Chapter XX

EARTH'S SONG AND HEAVEN'S ECHO.

HILE Cherry was busy all day long, from early morning, when she cleaned the doctor's step, till evening, when she read poor suffering Miss Hobson to sleep, little Kittie Blunt was learning her life-lessons too.

"Kittie," said Mrs. Blunt one day, as she and the little girl stood over their washing-tub, "I shouldn't like you to grow up like Pollie, and them girls, as is never satisfied unless they're at their doors gossipin'."

"Well, I don't, mother," answered Kittie, a little sulkily.

"No, you don't; but if you go so much with Pollie it won't be long afore you do."

"I don't go with Pollie now," said Kittie. "I should ha' thought as you'd seen that I didn't, mother, since—that Sunday."

"I'm glad on it," said Mrs. Blunt heartily. "That's good news, Kittie. You'll grow up to be a comfort to me yet."

Kittie wrung out a towel very hard, but she half shook her head.

"Yes, you will, Kit. It may be a deal easier to you now to go out on the step, and see folks passin', and have a grumble with Pollie; but by-and-by, if you're steady, you'll find it a deal easier to sit down with mother to a bit o' work, and have a chat or a bit o' readin'."

"'Tain't that I care so much for Pollie," answered the girl rather dolefully; "but you don't know how dull it seems in 'ere, instead of outside, mother; leastways when you're used to goin' out."

Mrs. Blunt did not answer, for Kittie's words gave her a pang. If her child only would believe that she knew best!

But Mrs. Blunt had some one to consult now in all her difficulties. She raised her heart to Him with an earnest prayer, that Kittie might be kept from the first steps of danger. So it was with a quieted trust that she bent over her tub once more; she knew but little, but that little was so real, that it made her life a perfectly different thing.

Was she puzzled how to guide her boys?—she asked Jesus about it. Was she worried with Kittie?—she asked Jesus to make it right. Was she cast down at their small means and many wants?—she told Jesus about it. Was she afraid that the food would run short?—she told Jesus about it.

And she found, as thousands have found before, that He could supply all her need.

Did she watch and see that the boys were quieter than she expected, after that telling Jesus? Did she notice that Kittie cheered up and was good? that some one sent a frock for the baby unexpectedly? that her husband brought home an extra shilling for an extra bit of work he had done?

Ah! they that ask, expecting an answer, from the faithful God, shall receive abundantly.

Her thoughts were broken in upon by Kittie's drawing a pinafore out of the water, and saying—

"My! ain't this dreadfully old, mother? It ain't worth gettin'-up, that it ain't."

Mrs. Blunt shook her head.

"It 'ull have to serve another turn, Kit."

"I was a-thinkin'—" said Kit, hesitating.

"Well, Kittie, what was you a-thinkin'?" answered her mother, kindly.

"Why, there's Cherry Seymour, she earns two shillings a week."

"So she does, but she ain't you, and she's left school."

"But she don't earn that in school-time, mother."

"Of course she don't."

"But I've been thinkin', that if she was to mention me to them servants at the doctor's, who is so kind to her, they might know of some little place or 'nother before breakfast for me."

"So they might, Kit; you're a good girl to ha' thought of it."

"I am honest," Kittie went on, meditatively, washing away all the time as she talked, "and you could say as I'm not given to pickin' things, or takin' what ain't mine, now couldn't you, mother?"

Mrs. Blunt laughed a little, at which Kittie blushed crimson.

"Mother!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, Kit, my dear, I never meant as I couldn't! Bless your heart, I should hope so! But I was laughin' at you havin' thought it all over so grand!"

"Well—but—mother—we would be glad of two shillings more every week, wouldn't we?"

"Of course we should, Kittie." Mrs. Blunt raised herself, and wrung the soap-suds from her arms. "Why, yes, Kit, if you could, my dear, we shouldn't know ourselves!"

Kittie looked very pleased; and directly her mother had done with her, she ran up-stairs to ask Cherry to put her into communication with the doctor's servants.

She knocked at Meg's door, but could get no answer, and remembering that they were away, she went up to the top to Mrs. Seymour's rooms.

Here on the landing, swaying about in the air that came in freely from the window, were sheets and clothes drying finely; she bobbed her head under them, and as she did so she heard Cherry's clear voice saying—

"I've a'most done, Miss Hobson; will it do then?"

Kittie gained admittance, and found Cherry starching some things on the centre table.

"My! you do know how to do it fine!" she exclaimed; and then she explained her errand.

Cherry took her compliments very calmly, ironing and starching were such every-day things to her; but when she heard what Kittie wanted she looked very serious.

"I can ask 'em and welcome, but I don't know as they would. But they are mighty kind."

As she spoke she went into the back room to give Miss Hobson a book which she had dropped on the floor, and the invalid called to Kittie to come too.

"Look 'ere," she said to her, "I've got a friend as I'll name ye to, if ye like to go and see her. She's the curate's wife, what comes to see me sometimes, and I know as she've got a heap of children and not much to do with. Would ye like to go?"

Kittie said she should, and the day being Saturday, and a half-holiday, she ran down to ask her mother's permission to go at once.

Mrs. Blunt said it could do no harm to try, and made Kittie as neat as her very spare wardrobe would allow, and saw her set forth on her errand with a strange feeling that she was going out into the world.

Kittie traversed the two or three streets that brought her to the one where the good man, who spent his life among the poor, had his home.

She rang timidly, and stood for some minutes much concerned that the door was not opened, though she heard feet running up and down, and children's voices many and shrill.

At last another step came nearer and nearer, and the door was opened by a lady, pale and careworn, the curate's wife herself, who led the way without asking any questions into the front room, where a baby was crawling on the hearth-rug, and two or three little ones were standing about watching Kittie with curiosity.

The curate's wife took up the baby, and bade Kittie be seated. She supposed she had come on account of some sick relative, and patiently waited to hear the story. But when Kittie had explained why she came the lady looked surprised and pleased.

"And you think you could help me at odd times?" she asked at last, "and would not get tired of the children? because, you know, I could not have them slapped even if they were tiresome."

Kittie promised that this should never happen, privately remembering that it was a thing her mother never allowed, though she recalled with compunction, that now and then—but still she felt different now from what she used to do, and she must ask for help from the Lord Jesus.

All that passed through her mind as she made the promise, but the curate's wife could not tell that. She only thought that this little girl seemed very straightforward.

"So you would be able to come before breakfast, and light the kitchen fire?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

"But does not your mother want you, as you have such a large family at home?"

"No, ma'am, 'cause mother's obliged to stay at home with the little 'uns, and she says as we didn't ought both of us to be at home."

"But I am afraid I shall not be able to pay you as much as I should like, Kittie; I have very little to spend; and yet—" She sighed. "I am so tired, and it would be such a comfort to have you if you were a good girl."

"I'd try to be, ma'am," answered Kittie; "but—mother says I'm very tiresome sometimes."

The curate's wife smiled kindly.

"We all are," she said gently; "but if we know it, and try to be better, so as to please our Lord and Master, we are sure to improve."

Kittie's eyes gave a flash; nobody talked to her quite like that. She should like to serve this pretty lady very much.

"Then you will come in the evenings too, and wash up our dishes for us, and help me put the children to bed, or anything I may want?"

Kitty promised, and went home, about the happiest little girl in London. Of course her difficulties were yet to come.

Two whole shillings a week! It seemed a fortune to her.

Cherry and Miss Hobson were as pleased as she could wish, and then she ran down and burst in with her news to her mother.

"Oh, Kittie!" exclaimed Mrs. Blunt, "won't you just have to be good to them dear little children! and to the lady too. I never did see such a wonderful thing, never. But it's like my Lord, that it is!"

When, after a fortnight's work at the Hall, Jem went back to London, he left Meg and Dickie to get two more weeks of fresh air and country milk.

Perhaps to Dickie that month in the country seemed to him afterwards as but one brief day filled with the birds' song.

All day long the two sat out under the apple-trees basking in the sunshine, and listening to the melodious sounds from the Hall farm.

Dickie, in Meg's old little wooden chair, was learning to catch the song of the different birds, and would listen intently and patiently while Meg tried to teach him how to distinguish them.

One day, seeing the lark soaring above their heads, she raised his hand, and pointed with his little finger as far as he could reach.

"It is up in the sky, Dickie, oh, so high! singing God's praise," she said.

And Dickie answered as he caught the sound—

"God's hymn-book."

"What did the child mean?" thought Meg, as she gathered him into her arms and kissed him again and again. "Was he thinking how Cherry sang out of her hymn-book at home? And what could the lark sing out of, but God's hymn-book?" She did not know; but she looked with awe into the little face, which already, to her mind, seemed to reflect the light of heaven.

"Mother-Meg," said Dickie, all unconscious of her thoughts, "I should like to stay here always, 'cause the birds do sing so nice."

"Yes, Dickie, so they do, but we couldn't stay here always, because of father-Jem and Cherry. They'll want us back again."

"Yes, we can't stay away from Cherry, 'cause she takes care o' Dickie when you're not there; and I love father-Jem too."

"We are going back to-morrow, Dickie; but some day I hope you and Cherry will both come and see my mother again."

"She's very kind," nodded Dickie. "I'll come some day."

Mrs. Archer, who was sitting by, quite appreciated the compliment. She smiled a little tearfully, however.

"This has been a happy, peaceful month, Meg; I've enjoyed it as I never expected to enjoy anything on this earth again."

So Meg and Dickie went back to smoky London; and when Cherry saw her little brother, she was fain to burst into tears of joy, so altered and improved was he. And Jem was equally pleased with Meg, and said she looked like the country girl he had brought away a year ago.

As Dickie sat telling all his little news on Cherry's lap, he whispered earnestly—

"Cherry, I've heard 'em all day long. They sang Halleluia, like you!"

When Cherry noticed that Meg was sufficiently at liberty to attend to her, while still holding Dickie tightly in her arms as if she could not part with him, she produced something mysteriously out of her pocket, and handed it to Meg.

It was a little shabby purse, and when at her entreaty Meg opened it, it was found to contain ten whole shillings and a bright half-crown.

"Those are my first earnings, mother-Meg," said Cherry, smiling and colouring, "and they are for you."

"Not for me, dear; I shall put them away for you."

"No," answered Cherry stoutly; "I'm your child now—you know you said so, yourself—and so all I get is yours. Don't give it back, mother-Meg—don't—but let it go into the savings-bag."

"Shall I, Jem?" asked Meg, doubtfully.

"Yes," said Jem, "the child's quite right; we're all one family now, for good or ill. May God bless us all."

So Meg unlocked her savings-bag, and Cherry dropped her money into it with great satisfaction.

"Would you not like a little for yourself, dear?" she asked.

"Not a farthing," answered Cherry, "not till you have to get me some boots. But I wore these old things all the time, 'cause I told grannie as I wanted to have every bit of it ready for you. That half-crown's what I got from her, for helping her with the washing."

"I've got some savings too," said Jem, smiling. "I've kept it a great secret, even from Meg, because I wanted to surprise her. I was goin' to give it to her on our weddin' day, but as Cherry's so clever, I won't be left behind. There, Meg! this is what a pint a day would ha' cost me ever since last June; see, it's nigh on three pounds!"

Meg was too astonished to speak for a moment.

"It's to go into the Savings-Bank," pursued Jem, "and it's to buy a cottage with by-and-by; if it's God's will as we should."

"Oh, Jem!" exclaimed Meg, "I knew before we were married that you never took any of the drink, but I never guessed this."

"It's the only secret as I've kept from you, and now it's out," he answered. "Why, sweetheart, there's them as works with me, as drinks quarts instead of pints, and see what that mounts up to in a year, let alone the damage as they do to their health. They think it comforts 'em, but I'll tell ye one thing, they feel a deal worse afterwards."

Meg knew that from what she had heard, and Cherry knew it by sorrowful experience.

She bent her head and kissed Dickie. Oh, how thankful she was that they were taken away from all that! She told him for the hundredth time how glad she was to have him back.

But even Cherry's love, pleased as he was to be with her again, could not satisfy him. He soon slid down from her knee and began to feel his way round the room.

"Where are you going, darling?" asked Cherry, watching his renewed powers with delight. "What do you want?"

And Dickie answered in a yearning little tone, brimful of love—

"Only mo'ver-Meg!"