the door of the Blundells' home, and Maggie, who hastened to answer it, exclaimed as she peeped out:
"Oh, sir! Oh, mother! It's Mr. Blewett!"
The medical student came in, and with that adaptability which promised to do much towards making him a popular doctor some day, soon made himself at home. Mrs. Blundell stood by smiling as he talked to her little girls, his keen eyes fixed on Annie, in whose case he already felt an interest.
"Do you never get up, little one?" he asked.
"Never, sir. But I am not lonely now I have Rose."
"I am glad you find her companionable." Then, turning to the mother, he remarked:
"She had an accident, I think you said?"
"Yes, sir. Her spine was injured. I have not been able to afford a doctor lately, but—"
"Will you allow me to make an examination? I am a medical student, and interested in spinal complaints."
Mother and child both consented, and Jim proceeded to examine the little girl's back most carefully.
"There!" he said at last. "I don't think I've hurt you much, have I? Mrs. Blundell, I should like our senior house surgeon to see your little girl. He's very clever. You could not have a better man for the case."
"But, sir, I am not able to pay—"
"There will be no question of payment. May I bring him? I see I may. He's such a good fellow, and used to be a personal friend of my poor father's."
"Your poor father, sir? Why do you say poor?"
"It's a way one has of speaking of the dead. My father died three years ago, and my mother a few months before; but," he said, noticing that there were tears in Mrs. Blundell's eyes, "you did not know them!"
"Yes, sir, indeed I did, if your father was the Vicar of R—, in Cornwall!"
"He was. And you?"
"I was parlour-maid in your family for five years. You were a little boy then, sir, but I dare say, when I tell you what my name was, you'll remember it."
"How strange! I thought when I came in that your face was familiar to me, and I felt certain you came from Cornwall by your speech, and your children have a touch of the dialect, too."
"It comes from being so much with me, I suppose, sir. I was Dinah Mudford before I married."
"Old John Mudford's daughter? Why, of course, I remember now! I saw your father only last summer, and had a long chat with him. He's a hale, hearty man for his years."
Jim Blewett cast a discerning glance around the wretched garret, for he knew that Mrs. Blundell's father was a man counted well off for his position in life. He had by hard work and frugality raised himself from a labouring man to be the owner of a small dairy farm; therefore, it seemed almost incredible that his daughter should be in needy circumstances.
Mrs. Blundell saw and comprehended the meaning of the look on the young man's face, and when he took his leave, she followed him downstairs, and explained to him how she had married against her father's consent, and he had accordingly declined to have anything more to do with her.
"Many's the time I've longed and prayed for his forgiveness," she said sadly, "for I was a bad girl, sir, and wilfully disobeyed him. The misery my marriage brought me, I cannot tell you, and I don't wish to speak ill of the dead. My husband turned out as my father told me he would, only I wouldn't listen to him, and that's why I've been ashamed to write to him. If I had, I don't suppose it would have been any good, for father was always hard and unforgiving."
"He may have been once, but that he certainly is not now. He is a sincere Christian, and I am certain if you appealed to him he would assist you!"
"Father a Christian!" she exclaimed in accents of amazement.
"Indeed he is. I do not know how the change came about, but it is a fact. Write to him, and await results."
With this advice Jim Blewett departed, and Mrs. Blundell returned to her children, who were full of eager questions about the grandfather of whom they had never heard before; and the mother smiled almost hopefully as she answered, for the news she had heard had considerably lightened her heart.
"To think that father, who was always so hard and stern, should be a Christian!" she thought; "although I don't know why it should be so wonderful after all. It is God's work, and marvellous in our eyes because we can't understand how He brings things to pass. What a Christmas this has been! To think the children's 'kind gentleman' should turn out to be 'little Master Jim,' as we used to call him. I knew him at once; he has his father's kind eyes, and yet, he reminds me of his mother too!"
Meanwhile, Jim Blewett had returned to his lodgings, his mind full of the visit he had just paid. The evident poverty and want of Mrs. Blundell and her children appealed forcibly to his sympathy, and he could not help contrasting the anxious, careworn mother with the handsome girl he remembered as Dinah Mudford. He recalled having heard that old John Mudford's daughter had made an unfortunate marriage, and he thought it more than likely that the father knew nothing of his daughter's position.
"I've a great mind to write to the old man myself," he thought. "It may do some good, and I do not see that it can possibly do any harm. Poor woman! She needs help badly, and who should give it if not her father? That little sick girl, too! I've a notion something might be done for her!"
To think was to act with Jim Blewett, and sitting down, he drew pen, ink, and paper towards him. His pen flew swiftly over the paper, and in ten minutes he had plainly stated the circumstances of the case, and boldly said he considered it was John Mudford's duty to provide for his widowed daughter and her children.
Having finished his letter, he went out and posted it.
"There!" he said, as he dropped it into the letter box. "I'm interfering with other people's business again; but I think my father would have done the same."
On his return home he sought Mrs. Metherell, and told her who Mrs. Blundell was, and how he had acted. The good lady threw up her hands in astonishment as she exclaimed:
"Good gracious, Mr. Blewett! I never heard anything like it in my life! It's Providence, sir, that's what it is! First your meeting Maggie and giving her that doll; then my party, and you and the child both being there; and now her mother recognising you! There's no such thing as chance, sir; we walk on blindly trying to feel our way, and all the time there's a hand that's guiding our footsteps, though we mayn't realise it at the time!"
"Do you think I have done wisely in writing to the old man?" he asked, a trifle anxiously.
"Well, sir," was the laconic reply, "we'll wait and see."
"MOTHER! Do you really mean it? Oh, mother! Will God really make me well some day?"
It was little Annie Blundell who spoke, in eager, excited tones. The young medical student and his friend, the clever surgeon, had just gone away, leaving behind them an atmosphere of hope and joy. In time, Annie would grow stronger, and perhaps quite well. That had been the doctor's verdict, which the mother had heard with heartfelt thankfulness.
"Yes," Mrs. Blundell said, in answer to Annie's agitated questions, "if all goes well, my dear little invalid daughter will be able to run about like her sister one of these days; only we must do all the kind doctor says, and follow his directions."
"What was it he said about fresh air, mother?" Annie inquired anxiously.
"He said life in the country with plenty of fresh air would be of the utmost advantage to help to make you stronger. I am going to write to your grandfather, Annie, and ask him if he would not like a little grandchild in his home, one who would grow to love him dearly, I know."
"And you, mother? And Maggie?"
"I don't know, darling, yet."
"I could not leave you, mother!"
"Not if leaving me would mean making you strong and well?"
"No," was the response in determined accents. "Oh, mother, don't ask me to go!"
Mrs. Blundell sighed. She had again put off writing to her father, shrinking sensitively from explaining to him the miseries of her married life; but, now that she knew that fresh air was the one thing needed to assist in Annie's cure, she determined to appeal to him to take the child.
Maggie heard her mother's resolve in silence, but she drew near to her sister, and put her arms in mute protest around her neck.
"Oh, Maggie," Annie whispered, tearfully, "I don't think I want to get well now."
Meanwhile Jim Blewett had parted from his friend, and had returned to his lodgings. Clara, who had been evidently on the look-out for his arrival, met him at the door; and in a mysterious whisper asked him to walk into Mrs. Metherell's sitting-room.
"There is some one there waiting to see you," she explained.
"Who is it, Clara?"
"Some one called Mudford, sir."
Jim waited to hear no further, but hastened into the room, where he found his landlady in earnest conversation with a fresh-complexioned old man, evidently a countryman—no other than Mrs. Blundell's father.
"I am delighted to see you," Jim said cordially. "In fact, I don't know there is any one I would rather see!"
Old John Mudford took the young man's outstretched hand, and shook it heartily.
"Sir," he answered, "I am much indebted to you. You see I've replied to your letter by coming up to London. I'm no great hand at writing, so I thought I'd better come. This kind lady," he said, indicating Mrs. Metherell with a jerk of his thumb, "'as been tellin' me all about my poor maid an' 'er troubles. I knowed what it would be, an' I warned 'er to no purpose. Maybe I was too rough—well, I own I was! I saw things different in those days!"
"I'm sure if your daughter disobeyed you, she has repented it bitterly," Mrs. Metherell remarked. "I have known her for several years, and have deeply sympathised with her in her troubles."
The old man turned a grateful look upon the speaker as he said: "Ma'am, I feel that grateful to you, and to Mr. Blewett, that I can't find words to tell my feelings. If Dinah 'ad sent me a line, I would 'ave done all I could for 'er. If I spoke in anger long ago, I've repented of it ever since. The loss a' my maid was a sore trial, but maybe the Lord knew I wanted a lesson."
"But she is lost no longer," the young man broke in eagerly. "When are you going to see her?"
"At once, sir, if you'll kindly give me the address!"
"I will take you there, and we can talk on the road."
The landlady watched them depart with eyes full of pleasure and sympathy.
"I've a notion things are brightening for Mrs. Blundell," she remarked to Clara. "I believe her father intends to look after her and the children. How Mr. Blewett hurried the old man off! What an impetuous, warm-hearted lad he is, to be sure!"
Meanwhile the medical student was pouring into his companion's ears the story of how he had become acquainted with Maggie, and telling of the doctor's opinion of Annie.
Who can tell what tumultuous thoughts filled the father's heart as he followed Jim up the dark, rickety staircase! He was to see his daughter again, and he had come full of forgiveness and love. She had ever been in his mind this Christmas season, and the letter telling of her trials and troubles, clearly pointing out to him his duty, had come at the very time when his lonely heart had been yearning for her presence.
There were tears in the old man's eyes as, after receiving the usual, "Come in," in answer to his knock, the medical student took him by the arm and led him into the badly-lighted room.
Mrs. Blundell put down her work hastily, whilst the children turned curious eyes on the stranger. Old John Mudford took a step forward and looked at his daughter's face, exclaiming brokenly:
"Dinah! My poor maid!"
"Father! Father!"
"Dinah! My dear, I've come to take you home with me!"
After that Jim Blewett beat a hasty retreat, for he knew his share in the work of reconciliation was done.
"This has been the most wonderful Christmas I ever remember!" Maggie said seriously, when, her mother having become more composed, the children were introduced to their grandfather.
"And this—the sight of your dear face, father—is the crowning joy of all," Mrs. Blundell said gladly. "I never thought you would come to London to look for me."
"Well, you see, it was Mr. Blewett's doing."
"God bless him! We've much to thank him for."
"He gave us the doll, my dear Rose," said Annie, "and he brought the doctor to see me."
The little girl looked into her grandfather's face appealingly.
"You won't take me away from mother and Maggie will you?" she asked.
"No, my dear. You shall all go back to Cornwall with me."
"Oh, father!" Mrs. Blundell exclaimed joyfully.
"Oh, how splendid!" Maggie cried, clapping her hands.
"Is it in the country?" Annie asked, a wistful longing in her eyes. "Will there be flowers, and trees, and birds? And shall I get well there?"
"I trust so, my dear," the old man replied, "and it's quite in the country. Your mother will tell you all about it."
"And we shall never come back here any more," said Maggie reflectively, casting a lingering look, not devoid of affection, round the garret which had been home to them so long. "Poor old place! I shall never forget it!"
It had been a poor home, but after all, mother and children had had their happy days there—days when no troubles had been able to obliterate the sunshine of God's presence in their hearts, and they had felt secure in His loving care.
There is little more to tell. When old John Mudford returned to Cornwall, he took his daughter and her children with him, and in her native air Mrs. Blundell soon lost her careworn looks, and her tired eyes regained their strength. Maggie became quite rosy and blooming; but it was Annie who changed the most. The following summer found her able to move about, and her poor back grew stronger as time went on, and the fresh, country air did its work.
Mrs. Metherell still keeps on her lodging-house, and Clara remains with her as servant; but she has lost her favourite lodger, for Mr. Blewett has been appointed junior house surgeon at the hospital where he was once a student, so that it is more than probable he will find his life's work in London, after all.
Meanwhile, first amongst the carefully guarded treasures of Maggie and Annie Blundell is the doll, in its gaudy amber gown, that was the humble means of bringing a shower of blessings in its train. The children declare they will never forget their last Christmas in London, which, in the midst of their poverty and many anxieties, was full of unlooked-for happiness and joy.
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