Part 37 (1/2)
”I hoped so to give her a better, brighter life. I left a little work for her in the hands of a friend, and it came to naught. But perhaps-G.o.d's love _must_ be wiser than our human plans, and his love is greater. We must rest content with that. But she has been an evangel to me.”
Miss Mary bathed the face and hands of her invalid in some fragrant water. She had considered Dil a rather dull and uninteresting child at first; but her pitiful story that had come to light in fragments, her pa.s.sionate love for her little ”hurted” sister, and her wild dream of going to heaven, had moved them all immeasurably. The cheerful sweetness would have deceived any but practised eyes, and even now Dil seemed buoyed up by her delicious happiness.
”Won't they come back?” she asked presently, with a touch of longing in her voice.
”Yes, dear.”
”I'd like him to stay.”
”Yes, he shall stay.”
The household had not been disturbed by the near approach of the awesome visitant. The children had not missed her, since she had brought no gayety to them, but rather grudged Miss Virginia to her. They were at their supper now. How easily they had forgotten the hards.h.i.+ps of their lives!
Virginia and John Travis entered presently. The soft summer night fell about them, as they sat watching the frail little body, so wasted that its vitality was fast ebbing. She talked in quaint, disjointed s.n.a.t.c.hes, piecing the year's story together with a pathos almost heart-breaking in its very simplicity. Her trust in him had been so perfect.
”I don't know what's 'come o' mother,” she said, after one of the silences. ”But Bess 'n' me'll tell the Lord Jesus 'bout her, 'n' mebbe he can do somethin' that'll keep her 'way from Mrs. MacBride's, 'cause she wasn't so bad before she took to goin' there. I've been so feared of her all the time, but I don't feel feared no more. Bess said we shouldn't when you came back, and wisht your name had been Mr.
Greatheart. We liked him so. But they've all gone wrong in Barker's Court. Oh, can't some one set thim right an' straight, an' bring thim outen the trouble an' drinkin' an' beatin', an' show thim the way? It's jes' like thim folks leavin' the City of Destruction. An' oh, we've all come out of it, Owny an' little Dan. Maybe mother'll find the way.”
”We'll find her and try to show her,” said John Travis, with a voice full of emotion.
”Oh, will you?” There was a satisfying delight in her tone. ”An' the boys? If some one'd look after thim, I think I'd like to go to Bess. Do you b'l'eve the Lord Jesus would come an' take me if I ast him? Seems so long since I had Bess.”
”I think he will,” Travis said, in a tone he tried to keep steady.
”I ain't pritty, like Bess, an' I can't sing.”
”But you will sing there. And you will love the Saviour. That is all he asks.”
”I can't seem to understand how he could be so good to poor folks. An' I don't see why they ain't all jes' wild to love Him. Tell me some more 'bout his comin' down from heaven to help thim.”
With the little hand in his, he told the wider, greater story of the Saviour's love,-how he had come to redeem, to sanctify all future suffering in his own, to give himself a ransom. And even now Travis's mind reverted to the hours of discussion with his cousin. Ah, how could he have brought bread to that famis.h.i.+ng soul, that had fed so long on the husks of the world's wisdom, but for the afternoon with the children, the meeting with the Lord Jesus in the way.
The moon came up and flooded the room with softened splendor, the summer night was fragrant with exquisite odors. Almost it seemed as if the very heavens were opened. The wide eyes were full of wordless rapture, and a great content shone in the ethereal face.
Then Dilsey moved about restlessly.
”My little Dil, what can I do for you?” he asked with tender solicitude.
A strange shudder seemed to run over her. Was it a premonition?
”I wish you'd take me in your strong arms 'n' hold me. 'Pears if I'd like to be clost to some one, just sheltered like. An' you an' Miss Virginia sing 'bout 'The rivers of delight.'”