Part 4 (1/2)
”Shall I teach you a prayer to say to Jesus, Jimmy?” she asked after a pause of some length, during which her companion had been silently gazing up at the only piece of sky that was visible in that narrow court, as though trying to imagine where heaven really was, the child having pointed upwards whilst speaking of the home beyond the grave.
”What is prayer?” he asked.
Pollie could not explain it correctly, but she did her best to make it easy to his benighted mind. She gave him _her_ idea of what prayer is.
”It is speaking to G.o.d,” she said with reverence.
”And will He listen to the likes of me?” was the question.
”Oh yes, if you pray to Him with your whole heart,” was her reply.
The boy paused awhile, as though musing upon what she had said.
”Pollie,” he presently entreated in hushed tones, ”please teach me to pray.”
And then at the foot of the stairs knelt those two children--children of the same heavenly Father, lambs of the dear Saviour's fold--alike and yet so unlike; and the poor outcast cripple, following the actions of the little girl, meekly folded his hands as she clasped hers, and with eyes raised heavenward to where a few stars were now softly s.h.i.+ning, he repeated after her--
”Consider and hear me, O Lord my G.o.d! lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death; for Jesus' sake!”
He murmured the blessed words over two or three times after she had ceased to speak; then in silence they sat down upon the stair again, to wait for mother.
The daylight faded quite away, only the stars were s.h.i.+ning. The court at this time of the evening was always very quiet, and the peace of G.o.d was resting on those little ones. By degrees a calm had fallen upon the poor boy's soul. Never, never so happy before, he laid his weary head upon the little girl's lap with a feeling of perfect rest, murmuring to himself--
”For Jesus' sake.”
And so Pollie's mother found them fast asleep, with the star-light s.h.i.+ning on their upturned faces.
”Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
CHAPTER VI.
ON WATERLOO BRIDGE.
”I say, why don't yer come with me on Sat.u.r.days, Pollie?” asked Sally Grimes one Thursday evening as they wended their way homewards.
It was opera night, and the sale of their flowers had been very good, so that Sally, who had ”cleared out,” as she termed it, was elated with success. Even Pollie had only a small bunch left. Truth to tell, she always liked to keep a few buds to take home with her--just a few to brighten up their room, or those of their two dear friends.
She was tying up her blossoms, which had become unfastened, so that for the moment she did not reply to her companion's question, who asked again--
”Why don't yer come on Sat.u.r.days, eh? I allers does a good trade then.”
”Mother likes to get ready for the Sabbath on that day. So we clean our room right out, so as to make it nice and tidy. Then I learn my hymns and texts for the Sunday-school, and then mother hears me say them over, so as to be sure I know them well; and oh, it's so happy!”
”Sunday-school!” repeated Sally; ”is that where yer goes on Sundays? I see yer sometimes with books, eh? Lord do yer go there?”
”Yes; would you like to go with me?” Pollie suddenly asked, looking up at her friend with delight at the mere idea.
But Sally rubbed her nose thoughtfully with a corner of her ap.r.o.n, uncertain what to say on the subject.