CHAPTER XV.

THE EMPTY CRADLE.

When Cherry and Jem had really set forth to the hospital, Meg, who had been lying very quiet for some time, opened her eyes and spoke to her mother-in-law.

"Are you very busy, dear mother?" she asked.

"No, my dear, I have nothing to do now but to wait on you. Do you want anything?"

Meg was silent for a moment, and Mrs. Seymour saw traces of tears on her face, which, however, Meg was evidently anxious should not be noticed.

"You feel a little low, my dear," observed Mrs. Seymour kindly; "but you will be better soon, I hope."

"No," said Meg; "I don't exactly feel low, mother; but should you think it very wrong in me to ask you to let me hold him once more?"

"Will it upset you, my child?"

"I think not--I will try not; but, mother, I had so looked forward to it, and I should like to hold him once more."

Mrs. Seymour made no further objection, but went into the other room, whither the little cradle had been carried, and lifted the tiny baby out carefully. She brought it to Meg's side, placed it in her arms, and then went back to clear away Jem's tea, leaving the young mother alone with her grief.

Dickie slept quietly, and Meg could cry over her babe unseen. She could lay her cheek against its little head, she could wrap her arms round it, she could press her lips upon its lifeless ones. But after all it was lifeless, and Meg shed some bitter tears over the thought that it could never know her love; but by-and-by these were wiped away. The remembrance stole over her that her little child was only parted from her for a short time, and was meanwhile in such safe keeping as she could never hope, at the best, to give it here. "The Lord gave, and the _Lord_ hath taken away," she murmured half aloud. "He has got him safe waiting for me."

Whether her soft words woke Dickie, or whether her slight movements had done so, she did not know; but at this moment he turned over and flung his arms about her neck.

"Are you awake, dear?" she asked, hoping he would not notice the little form lying at the other side of her.

"Yes, mo'ver-Meg. Are you cryin'?"

"I was crying, Dickie, but I'm better now."

"What for?" asked the child.

"Because I had a little baby-boy, and the Lord Jesus has taken him to His Home."

Dickie pondered.

"Did that make yer _cry_, mo'ver-Meg?"

"Yes, dear; but I shan't cry any more," at which words Meg burst into such weeping that Dickie was frightened, and Mrs. Seymour came in from the other room.

She was going to take the babe, but Meg put out her hand beseechingly. "One moment, dear mother," she said.

Mrs. Seymour waited while Meg pressed one long kiss on the little face, and then she allowed her mother to bear her child away from her sight.

Meanwhile Dickie with clinging arms was trying to comfort her in his tender little way, and Meg turned round and yielded herself to his caresses.

"Is the home Jesus 'as taken him to better than this?" he asked in his gentlest tones.

"Oh, yes!" said Meg, drying her eyes, and trying to stop her tears.

"Then why do yer mind, mo'ver-Meg?"

"Because he's gone away from _me_, Dickie. But I shan't be sorry soon."

"And fa'ver-Jem said as He'd sent me _instead_," said Dickie comfortably, "and so that's nice for ev'wybody."

Meg smiled, though she almost cried again.

"Yes, Dickie," she answered, "and I'm not sorry for that part of it. I'm sure our Father in heaven knows best, and will make me glad in time that He has taken my little baby."

Dickie laid his soft cheek against her face, and then Meg saw her mother-in-law coming in with a little tray in her hand.

"Look, Dickie," she said; "here is a kind mother with some gruel or something for us. Why, here are two basins! How kind she is. Can you open your eyes now, Dickie?"

He tried, but quickly put up his hand to shield them from the light.

"How bad they are!" remarked Mrs. Seymour. "Meg, did Jem say what they did to him?"

"No," answered Meg, shuddering. "He said it was so dreadful, yet so easy that he should never tell it, lest any one else should be so cruel."

"How strange!" said Mrs. Seymour.

"Did the doctor say this morning that they should be tied up?" asked Meg.

"No; only bathed often. He said while he kept them shut of his own accord it was better not to harass him with a bandage. He looked very serious over it, Meg."

Meg did not answer. She was stroking the little face tenderly, and smoothing the soft brown curls.

"Poor little man," she whispered at length.

Mrs. Seymour fed the child with a spoon, and just as she had finished a knock came at the sitting-room door, which she went to answer.

Meg guessed what it was, but she lay quiet, her thoughts dwelling on what Dickie had suggested--that the Home above was better than this.

Mrs. Seymour did not return for some time, nor indeed till the steps of Jem and Cherry were heard coming back from the hospital. She went outside to meet them, telling Cherry to go up-stairs, and preparing Jem by a low word for what he would find in his room when he entered.

Though he knew it would be so, the little coffin having been promised at seven o'clock, yet it was a shock to him after all; and he was glad that his kind mother had let him go alone into the room, that he might have time to get over his feelings.

Mrs. Seymour, finding that Meg was quiet, and even cheerful, went up-stairs to look after Cherry, and to see if her invalid lodger should want anything. She found the poor child sitting near the fire, looking very mournful; and guessing at once that she had lost her father, she went up to her and kissed her kindly, saying--

"You must tell me all about it presently, dear child. Just now I want you to help me as nicely as you did this morning."

Cherry looked up, greatly relieved to be set to work at something.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Let us get the bath ready for Dickie again, and then you go down and fetch him, Cherry. Wrap this about him. He is awake; but I shall bathe him up here, for I think Meg has had enough excitement."

Cherry quickly understood, and in a few minutes all was ready, and she was standing by Meg's side asking Dickie if he would not like another warm bath.

"I'd rather stay 'ere," said Dickie; "but you'll let me come back, Cherry?"

"Oh, yes; only Mrs. Seymour has got such a lovely fire for yer, Dickie; and I'm goin' to try to carry yer up."

Meg added her word that it would be very nice; so Dickie allowed himself to be lifted out of bed.

"I 'tom back soon," he nodded, as he was borne towards the door.

"Yes, dear."

Then as Cherry went out, Jem came in from the other room, and sat down by his wife's side.

"Let me carry him, dear," said Mrs. Blunt's voice outside. "He's too heavy for you, and I was just a-goin' up."

"Oh, thank you; but I often do carry him," said Cherry.

"My! ain't he light? Well, dear," to the child, "you're not afraid as I am old Sairy?"

For Mrs. Blunt had heard the whole story from Miss Hobson that morning.

"No," said Dickie; but the very name made him tremble, and Mrs. Blunt, perceiving it, knew she should not have said that.

When he was placed on Mrs. Seymour's lap, Mrs. Blunt produced something which she had carried on her arm.

"There!" she said, with evident delight; "don't you think as we've been quick? This little nightgown was calico in the shop at nine o'clock this mornin', and here it is ready for him to put on now."

"You've made it for him?" asked Mrs. Seymour, too astonished to find words.

"That we have! When you sent for me this mornin' to tell me about borrowin' mine--bless 'im, he was welcome to it!--and to ask me to 'elp you with your laundry work, as 'as been put so behind this week, I ran down to Jenny to see if she would mind my children. (She's a kind girl at a pinch.) And then thinks I, 'Mrs. Seymour won't be ready with her irons and things for a few minutes;' and I pops on my bonnet, and takes the little 'uns round to the shop to get the calico. We was back in no time, and there was Jenny smiling at the door waitin' for me.

"'Jenny,' says I to her, 'I know as you're good at your needle, and I want to surprise Mrs. Seymour. I haven't made a present to any one these many years, but if you'll help me, I will to-day!'

"Jenny, she takes it in as kind as anythink.

"'All right,' she says. 'And I'll mind those precious babies of yours, and do the work as well; for I'm right down sorry for 'em up-stairs, that I am.'

"So we cut it out, and she was set-to with her needle afore I come up to you. When I got down again at twelve o'clock, after you'd finished with me, she'd done more than half of it, that she had!"

Mrs. Blunt was out of breath, so Cherry unfolded the little nightgown and showed it to Dickie, who, however, only smiled gratefully, but did not venture more than a peep with his poor little inflamed eyes.

Mrs. Seymour was so pleased at the thoughtful kindness that she could not say much.

"Don't think as I grudged him the _other_!" said Mrs. Blunt; "but I thought as you'd feel it nicer for him to have one of his own."

"I'm sure Meg will take it very kind of you," said Mrs. Seymour, gratefully.

"Kind!" echoed Mrs. Blunt. "Nothin' as I could do for her would be kind, after all she has done for me. Why, my dear, I'm a new woman!"

Mrs. Seymour was too surprised to answer, and Mrs. Blunt went on earnestly:

"'Tisn't only as I have a tidy dress now, and a clean room, and better food, but 'tis the inside of me as is different. Instead of frettin' over the little money I've got, she's taught me to make the most of it; and instead of being cross, and tired, and miserable, she's taught me as there is One above as cares for me, and will bear my burdens and lighten 'em, and comfort and cheer me into the bargain. There! if ye don't think that's enough to make a body grateful, I don't know what is."

"Is that mo'ver-Meg," asked Dickie, "as you're talkin' on?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Seymour, softly. "She's a dear mother-Meg, isn't she?"

"Cherry and me's goin' to stay 'long of her," he said, addressing himself to Mrs. Blunt.

"I know you are. You're happy children."

Cherry smiled brightly; and then Mrs. Blunt, having said her say, bethought herself of her children and hurried away, only pausing at the door to say, "T'other one's cut out, and we'll make it as soon as we can; only to-morrer's Sunday."

Yes, to-morrow was Sunday; and in the afternoon the little coffin was carried away and laid in the cold ground; while Meg, shedding no more tears, but full of peace, listened to Cherry's musical voice. Though she was very small for her age, she was a good scholar, and read fluently. Meg had chosen the account, in the eleventh chapter of John, of the Lord's sympathy: how He waited, that He might bless the more abundantly; how He wept, showing Himself the comforter of all who mourn; how He raised the dead, and gave precious promises of everlasting life to all who believe in Him.

Cherry and Meg, both mourning, and both needing the Heavenly food which should sustain their souls, found in that chapter, and above all in that beloved Saviour of whom the chapter treats, the rest and comfort that they needed.

When Jem came back from seeing the earth laid over his child, he met the glance of Meg's serene eyes and wondered.

She held out her hand and clasped his.

"Jem," she said, "come and read this over again to us, and then you'll get comforted, as we have been."

So Jem sat down and read it all through again, and got lifted, as they had been, from the dark grave to the bright sky, where He dwells "who liveth, and was dead," and is "alive for evermore."