Rosa's Quest Part 2

"Let us sing 'The Home of the Soul', father. How mother loved that song, when she knew that soon she would behold the beauties of the place!"

The two voices, the one a sweet soprano, the other a fine tenor, blended in the old-time hymn:

"I will sing you a song of that beautiful land, The far away home of the soul, Where no storms ever beat on that glittering strand, While the years of eternity roll."

At the conclusion of the song, Esther kissed her father and quietly left the room.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

III.

ROSA'S MOTHER MOVES.

"Miss Browning, here's your steak I broiled fer you and some toast and tea. I fixed some fer Rosa, too you're so mighty queer, I knew you wouldn't eat unless she had some. I can't afford to buy her any more, and there ain't many that'd done it this time. I have to work awful hard fer all I git."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gray, you are very kind, but," she added softly, lest Rosa who had run in to speak to grandpa might hear, "if only I knew what would become of her! Oh, my poor child! how can I bear to leave her, and what will her future be?"

The moans of the poor, tortured mother, whose life was fast ebbing away, were most piteous.

"Now, Mis' Browning, don't take on so; chirk up a bit! She's plenty old enough to work and make her own livin'. Of course you couldn't expect me to say I'd keep her. Land sakes! Grandpa's all I can manage now, and he's gittin' worse and more tryin' every day. Why, jest this mornin'

when I wuz that busy I didn't know what to do a-finishin' up that sewin', what should he do but stumble ag'in the coal pail and upset the whole thing right on the floor, and jest after I'd scrubbed, too! Then I thought I'd git rid of him a few minutes by sendin' him to the grocery.

Of course I never trust him with a cent of money. They know him at the corner grocery, so it's all right; but it all comes of my credit a-bein'

so good, that's the reason. Well, I told him it wuz not necessary fer him to be gone but fifteen minutes, but when he wuz gone twenty, I had to put my work down and go after him. I'd better have gone in the first place. That's always the way when I trust him fer anything, it jest makes it that much harder fer me in the end. I had to go clean down the stairs, and in some way twisted my ankle, so I ain't got over it yet; then I saw him a-comin', but that slow, it made me real provoked. If he'd jest a-hurried up a little, it would have saved me all that trouble. He said he wuz tired, but I think I wuz the one to be tired, a-hurryin' down them steps so, and a-gittin' hurt, too.

"Land sakes, Mis' Browning, I'd think you could see I have my hands more'n full now, though I don't wonder you would like to have Rosa brought up by me. I could train her mighty well, so as she'd know how to do somethin'. She's old enough to work, and I'll keep an eye on her and correct her whenever she needs it, and that'll be often. I'd think you'd ought to be satisfied with that. There ain't many that'd take sech an interest in a homeless little waif, I can tell you.

"You eat your supper now, and I'll tell Rosa to come home. That's one thing she'll have to quit, a-wastin' so much time. What she sees in grandpa is more'n I can tell, fer he ain't got a bit of sense. Often in the night he wakes me up a-hollerin' and a-carryin' on a-thinkin' he's a boy ag'in. There's not many as patient as I am, or they wouldn't put up with it."

Every word was a knife thrust through the sensitive, bleeding heart of the distracted mother.

"Oh," she thought, "that some one in this great, crowded city might love my darling, and that she need not fall into the hands of this woman!

"Mrs. Gray," she asked excitedly, and with an effort controlling the great dry sobs which were choking her, "won't you promise me one thing?

Won't you keep Rosa at least till spring? What can my baby do without a home and without a mother, especially when the weather is so bitterly cold? The mere thought of such a possibility drives me insane with fear and grief. She can run errands for you, and grandpa loves her so. Do not deny me, for I am almost dead!"

Mrs. Gray half staggered backward, for never before had she heard Mrs.

Browning speak with such intensity. The dark eyes riveted upon her conquered even this unfeeling heart, and before realizing the import of her words, granted the request. "But," she added in the same breath, "there ain't many that'd do it, I can tell you that."

"And be gentle with her, Mrs. Gray. She is so affectionate, she will miss her mother and the love I have always bestowed upon her."

Thinking that other promises still more difficult to fulfill might be exacted, Mrs. Gray hastily left the room.

"Thank G.o.d," the mother murmured falling back upon her pillow, "my baby will have food and shelter at least till spring, but how she will miss the love!"

The hot tears began coursing down the flushed cheeks, causing Rosa to give a cry of alarm as she stepped up to the bedside.

"Mother dear, do you feel worse? Why do you cry?"

"My darling, mother is tired now and cannot talk. Pull the little table up by the bed, then if I can eat some supper, we shall talk afterward.

There is something I want to tell you."

Mechanically she obeyed, weighted beneath the feeling that something dreadful was about to happen. The trembling of the tiny hands and twitching of the delicate face betrayed a heart suffering which a child of her tender years should never know.

The odor of the steak, while being broiled, had given Rosa an appet.i.te, for her dinner had consisted only of boiled potatoes. Now, however, that mother apparently did not relish her supper, it seemed that every mouthful would choke her.

With a feeling of relief, the supper things at last were cleared away, and Rosa sat down by the sufferer, taking her hot thin hand within her own.

"You need not talk, mother, if you do not feel like it, but I do so want to know about the moving, and you won't go without me, will you? But oh, I have such good news, I must tell you the very first thing! Mebbe it will change your plans and make it easier to know what to do.

"I saw a lovely lady today, and she told me about a beautiful land some place, where folks never cough no more, and they don't have to pay rent, and they have all they want to eat. And she said, too, that it don't cost nothing to go, nor after you get there, 'cause Jesus paid all the fare a long time ago. I wish I knew where to find Jesus, so He could explain all about it. I had to leave the car before the lady could tell me the way. I think He must be so good to pay the fare for everybody.

There's no mistake, 'cause she said something about G.o.d so loving the world. I don't know what she meant, but it was so pretty. I know I'd love Jesus so, if I could only find Him, and He'd tell us how to go, I'm sure He would.

"Oh, mother, why do you cry so much? Don't feel so, for I'll try my very best to find out the way, then we'll both go. It will be so nice, won't it, for you not to have a cough no more? And mebbe we can manage to get off before the rent is due again."

The anxious little nurse, old beyond her years, tenderly kissed the pallid brow, repeating soothingly the a.s.surance that in some way she would find out how to reach this beautiful land.

"O G.o.d," at last the invalid faltered after several minutes of silence, "forgive me and take me to that beautiful land, for Jesus' sake, and care for my darling!

"Rosa dear, my breath is growing very short, but I must tell you something. You are too young to know what it all means now, but try to remember, and sometime you will understand.

"Just ten years ago today I was married to your father, Harold Browning; and you are so like him, precious.

"I was left an orphan at the age of fourteen, and from that time till the day of marriage, made my living by clerking in a down-town store.

Your father, too, was alone in the world, and how we loved each other!

"We rented a small furnished flat, which to me was a paradise. Your father was a bookkeeper on a comfortable salary, and for a time all went well. At the end of the second year you were born, and then our joy knew no bounds. Every evening while holding you in his arms, we would plan for the future, you being the center of everything. There was not a shadow over our lives, till one morning he was not able to go to work.

In a few hours he became so very ill that in great alarm I summoned the doctor. Then followed weeks of suspense, the days being divided between hope and fear, till at last all thought of his recovery was given up. My anguish was too deep for tears. I went around as one stunned, not knowing at times what I was about. Your dear father tried to comfort me, pointing me to Jesus whom he loved intensely, but who I said was cruel to allow our little home nest thus ruthlessly to be broken up.

"What happened the last days of his life to me is a blank, for I myself was very ill. When I recovered and paid all the bills, there was not one cent left for us. I could hold the flat no longer, so moved here on Burton street, making our living, as you know, darling, by the day's work. It has been very hard, for often I have felt unable to be out of bed; but then I could not let my Rosa suffer."

The intervals when the poor heartbroken woman had to stop to regain her breath, were growing more frequent.

"But, dearest," she continued, and in her earnestness she raised herself partly up, "the worst of all has been that I have tried to carry the burden alone. Your father told me that I must be brave for your sake, and that Jesus would help me; but I would not let Him.

"Last night and today I have been praying much, and now, thank G.o.d, it is all right!"

Rosa wondered at the expression of joy flooding her mother's face, immediately followed by one of deepest grief.

"Bend closer, darling, my voice is becoming so weak that you cannot hear! I am so sorry that I did not do as your father said, and have never taught you of Jesus, and now it is--too late!--I'm glad--the lady--told you.--Yes,--He paid--the fare!--I'm--going--to move--now--to that--beautiful land!"

"Oh, mother," sobbed Rosa, beginning to realize a little of the import of her words, "please, oh, please don't leave me! What could I ever do without you? n.o.body loves me but you and grandpa, and I just can't stand it, if you go away."

With her last atom of strength, the dying mother kissed her child, whispering just so that Rosa could hear: