Part 37 (1/2)

”It seems to be so needless, so useless,” said Jane.

”Not so,” the curate answered. ”Let me repeat two verses of an ancient Syrian hymn, written A.D. 90, and you will learn what the earliest Fathers of the Church thought of the death of little children.

”The Just One saw that iniquity increased on earth, And that sin had dominion over all men, And He sent His Messengers, and removed A mult.i.tude of fair little ones, And called them to the pavilion of happiness.

”Like lilies taken from the wilderness, Children are planted in Paradise; And like pearls in diadems, Children are inserted in the Kingdom; And without ceasing, shall hymn forth his praise.”

”Will you give me a copy of those verses?” asked Jane with great emotion.

”I will. You see a little clearer now?”

”Yes.”

”And the glory and the safety for the child? Do you understand?”

”I think I do.”

”Then give thanks and not tears because the King desired your child, for this message came forth from Him in whom we live and move and have our being: 'Come up hither, and dwell in the House of the Lord forever. The days of thy life have been sufficient. The bands of suffering are loosed. Thy Redeemer hath brought thee a release.' So she went forth unto her Maker. She attained unto the beginning of Peace. She departed to the habitations of just men made perfect, to the communion of saints, to the life everlasting.”

In such conversation the evening pa.s.sed and all present were somewhat comforted, yet it was only alleviation; for comfort to be lasting, must be in a great measure self-evolved, must spring from our own convictions, our own a.s.surance and sense of absolute love and justice.

However, every sorrow has its horizon and none are illimitable. The factory bell rang clearly the next morning, and the powerful call of duty made John answer it. G.o.d had given, and G.o.d had taken his only child, but the children of hundreds of families looked to the factory for their daily bread. Yea, and he did not forget the contract with G.o.d and his father which bound him to the poor and needy and which any neglect of business might imperil. He lifted his work willingly and cheerfully, for work is the oldest gospel G.o.d gave to man. It is good tidings that never fail. It is the surest earthly balm for every grief and whatever John Hatton was in his home life and in his secret hours, he was diligent in business, serving G.o.d with a fervent, cheerful spirit. In the mill he never named his loss but once, and that was on the morning of his return to business. Greenwood then made some remark about the dead child, and John answered,

”I am very lonely, Greenwood. This world seems empty without her. Why was she taken away from it?”

”Perhaps she was wanted in some other world, sir.”

John lifted a startled face to the speaker, and the man added with an air of happy triumph, as he walked away,

”A far better world, sir.”

For a moment John rested his head on his hand, then he lifted his face and with level brows fronted the grief he must learn to bear.

Jane's sorrow was a far more severe and constant one. Martha had been part of all her employments. She could do nothing and go nowhere, but the act and the place were steeped in memories of the child. All her work, all her way, all her thoughts, began and ended with Martha. She fell into a dangerous condition of self-immolation. She complained that no one cared for her, that her suffering was uniquely great, and that she alone was the only soul who remembered the dead and loved them.

Mrs. Stephen came from her retreat in Hatton Hall one day in order to combat this illusion.

”Three mothers living in Hatton village hev buried children this week, Jane,” she said. ”Two of them went back to the mill this morning.”

”I think it was very wicked of them.”

”They _hed_ to go back. They had living children to work for. When the living cling to you, then you must put the dead aside for the living.

G.o.d cares for the dead and they hev all they want in His care. If you feel that you must fret youself useless to either living or dead, try the living. They'll mostly give you every reason for fretting.”

”John has quite forgotten poor little Martha.”

”He's done nothing of that sort, but I think thou hes forgotten John, poor fellow! I'm sorry for John, I am that!”

”You have no cause to say such things, mother, and I will not listen to them. John has become wrapped up in that dreadful mill, and when he comes home at night, he will not talk of Martha.”