Rosa's Quest Part 10

Upon their arrival home, with tender hands the weary old man was put to bed, while Esther took charge of Rosa, clothing her in more suitable garments, and talking simply of the Shepherd who seeks the wandering lambs.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

VII.

VICTORY!

The deserted rooms on Burton street suddenly became the scene of great activity early Monday afternoon.

Mrs. Gray's supersensitive conscience would not admit of her neglecting her charges, so in consequence her visit was made a few hours shorter than first planned.

The fire was out, and no trace could she find of Rosa and grandpa. She "hollered till her throat was sore," looked in every reasonable--and unreasonable--corner, searched up and down the hall, inquired of her neighbors, visited the corner grocery, but all to no avail.

"Land sakes!" over and over she repeated to a group of interested spectators, "I might a-know'd better'n to have gone off and left them.

This is jest my luck, anyhow. The first time I've been away in five years, then have this happen. I'm jest real provoked, and I don't think a body could blame me, either. But it all comes of me bein' so obligin'.

If it wuzn't fer my tender heart, I'd never kep' Tom's father, nor took Mis' Browning's young one, then I could come and go as I pleased and not be pestered this way. There ain't many that'd do fer others what I do, and I never git no thanks fer it, neither. If I hadn't had father to board all these years, I might have somethin' laid up fer a rainy day, and there ain't n.o.body but what'll say I'm industrious and savin'.

"But I can't think where they'd go, nor what I can do. It seems like somebody'd seen them. I'll fix them when they git back, so as they'll never do it ag'in. It looks like they'd been gone fer some time, and I do b'lieve they've been into the tea and stove blackin'. I never thought about blackin', who would? but I told them not to touch that tea, fer I couldn't afford it. They'll be sorry, they will, when I git hold of them.

"Here you, Billy Bruce!" she vociferously called, catching sight of that youth running down the stairs three steps at a time; "come right back here at fast as you can, and tell me what you know about Rosa and grandpa. You're always under foot a-knowin' what's a-goin' on, so I 'spose if anybody seen them you did."

Billy feared Mrs. Gray more than he did the judge or policeman--that is, at close range; but when occupying the vantage-ground, as at the present, he delighted in revolt.

"I didn't either see them," he shouted back, "and don't know nothin'

about them, only I'd run off, too, if I wuz them."

At this the greatly abused and misunderstood woman picked up a piece of coal to hurl at the rapidly retreating young rebel, when, to her astonishment, she saw coming up the steps the transformed Rosa with Esther!

"You'd better look out, Rosa," confidently explained Billy, "she's awful mad, and you may git that lickin' yet, you said she'd been a-promisin'."

Rosa shrank in terror, her face growing pale and twitching nervously, while an inclination to run away with her barbarous but devoted champion took possession of her.

"Never mind, dear," whispered Esther rea.s.suringly, "she will do you no harm while I am with you. You need not be at all afraid."

Upon looking into the fearless blue eyes of Esther, Mrs. Gray suddenly determined to change her plan of attack.

"Land sakes, Rosa! I've been that worried about you and father, the dear old soul,--where is he? and where have you been, and where did you git them pretty clothes? Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go on a visit, and what made you stay so long? Of course it wuz awful lonesome here without me, so I won't blame you much, but children'd ought to tell."

Not giving the child an opportunity to answer, a volley of interrogations and information was turned upon Esther.

"What's your name? Esther Fairfax, is it? well, now that's a real pretty name, but do come right in and set down. Things is in a muss, fer I've been gone, and children don't amount to much fer work, 'specially when they ain't been raised right. I ain't had her long, you know, or she'd be different. Her ma wuz awful queer and silly about her. But where did you find her? You wuz real thoughtful to bring her back to me, so as I wouldn't worry any longer'n necessary. I 'spose you found her clothes in bad shape. Her ma's been dead now a while, and didn't keep things up as well as she might anyhow, I thought, fer some time. She wuz one of them women that gives up easy, but that's somethin' I never do. I've been a-layin' out to show Rosa how to sew. She's plenty old enough, and I ain't got no time to do it myself. But then I never did b'lieve in bringin' them up lazy. There's a lot in gittin' them started right.

"And where on earth's the old man? I can't think how you found them.

Seems like a month since I seen him, but then I have more attachment and affection than most folks, or I wouldn't a been so fl.u.s.tered. I hope he's acted with some sense, so as I won't have to be mortified."

Endeavoring to impress her guest favorably, Mrs. Gray, while talking, was energetically moving about the room, making some pretense toward bringing order out of confusion.

"That grease spot down there on the floor by the stove does really worry me a heap, and I'd really ought to--"

At this Rosa cast a glance at the whip still reposing above the door, and tightened her clasp upon Esther's hand.

"Father's awful childish, and I have to treat him jest like a child, too, or I couldn't git on with him no how. I've kep' him now, well, let me see: it's a-goin' on six years since Tom got killed, and I've been a-supportin' him ever since, and no tellin' how much longer he'll live.

If it wuzn't fer my kind heart, I'd tell him he'd have to leave. I've thought of it some lately, but then s'pose I never will. Then when Mis'

Browning died, of course she wanted me to raise Rosa. It's a good thing she did die fer now Rosa'll learn to do somethin' more'n jest to be kissed and cried over. I used to git that provoked at her ma fer actin'

so silly. I didn't say she could stay here only till spring. Of course she come in real handy like when father didn't mind and I twisted my ankle, but then it's sech a bother to raise a child. When she ain't no more use to me, I don't know how it'll be then."

During this recital, Esther's face was a study. She had visited much among the poor with her father, but never before had she come into contact with quite so unusual a character as Mrs. Gray. Finding that her only opportunity to state her errand was to interrupt the loquacious speaker, she determined to wait no longer.

"Mrs. Gray, I have come to tell you that you will never again be troubled by grandpa or Rosa. Grandpa is in my home, and the physician says that he can live but a few hours longer. He has had a raging fever, but that has left now; he is entirely rational and wishes to see you before the Master calls.

"My carriage is waiting. There is no time to lose. Put on your wraps and come immediately."

So surprised was Mrs. Gray that for the instant an almost unprecedented thing occurred: she could think of nothing to say. But endeavoring to gain her normal poise, she turned upon Rosa.

"Well, you heard what the lady said! Father, the dear old soul, of course he wants to see me before he dies, after all I've done fer him; but how lonely it'll be without him! Seems like I can see him a-settin'

over there in his chair now, a-lookin' out of the winder, like he did 'most all day sometimes."

At this appropriate juncture, she made a fruitless effort to shed a few tears, but, to be charitable, the deepest sorrow cannot find expression in tears.

"You can stay here, Rosa, and have supper ready when I git back, and make me some tea; I'll need it to settle my nerves. Take them fine clothes off, too, before you spoil 'em. I want you to learn to be savin', like I've always been. And give that grease spot another scrubbin', and go to the corner grocery and git--"

"No, Mrs. Gray," vehemently interposed Esther, "did I not tell you that Rosa is never going to live with you again? You are about to realize your dream of liberty, for which without a doubt you are duly grateful.

You seem to feel that both grandpa and Rosa have been intolerable burdens."

Esther was the repet.i.tion of her father, and when the case demanded could be firm and commandingly dignified.

Again Mrs. Gray was speechless. For so long she had been absolute monarch in her small realm, with none daring to question or to rise in rebellion, that it was a revelation to find in a young woman like Esther an opposite and stronger force with which to reckon.

For the first time in her life she was completely conquered, and without another word marched solemnly down to the carriage.

"This is an opportunity," thought Esther, "and may I be directed in all I say."

Not wishing this woman possessed of a hard heart and a shriveled soul to stand in awe of her any longer, a few kind and ordinary remarks soon accomplished the desired end.

"Well, Miss Esther, you ain't told me how it's all come about. I can't fer the life of me think, and it all seems so strange. I jest can't git it through my head that father's a-goin' to die. Are you real sure of it? Mebbe there's a mistake."

"No, Mrs. Gray, there is no mistake. In a few hours he will be safe forever in the better land."

Esther's power of narration was well developed. Going into the minute details, she simply told the whole story, while Mrs. Gray attentively listened without an interruption. There were indications that the hitherto impregnable fortress of this untutored woman's heart was beginning to totter. But is there after all in this great world a heart so loveless, so blackened by sin, or so narrowed by its own selfish domain, as to be entirely invincible? Cannot the love emanating from Christ Himself, flowing through the channel of a surrendered life, leave its impress where all else fails?

Esther's observant eye noted the change, then skilfully she began speaking of the Lord as a personal Saviour.

Presently tears began rolling down the hardened cheeks, causing the young messenger to feel that victory was almost certain.

Upon reaching the Fairfax home, Mrs. Gray was ushered into a room, which to her seemed magnificent.