Morag Part 19

"Don't b'lieve it. Tim says them kind hates poor folks, and that he'd choke 'em if he could--and 'opes he'll have the chance some day."

"Oh! but, indeed, fairy, the Lord Jesus Christ does not hate anybody,"

gasped Blanche. "I know He loves everybody, and just died on the cross a very cruel, dreadful death because He loved people so much. And, indeed, I think He cares especially for poor, sick, sad people, who want a friend."

A look of interest seemed to come into the little pinched face, and Blanche felt encouraged, and continued, in a pleading tone--"And do you know, fairy, if you were to ask Him for anything, He will really hear you, though you cannot see him standing there listening. I know an old woman, and a little girl not much older than you, and they both love the Lord Jesus Christ so much, and speak to Him a great deal. And I do, too; but I've only begun a little while ago. But I'm quite sure He does hear us and help us too," said Blanche earnestly. Her faith in the Saviour seeming to grow stronger every moment as she gazed on this lost child whom He had come to seek and to save.

"He'd give a body somethink, you say," said the fairy presently, looking sharply at Blanche with her cunning eyes, after she had thought over her words for a little.

"Well now, lady, I say it's a shabby trick of the likes of you, as has lots of nice things, to be goin' beggin'. Look 'ere, if He be as good as you say, just you tell Him I'm a-lyin' here wery bad--and all about it, you know. And ask somethink--a trifle, you know, to begin with," added the child, winking knowingly, as she stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth, and looked into Blanche's face to see what impression this practical proposal made. "Look 'ere, now; you see how wery bad I want a dress--and there's my boots won't stick to my feet no ways."

Blanche felt sorely discouraged. She saw that she had evidently not been able to impart to this dark soul a glimmering of what the Lord Jesus Christ came to do. She did want so very much to make the little girl understand what a real helper and friend He was; but she felt as if she had only brought confusion into the poor child's mind, and failed to represent the Saviour as anything more than a bountiful alms-giver. It must be her fault that she could not make it plainer, Blanche thought; and in her perplexity, she lifted up her heart to Him who turneth men's hearts as rivers of waters, whither He will, and asked that His life and light and love might penetrate the poor fairy's darkened soul.

Blanche Clifford rose from her knees from beside the straw pallet with a very despondent feeling; but though she did not know it, her prayer of faith was of better service to the little girl than her clearest teaching or most eloquently spoken words.

"We must really go now, Miss Blanche," whispered the maid. "I'm afraid of your standing in this damp place any longer. And it's getting very late, besides. Do come now, Miss Clifford."

Blanche made a gesture of impatience; but she quickly remembered that she had promised Grant she would leave whenever she was asked, and so she prepared to go without further remonstrance.

"Good-bye, fairy. I'm so sorry I have to go now. But I'll try to come to see you again, one day very soon. And I shall not forget to ask the Lord Jesus Christ to come to you, and to love you and teach you Himself, and give you everything that you need."

"Will you, though?" replied the child, looking keenly at Blanche's earnest, guileless face. "Don't want no teachin' much--dreadful bad for the dress and boots, though;" and then she added, with a softer expression on her face than Blanche observed before, "You're a nice, pretty little thing. I likes you." Then after a pause she continued, in a reckless tone, "Don't b'lieve you'll come again, nor send Him neither, though. n.o.body never keeps no promises. Tim hasn't; he's never looked near."

"Well, fairy, I know one Person who does keep promises, at any rate,"

said Blanche, smiling.

"I don't," nodded the child, decisively. "P'rhaps you keeps your promises. You do look a nice little thing," she added, putting out her thin fingers, and taking hold of Blanche's dress in a caressing way.

"No, fairy; I'm sure I don't always keep my promises. It's the Lord Jesus Christ I mean. I've just been trying to remember one of His promises to tell you, and I've found one--it's this, 'I will give you a new heart.' Will you try to remember to ask Him for that?--do, dear fairy."

"A new 'art. Well, did I ever--as if I wasn't needin' a new dress a great sight more;" and the child threw herself back among the straw, and laughed shrilly.

Grant had gone to the door to try and open it in the absence of a handle, which had been wrenched off, and Blanche took the opportunity to whisper, "I know you need a new dress very much, poor fairy; and perhaps He'll give you that, too. But will you ask Him--quite low, if you like--just when you are lying here all by yourself--to give you a new heart? That means to make you good and happy always, you know. He does really hear, though you cannot see Him. Will you not try, fairy?"

"Don't mind though I do. Nothink else to do lyin' here. I'm to ask a new 'art, you say,--just as if I was a-beggin' from a gintle-man on the street, I s'pose? I know," said the child, with a nod. "Look, she's waitin' for you--got the door open. Now, see you ax Him for the dress and boots."

XV.

_A RIDE IN THE PARK._

ONE result of Blanche Clifford's visit to the pantomime-fairy's home was a bad cold, which showed itself next morning. The maid immediately explained its probable cause to Miss Prosser, taking the sole blame on herself for having allowed the visit. But Blanche presently gave her account of the matter, which represented herself as the sole culprit; so the governess felt doubtful who she should blame, and finally ended by scolding n.o.body. She listened with interest to the sequel of the pantomime scene, as Blanche gave some pa.s.sages from her visit to the poor child, pleading that Grant might be sent with some needful comforts to the wretched home. Miss Prosser readily consented; she also set about making arrangements to have the child taken to the Sick Children's Hospital, and commissioned Grant to try to find the mother, and gain her consent to having her removed.

Blanche felt rather reproached when she remembered how quickly she had concluded that her governess would not sympathize with her interest in the lame fairy, after she found how heartily she entered into all her plans for helping her.

Throughout the day she was kept a prisoner in her room because of her cold--a state of matters which she generally resented greatly; but to-day she felt quite happy and busy, as she helped to fill a box which was to be taken by Grant to the fairy's home. Blanche did not forget the special request which the fairy begged to have made for her, though neither dress nor boots were sent in the box that morning. And before she went to bed that night, Blanche smiled as she drew out her own private purse to see how much pocket-money was left, for she thought she knew what she would like to do with it.

"How much does it cost to buy cloth for a dress, Grant--not a silk dress, you know, or anything of that kind, but some nice warm cloth?"

asked Blanche, nervously handling the two gold pieces which were left in her purse.

"Well, that depends, Miss Clifford. Of course it takes more for a grown-up person than for a child," replied the maid, who stood brushing Blanche's long curls.

"I wish I hadn't bought those love-birds, Grant. I shall get no more money till Christmas, you see; and I do so want to buy a nice warm dress for the poor fairy."

"But I daresay Miss Prosser will allow you to give her one of your own old dresses, Miss Blanche. I am sure there are plenty of them folded away up-stairs that you will never wear again."

"Oh yes, I daresay; and perhaps, afterwards, she may get some of them.

But this once I should like to get her quite a new dress--bought and made all for herself, you know. You would shape it, would you not, Grant? And, do you know, I want to sew it all myself--every bit of it,"

added Blanche, in a confidential tone. "I daresay I might have it finished before the poor fairy is able to be out again, if I were only to work very hard. Don't you think so, Grant?"

Next day Miss Prosser was consulted and gave her consent, though she thought it seemed rather an odd idea; and laughingly remarked to the maid that she might quite count upon having to finish the garment, as Miss Clifford had never been known to hem half a pocket-handkerchief in her life. But it might amuse her while her cold lasted; so Grant was commissioned to get a selection of suitable patterns of cloth, from which Blanche selected a warm blue woollen serge. Then she was all impatience till the initiatory stages of shaping should be gone through, and she should begin to sew.

Such a diligent little woman she looked, as she sat st.i.tching away, her fingers all stained with the blue dye, and, all the while, planning a similar garment for Morag, as a Christmas present. She was still confined to her room because of her cold; and there she sat, hour after hour, with her head bent over her work, sewing so unweariedly that Miss Prosser felt obliged at length to remonstrate, suggesting that she should betake herself to some amus.e.m.e.nt now, while commending her for her diligence. Knowing well Blanche's dislike to sewing of any kind, her governess was surprised to see such devotion to a piece of needle-work which did not seem very necessary, and looked most unattractive; for Blanche had not explained why she was so anxious that the fairy should receive quite a new dress, made all for herself.

But as Miss Prosser looked at the flushed, eager little face, bending over the rough piece of work with such diligence and interest, it gave her a key to her pupil which had been missing before; and she recognized a motive power which might prove a better thing than a love for fancy work, and could transform the impulsive, pleasure-loving Blanche into a brave, ministering woman.

The next day Blanche received the delightful and unexpected tidings that her father would return home on the following evening. She had not seen him since that eventful morning on which she left Glen Eagle, and he had stood waving a cheerful farewell in the old court-yard of the castle when she was so very sorrowful.

Mr. Clifford intended to have followed his daughter shortly afterwards, but changing his plans, he went on a tour abroad with some friends. He had not meant to return to London till spring, so his coming was a delightful surprise for Blanche.

Her father so rarely lived for any length of time at home, that she had become so far accustomed to his absence; but to have him for a little while was an intense pleasure--to be made the most of while the visit lasted; and Blanche built many castles in the air about the pleasant Christmas time there could not fail to be when her papa was to be with her. But instead of flitting about in a state of absolute idleness, which Miss Prosser described as her usual practice, when there was any pleasant event in prospect, Blanche st.i.tched her happy thoughts into the fairy's half finished garment, which grew rapidly under her diligent fingers; only laying it aside in time to prepare to welcome her father.

"Why, p.u.s.s.y, how brilliant you look; not even the breezes of Stratheagle gave you peonies like these," said Mr. Clifford, as he looked fondly at his little daughter, who clung to his arm with a radiant face, as they mounted the broad staircase to the drawing-room together, after he had divested himself of his travelling wraps.

"How do you do, Miss Prosser? I must really congratulate you on your pupil's appearance," said the master of the house, as he walked into the drawing-room, and shook hands with the governess.

Blanche presently darted off to inform Grant that her papa was really come, and was at this moment talking to Miss Prosser in the drawing-room, where it might be possible to have a peep at him through the open door. She looked upon it as a great privation for Grant never to have seen her papa, and took for granted that her maid would be full of impatience to do so.

"Why, Blanche, how you've grown, my child!" exclaimed Mr. Clifford, surveying her as she re-entered the room, while he stood warming himself by the fire. "I declare you will soon arrive at the blissful long-dress period that has been your ambition for so long. Now come and tell me what mischief you have been about since I saw you last, p.u.s.s.y! Let me see, where was that? Ah yes, I remember--not since that morning you and Miss Prosser left Glen Eagle. And have you quite forgotten that little wild woman of the woods--what's her name, eh, Blanchie?"

Mr. Clifford noticed that the peony cheek flushed even a deeper red as Blanche replied, "No, papa; I shall never forget Morag as long as I live. I don't see how I ever could. We shall go back again to Glen Eagle next autumn, shan't we, papa?"

"Oh yes; of course. I have taken the shooting for three years. It's a first-rate place. And so you would actually like to go back to Glen Eagle, Blanchie? Did you not find it very dull sometimes away among the hills--confess now?"

"Oh no, papa; indeed I didn't find it dull--not near so dull as here. I don't see how I could ever feel dull at Glen Eagle," said Blanche, decidedly; and then she added, "Well, perhaps if Kirsty and Morag were both away from the Glen, and s.h.a.g could not be found to ride about on, then it might be rather sad; because, you see, the fir-wood and all the other places would remind me of them. It would be too sad to see the hut without Morag living there," said Blanche, dreamily, as she thought of the empty room which she saw on the morning she left the Glen, and of how eagerly she had searched for her missing friend. "And how Kirsty's cottage would look without her, I cannot imagine. But do you know, papa, I actually dreamt last night that I went to see her, and she was not to be found, and her old arm-chair was empty,--and the nice, cheery fire cold and black. It was so nice to wake and find it was only a dream, after all!" added Blanche, with a sigh of relief.

"Well, I don't think either of your friends have migratory habits; so you are likely to find them among their native heather next year. By the way, Blanchie, you must send a Christmas box of presents to your friends there. You may fill it with whatever you like best; but only do keep a corner for me. I want to send some present to the boy who fished you out of the loch--Kenneth--isn't that his name? Do you remember that adventure, and how you frightened us all, you troublesome young person?

By the way, I arranged before I left Glen Eagle that Dingwall is to train the boy for a gamekeeper,--seeing that appears to be what he has set his heart on."

Before many minutes had elapsed, Blanche's lively imagination had filled a box of such probable dimensions that her father laughingly a.s.sured her it would be much too heavy to be carried up the hill to the little shieling among the crags.

Presently the little girl fell into one of her meditative moods, saying at last, with a sigh, "Well, papa, I daresay Morag and Kirsty will be very pleased to get the box of things, and think it very kind--and all that; but though Kirsty and Morag are so poor, I really do not think they ever seem to be anxious for anything they have not got. I was just remembering how Kirsty one day said to me, in that nice, queer accent of hers, 'Bairn,'--she often called me that--'a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he has.' I can't remember exactly what we were talking about at the time."

"Upon my word she must be quite a philosopher, this wonderful Kirsty!"

said Mr. Clifford, laughingly, as he stroked Blanche's curls.

"No, papa; I don't fancy she is learned enough for that; but I am sure she is a Christian,--and is that not better, papa?"