Part 19 (1/2)

”Yes.”

”I never thought of the little tr.i.m.m.i.n.g till the last minute. I had another errand.”

I waited.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”I thought at first I would not tell you just yet. But I suppose the time has come; it will be no more easy to put it off. I have been to Worcester all these times to see a doctor.”

I bent my head in the dark, and listened for the rest.

”He has his reputation; they said he could help me if anybody could.

He thought at first he could. But to-day--”

The leaves rustled out of doors. Faith, up stairs, was singing herself to sleep with a droning sound.

”I suppose,” she said at length, ”I must give up and be sick now; I am feeling the reaction from having kept up so long. He thinks I shall not suffer a very great deal. He thinks he can relieve me, and that it may be soon over.”

”There is no chance?”

”No chance.”

I took both of her hands, and cried out, ”Auntie, Auntie, Auntie!” and tried to think what I was doing, but only cried out the more.

”Why, Mary!” she said; ”why, Mary!” and again, as before, she pa.s.sed her soft hand to and fro across my hair, till by and by I began to think, as I had thought before, that I could bear anything which G.o.d, who loved us all,--who _surely_ loved us all,--should send.

So then, after I had grown still, she began to tell me about it in her quiet voice; and the leaves rustled, and Faith had sung herself to sleep, and I listened wondering. For there was no pain in the quiet voice,--no pain, nor tone of fear. Indeed, it seemed to me that I detected, through its subdued sadness, a secret, suppressed buoyancy of satisfaction, with which something struggled.

”And you?” I asked, turning quickly upon her.

”I should thank G.o.d with all my heart, Mary, if it were not for Faith and you. But it _is_ for Faith and you. That's all.”

When I had locked the front door, and was creeping up here to my room, my foot crushed something, and a faint, wounded perfume came up. It was the little pink and purple chain.

”_The Gates Ajar._”

THE OPEN DOOR.

Poor Mrs. Van Loon was a widow. She had four little children. The eldest was Dirk, a boy of eight years.

One evening she had no bread, and her children were hungry. She folded her hands, and prayed to G.o.d; for she served the Lord, and she believed that he loved and could help her.

When she had finished her prayer, Dirk said to her, ”Mother, don't we read in the Bible that G.o.d sent ravens to a pious man to bring him bread?”

”Yes,” answered the mother, ”but that's long, long ago, my dear.”