Part 29 (1/2)

”Oh, Jem!” exclaimed Meg.

”No, more they can't, half as well,” he went on. ”n.o.body who has seen my Meg for the last few weeks, but knows as she has the true motherly heart. I'd thought as our Father above was goin' to give her one of her own to see after, but He's seen as it 'ud be nice for her to have two instead o' one. Ah! Meg, my girl, I've seen the meanin' of those words, 'as one whom his mother comforteth' since I've watched you.”

Meg did not answer; she was thinking of the tiny white-robed form that had lain unresponsively in her arms. For a moment she felt very desolate.

”But it would be very nice indeed for d.i.c.kie to go with her,” remarked Mrs. Seymour; ”I am glad it's been proposed.”

Then they explained as well as they could what had happened that evening, with the sad certainty which had come upon them, that the cruelty which had been practised on d.i.c.kie had made him quite blind.

”Now I can understand what made Cherry so dumpy,” said Mrs. Seymour.

”She came up-stairs as quiet as anything, and crept into bed with hardly a word. I've heard her sniffin' and that, for ever so long; indeed, that was partly why I came down to ask you if anythin' was the matter.”

”Poor child,” said Jem, ”I could see as she felt it very much. There, mother, we've had mercies and trials both mixed up, as you may say.

Here's my Meg about again, as is the greatest joy I've had for a long time, and here's this trouble about poor little d.i.c.kie. Then Cherry's got a nice beginnin' of somethin' to do, and she too has got to hear, as her little brother, what she's loved so tenderly, is blind.”

”Well, my dear,” answered Mrs. Seymour, ”I'm gettin' to learn, a step at a time, as G.o.d leads His people along in the _best_ way. He knows just how to send the suns.h.i.+ne and cloud so as to make the fruits of the earth come to ripen; and it's so with us: if we was to have all suns.h.i.+ne we'd be dried up, and should not bear fruit for Him, and if we was to have all cloud and rain, we'd be so damp and mildewy that I doubt if we should do much good. So He sends both, just as He sees best, to make us what He would have us be.”

”Yes, mother,” answered Jem, thoughtfully; ”I dare say as you're quite right.”

”You see, Jem,” she added, as she rose to go back to her own room, ”I have a lot o' time to think, as I stand was.h.i.+n' and ironin', and where I used to think of other folks and a hundred things, now says I to myself, 'What can I do better than think on the Lord, and all His ways?' So I put up a large-print Bible I've got, where my eyes can light upon a word here and there, without stoppin' in my work, and you'd be surprised what a deal o' comfort I get.”

Jem kissed her for good night very tenderly.

”Ah, mother!” he said, ”I see another way of gettin' to bear fruit; and that is to spread your roots deep in the soil as the great Gardener has got ready for us; I see that now, and I'll remember it.”

She bade Meg good-bye, and went up-stairs again.

”Cherry, child,” she began, coming close to the bed, ”give grannie a kiss, and let's tell the Lord all about it.”

Poor Cherry broke into sobs, as she raised her face to meet that of her friend.

”Child, there are many things to comfort you. He'll not be unhappy, my dear, even if he is blind. People will be kind to him, and he'll not miss it as much as you fear. But, whether or not, the best thing we can do is to come to the bottom at once. The Lord knows, and the Lord _loves_. Cherry, He loves d.i.c.kie more than you and Meg do, and that's saying a great deal.”

Then she knelt down, and taking Cherry's hand in hers, she prayed that they might all be able to trust Him who loved them, both when He sent cloud and when He sent suns.h.i.+ne. And then Cherry, yielding herself to submit to the cloud, suddenly remembered the flash of suns.h.i.+ne which had been sent her that day, and cheered up and took courage.

When Mrs. Seymour rose, she put up her face once more.

”Oh, grannie!--may I call you grannie?--how good you are to me. Indeed, I will try to be a good girl to you and mother-Meg.”

”I'm sure you will, child.”

”And I'll not fret about d.i.c.kie anymore. I felt so sorry, so--angry--but I've asked Jesus to forgive me. Good night, grannie dear.”

So Mrs. Seymour, though she only kissed the little girl in silence, had her bit of comfort too that evening.

”Grannie,” she thought; ”I believe the child will be a true grandchild to me in time, and cheer up my old age when I can't so well help myself.”

Early the next morning Cherry was up betimes. She dressed herself as neatly as her poor little mended clothes would allow, and, without being asked, proceeded to light Mrs. Seymour's fire before she went out.

She had often watched the thrifty woman take two or three pieces of coal, which she placed along the back of her stove, so as to form an arch for her sticks from the front bar. Then she would lay eight or ten sticks evenly from back to front across this, and eight or ten more from side to side, putting her paper lightly under the arch, and her cinders lightly over it.