CHAPTER XVI.

"THEY SHALL SEE HIS FACE."

As long as Meg was not well enough to get up, Dickie kept his resolve of staying in bed too.

Whether he had an undefined feeling that he was safer there, no one could guess; but whenever Mrs. Seymour or Cherry tried to coax him to be dressed, he always shook his head and answered,

"I 'ike to stay 'long of mo'ver--Meg."

One day Meg, thinking of all this, said to him, "Dickie, I'm going into the other room to-day. Cherry has made it all ready for me, and I'm going to have tea with Jem."

Dickie was silent, but his lip trembled. So Meg quickly went on,

"Shall I ask Cherry to dress you, dearie, so as to be up to tea with father-Jem too?"

"I can't wun about," said Dickie despondently.

"But you can sit by me," returned Meg; "and father-Jem has a secret for you."

"Has he?" asked Dickie, looking interested.

"Did you not hear him hammering and planeing in the other room?"

Dickie nodded. "Were that the secret?"

"I think so; would you not like to be dressed and see?"

Cherry stood looking on, and now added her persuasions; and Dickie, in hopes of finding out "the secret," allowed himself to be arrayed in his clothes, which, under Mrs. Seymour's soap and water and skilful fingers, could hardly be recognized for the same old garments which he had left off.

Cherry too had been busy, and with Mrs. Seymour's direction had made him two brown holland pinafores which covered patches with clean neatness.

"Oh, Dickie!" exclaimed his sister, kissing him impulsively, "I never did see you look so nice since before mother was ill."

"That he does," said Meg, smiling. "Now brush his hair, dear, and then he can sit on your lap till I am ready."

It was a mild, sunshiny day in April when Meg first walked into her sitting-room.

Cherry had been busy making everything as cosy as she could devise, and Meg looked round with satisfaction.

"You have been clever, Cherry," she said.

"Mrs. Seymour says I shall be very useful if I take pains," answered Cherry, "and I have been trying very hard to, mother-Meg, because I do eat so much."

Cherry said this with compunction, and Meg laughed a little.

"Never mind that, dear. While I have been lying still I've been thinking of a lot of things you might do to get a little living."

"Have you?" asked Cherry, sitting down by the fire with Dickie on her knee.

"Yes; you might help mother with her washing sometimes; or you could learn to do nice needle-work. I mean to write to Mrs. MacDonald and ask her if she wants any done."

"I did learn to work when I was at school," said Cherry.

"You see, Cherry," pursued Meg, "it is not that we would not keep you altogether if you needed it, or it were right; but it will be much better and happier for you to have something to do; and then if you could earn enough to get some neat clothes and put a little by, how nice that would be."

Dickie grew tired of this talk, and asked if his secret was going to be told.

Meg took him on her lap, and as he nestled his soft curls against her, she explained to him that they must wait till father-Jem came home.

Just as she was saying this the doctor's quick rap was heard at their door, and he entered at once.

"I am late, Mrs. Seymour," he said; "but I waited till the pressure of my work was over, because I want to have a good look at this little fellow's eyes. Does he never try to use them?"

"No," answered Meg; "he seems to dread the light so much."

"I'm afraid--" said the doctor, glancing up at her and stopping short.

Meg looked yearningly into the little face.

"I think I was told he is not your own child?"

"No," answered Meg; "they are our adopted children."

"What puzzled me was that his sister said his name was Dickie Seymour."

"So it is," said Meg, as if this were a new thought to her. "How strange I did not think of that; but he is no relation."

"The best thing for him would be to go into the country," said the doctor, considering; "but I suppose that is out of the question. Even then I doubt if he will ever--"

Meg looked at him startled.

"Do you mean that I am going to lose him?" she asked, not knowing how to put it so that Dickie should not understand and be troubled.

"No, no," said the doctor quickly, putting his hand in explanation to his own eyes. "But it would be a great thing to improve his health."

"I will think it over," said Meg, her thoughts instantly flying to her own dear mother and the little rose-covered cottage at home.

"Now, my little man, let me have a look into your eyes. Don't be afraid; I'm not going to hurt you much."

He proceeded to open the lids, in spite of Dickie's wail of pain; while Cherry stood by trembling, having well understood the tenor of the foregoing conversation.

"It _does_ hurt me," said Dickie, trying to draw away.

"Ah, well," said the doctor, letting him go; "time will show. Can you see me now, or your sister?"

But Dickie only buried his head in Meg's bosom, and would not be persuaded to try.

Just as the doctor was going out at the door he turned back and addressed Cherry.

"My little girl, are you old enough to have left school?"

"Yes, sir; I passed all the Standards just before mother died."

"Indeed?--and what are you thinking of turning your hand to?"

"Anything I can get," answered Cherry, blushing.

"Because the girl who used to clean my steps every morning has gone to a regular place, and I want some one else. Would you like to do it?"

"Very much, sir," she answered, smiling.

"My servants are busy just then, and I do not like my steps to be cleaned after eight o'clock. You see, my house being a doctor's, people begin to come early."

"I could be there as early as you like, sir," said Cherry, looking towards Meg for confirmation.

"Yes," answered Meg, "and I'm much obliged to you for thinking of her, sir."

"Oh, as to that, she may as well have it as any one else. It is two shillings a week, and not very hard work."

After arranging that Cherry should begin the next morning, he bade them good day, and went off to finish his rounds.

"Oh, mother-Meg, did you ever think I could have anything so nice?" asked Cherry, kneeling down by her side, and laying her head on Dickie's lap.

"No, indeed," answered Meg, "we must not forget to thank Him who has sent it to us, Cherry. How kind God is to us!"

Cherry did not answer in words, but she was very quiet for a long while, looking soberly into the fire.

Presently Dickie, concluding that the doctor was gone, and that he need have no further fear of molestation, put up his little hand to stroke Meg's face.

"Well, dear?" she said inquiringly, for there was a question on his lips.

"Mo'ver-Meg, did the doctor say as you was goin' to _lose_ me?"

"No, dearie, he did not think I should," said Meg, soothingly.

"'Cause he _said_ so," persisted Dickie.

"He didn't mean that," answered Meg softly; "and even if he had, Dickie, those who love Jesus can never be really lost."

"I 'ove Jesus," said Dickie, considering, "and so do Cherry."

"I'm sure you do; and to those who love Him He says, 'No man is able to pluck them out of My hand.' When once we are in the care of Jesus, nothing shall ever drag us away from that."

"Is that why Jesus has sent me to you, mo'ver-Meg?"

"I expect it is, Dickie; He's been very good to you."

Dickie smiled happily, then started up expectantly.

"There's fa'ver-Jem!" he exclaimed.

"So it is," cried Meg.

Even then he did not attempt to look, but sat in an attitude of suppressed excitement, till Jem really came in and shut the door.

"Where's my secret?" asked Dickie eagerly.

"Let me speak to Meg first," answered Jem, coming to his wife's side and kissing her.

"Well, sweetheart, the room don't look like the same with you out of it, that's certain!"

"No," said Cherry, "I never saw her in it afore, but I couldn't think it 'ud look so much better."

Meg smiled at their love and praise, and then Cherry made the tea.

Meanwhile Jem went to the corner and uncovered something which stood there, bringing it forward to Dickie, and telling him to look at what it was.

Dickie leaned forward, opened his eyes, gave a cry of pain, and then looked pitifully up in Meg's face.

"I can't see, mo'ver-Meg; where is it? It's all dark 'ere. Do light the lamp for me."

But no lamp could be of any avail, as Meg saw when he felt about with his tiny hands in the broad daylight to find his way to the secret.

"Here, darling," said Meg, struggling with her tears, and commanding her voice by a great effort, "here is the secret; put your little hands and feel it."

Dickie, believing that the lamp had not yet been lighted, and not guessing or being capable of understanding the calamity which had fallen upon him, let her guide his hands to the arms of a little chair, high enough to reach the table.

"For me?" asked Dickie; "a chair for my werry own?"

"Yes," answered Jem, taking him from Meg and placing him in it. "See, Dickie, you can play by the table or sit by the fire. I have made it for your very own."

"Kind fa'ver-Jem," said Dickie, contentedly. "Now Cherry, light the lamp, so as I can see it."

Meg looked at Jem as if seeking strength from his pitying eyes; then she bent and laid her cheek against Dickie's head as she said tenderly--

"It's because your eyes have been so bad, dear."

"Will they get better?" he asked.

"I am not sure, dear."

"I want to see my booful chair, and mo'ver-Meg!"

Jem took the child out of the chair and wrapped his arms round him, pacing up and down the room with him on his breast.

"Kind fa'ver-Jem," said Dickie, settling himself in those strong arms.

They went up and down for some minutes, while Meg and Cherry wept, and wiped away their tears in turn.

By-and-by they heard Dickie ask in a whisper--

"Shall I ever get better, and be able to see my mo'ver-Meg?" And Jem answered, in that low husky voice which betokened strong emotion--

"I can't say as you will for certain, Dickie, not here; but there's one thing as I do know on. In heaven we are promised, all of us who love Him, to see His face; and that'll be better than even mother-Meg's."

Dickie listened silently.

"That 'a be _nice_," he said at last with a little sob.

"Yes, Dickie," Jem went on, still walking to and fro with soft even tread, "there is no sorrow nor sufferin' there, no cryin', nor pains, nor achin'; but He says they shall see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads. Don't ye think, Dickie, as, if His holy name is in our foreheads, He'll take care of them as bears it?"

Dickie assented, but he was thinking of other things.

"Did ye say as my eyes 'ud be all right there, fa'ver-Jem?" he asked at length.

"Yes; all right there. 'They shall see His face,'" answered Jem.

Dickie was satisfied.

"Put me in my chair close to mo'ver-Meg, fa'ver-Jem, and she'll tell me all 'bout it. She allays does tell me such nice fings."