Two little faces closely pressed against the windowCHAPTER I.
Two little faces closely pressed against the window
“I was a Stranger, and ye took Me in.”
I
IT was a sharp, frosty night late in December, the wind driving the snow in unfriendly gusts into the faces of the passers-by, and compelling all who were not actually obliged to encounter its violenceto seek as speedily as possible the shelter of their own homes.
At the corner of a street leading out of one of the many crowded thoroughfares in the heart of the city, stood an old-fashioned crockery shop, from the inner parlour of which the cheerful glow of a coke fire, reflected on the window-panes, made the darkness without only seem more dreary and desolate. Unmindful of wind and snow, two little faces might have been seen closely pressed against the window, eagerly gazing on a sight which greeted their eyes through the glass door separating the shop from the room behind. The muslin blind, which usually hung before it to screen those within from the gaze of the outer world, had accidentally dropped, and left to view a cheerful group, consisting of father, mother, and several children, seated at their evening meal.
The kettle singing on the fire, the cat comfortably lying on the snug hearth, theclean white cloth, with the neat cups and saucers, the home-made cake, and bread-and-butter, above all, the happy faces of the children, did not escape the eager notice of the poor little wanderers, whose own sad experience of life might have been summed up in the few short but expressive words—hungry and cold, motherless and homeless.
It was the old story, alas, only too common, of sin, suffering, and sorrow; the drunkard husband going away, and leaving the poor, worn-out, sorrow and care-stricken wife to die in a miserable garret, and the friendless little ones turned out alone on the world, which seemed to them so large and dreary. Sleeping now on a doorstep, now under one of the numerous railway arches, too often the only refuge of the homeless and destitute, in the daytime begging a few halfpence, or some scant crusts, growing every day more dirty and more forlorn; no wonder that the sight ofa home which seemed to them (unaccustomed to aught but want and woe) rich in all that could be desired, should arrest their eyes and make them gaze on wistfully, forgetful of wind and cold.
No such home had ever been for them; their earliest remembrances were of a dark, damp cellar, a cruel father, and a sorrowful and ailing mother; their latest of an old tumble-down garret, where that mother lay dying, without proper nourishment or kind, loving care—no voice to whisper to her of a Saviour’s love, or to bear to her heart the glad tidings which could have shed a light over the dark valley. Mingled with these came the remembrances of the coarse tones of the rough woman, who, as soon as their mother was buried, had pushed them into the street, telling them to “be gone, and never to darken her doorway again, the good-for-nothing brats.”
After gazing intently for some time at the happy scene before them, the elderof the two children, by a sudden, irresistible impulse, at length darted up the steps, and softly turning the handle of the door, crept inside the shop, the younger one clinging to her sister’s arm. Crouching down in a corner, where they hoped to escape observation, but with eyes and ears both on the alert, they bent forward to catch the sound of what was passing in the inner room. For a moment all seemed to be quiet, and then the father’s voice was heard reading aloud. They saw the children seated round the table, the elder ones reading in turn, while the younger sat by, quietly listening. They could even distinguish some of the words, but, alas, they were no familiar tones which fell on the ears of the little beggar children; they heard something about a Father pitying His children, and, as the words were read, instinctively the younger child whispered, “That’s not our father. Whose father can that be?”
“Hush!” softly said the elder one, “or they will hear us, and then we shall be turned out.”
At that moment the outer door opened, and another customer coming in, Mr. Morley, the owner of the shop, stepped out from behind the glass door. It was only a message respecting some order which had been given earlier in the day; and no light being required, the trembling children remained in security in their hiding-place. At length, overcome by fatigue, cold, and hunger, they fell asleep in one another’s arms, the younger child whispering, as she kissed her sister, “I wish, Polly, we might stay here every night, instead of sleeping out in the cold.”
Poor little ones! Uncared for on earth, and deserted by the father who should have watched over them with tender care and love, but not uncared for up in heaven, where even the little birds do not escape notice. All unseen by them, there wasbending down over those sleeping children an Eye which never slumbers nor sleeps; and even now, when they thought themselves friendless in the wide world, their Father in heaven did not forget them, but was guiding their feet into the way of peace, and disposing the hearts of His servants to receive in His name and for His sake these forlorn and weary outcasts, the little ones for whom Jesus died, and whom He is ever ready to “receive favourably and to embrace with the arms of His mercy.”
As Mr. Morley was putting up his shutters that night, and seeing that all was safe in the shop, he caught his foot, and stumbled over some plates which had been piled on the floor; and on bringing a candle to discover what mischief had been caused, he caught sight of what seemed to him a bundle of rags heaped together under a shelf. Great was the good man’s astonishment, on a closer inspection, to discoverbeneath the rags the forms of the sleeping children. Hastily calling his wife, and carefully shading the light with his hand, he stooped down and examined their faces. Traces of tears could easily be seen on the cheeks of the elder, who appeared to be about eleven years of age, and the most hasty glance at either could not have failed to discover many unmistakeable signs of want, hunger, and poverty.
Touched with tender pity for the forlorn little ones, Mr. and Mrs. Morley consulted together as to what they should do for them. “Surely the Lord Himself has brought them within the shelter of our roof; and it’s a mercy to think they reached it in safety, for with the wind and snow driving as they are, there’s no telling whether the poor little creatures would have lived to see the light of another day.” Then, hurrying upstairs, the kind-hearted woman speedily returned with a warm blanket from her own bed, and wrapped itcarefully round the little sleepers, discoursing to herself the while.
“Certainly they might have slept in the attic, up at the top; but then there’s the fear lest they might have felt frightened like at finding themselves in a strange bed, or at being woke of a sudden—no, John’s right; John always knows best. Well, thank the Lord for keeping the poor babes from perishing on a night like this; and thank Him too for giving us, just now, when our hearts are sorely yearning after our own little one in the heavenly fold, something to do for His lambs still in a world of sin and sorrow.”
A tear stood in the good woman’s eye as she spoke. Only a few months back she had known what it was to part with the little child that had twined itself round her mother’s heart in no ordinary way—loving little Lily; so sweet and gentle, with such endearing ways, and taken after an illness of only a few days, leaving asore blank behind. The tender mother’s heart seemed to open at once to the little friendless ones whom God had led to her door; and she lay awake long that night, planning how to do the best for them, should it prove, as she felt in her own mind persuaded, that they were homeless and destitute.
Surely that night, over the homely dwelling, a heavenly smile was resting, even the blessing of Him who has said in His own holy Book: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”