Little Pollie Part 6

Would _she_ be gathered into that fold also? could there be room for _her_? Yes; the seed was sown on that hitherto rugged soil; it would take root and bring forth fruit for the Lord of the harvest.

Just as Sally had put on her time-worn shawl, and was bidding her kind friends "good-night" before going home, heavy steps were heard ascending the stairs, and soon the portly form of Mrs. Flanagan entered the room.

"Well, here I am again," she exclaimed, "and right-down tired, I can tell you; why don't cooks know what they want, and order things in the morning? Dear, dear! what a walk I've had, to be sure--all the way to Grosvenor Square, and with such a load too!"

"Hush, please," whispered Mrs. Turner, pointing to the sleeper.

"Who have you got there?" she asked in surprise.

In a few words, spoken in a subdued voice, the widow told the sad tale, and also of the two children's brave conduct.

"What be she like?" was the natural question; "is it right to have her here, think ye?" she added.

Then, as if to satisfy herself on the first point, she stole softly to where the poor wanderer lay sleeping. The light on the table was but dim, not sufficient to enable her to see distinctly, so that she was compelled to kneel down to scan the face of the sleeping girl.

At that moment a bright flame shot up from the flickering fire, and lighted the corner where the bed had been made for the stranger.

There was a quick convulsive gasp.

"My G.o.d! oh, can it be?" the old woman cried in a hushed voice. "No, no, I've been deceived too often. Quick! quick! a light!"

Mrs. Turner hurried with it to her side. She almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her in her eagerness; she gazed long and earnestly upon those wasted features, her breath coming thick and fast, almost as though her very heart was bursting. In silence she gave the light back into the hands of her wondering friend, then laying her head down on the pillow beside the fallen girl, and folding her arms around her, she sobbed out--

"My darling, my Nora! you've come back at last to your poor old mother!

Nothing but death shall part us now!"

CHAPTER VIII.

SALLY'S FIRST SUNDAY AT CHURCH.

A feeling of Sabbath peace stole over little Pollie as she issued forth from her humble home on her way to Sunday-school. All was still, so quiet; the very court, usually noisy, seemed hushed. None of its uproarious inhabitants were about, only poor crippled Jimmy was sitting on the door-step warming himself in the feeble sunlight that flickered down from among the crowded chimneys.

The little girl paused to speak a few kind words to him.

"I wish you could come with me," she said; "it is so nice."

"What! be school nice?" repeated the boy, who seemed to have the same horror of learning as the more enlightened Sally Grimes.

"Yes," she replied; "indeed it is. They are all so kind to us there, and teach us such beautiful verses and texts about G.o.d and our Saviour."

"Be that Him you told me on?" he asked. "I ain't forgot what you told me afore--'Consider, and hear me, O Lord my G.o.d! lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death.'"

"Oh, you are a good boy!" exclaimed the child encouragingly. "Now I will tell you my text for to-day, and when I come back you shall hear what my teacher says about 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.'"

"'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,'" repeated the crippled boy with reverence. "I'll not forget it, Pollie," he added, as the little girl prepared to start again, fearing to be late for school.

As she turned into Drury Lane, to her great surprise there stood Sally Grimes, looking strangely shy, but tidily and, above all, neatly dressed. The well-worn cotton gown was perfectly clean; indeed, for the last two days Sally had been wearing a jacket over a petticoat whilst the dress was being washed and dried. Her hair, usually rough, was now smoothly brushed behind her ears, and her face and hands were as clean as soap-and-water could make them. Evidently she had given up the idea of the gaudy hat, for a neat bonnet covered her head. Altogether she looked quite neat and respectable.

"Good morning," cried Pollie, joyously glad to see her kind friend.

"Where are you going?"

Sally hesitated

"May I come with you?" she stammered bashfully.

For the moment little Pollie could not reply; she felt too happy to speak.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said at last, and taking her friend's hand in hers, she proceeded onwards, the happiest little girl in the world.

What a contrast they were!--the st.u.r.dy, self-reliant London arab, willing, ay, and able, to battle through the world unaided; the timid, fragile Pollie, strong only in her efforts after good, firm only in her love of truth.

You may imagine with what delight and pride she introduced Sally to her kind teacher; what happiness it was to have her sitting by her side, to see her rapt attention as the text was explained in simple words suitable to the comprehension of the listening children; and when was read the parable of the Good Shepherd, which had been the lesson on that memorable evening when Sally first felt the eager longing to be gathered into the Saviour's fold, Pollie instinctively grasped her friend's hand, as once again the blessed message was repeated.

Happy indeed are they who gather His children in, shielding His little ones from future harm, feeding His lambs with the bread of life.

For Sally Grimes this was all so new: the quiet Sabbath school, those happy children; a light was dawming upon her hitherto clouded mind as she heard of Jesus, who came on earth as a little child, endured a life of poverty and sorrow, then died a cruel death to save us from eternal misery. Never before had she heard the glad tidings of great joy, and her heart was filled with unexpressed thankfulness and peace.

When cla.s.s was over, the little scholars went their way to church, happy Pollie with her friend's hand still clasped in hers; and the bells rang out their peaceful chime, "It is the Sabbath! it is the Sabbath!" Even the usual noisy bustle of the Strand was hushed in deference to G.o.d's holy day. The busy world was calmed to celebrate the day of rest; the peace of G.o.d seemed resting upon the earth.

How beautiful the church appeared to Sally, who had never until this day entered a house of prayer (dear old St. Clement's Danes, hallowed to us by many memories), and when the organ pealed forth, and the voices sang "I will arise," she thought, "This must be G.o.d's house, and those the angels singing."

There was some one else in the church that Sabbath-day who also thought it must be heaven of which little Pollie had-spoken, and that was poor crippled Jimmy.

Mrs. Turner on coming downstairs to go to church had found the neglected boy as usual lonely and desolate. His drunken mother had gone in a pleasure-van with a party of friends like herself to Hampton Court, leaving her child to amuse himself as he could; and kindly Mrs. Turner had carried him up to her own room, washed and dressed him in one of Pollie's clean frocks, given him some wholesome bread-and-b.u.t.ter, then brought him with her to church.

He sat so still and quiet by the widow's side, his eyes intently fixed upon the clergyman, listening eagerly to every word that was spoken, every hymn that was sung, realising in his untutored mind a foretaste of that heaven of which his earliest friend had told, where hunger was unknown, and where sorrow and sighing should flee away.

Once only, when the rector gave forth his text, "Consider the lilies of the field," the boy grasped the widow's hand, and whispered--

"Be they the flowers Pollie give me?"

Heaven and Pollie's violets filled his heart.

Many were the happy children who issued forth from St. Clement's on that Sabbath noon; some hand-in-hand with loving parents, wending their way to homes of plenty, where kindly faces would be waiting to greet them; but of the many, none were or could be happier than those three little ones who gathered round Mrs. Turner when service was over, and, walking side by side, went home to squalid Drury Lane. No well-filled table awaited _their_ coming, only the plain and scanty fare the poor widow could offer to her child's young friends; but One hath said--

"Whosoever giveth a cup of water to one of these little ones in My name, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward."

And this was Sally's first Sunday at church.