Little Pollie Part 4

"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 shining, 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 shining. 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 shining 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.

"Don't they whop yer at school?" she asked, after deliberating.

To her astonishment, quiet little Pollie burst into such a merry laugh.

"No, indeed!" she exclaimed, when her mirth had subsided. "The teachers are far too kind for that. Oh, I know you would like it, so do come."

"Well, I'll see about it," was the rejoinder. "My gown ain't special, but I've got such a hat! I bought it in Clare Market, with red, blue, and yaller flowers in it--so smart!"

"Oh, never mind your clothes," said Pollie, somewhat doubtful as to the effect such a hat would have on the teachers and pupils; "come as you are, only clean and tidy--that is all they want."

For some time they walked on in silence, but their thoughts must have been on the same subject, for suddenly Sally asked--

"What do you do at Sunday-school?"

"We read the Bible, repeat our texts and hymns. Shall I say the one I am learning for next Sunday to you?"

"Well, I should like to hear it," was the reply. "Suppose we go and sit on Waterloo Bridge--it's nice and quiet there--I'll pay the toll."

Pollie, however, would not consent to her friend's extravagance on her behalf, so the two children paid each their halfpenny and pa.s.sed on to the Bridge.

It was a lovely evening, and though April, yet it was not too cold, so they seated themselves in one of the recesses, and for a time were amused by watching the boats on the river, chatting merrily, as only children can.

"Now, then, tell me yer pretty hymn," said Sally, when at last they had exhausted their stock of fun, and putting her arm around her little friend's neck, they cuddled up lovingly together--the gentle little Pollie, and st.u.r.dy, rugged Sally. Then the child repeated to her listening companion--

"Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide," &c.

She went on unto the end, the bigger girl listening the while with almost breathless eagerness, and when it was finished they both remained silent. Evidently those beautiful verses had struck a chord hitherto mute in the heart of the poor untaught London waif.

"Oh, but that's fine!" she murmured at last in hushed tones. "Tell me something else, Pollie."

However, just at that moment the attention of the children was arrested by a young woman who came and sat down in the recess opposite them. They had both noticed her pa.s.s and repa.s.s several times, but as they were almost hidden by the stone coping of the bridge, she had not observed them.

With wild gestures she threw herself upon the stone seat, and imagining she was alone, burst into piteous moans, alternately clasping her hands tightly together, as though in pain, then hiding her pale but lovely face, which showed traces of agony; swaying backwards and forwards, but with ever the same ceaseless moaning cry.

"Oh, poor lady!" whispered Pollie to her friend.

"She ain't no lady, though she be so smart in a silk gown and rings on her fingers," replied her companion in the same low tone.

"What is she then?" asked the child.

Poor Sally Grimes! her education had hitherto been confined to the London streets, and that training had made her but too well acquainted with life in its worst phases; so she replied--

"She's only some poor creature---- I say!" was her exclamation, as suddenly she started up, "what be yer going to do?"

The latter part of this sentence was addressed to the stranger, who had sprung upon the stone parapet, and was about to throw herself into the deep waters beneath.