Hesba Stretton

“ He wished it could only last.
"Sandy," said Mr. Shafto, when tea was over, "I've been searching for you all day to tell you that it is all true what my Mary and Johnny believe. It is true that God sees and hears all, and that He loves you as much as He loves the Queen upon her throne. It is true that the Lord Jesus Christ is seeking to save you, and your mother, and little Gip, as much as if you were as rich and learned as anybody in London. He's been seeking me many and many a long year, but I've been keeping back from Him; I did not want Him to find me out in my selfishness and idleness. ”

“ It was a miserable night, one that Sandy could never forget, if he lived to be a hundred years old. The rain came down pitilessly, and the gusts of wind tore past him, blowing open his tattered clothes, as to force a way for the cold rain to beat against his bare skin. But his dread for Gip made him almost unconscious of his own wretchedness and weariness and hunger. She had no shoes, had little Gip, or a bonnet, or a jacket; nothing but a worn-out cotton frock, which he had picked up very cheaply in Rag Fair; so cheap and worn that his mother had not found it worth while to sell it again. ”

“ What a quiet place to live or die in, in the very heart of the City!
Mr. Mason trod softly, as if his step might already disturb the dying boy; and Sandy tenderly hushed Gip, who was chattering merrily in his arms. The kitchen was dark and empty, for Mr. Shafto was no longer in the arm-chair in the warmest corner; and they passed through, and very gently climbed up the old staircase. The door of John's room was open, and they could see him before they entered, his head lying against his mother's shoulder, and her arm about him, while the tears stole slowly down her cheeks. ”

“ The old house looked as if it were skulking in the corner of the grave-yard to hide its poverty and decay; keeping out of sight as much as it could, yet forced to show itself a little, that those who dwelt in it might have a chance of earning a scanty living.
"This is mother," said John Shafto.
John Shafto's crutches seemed to tap more loudly on these flat gravestones than on the common flags in the streets; and before he and Sandy reached the house, the shop door was opened from within. ”

“ He felt the strange boy's arm stealing round his neck; and so astonished was he, that his sobbing ceased, and he held his breath to listen to what he was saying.
"If little Gip is dead," he whispered, "she is gone to heaven, to be with the Lord Jesus, and she can never, never be hungry, or cold, or lost again. There are thousands and thousands of little children there, all good, and happy, and safe; and He loves them so! Nothing can ever hurt them again, because He is always taking care of them. If little Gip is dead, she must be with the Lord Jesus."
"I didn't know that," murmured Sandy. ”

“ He had often seen people as ill, who lay on comfortless beds in crowded rooms, with faces quite as worn and pale, but without the pleasant smile that always shone in John Shafto's eyes whenever he looked at him. More than this, though John sometimes spoke of dying, it was always as of something so familiar to him, and so little dreaded by him, that it never seemed as if he meant the same gloomy thing as death was when it came into the dark homes Sandy had known, and carried away one after another to nothing else but the pauper coffin and the forgotten grave. ”

“ That was Sandy's secret dread, which haunted him day by day as he went to and fro about his work. He was always fearing lest his mother's hand should seize him by the collar, and hold him fast whilst she searched his pocket for halfpence; or that she would strip him of his decent working jacket, and pawn it at the nearest shop. He was sure she would dog him to his new home, and molest his friends there, till they would be compelled to give him up to her, and he would be driven back into the old wretchedness and degradation. ”

“ Shafto. If it was true that God was beside him, what a miserable fool he had been all his life! If God had been hearing, day after day, his fretful murmurings and his conceited boasting about his grandfather; if He had been watching all his idleness and selfishness, what a wretched, sinful man he had been! If Jesus Christ, the Saviour, who had laid down His life for him, knew how he had spent his own life, wasting it, and casting away all the golden opportunities of being good and doing good, why, then he was as much lost as poor little Gip or Sandy's drunken mother. ”

“ Sandy had grown into a strong, active boy, with a bright and happy expression on his face.
"Have you any message to send to Mr. Mason?" asked the friend from England.
"Ay! tell him," said Sandy, "as I'm trying to be as good as John Shafto. And tell him I'll never forget hearing him preach about the Lord Jesus being lost, like little Gip. Father bought me the verse when he went to Montreal, and it's printed in scarlet and blue and gold, and hangs over our chimney-piece at home: 'The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which is lost.'" ”

“ The fire had burned low, and the ashes were strewn about the hearth—all the room looked as if some sudden calamity had fallen upon the house. The only light came through the door into the shop which he had left open, through which could be seen the child's coffin lying on the counter, and the rusty plumes hanging heavy and dark against the wall. Mr. Shafto was groaning heavy heart-breaking groans, which made Sandy shrink and shiver with a feeling of dread. ”

“ All at once he heard a feeble wailing cry; and the tears started into his eyes, why he did not know, but he brushed them off his face hastily, and kept his head turned away, lest anybody should see them.
"Sandy!" shouted a woman's voice from the stairhead. "Sandy, give us your jacket to wrap the baby in."
If it had been the depth of winter, he would have stripped off his ragged jacket willingly for the new baby. He had a passion for young helpless creatures, and he had nursed and tended two other babies before this one, and had seen them both fade away slowly, and die in this unwholesome air. ”

“ John Shafto limped along some of the back slums near his own home, gazing with fresh interest and attention at the starved and puny children playing about the doors and in the gutters. There had never seemed such swarms of them before, nor so much sadness in their lives. He saw them fighting with one another for a crust of mouldy bread or the rind of an orange: the strongest always gaining the victory over those younger or weaker. ”

“ And to die is only like going into the next room, where we shall see Him and hear His voice, and be no longer like little children at play, but be more like His grown-up sons and daughters; and He will talk to us more, and teach us harder things than whilst we are so little. I shall be glad to be called into the next room for everything, save leaving mother."
"I don't know nothink about it," answered Sandy; "only we'd two babies as died, and were nailed up in coffins, and buried. ”

“ By degrees Sandy pressed into the room, eager to catch Mr. Mason's eye, and stop him in his long farewell speech to the boys and girls, which was eating away the little time left to John Shafto and himself. He could see the emigrants now; boys, like himself, who had known the worst of the City life, and who had starved, and shivered in rags, and slept out in the cold, and trodden the pavement barefoot never knowing from day to day what they should eat, or where they should lay their heads. ”

“ I wish there were somebody as could keep it alive for me!" thought Sandy, sorrowfully.
He had a vague notion that there was some one, somewhere, who could save the new-born baby from dying, as Tom and little Vic had died. In the streets he had seen numbers of rich babies, who did not want for anything, and whose cheeks were fat and rosy, not at all like the puny, wasted babies in the alley. But how it happened, whether it was simply because they were rich, or because there was somebody who could keep them alive, and cared more for them than for the poor, he could not tell. ”

“ Shafto, still sadly and in silence, across the square grave-yard, and through the gloomy shop, with its small coffin open on the counter—a coffin that would have just fitted the dead baby she had kissed. Sandy followed her, his bare feet making no sound upon the floor; but he stopped at the door of the kitchen, for there was a strange person there—not his new friend, Johnny Shafto.
This person was a tall lanky man, about forty-five years old, whose thin long legs were stretched quite across the hearth, as though no one else needed to sit by the fire. ”

“ The true and tender Friend, whom John Shafto knew to be always near to him, would surely take a little notice of the poor boy John Shafto was befriending!
It was rather earlier than it had been the night before when Sandy turned out of the street into the quiet grave-yard that evening. It was quite light enough for him to see at the first glance the tall lanky figure of Mr. Shafto, loitering along the smooth path of gravestones, in slipshod shoes trodden down at the heels. He called to Sandy, and pointed out to him an old smoke-stained tablet fixed against the wall of the chapel. ”

“ Shafto was not ready with an answer. He looked at his grandfather's tablet, and from that to Sandy's brown, weather-beaten face, alive with earnest feeling; but neither of them helped him to any words.
"You don't think, do you," went on Sandy, "as Lord Jesus Christ 'ud do all they say He'll do for a poor boy in the streets, without shoes to his feet or a cap to his head? Or as He'll look for a ragged little gel like Gip, and take care on her for me? Oh! no. You don't b'lieve that; and maybe it's not true. You know lots more than they do; I heard Mr. Johnny's mother say so." ”

“ More than once he felt that he must give up his purpose, and go back to his quiet corner and his easy arm-chair, where he could stretch his tired legs across the hearth, and be warm and comfortable. The noise and hurry wearied him; and his head ached with the constant rattle and roll of wheels along the streets. What he was doing would be of no benefit to himself, or to any one belonging to him. A strong temptation came over him to return. What was Sandy, or what was little GIP to him, after all? ”

“ Sandy turned round quickly, and almost angrily, ashamed of having been overheard.
Behind him stood a boy of his own height, supported upon crutches, with a face as wan and pinched as little Gip's. But there was a pleasant smile in his eyes as he gazed straight into Sandy's face. ”

“ If she'd only leave Gip alone, I'd stay behind; but I could never go without little Gip."
"No, no," said Mrs. Shafto, "she'll never hinder you from going with us. I know how a mother feels; and the worst of mothers wouldn't do such a thing as that. We'll go and talk to her; and we'll tell her Mr. Mason will help her, and take care of her. And if she can give up drink, we'll send money for her to come after us by-and-by; and, it may be, some day you'll be proud of your own mother yet, Sandy." ”

“ Shafto found it no easy task to shake off the chains of idleness and selfishness which he had allowed himself to be bound by so many years. One effort and one day's labour did not set him free; the habits of his life were too strong for that. Besides, he had no real business to turn to. He had taken up with the undertaker's trade out of sheer idleness; and since the grave-yard had been closed, and no funerals permitted in it, all his chance of employment in that way had gone. ”

“ They descended the dirty, creaking staircase again, Mrs. Shafto keeping her skirts well from the wall; and Sandy knocked at the door of the neighbour who lived in the front room on the ground-floor.
The man who opened it greeted him with a low, jeering laugh.
"Come arskin' after your mother, eh?" he said. "Well! she's gone, and a good riddance, I say. She was always a tearin' and a stormin' up and down the alley, till there wasn't a moment's peace and quietness. All women is averse to peace and quiet; but I never see one like Nance Carroll for blusterousness. ”

“ He was at a loss for some secluded corner, where he could look at his new treasure; for he did not wish to have all the brawling, shouting children in the alley crowding about him, as he knew they would be in an instant, if he sat down on the doorstep with that mysterious little bundle on his lap. A rapid glance showed him a costermonger's barrow reared on one end in a corner, with a basket or two on the ground. He stole round it, and sat down on one of the baskets; then, slowly opening the jacket, peeped at the new little face. ”

“ Why, my dear, be brave now, and bear it like a woman! The fact is, a railway is coming right through our grave-yard, and the chapel, and our poor little house; so we are compelled to turn out and leave it, you see. I'm to have £400 for my house and business; and with that we could cross the sea, buy a small farm, and settle on it, all four of us. You were born and bred on a farm, my love, and know how to make excellent cheese and butter, and manage cows and poultry. Sandy can chop timber famously, and he hasn't one idle bone in his body, nor little Gip—I'll answer for her. ”

“ It is a awful night, fit to drown the cats as are out of doors, and she's sich a little gel. Mother's dead drunk, and doesn't know a word about her. Hasn't anybody seen little Gip?"
The women chattered to one another across the narrow alley about Nancy Carroll and her drunkenness, but not one of them knew anything of Gip, except that she had been seen with her mother going down into the street a little before dark. One or two hinted that maybe she had been made away with as a trouble, and Sandy's blood ran chill at the mere thought of such a terrible thing. ”

“ There is a dead level of misery and degradation. The dirt becomes more loathsome, and the diseases bred by it more deadly. Half the children born in them die before they have lived out their twelve months of misery. Only those who are singularly strong, or are specially cared for by their mothers, live into the second year. Babies' funerals are so frequent they excite no notice, except that of the children who have survived the common fate, and who follow the little coffin to the end of their own alley, leaving it there, to be carried away into some dim region, of which they know nothing. ”