T
hough it was only three o'clock on this Christmas-day, the curtains of their grandmother's pleasant drawing-room were drawn, the gas was lighted, and everything was as bright and cosy as possible.
"Hurrah for Christmas!" said Hugh, sitting down on a stool at his aunt's feet.
She smiled, glancing up at her three nieces in their soft, warm, white dresses, so sweet and simple; their only ornament, a rosebud on a spray of maidenhair, which John had procured for them at Covent Garden late the evening before.
"Now, 'ain't they a pictur'?'" he asked, bending to kiss his grandmother, though he had seen her once before that day, for he had run in the first thing to wish her a happy Christmas.
Their grandmother looked as if she thought so.
"Are you very hungry, dears?" asked Aunt Phyllis.
"Not particularly," answered Agnes; "we had some biscuits when we came home."
"Grandmama did not wish to dine before four, but I am afraid this will seem a long hour to you."
"Oh, no," answered John, "we are not so famished as all that."
"I have brought down some old interesting books for you boys," said Mrs. Headley, "and I want Agnes to help me with this piece of work."
She held up a roll of coarse canvas, only just begun, and asked Agnes to spread it out on the hearthrug.
Hugh had to get up, which he did with a lazy groan, while the girls took the different corners and held them down, Hugh taking a fourth, for the canvas would roll up again.
"Grandmama, what a lordly piece of work," said Agnes; "it will be a long task."
"Yes," answered Mrs. Headley; "but do you guess what it is?"
John, who was standing behind the rest, made them laugh by saying:
"I expect it's a mat for a flower vase."
"I expect nothing of the kind," said Hugh, bending down to examine it; "but I shall not hazard an opinion till the rest have ventured to say."
Their grandmother looked amused. "Well?" she asked, turning to Alice.
"I should say it is a fender-stool."
"It is too coarse," suggested wise little Minnie.
"And much too wide," said John.
"Then I'll tell you," laughed Hugh; "for I believe I'm right."
"As usual," stuck in Alice mischievously.
"Oh, hush!" said Aunt Phyllis, looking up, "it is Christmas-day."
"I'm afraid Christmas-day is not a coat of steel mail, auntie," said Hugh.
"Steel mail?" she asked, wondering at his serious tone.
"Doesn't make us quite invulnerable."
"No, no; nothing does that while we have such a traitor inside us; but it does help us to have 'goodwill to men.'"
Hugh glanced at John—a glance which was noticed but not understood by several there.
"But Hugh has not told us after all what he guesses about grandmama's work," said Aunt Phyllis.
"It's a mat to put in front of your stand of flowers."
"You are nearest," said his grandmother, smiling, "but you are not quite right."
"Then what is it, grandma?" asked Minnie.
"It is a worked hearthrug for your dear mother and father, which I hope to get finished by the time they come home."
"Oh!" exclaimed Minnie, opening her eyes very wide, "will it ever get done?"
"Yes; if I have health and strength," answered Mrs. Headley.
"I am sure they will like it very much," said Alice; "but what is Agnes to help in?"
"Only to plan out the pattern at the corners for me."
"You can buy these things traced out," said Hugh, "for I've seen them tied up by the corners in the fancy shops."
"You have not seenthesethings," said his grandmother, "they are far too old-fashioned to suit peoples' notions now-a-days."
"Well, if it's all like the piece you've done they haven't got good taste, that's all I can say."
Mrs. Headley then told Agnes where her difficulty lay, and she and the two boys were soon deep in the discussion of how the pattern was to be "mitred" for the corner, the boys going down on their knees and showing the greatest interest.
Aunt Phyllis stood looking on with a smile, happy in seeing four people entirely happy, content to leave her advice out, if an hour should be passed in peaceful occupation.
Minnie had turned to her beloved doll, and while the others were so busy Alice condescended to draw near her, and was soon playing with it as heartily as her little sister.
All were surprised when at four o'clock the dinner bell pealed forth, and John exclaimed:
"Auntie, we've accomplished it! I really thought it never was going to come."
"I'm 'going to come' down to dinner," said Hugh, "so help me roll it up, John, for grandmama's awfully particular about her work, arn't you grandma?"
Mrs. Headley nodded, well pleased with the compliment, and then John gave his arm to his grandmother, and they all went down.
When dinner was over they returned to the drawing-room, and their aunt produced some new games which she had been half over London to procure for them.
They all gathered round the oval table, which stood in one corner, and quickly took up the idea of the game, Aunt Phyllis making one of them. Minnie was too young for what Hugh called its intricacies, and contented herself with dividing her attention in a threefold manner between her grandmother, her doll, and the cat.
After tea they sang together, and the girls played a duet which they had practised for the occasion, finishing with some hymns in which all could join.
"This has been a happy Christmas in spite of their being away," said Alice, sighing deeply, as they stood round the fire before going home.
"And yet you sigh," said Hugh.
"Yes," answered Alice; "I do wish they were here, and I do wonder how they are getting on; but all the same, I've had a happy day."
"That's right, my dear," said Aunt Phyllis; "I am sure your dear parents would be glad to know it."
They stood soberly thinking for a few minutes. Agnes's eyes resting on John's face with an earnest look.
"For some things I wish they could know," she said at last.
"So do I," said Alice; but Agnes noticed that John and Hugh said nothing.
When they went home they found a fire in the dining-room, but Agnes proposed they should go at once to bed.
"May I help you to lock up, instead of John?" asked Hugh.
Agnes looked surprised, but said "Yes," though she would much have preferred her usual companion.
The rest wished good night, and went upstairs, and Agnes and Hugh turned to the lower regions.
When they came back to the warm lighted room, and Hugh had turned out the gas, he said hesitatingly.
"Agnes, I'm afraid you will be very angry with me, very upset about it, but I never thought it was so wrong in me, or I am sure I should never have done it."
"Done what, Hugh?" asked Agnes, trembling and trying to keep her voice natural.
"I was out with Tom——"
"Yes, Hugh. Don't be afraid to say, dear; only do tell me quick."
"We were hungry, and we went in and had some lunch."
"Well?" she said, feeling as if her heart would stand still, in her fear of she knew not what.
"I was thirsty, and Tom said ginger-beer was ridiculous on Christmas-day, and he persuaded me——"
"To do what?" asked Agnes.
"To have a glass of beer," answered Hugh very low. "I saw no harm in it, as I had not signed; but John is awfully mad with me, and I've come to see that it was utterly horrid of me not to stand up against him."
"So long as you are sorry," said Agnes with a bitter sigh.
"Agnes, I am worse than sorry; I am dreadfully ashamed."
"Nay, dear," she answered, rousing herself and putting her hand round him,"let it only draw you closer to Him who will forgive us if we ask."
"I felt I could not look anyone in the face. Ought I to have told them?"
"I hardly know. Oh, Hugh dear, it is not so much the drinking a glass of beer. I would not wish to condemn anyone for doing that, if it were all open and above board; though of course I have long ago made up my mind about it. But Ithink where you feel wrong has been that youfeltyou were doing what father would disapprove, and you had not courage to resist."
"Yes," said Hugh sorrowfully.
"So that is what you want to confess to Him, and ask to have pardoned?"
They were silent, looking into the fire.
"I thought you'd scold me awfully," he said at last.
"Did you?" asked Agnes; "you should go to somebody who has not sinned herself if you want that."
"But you've never been tempted to go and take advantage of your parents' being away, and do exactly as you knew they'd hate you to do."
"No," answered Agnes, "my temptations may not be the same as yours, and yet I've just as much to be sorry for when I go to my Lord as you have."
"Justas much?" asked Hugh, looking in her face, "do you mean that really, Agnes."
"Yes, I do. I'm thankful every day of my life, that these words are written: "Who forgivethallthine iniquities."
Hugh put his arms round her.
"Then you forgive me, Agnes?" he asked.
"All my share of it, dear. But——"
"Mother and father?"
"Oh, no, I was not thinking of them! I am sure they will——"
"I know what you mean," said Hugh very softly, "and I'll go to Him."
He left the room without another word, and Agnes had to do the rest of her locking-up alone. Blinded with tears she went to every room, and then ascended to her own chamber.
Alice and Minnie were in bed, and asleep.
She went and stood at the dressing-table, slowly unpinning her rose, when her eye fell upon a Christmas card, which had been given her by Hugh himself that very morning.
"Jesus: for He shall save His people from their sins."
She opened her door, crossed the landing, and tapped at Hugh's.
"Look here!" she said, handing it in, and bending to kiss him.
He looked at the words, then up in her face, and there was that in his eyes which made Agnes say:
"Hugh! you've been to Him?"
And Hugh whispered an earnest "Yes."
A
gnes was one of those girls who loved to be a true elder sister. Many a time, when she sat down to tell a story, she would have preferred to bury herself in an interesting book, or to go on with a piece of painting, or delicate needlework; but by experience she had learned the blessedness of giving rather than taking pleasure, and her restless brothers interested for an hour, or Alice's and Minnie's hearts warmed and stirred up by a story, was, in her estimation, something accomplished for her Lord and Master.
So when the day after Christmas-day dawned, and found them all a little out of sorts, with later hours, and more excitement than usual, she took the opportunity to gather them together to hear the account of where the puddings went, and how they were received.
John threw himself into an arm-chair with ayawn, Hugh stretched himself on the sofa with his face downwards, while Alice and Minnie sat on the hearthrug resting their heads against her knee.
Agnes was not offended at her brothers' positions, knowing that their fatigued dulness meant no disrespect to her, and would soon change to interest in her narration when once she began.
"Ahem!" said Hugh.
"Now don't, Hugh, I am going to begin; but I must have time to collect my thoughts."
"I shall be asleep then," he answered. "Agnes, why do you choose such a morning to tell us? we can't do justice to you."
For answer, Agnes only smiled and began.
"'Bother the children, they are in my way from morning to night! Not a bit of peace. And how I'm to do to-morrow I don't know any more than nobody!'
"The words were spoken by a woman who looked inexpressibly worried and tired. The room was small, the children were many, the fire was poor, and the cold was severe. As she spoke she pushed one child into one corner, another into another; she hustled a big clumsy boy away from the little fire, and she swept down some poor little playthings off the table on to the floor with a sharp rattle which betokened a breakage of a toy, such as it was.
"A bitter cry from a little pale boy, to whom this small plate had belonged, arrested the mother's attention for a moment, but only to add to her exasperation.
"'Stop yer crying,' she exclaimed, 'or I'll stop yer!' and the little fellow swallowed down his tears as best he might, and wiped the rest on his sleeve, as he bent down to gather his little sticks together, picking up the remains of his one doll's plate, which had enabled him to have imaginary dinners and teas in his play for many a day.
"The children saw that they had better make themselves scarce, and though a keen east wind and sleet raged outside on this Christmas-eve, most of them turned out into the narrow street till tea should be ready.
"When, through the uncurtained window, they could see from their mother's movements that they might venture in, they gladly once more entered the little untidy room.
"Their mother had cut them each two slices of bread and dripping, and to this they sat down with ravenous appetites. Alas! much too soon were the pieces demolished, and the crumbs picked up off the comfortless bare table.
"'Ain't there any more?' asked the elder boy.
"'No, there ain't,' said his mother sharply; all the more sharply that she would have given anything to have been able to say yes instead of no.
"The big boy looked disappointed enough, and shuffled his feet about discontentedly.
"'What have yer got for dinner to-morrow?' he asked.
"'Usual fare,' said his mother; 'there ain't nothing but bread now-a-days, and not too much of that.'
"An ominous silence brooded over the only half-satisfied children, and the mother rocked the baby to and fro with a look on her face which was both sad and hopeless.
"'Why don't we have something nice, even if father's work is short? When it's plenty I should ha' thought we might ha' saved a bit,' grumbled the eldest.
"'Save!' exclaimed the poor mother, 'why, if we've got it, you know ye eat it, and if we ain't got it, we go without.'
"'Well, I don't like not having 'nuff to eat,' said the big boy vexedly. 'I brings home all I earns, and it ain't fair.'
"'And how much have you earnedthisweek?' asked his mother crossly.
"'Well, look at this weather, for yer,' answered he; 'how can us earn when no one won't build at any price?'
"'Then shut up,' answered the tired mother, 'and wait for better times.'
"She rose, and prepared to put the baby to bed. The eldest little girl washed up the few cups, while the boys began an undertoned game at ticklingeach other, which soon resulted in laughter and subdued noise. This brought down on them a sharp reprimand from their mother, and finally a box on the ears all round.
"Somewhat quieted, but in no good humour, they retired into a corner, and proceeded to cut up some pieces of wood which their brother's trade supplied them with. They could muster but one knife between them, but a boy cautiously crept to the cupboard and abstracted one belonging to the housekeeping, the rest watching their mother's head lest she should discover the act of disobedience; for such it was in this little home, where a lost knife would be a serious misfortune.
"At last the baby was carried upstairs for the night, and the mother descended with her hands free for the time.
"'Off to bed you go,' she said to the next three, who were crowding over the little fire.
"There was no objection for once, but just as the little girl of ten years old was taking the lamp to light them to bed a knock came at the door and startled them all.
"The girl set down the light and opened the door.
"'Why if it ain't Miss Agnes Headley;' said the mother. 'Come in, miss, do.'
"'No thank you, I have only come to bring you a little present for Christmas, and I hope you will have a happy day,' said Miss Headley.
"The big boy jumped up in a moment, and took it from her, with a 'thank ye, miss,' which meant a great deal; but Miss Headley did not wait, and they closed the door from the bitter wind, while all crowded round the table in anxious expectation.
"At the top of the parcel was an immense Christmas pudding, of a size to satisfy the appetites of even that numerous party. On it was pinned a paper with these words written: 'This pudding is cooked, but must be boiled for an hour and a half to warm it through. The cloth is for you.'
"A shout of pleasure was forced from the delighted family as they viewed their promised treat.
"Under the pudding, which had been wrapped up in a whole newspaper, lay an old jacket, a comforter, a worn pair of trousers, and a frock for the girl of ten. Last of all was a piece of stout paper on which someone (Hugh Headley I think) had painted these words: 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'
"On the back of this was written, 'Please pin this up on the wall for a Christmas text.'
"The eldest boy produced two or three nails, and had put it over the mantelshelf before they could say a word, and then, as the mother reminded them the pudding would come all the sooner for going to bed, they took her advice and disappeared, allbut the big boy, who hung behind to say, 'I'm mortal hungry, mother, I suppose you ain't got a crust?'
"Half an hour before she would have answered 'no' hastily enough, but there were tears in her eyes as she handed him the bit of bread which was to have served for her supper, as she said:
"'I'm sorry, boy, it's all so short, but you know what yer boots cost last week, and you can't have everything.'
"'Good-night, mother,' he said, stooping to give her a rough kiss; 'but itishard to be hungry.'
"When the little door had closed upon her children the mother sat down in a chair with her hands drooping in her lap. Then she wiped away the unwonted tears as she looked round at the package on the table, and then back at the bright text in front of her. It was that text which had softened her heart, and made her cry. It was that text which had suddenly reminded her of old days when she had thought more of these things than she did now.
"'Come unto Me, all ye that are heavy laden.'
"The tired, worried, over-wrought mother buried her face in her hands. Long she sat and wept.
"'I thought He had forgotten me,' she whispered. And then she rose up and made the room ready for the father, repeating softly to herself all the while, 'I will give you rest, I will give you rest.'
"After some time, much later than she had expected, the well-known footstep was heard at the door.
"The mother knew before the father entered that the foot bore a more cheerful sound than had been of late, and his words corroborated her thought.
"'Well, wife, so here you are all alone! Why, so they're all gone to roost!'
"To get the sooner to Christmas-day," answered the mother, her eyes falling, as his did, on the table scattered over with the things they had received.
"They needed very little explanation, and meanwhile the father was fumbling in his pocket for something, which he now laid on the table by his wife.
"'That's my share for to-morrow,' he said. 'I stayed out all these hours on the chance of a job, and at last I got one. A gentleman couldn't get a cab nohow, everything's engaged on this wet night, to say nought of its being Christmas; so I carried his heavy portmanteau nigh on four miles, and he gave me this half-crown. And now I want my supper, wife.'
"The mother rose quickly and stirred the little fire. Already the kettle boiled, and the cup was set on the table with perhaps, unusual care. But the fare was indeed scant—a piece of bread cut off for the father before she had begun for the childrenand a bit of dripping. Meanwhile she was hastily putting on bonnet and shawl.
"'Where to?' asked he, surprised; 'there ain't no hurry to get a bit of meat. The butchers will be open for hours yet; so sit still for once.'
"'I shan't be a minute,' she said, and was gone before he could object.
"It was not much more ere she appeared again, bringing in her hand a large loaf, and a herring which she immediately placed on the fire, while she cut some fresh slices of the day-old bread, with a heart filled with pleasure that she had it to give him.
"'I've been looking at yon words,' he said, 'and they seem to say to me as we haven't thought so much of Him as we should, eh, old woman? We couldn't have a better day nor to-morrow to begin, eh?'
"'I've begun to-night,' she said. 'I've forgot Him lately, but He ain't forgot me!'"
Alice looked up now, as Agnes finished her narration, and said wonderingly, "I can't think how you know it, Agnes."
"I will not keep you in suspense then," she answered. "Mrs. Freeman came round early on Christmas-day to thank us for the things, and in a few simple words explained her despair and her comfort, and how the words, 'Come untoMe,' hadput a new life before her, a life of rest and peace, even in the midst of outward turmoil. Our little effort for her, you see, did even more than we could have hoped."
"Have you any more stories?" asked Hugh.
"Not to-day. Minnie and I saw other things, but you will have to wait for those till we have another opportunity."
W
ell, Agnes?" said John, one sombre afternoon soon after Christmas, as the brothers and sisters gathered round the fire with a heap of nuts each, which they intended to enjoy.
"Well?" echoed Agnes.
"Now for the stories of the other puddings."
"Oh, very well," said Agnes; "to resume, then.
"After we had left Mrs. Freeman's door, Minnie and I went a little further up the street. We were not sorry, I assure you, to get rid of our first heavy parcel, for our arms ached with it. At last, in the wind, and rain, and darkness, we found the house where Mrs. Hales has her home. This, you must know, consists of one little stuffy room on the second floor.
"We groped our way up the dark staircase, and, after some fumbling, we found the door of the back room and knocked at it.
"A feeble voice bade us 'Come in,' and we found ourselves in the presence of the dear old woman.
"'Well, my dear,' she said, holding out her thin hand, 'so you've come, like a Christmas blessing, to see me.'
"We sat down by her, Minnie holding the parcel in her lap. I was quite used, as you know, to her ways, so let her take her own plan, as on other days. She was seated in a high-backed chair, with an old shawl tucked behind her head as a support, and her feet resting on a small wooden box in front of the very tiniest fire you ever did see.
"She seemed very silent after the first greeting; so, as Minnie was most impatient to open our package, I asked her if she felt equal to looking at what we had brought for her.
"She assented, and Minnie's little eager fingers soon untied the strings, and presented your bright cushion, John and Hugh.
"Her poor pale face smiled when she saw it, and she asked me to draw out the old shawl, and replace it by the cushion.
"'And now the shawl will do for my knees,' she said, 'which do feel the cold very much.'
"'And here is a little Christmas pudding for you, and a tin of groats, and a trifle to buy some coals with, and a text.'
"'My dear,' she said, 'you are very loving, andthe Lord is very loving, and He has sent me just what I wanted most, and that's the way with the Lord, my dear. He knows about us—just all about us. He knows my head has been weary enough without a cushion; He knows my knees have been cold; He knows I wanted some gruel; and when He brings me near enough to Him to say from my heart—truly, my dear, from my very heart—"Dear Lord, I'm willing to wait Thy time, Thou knowest best for me"—then, my dear, He lovingly sends you round (you don't mind my sayingHesent you, my dear) with just the very things of all others I wanted. He's adearLord.'
"There were tears on her wrinkled cheeks as she laid her hand on Minnie's little one, which rested on her knee.
"'Here's the text,' said Minnie, holding up the one you painted for her, John.
"'My God shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.'
"'Ah, my dear,' she continued, 'and it isn't only our needs for this world. We are very apt to think, all of us, that it means food, and clothes, and fire; but it don't, my dear—not only that—it's that He supplieseverything—He supplies grace to bear, patience to wait, faith to trust, and hope to look forward to the time when we shall be with Him for ever.'
"She looked up now, beyond the walls of the little room, beyond the dingy paper, on to theeverlasting Home which is coming to all who wait for Him.
"When she brought her mind back, as it were, from these thoughts, I asked her if she could bear two or three nails driven in somewhere. She looked a little surprised, but I produced Hugh's little hammer, and soon had put her text where she could see it without turning her poor head. Then I drew forth from the bottom of the parcel the unworn end of our old wool door-mat, and with her permission nailed it securely to the top of her wooden footstool, and when we had seen her with great satisfaction place her feet upon it again, we left her, while we retraced our steps homewards, the Christmas bells ringing in my ears all the way with these words borne upon them, 'My God shall supply all your need—all your need—all your need.'"
"Who thought of the piece of old mat for her stool?" asked Hugh.
"I think I did," said Agnes. "I was reading to her one day, when I noticed how thin her shoes were, and how comfortless the old box looked. But she never repines; though she has only that little miserable room, which she never leaves, she says not a word, but is always full of thanksgiving for her many mercies."
"I believe the less people have the more grateful they are," said Alice.
"I don't see that at all!" exclaimed Hugh. While Agnes said:
"Oh, no! that isn't it, Alice. But sometimes, when people lose all earthly possessions, they are brought to seek that great heavenly possession which makes up for every other loss. That's what it is."
"Then the humdrum people who are just comfortable don't get such a good chance as the poor ones, according to you, Agnes," Hugh observed.
She shook her head, smiling. "Sometimes they have to lose something they value very much before they can be brought to receive the great possession."
"What sort of thing?" asked Hugh quickly.
"I do not know," answered Agnes thoughtfully. "Each one of us values some one thing more than another; and if we love it better than Him, it will have to go."
"But what, Agnes? Can't you say the kind of things?"
"Our own way sometimes," she answered slowly, "that's often hardest of all; at least to some people."
"Yes," said Hugh, laughing a little; "some of us always do think we know best."
At this moment a diversion occurred.
"You're wanted in the drawing-room, Master Hugh," said the maid; "there's the same young gentleman that came on Christmas-day, and his sister."
Hugh turned very red, and was hastening away,when he came back to say, "Agnes, come and help a fellow, will you?"
Agnes followed him upstairs, wondering what they had come for.
"Good afternoon, Miss Headley," said the young lady, bending, but not offering her hand. "My brother asked me to come and intercede with you to allow your young people to join our little party next week?"
"I?" echoed Agnes, surprised. "I really did not know they were asked. Hugh, did you forget to tell me?"
Agnes felt uncomfortable, and wished Hugh had explained before they came up.
"Well, no," answered Hugh; "I told Tom we couldn't come."
"He said," answered Miss Radnor, "that he was sure his sister would not approve."
"It would have been better for Hugh to have asked me," answered Agnes; "but now will you kindly tell me what it is you wish?"
Miss Radnor looked as if it were all a great bore, but answered politely:
"Tom has set his heart on having Hugh and his two younger sisters to his party next week. Will you allow them to come? I believe they are to refer to you, as their parents are away."
"Thank you very much," said Agnes, hesitating a little, "you are very kind, but I believe my father would prefer our declining."
"But why?" asked the girl; "I really cannot take no for an answer."
"I should not feel at liberty to make any fresh acquaintances while our parents are away."
"How ridiculous! How can a schoolfellow be a fresh acquaintance?"
"I am sorry to seem discourteous," said Agnes gently; "but I know my parents' feelings on these subjects, and must beg you to excuse us till their return."
"Oh, just as you like,of course," said the girl, rising; "I don't think we should have done your charge any harm."
"I am sure you would not mean to," answered Agnes gravely—so gravely that Miss Radnor flushed angrily.
"Are we such undesirable acquaintances?"
"I did not mean that," answered Agnes, raising her eyes steadily, "but it is so difficult in these days to keep in the path——"
"What path?" she asked impatiently.
"The narrow path that leadeth to Life," Agnes answered very low. "Do not be vexed with me, we are strangers, and may never meet again; but we do want to keep in that, cost what it may."
Miss Radnor laughed haughtily. "I had no idea you were so religious!" she exclaimed. "I beg your pardon for coming; good-day."
With that she swept out of the room, followed by Tom, who only gave Hugh a passing grimace,which Hugh was at a loss to interpret. Did it mean sympathy with him, or with his sister?
"Hugh," said Agnes, "you should have told me."
"I never thought there would be another word. What a hateful girl, Agnes."
"I do not suppose she is; though I can't say I admired her."
"She looked round on all our things as though they were dirt!"
"Nonsense. But I daresay she is richer than we are."
"Oceans! They have twice as big a house."
"And half as big hearts perhaps," laughed Agnes. "Oh, Hugh, I pity that poor Tom."
"So do I, now I see what sort of a sister he's got. But he doesn't think her bad; he told me she was 'a stunner.'"
"I daresay. Well dear, are you satisfied with what I said? I wish I had said it better."
Hugh kissed her. "I couldn't have had half the courage you had," he answered; "and they'll be all the better for it some day, depend upon it. Don't look downhearted, you're a dear old girl."
A
gnes and her brothers and sisters ran down the steps of their London home, one frosty morning towards the end of the holidays, and turned their steps toward Regent's Park. While the roar of omnibuses was for ever in their ears there could be little talking, but when they began to find quieter streets they gathered close to Agnes, begging for "a story." This was a usual custom with them, and Agnes quickly responded by beginning cheerfully:
"Oh, yes, you have never had the account of our other visit on Christmas-eve; so I must begin where I left off last time.
"When Minnie and I reached home, with the bells ringing the refrain of peace and contentment, we just came in to warm our fingers, and then started forth again on our last errand. This timeour parcel was even heavier than before, and we were very glad when we reached the house to which our steps were bound.
"House it was not, being just a large room over a stable, where, as you know, Martha, our former housemaid, lives, since she married Jim, the cabman.
"We picked our way as well as we could over the stones, slippery and wet with mud, and at last came to the door leading to the staircase which runs up by the side of the coach-house. We found it ajar, and as the bell was broken we made our way up in the darkness. All was pitchy black, but a baby wailing above told us there must be somebody within. We found the door of the room at the top, and knocked. A voice, sharp and quick, which I should hardly have known for Martha's soft one, answered, 'What do you want?' and on this invitation we entered.
"No light was in the room, but the gas-lamp of the yard shed flickering and uncertain gleams through the window into the barest and untidiest of chambers.
"We could see, as our eyes became used to the dim light, that Martha was seated near the empty grate, holding the baby in her lap, while three little mites were huddled up against her knees on the floor.
"Desolate indeed everything seemed.
"'Why, Martha,' said I, 'are you all in the dark? Shall I find a light for you?'
"'Is it you, Miss Agnes?' said Martha, in somewhat of her old tone of respect. 'I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm that harassed with all my troubles, that I don't rightly know what I'm doing.'
"'What is it?' asked I, advancing. 'What has come to you?'
"'Everything bad,' she moaned, in the saddest of tones. 'You know I would marry Jim, though Mrs. Headley told me he was not a steady man, and too soon I've found her words true; we've been going on from bad to worse, till one by one all my nice clothes went, then our bits of furniture, and now we haven't a morsel to eat, nor a scrap of fire, nor an end of candle!'
"Too utterly miserable to hide her woe under her usual mask of reserve, and encouraged by the darkness, she continued in a voice husky and dry with suppressed grief:
"'And it's all through drink! He used to be kind to me; but that's long past. Then, when he missed the things in the house, he used to ask angrily for them, and when I told him we couldn't starve, and if he spent the money on drink we couldn't have food, then he'd up and beat me.'
"'Oh, hush!' I whispered, 'don't let the little ones hear you say so.'
"'I don't care,' she answered, 'they've seen it often enough, and nothing matters now; here's my baby, my only boy, dying of hunger!'
"I had sat hitherto spell-bound by her words, butnow I started to my feet. 'Dying!' I said, 'What can I get quickest?'
"'Nought'll save him now,' she said, without a shade of hope in her voice; 'but if you can get him a drop of milk, it would ease me to think he hadn't died hungry.'
"There was a sob now in her tearless voice; but not stopping to say a word, I hastily found the door, and descended the steps.
"You may be sure it was not long before I had got a little milk in a can from a neighbouring shop, and a bit of candle which the woman lent me at my earnest request, and I ran back with them as fast as my feet could carry me.
"Happily a match was forthcoming, and the milk was soon put to the baby's lips. He was about eight months old, but was shrunken up to skin and bone. He took with great difficulty a little of the milk, and then nestled again against his mother.
"'Why didn't you tell us?' I asked, forced to say the words.
"'I couldn't; there, I couldn't, miss. I've never begged yet, and I can't begin. I can die, and they can die, but I can't beg.'
"'Oh dear, Martha!' I said, my voice choked with tears, 'if we'd only known!'
"She wept now, hanging her head over the baby with despairing sobs.
"'But aren't you all hungry?' I said suddenly.
"She nodded her head.
"Again I flew out, leaving poor little scared Minnie sitting there; and hurrying off to a baker's, bought a stale loaf, and hastened back, ordering on my way a little coal and wood.
"In a few minutes Minnie and I had drawn the shivering little mites from their mother's knees, and had set them near the fireplace, in which I hoped there would soon be a blaze, and had given them some slices of bread, while I handed a piece to poor broken-hearted Martha.
"Then the coals came lumbering up the stairs, and, thanks to mother's teaching, Minnie and I quickly built up a warm little fire, and we had time to look round. Then our eyes fell on the parcel. We opened it with all speed, and arrayed the little cold mortals in the old clothes we had brought, and when the pudding was laid aside for another time, I drew out our third text, that it too might carry its message to these sad hearts: 'Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"'Rich!' said Martha, with a hoarse laugh, reading the words in spite of herself with her dim eyes, as I pinned them up, 'it's little riches I shall ever see!'
"'But what about the baby? If he should die now, will he be poor then, do you think?' I asked softly.
"She moaned as she hugged him tighter. 'I love him more than anything in this world, or out of it,' she exclaimed.
"'And perhaps—oh, Martha, I don't know—but perhaps God loved you too well to let you. You would rather be rich with him there, some day, for ever, than just keep him a little while here?'
"She shook her head; but while she rocked him in her arms, her eyes were fastened on the paper before her, and her pale lips repeated, 'He became poor, He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"We stopped a little while longer, till we had seen the poor little dears cuddled together asleep under their mother's only remaining shawl, and with a promise of sending round the first thing in the morning, and that I thought I knew of some work which I might get for her, Minnie and I came away, too sad at heart to say a word to each other.
"But when I laid down that night in our warm snug bed, Minnie, who was awake, whispered to me softly, 'It was kind of Him to become poor for us, Agnes, wasn't it? For what comfort could we give her if He hadn't?'
"And I thought so too, and could not but thank Him over again before I slept for His love in taking our flesh and bearing our sorrows, that we might some day share His glory."