CHAPTER X.IN PARADISE.
Who is responsible for the naming of places?
Paradises and Edens are plentiful in London, if there is anything in names: but some of them have surely received their cognomens in bitter irony. Near Mr. Knight’s premises was a court which was called Nightingale Lane, and another known as Wild Rose Court, the houses in which were, most of them, a disgrace to civilisation. But there was another, containing about seventy dwellings, which rejoiced in the name of Paradise Grove. Away at the church, the sound of whose bells came in a sort of muffled music, they used sometimes to sing about Paradise in the anthem—
O Paradise! O Paradise!Who doth not crave for rest?Who would not seek the happy landWhere they that love are blest?
O Paradise! O Paradise!Who doth not crave for rest?Who would not seek the happy landWhere they that love are blest?
O Paradise! O Paradise!Who doth not crave for rest?Who would not seek the happy landWhere they that love are blest?
O Paradise! O Paradise!
Who doth not crave for rest?
Who would not seek the happy land
Where they that love are blest?
But this Paradise was hot and close and dreadfully dirty. At the open windows of the little houses men sat in ragged shirts and trousers, and worked off and on every day but Monday. There was a smell of dirt everywhere, and the children, escaping from the vigilance of the School Board officer, layabout in the dusty road until they looked like heaps of dust themselves. As for the language heard in Paradise, it was astonishingly bad. The men could scarcely utter a sentence without bringing in some oaths. The children, even when they meant to say good-natured things to each other, used the foulest of our language; and, worst of all, the girls raised yells of laughter by their filthy conversation. There was not a tree in Paradise Grove, nor a flower of any kind, but weeds grew there, and ill thoughts and utter misery.
Were there no churches or chapels or missions near?
Oh, yes! But the Grove people did not believe in Christianity, and declared themselves against humbugs. They were fond of that word, and applied it to every one who was in any way better than themselves.
No one had succeeded in effecting an entrance into the hearts of the inhabitants of Paradise Grove until a young woman, plainly dressed in grey cloak and hat, and having a sweet, sad face, had called at the doors with a basket of articles which she was anxious to sell. The people looked at her a little suspiciously at first. If she had brought tracts and magazines, she might go where she came from; they had had such visitors before. But she assured them, with a smile, that tracts and magazines were not in her line. She had large pieces of beautiful soap, exceedingly cheap, and would sell for a halfpenny a piece big enough for the whole family. And she had good scrubbing-brushes and hairbrushes, for which she would take a few pence only; and little white table cloths; no one knew what a difference it made to a room if a white cloth were put on a table before the loaf was placed upon it. The Grove men and women thought it perfect nonsense. Where was the good of wasting money over such extravagances as table-cloths? There was some sense in getting more to eat. When the people had their way, and right was done, chickens and hares and pheasants would be within the reach of the poor. If one of them could be placed beside the loaf,thatwould be something worth talking about. But in the meantime the woman’s things were certainly cheap, and she appeared very anxious to sell them; so now and then a purchase was made—especially when the women found that they could pawn the articles for as much as, or more than, they had given for them.
By degrees the woman and her basket had come to be familiar objects in Paradise Grove, and the people had grown to like her a little. She never attempted to meddle with them or lecture them. They tried once or twice to shockand frighten her; but she did not seem afraid; only, at first, it was noticed that if two men or women happened to be quarrelling and fighting when she came, she turned faint, and had to leave the neighbourhood. She never could be got to take sides in a quarrel; and now and then, very gently and unassumingly, she tried to put in a peacemaking or quieting word, but generally she was content to sell the articles she had brought, and explain their use.
The best of all was that the woman seemed to know about ailments, and what could cure them. There was always some one ill in Paradise Grove, and “the Basket Woman,” as they called her, carried medicine which generally did the sick ones good. Also, she made a very pleasant drink. It was not ale, for you could drink a gallon of it, and it would not get into your head; but it tasted something like ale, and was almost as nice.
But whether it was crockery, or medicine, or drink, the woman never would give it away or sell it on trust. Her wares were both cheap and good, but she would be paid for them; and so when she came they had to find their money. And this very fact caused them to respect her and themselves. Some of the women got quite an air of independence as they talked to her, and some of the men, respectable in whole shirts which she had sold them, held up their heads with an expression of superiority which was altogether new.
Certainly the most popular person in Paradise was the “Basket Woman.” But one day a Paradise girl, who rejoiced in the name of Fan Burton, spread through the Grove the news that their “Basket Woman” was not a basket woman at all, but a lady, who only pretended to sell things that she might “get round them.” Fanny had seen her dressed and talking to a gentleman. Why this should make any difference it would be difficult to tell; but after Fan had cleverly and maliciously circulated this news, the women chose to feel themselves “sold,” and a strange reaction set in. “She has had us nicely!” said Fan. “Let’s pay her out for it. I shouldn’t wonder if she turns out one of them female detectives, or, perhaps, she’s worse; how do we know as that drink and medicine ain’t poison? I don’t trust her one bit. Well, I ain’t had none of her rubbish, except a scrubbing-brush, and that can’t hurt me much.”
Then other women took the same tone; one especially told how she had been impudent enough to interfere when Mrs. Broggins beat her Sammy, as if a woman mightn’t do what she liked with her own brat. And what business was it of that Basket Woman’s, so long as Sammy wasn’t killed? Shetalked about fetching the police, she did—ah! she forgot herself then; she was mostly a meek-faced thing enough, but everybody had seen how she flared up about that boy—“a himperant, hinterferen ’ussy” as she was!
Things looked rather black for the Basket Woman; and it would have been well if some one could have warned her. But there was no one to do it, and she came into the Grove as usual, with a smile upon her face.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, pleasantly, “I dare say you know as well as anybody how to knit?”
“It ain’t no business of yours whether I do or not,” said the woman, in tones that became louder with every word. Then a shout came down the road. “Basket Woman! come here! I want a talk with you.”
A loud guffaw from all the women at all the doors showed that something had happened to make the dwellers in the Grove angry. The Basket Woman was not very courageous, and her first impulse was to fly; but she went toward the person who had called her.
“Will you have some wool?” she asked. But the person addressed turned angrily upon her.
“Wool, indeed? No; nor anything else that you have. I’ll tell you what you are! You are a sneaking hypocrite.”
A flush shot over the refined face, the basket was put down, and she faced the woman and the group that had gathered curiously around her. “Now, what is the matter? And what does all this mean?”
A torrent of abuse was poured upon her. She stood perfectly still, and her face was now white but firm. Presently, when there was a lull, she said, in a quiet, penetrating voice, “How hard and unkind you women can be!”
“Clear out! We don’t want none of your tongue!”
“I shall not go until you have let me say one thing,” she said, becoming suddenly brave. “I have as much right as anybody to come here and try to sell things. Why are you angry with me? Have I ever done you any harm?”
There were more shouts of scorn and anger, and nobody was courageous enough to say a word in favour of the stranger. In the crowd was a woman whose child she had nursed through two nights of croup, and another whose house she had cleaned because the mistress’s hand had been hurt. The Basket Woman looked into the faces of these women with pathetic wonder and disappointment, while all sorts of things were shouted at her and of her. Then she turned sorrowfully, and, taking up her basket, walked slowly out of the court.
“I hope you will let me come again, when you are not quite so angry with me, because I like you, and I thought some of you were my friends.”
As she said the words her eyes fell on the face of Fanny Burton, who looked sorry for her part in the matter, and who felt more than a little doubtful as to whether she had not made a mistake. But the woman herself was so sorely disappointed that the tears sprang to her eyes, and her lips quivered, as she slowly, and with gentle dignity, made her way along the court to the street at the end of it.
“Drive her out!” somebody hissed presently, and then there was sound of hurrying feet behind her. She quickened her steps a little, but before she reached the entrance to the court a big boy of eighteen came hastily behind her and gave her a push of so violent a character that she was propelled suddenly into the street and fell. With a wild yell the women took to their heels, and, running up Paradise Grove, disappeared in their houses.
The Basket Woman lay stunned in the street, her head having come in contact with the kerb-stone, and she remained for several moments insensible.
A lady who was passing in her carriage had seen the sudden rush in the street, and immediately went to the aid of the prostrate woman. Some water was brought, and presently the white eyelids opened.
“My carriage is here,” said the lady, who had been intently regarding her. “Let me take you home with me for some tea.”
“Oh, no, thank you! My home is quite near. I can reach it, I am all right now.”
“You belong to the Helpful Ministry, I can see,” said the lady, “by whatever name you may call yourself; and you have received quite the customary thanks and pay. My name is Wentworth, and I love girls, and am glad to find any who need mothering; and just now you need not only a mother’s love, but a mother’s skill also. Come with me.”
The Basket Woman sighed, and glanced at the kind face beside her. But the next moment she grew frightened, and answered hastily, “Oh, no, I cannot do that. Thank you so much, but I would rather go to my lodging.”
“Very well, I will help you,” said Miss Wentworth, for it was she. “No? I must not do that? Ah! I quite understand. But you may trust me. Here is my card. Will you promise to come and see me? If not, I shall not leave until I know where to find you.”
It was very tiresome, the Basket Woman thought; butshe took the card, and gave the promise, and then crept back to her lodging, and went at once to her bed, where she remained for some days, with ample time and opportunity for testing the efficacy of her own medicines. Truth to tell, while enduring considerable pain and weakness, she much wished that she could have accepted the kind invitation of Miss Wentworth; but afterwards she was glad she had not. As soon as she was able she called on that lady, but was relieved to find that she was out. And then she gave herself afresh to her work. Paradise Grove was her own “happy hunting-ground,” and, therefore, she had taken two rooms, and thoroughly whitewashed and cleaned them, and lived among the people. She was glad to find that the ill-feeling which had been roused against her seemed all to have died out, and, as there never had been any in her heart, she went on with her work as if nothing had happened. She was needed just then for a bad case of sickness, and before that duty was through an incident occurred in connection with Fanny Burton that gave the Basket Woman great joy.
It was Sunday, and Paradise Grove was less savoury than usual. It was also more active, for most of the cleaning and washing were done on that day. Sunday, too, was the grand cooking-day of the week; everybody in the Grove tried to get a little hot meat on the Sunday. Often it was not possible, for in the Grove were many of the victims of London’s cruel sweating system, and many a woman worked fourteen hours a day for less than a shilling. Considering this terrible fight for life, and the environments of these people, the wonder was that they were not worse than they were. Happily, however, the system was doomed, for England was determined not to endure it, and public opinion was so severe on the sweaters themselves that their number became less every month. There was in process of formation a new Volunteer Corps, which already numbered thousands of employers of labour, who were sworn to abolish slavery in London, and set every man, woman, and child free. The Basket Woman, like many others, was preparing the way for this consummation.
Fanny Burton was busy on Sunday morning. First she helped her mother scrub the floor of the living room, and then she washed and ironed a pair of cuffs and a pocket handkerchief; next she brushed her Sunday dress, putting a stitch here and there to make it tidy. The fact was that Fanny was going out. George Green had invited her, and she had consented, to take a walk to Harleigh Furze; and, as she herself would have said, she was “counting on it,” not altogether for George’s sake, but still more for the sake of theflowers and the ferns; for this poor, uneducated girl, who spent the greater part of her life in a close factory, had the love of flowers born with her.
“Hurry on the dinner, mother,” she said; “I want to go out.”
“Very well; you must get it ready yourself, then,” was the curt reply. “Nobody else can please you.”
After dinner Fanny hastened from the Grove to the appointed rendezvous to meet George. He was not there, and the girl waited nearly half an hour before he appeared. When he came there was a sheepish look on his face. “How are you, Fan? You won’t mind, will you, if Drom Jones goes with us? She asked me to take her, and I couldn’t say we wouldn’t have her. And we won’t go to the Furze. Drom wants to go to Addington Park instead, because it’s nearer.”
A look of scorn came into Fanny’s eyes. Andromeda Jones (the Paradise Grove people were fond of fine names) was no favourite of hers, and George knew that.
“I have been counting on Harleigh Furze all the week,” she said, “and I shall go there. You can take Drom Jones to the Park if you like. It will not be the first shabby trick you have played me, George Green, but it will be the last.”
“Don’t be stupid, Fan. What is a fellow to do?”
“What he likes.”
At this moment Andromeda herself appeared on the scene, and, without another word, Fanny walked away.
But it was not until she had quite got away from the houses, and had walked some distance from the tram terminus, that she succeeded in overcoming the ill-humour that possessed her; and when she entered a field where no one was in sight, the first thing she did was to sit down upon a green bank and shed a few hot tears—not many, for Fanny was a girl of spirit, and did not indulge in such weaknesses as a rule. It was not jealousy in regard to George Green that troubled her, for after the first feeling of annoyance had passed away she did not give him a thought, but a restlessness that had taken possession of her, and that caused her to feel her own life to be altogether unsatisfactory. Not that it had ever occurred to her to think about her life until lately; but a subtle change had been going on within the girl which could scarcely be explained or accounted for. Fanny was active and curious, and had the desire to know which characterises some young folk. She had been sent to school long enough to learn to read, and she devoured everything that came in her way. Her knowledge, therefore, was of a very miscellaneous kind. Such periodicals as Paradise Groveaffected were always read by her, for she borrowed every scrap that she saw, and until lately no girl more loved to shock the sensibilities of the Christian girls working beside her with impudent and blasphemous assertions than Fanny Burton. But, thanks to the Basket Woman, Fanny had certainly been growing more quiet and less confident lately. Instead of glorying in her surroundings she was sickened by them, and there had sprung up within her a great scorn of herself and her own people, and an awakening desire after better things.
And here was the girl on a beautiful Sunday afternoon away from the dirt and the heat of Paradise Grove, and face to face with Nature. Every step that she took drew her farther from the town and closer to the heart of the green forest. The flowers grew in the hedge, the daisies kissed her feet, the soft air fanned her face, and the tall grasses thrust themselves caressingly into her ungloved hands. It seemed that a great hush settled down upon her, and a new refinement of feeling, and then a strange hunger after God. The unbelievers’ words and works, the clamour of the court where she lived, the riotous behaviour and noisy talk of companions, seemed to be like things she had known in a bad dream; and now she was living in a new life. Was it earth or heaven? And would the great God—in whom, after all, she did hope—take notice of poor Fan Burton? I do not think that the feelings which so moved this girl would have been called into existence had she gone to the woods in company with her associates, or had the occasion been the annual picnic of the factory where she worked, or even a Sunday-school treat, where she was one of several hundreds. But she was alone with Nature and with God; and perhaps if we could make this possible to those for whom we build mission-halls, and provide crowded meetings, others would be similarly affected.
The girl walked or rested, with some new beauty to arrest her at every step, and with peaceful, purifying thoughts floating in her mind, until presently there came through the trees the sweet sound of church bells chiming their invitation to prayer. For a few moments, with clasped hands, and eyes that dared to look earnestly up to the blue skies, she stood and listened; and then, impelled by she knew not what, she knelt on the grass and offered her first prayer—a prayer odd enough to raise a smile if there had been any one to hear it, but sincere enough to win its way to heaven.
“Our Father which art in heaven, if You can hear me, and if You can help me, please do. I am so hard and so wrong,and such a fool, that I don’t know nothing, but I want to know, and I want to be better; please make me want it more. If You will help me I’ll try to be good, for Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever, Amen. There, now, I’ve prayed; I really have prayed; and if there is Anything to hear, something will come of it. Anyway, it has done me good to pray, and I will go back home and see what is to be done next.”
Sweeter than ever seemed the flowers, and greener the trees, as the girl walked quietly and reluctantly away from the wood, feeling almost as if something new was going to happen. Nothing did happen until she had nearly reached Paradise Grove, and then she saw a crowd.
“What is it, Bet?” she asked of one of the girls who was standing near.
“Only the Salvation Army, as usual, come to convert us all,” was the reply.
Fanny did not laugh, as her custom was, but she went toward the crowd, and pushed her way in and listened. A man was talking of the love of God and somehow Fanny understood it, for her mind was full of the beautiful sights and sounds of the wood, which seemed to make the fact of God’s love not only possible, but most likely to her. She had heard it all before, but did not understand the whole of the address. The words which the speaker, in common with all evangelists, used bewildered her. “Come to Jesus! Will you not come now and be saved?”
After the address a hymn was sung, “How Sweet the Name of Jesus Sounds!” and then there was a prayer, and the meeting was over.
Fanny had been watching her opportunity, and as the speaker moved away she laid a hand on his arm. “Tell me,” she said, “tell me quietly what you mean. How am I to come to Jesus?”
“In prayer,” said the man. “Jesus can hear every word you say just as well as when He was on earth; and He says, ‘Come unto Me.’ You ask Him to save and forgive you, and He will.”
A girl with a Salvation Army bonnet on came up, and was about to take possession of Fanny, but she, looking up, saw the Basket Woman, who had no basket, as it was Sunday, and who was regarding the scene with interest. She saw something in Fanny’s eyes as they met hers; and this friend of the people understood, and was at the girl’s side in a moment.
“What is it?” she asked, gently. “Can I do anything foryou? Your name is Fanny Burton, isn’t it? Will you come into my room, and have a talk with me?”
Fanny looked rather frightened, but she turned her face toward the home of the Basket Woman, who shook hands with the Salvation Army girl as if she were her friend.
“I know Miss Burton—she lives near me, and I should like to help her if I may,” she said courteously; and the other, with equal good feeling, quitted the court and joined her friends.
“You have never been to my home, have you, Fanny? I am glad you are coming now.”
The room into which Fanny went was plainly furnished and was scrupulously clean. On the table were a snowy cloth and shining glasses, and two or three knives and forks, which Fanny thought looked like silver. There was a delicious scent of coffee, too, in the place, and, as the girl looked around, she thought, “This is too good for me.”
“I will not stay now, thank you,” she said aloud. “Perhaps I will come again another time, when you have had your supper, or whatever it is.”
“Oh, don’t say so. I do not like to eat alone. You do not know how dull it is to be quite lonely, especially on Sunday,” said the Basket Woman, and Fanny saw that there were tears in her eyes. Fanny yielded instantly; and while they had the simple meal together the Basket Woman talked to her on all sorts of things. When the meal was over, and the coffee drunk, they sat together in the pleasant room, and Fanny told her friend where she had been, and some of the things she had seen.
“Oh, Fanny, I wish I had been with you! I love the country so much. You went by tram, I suppose?”
“Yes; and then I walked a long way. I think it was the beautiful fields that made me feel queer.”
“Queer? How do you mean, Fanny?”
“They made me sorry I am so bad, and they made me feel as if I want to be better.”
“Yes; that is just how they make me feel. Some day, Fanny, not on Sunday though—perhaps next Saturday afternoon, if you can spare the time—I should like so much to go into the country with you. Would you be willing?”
“Yes; I should like it ever so much.”
“Then we will go together, if nothing happens to prevent. I was glad to see you listening to the Salvation Army. Did you ever go to Sunday-school?”
“Yes; when I was a little thing I used to go sometimes.There is a Mission-school, you know, just round the corner, where me and the others went.”
“And why did you leave?”
“Oh, we didn’t like the teacher for one thing; and, for another, it was hot and close; and I like to walk about the streets much better. I wish I hadn’t left, though, now.”
“You can go back again; I am sure they would be glad to see you. Why do you wish you had not left?”
“Because, perhaps, if I had stayed I should have known more. I want to know things. I know nothing. I could not even understand what the Salvation man said.” She paused a moment, and then her eyes suddenly flashed into the grave, kind face before her, and she said impetuously, “Oh, do tell me if it is all real—religion, I mean, and God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven, and all that they talk so much about!”
“Oh, yes, Fanny! It is quite real. I am more sure of that than ever.”
“Then please will you tell me all about it?”
The lady thus appealed to had surprised herself by the dogmatic manner in which she had asserted the reality of the Christian faith. The truth was that she had often doubted, and sometimes been inclined to believe nothing; yet now that a soul looked to her for light all the doubts seemed strangely to vanish, and all the old lessons came back to her, as she told the story of the Christ, and His beautiful life, and the great kingdom which He came to set up. It was longer than a sermon, but Fanny listened, with her eyes on the face that kindled with joyous earnestness, and it never occurred to her to yawn or feel tired.
“And I am sure,” she said at last, “that if only we do what He wants us to do, and are not selfish and wicked, but are true and kind, that is the best way to be happy. And He will show us all the rest.”
And then a warm impulse moved her, and she put her arm suddenly around Fan’s waist and drew her to her knees, and spoke softly to the Father in heaven for both of them, and asked the living, loving Saviour to reveal His grace to the girl by her side. It was done in the most natural manner, and only occupied one or two minutes; but when they arose, Fan was secured as a loyal disciple for ever.
“And I will never forget it,” she said, through her tears. “I love you; I know you are a lady, and not used to this sort of thing, and only come to do us good; and it was my fault that you were set on that time; but you don’t know how I will love you!”
“And you will really be my friend, Fanny, and help me?Ah, then we will make our Grove more like Paradise than it has ever been before! Do you think you could persuade the boys of the Grove to come and spend their evenings with me, and will you help me entertain them, and see that they have a real good time? I want to get them out of the streets, and teach them how to enjoy better things than pitch-and-toss, and swearing and cheating. But, of course, they will not come if my evenings are dull. I mean them to be very lively; and as you know what sort of things they like, your aid will be invaluable.”
“Yes, I will come with pleasure. I know all the boys in the court, and believe I could persuade them, one and all, to spend their evenings with us; that is, if we make it worth their while. I won’t quite exactly promise every evening until I have talked it over with my mother. I didn’t use to think so much of my mother as I do now; but I’ve thought a deal about her lately, and I’m going to make things better for mother. There ain’t no sense in trying to do other people good, and neglecting your own mother, is there?”
What made the Basket Woman blush and look conscience-smitten and uncomfortable? She did not speak for a moment or two, and then, in a faltering voice, she said: “You are quite right, Fanny; ask your mother, and I will ask mine.”