CHAPTER XIX.

LISTENING.

"Cherry, go down and ask Mrs. Blunt if any of them are going with us," said Meg, as they rose from breakfast the next morning. "Tell her we shall start at a quarter to eleven."

Cherry made her way to the ground floor, and knocked at Mrs. Blunt's door.

It was quickly opened by the eldest girl, with the baby in her arms. She did not ask Cherry to enter, but went back to her mother, who was busy in the other room.

Mrs. Blunt herself came forward, and spoke in a low tone.

"Ask 'em to be kind enough to knock as they come down, and if we're ready, we'll come."

Cherry nodded.

"How's little brother?"

"All right," answered Cherry, smiling; "he's so pleased as father-Jem is going to carry him; and he says as he'll sit as still as anythink."

"So do my Pattie. I've promised as I'll take her, if Blunt will go." She lowered her voice and half came outside. "I think he will--but men is men, my dear."

Cherry understood, and went up-stairs again with her report.

How proudly, when the time came, did she dress Dickie in his new hat and jacket, and sit with him on her knee telling him stories till the time that Meg should be ready.

Presently she came out of her room, and Cherry fancied that her eyes looked rather tearful.

"Well, my girl," said Jem, starting up from his chair, "we're none too soon. It is nice to have you to go along with me once more."

"I'm very thankful," she answered gently, turning towards the door.

Jem took Dickie up in his strong arms, while Cherry followed Meg to the stairs. She linked her arm confidingly in hers, and her golden hair fell over Meg's shoulder as she whispered,

"I know as we don't make up for the little baby, even though we do love you very much indeed, mother-Meg; I wish as I could do anything for you."

"You do a great deal for me, Cherry," said Meg affectionately, "and I'm very thankful that we've got you both. Doesn't Dickie look happy?"

He did indeed, his arms clasped round Jem's neck, his little face leaning on the broad shoulder.

Jem went out at the front door, while Meg tapped at Mrs. Blunt's.

"We're ready," announced the woman, "and it's mighty kind of you to wait for us."

She came out of her room, followed by her husband, who had brushed himself up as well as he was able.

Three or four of the children pressed out also, and Meg, seeing this, offered a hand to two of them, which gratified them very much.

Jem waited till Blunt came up, and they paced along together, while Mrs. Blunt joined Cherry, and so they came to the Mission Room where Jem and Meg generally attended.

Jem went in first with his little frail burden, and when he had found seats for his friends, he followed Meg to where they usually sat.

When the hymn began, Dickie raised his head from Jem's breast with a light in his face. Meg was afraid he would speak, but Jem warned him by a low word, and after another moment Meg saw tear after tear come from his little sightless eyes. The first he had shed since he had been their child, she thought; and she took his little hand in hers and kissed it.

But that hymn went to another heart besides Dickie's.

Mrs. Blunt's husband sat as one in a dream. Where had he heard those words before?--

"There is a Fountain filled with Blood, Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains."

He closed his eyes, and he saw a certain bare room with a lot of little children sitting round; a teacher sat close to them, who was leading them in a clear voice, while the little ones followed and joined in as they could.

"And sinners plunged beneath that flood!"

The hymn rose and fell to the end; and then there was a prayer, while his mind did not follow the speaker's words, but went back to that old country Sunday School, in which he had sat week after week, month after month, and even year after year.

"Lose all their guilty stains."

What had the years since then brought him but guilty stains?

He heard not a word of the prayer; but the first sentence that arrested his attention was, "May I not wash in _them_, and be clean?" and then he listened with an eagerness which surprised himself.

He heard about the proud man turning away in a rage; he heard about his servants trying to persuade him--and mentally said that this was like his own wife; he heard how the man obeyed the prophet's words, and dipped seven times in the stream; he heard how he was cured from his loathsome disease; he heard how he went home rejoicing.

And all through the preacher's words these lines kept running as a strain of sweet music--

"There is a Fountain filled with Blood, Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains."

Slow tears forced themselves from under his eyelids, which he hastily brushed away with his hand.

What passed in the man's mind during that hour was known to none but God; perhaps he was hardly conscious himself at the time what a great transaction had taken place; but from that day forth, first very slowly and fitfully, but afterwards growing stronger and firmer, came the knowledge that he had plunged in that crimson tide, and had been washed and was clean.

As they walked home very little was said; there had been many praying during that little service for the man who had hardly moved a finger, but had sat with bowed head during the whole time, and they believed that their prayers had been heard.

When they parted at the door of their home, Blunt looked up and wrung Jem's hand.

"Thankye kindly," he said. "If ye don't mind, I should like to come next Sunday."

Mrs. Blunt, like a wise woman, did not stop to speak, but followed her husband into their room, where their little daughter Kittie stood, clean and smiling, ready to meet them, with their frugal meal set out on the table.

That was a happy Sunday. How Dickie was praised for sitting so still, and what a soft little colour mantled in his face when he heard that they were pleased with him!

That evening Meg left Cherry to take care of Dickie, and went to the service with her husband.

When they came home, the sound of singing on the staircase made them pause. It came from the top of the house, and Jem and Meg went up to see who it could be.

Their mother's door was ajar, and through it they could see Cherry sitting by the fire, singing in a clear, bell-like voice, Dickie resting on her lap. Miss Hobson's door was open, and she lay propped up on her pillow listening with a peaceful look on her face.

"Whiter than the snow!"

sang Cherry.

"Whiter than the snow-- Wash me in the Blood of the Lamb, And I shall be whiter than snow."

"Sing it again, Cherry," said Dickie, "'cause I do like it so. Did we sing that this mornin', Cherry?"

"Not this one," answered Cherry.

"I 'fought we did--sing it again, Cherry. Do you fink He'll wash _me_ whiter than snow?"

"Of course He will, Dickie, if you come to Him."

"What do it mean, Cherry, 'whiter than snow'?"

"I think it means being washed in the Blood of Jesus."

"But how, whiter than the snow?"

"Don't you remember, Dickie, when there was snow, afore mother-Meg took us away from old Sairy,--don't you remember how there weren't a spot on it when we got up one morning?"

"Yes--I 'member," said Dickie. "Shall we be like that?"

"I 'spose so. Them as is washed, He can't see no spot on us, more than we can on the snow."

"Mother-Meg says as there ain't no sin in _Heaven_," murmured Dickie. "Let's go to sleep now, Cherry."

So Meg and Jem came in at that, and Jem carried him down-stairs at once to his own little bed, too sleepy to say more than a very soft "It is nice!" as he laid his head on his pillow.

After that Cherry prepared the supper which she was allowed to stay up for, as it was Sunday night--a great treat, but Meg liked nice things to happen on Sundays.

"That child sings like the angels," said Miss Hobson, when Mrs. Seymour came in from her service. "She's been up here this hour, and I feel as if I'd been nigh the gate of heaven."

"How's she learnt them?" asked Mrs. Seymour.

"Before her mother died. She's got a book full of 'em. She says when she was alone up in that attic she used to sing 'em to Dickie pretty near all day; and what's more, I've heard it often through the window, but o' course I didn't know as it was her."

"We didn't guess as we should ever come to know and love any one livin' in _that_ house, did we, Miss Hobson? It shows us how some nice things can come out of bad things!"

Miss Hobson shook her head assentingly, but her mind was running on something else.

"Who do ye think has been up here a listenin' to her too?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Seymour, looking round quickly, for she disliked visitors in her little home, more especially on Sundays. Miss Hobson knew this, but she went on calmly:

"We was sittin' here, as you left us, me in my bed, and Cherry by your fire, when there comes a little rap at the door, and Kittie Blunt comes in.

"'Oh, Kittie,' says Cherry, half-startled, 'do you want Mrs. Seymour?'

"'No, I don't, I want you--may I come in and speak to yer?'

"'I suppose so,' says Cherry, as if she didn't rightly know. I think she'd forgotten as I was close by, and she could ha' asked me."

"Well?" questioned Mrs. Seymour, as Miss Hobson paused.

"Well--Kittie she comes in and stands just where I couldn't see her, but I could see Cherry and Dickie as I lay, and she says in a low voice, 'Cherry, was you at the Mission Room this mornin'?--but there, I know as you was--well, Cherry, mother said as I should have a turn to go to-night, and she'd put the little 'uns to bed. So I puts on my things and goes; leastways, I set out to go, but when I got a little way--Cherry! I met one o' my schoolfellers, and she said as it was nonsense what was talked there, and I should be a silly girl if I went. So I turned t'other way with her, and we went a walk instead. And after a bit I felt so wretched, and all at once I said good night all in a hurry, and ran home. But when I got to the door I couldn't make up my mind to go in and tell mother how bad I'd been, and she so kind in smartenin' me up and all, and I came up to ask you if you could ever have done such a thing?'

"Cherry, she looked up from hugging of Dickie, and she says as gentle as anythink, 'I expect I could have, Kittie, only you see I don't want to do nothing bad just now, 'cause I'm so happy.'

"'Yes,' says Kittie, 'but if you wasn't happy, Cherry?'

"Cherry nodded, and she says, 'That's what I mean. When I used to be so miserable, and we was so hungry--Dickie and me--I used to tell dreadful stories to quiet him sometimes.'

"'Oh!' says Kittie.

"'I didn't _mean_ to be so wicked,' says Cherry, 'and I didn't think much about it then; the words used just to slip out, anything as come first; but since I've come back here to this nice home, I'm awful sorry as I could ha' said such things, 'cause, ye know, I did love the Lord Jesus, even then!--and think o' telling lies and lovin' _Him_ at the same time!'

"Cherry's eyes was droppin' tears all this time and then Kittie comes runnin' to her side, and throws her arms round her neck and begins to cry, and says, 'I thought as I loved Him, too, but I'm sure I don't, or I couldn't ha' turned my back on Him as I done to-night! You should 'a heard what Pollie says, against Him!'

"'But you runned away from her,' says Cherry, 'and you're sorry now, and want Him to forgive you, don't ye, Kittie?'

"'I don't know,' says Kittie sorrowfully; 'I don't see as how He can, for I can't go down and tell mother about it.'

"'Why not?' says Cherry.

"''Cause I _can't_; it ain't no use, Cherry.'

"'Shall we ask Jesus to help you do it?' says Cherry, huggin' of her.

"They was quiet after that, and at last Kittie, she says, 'Ask Him then,' and Cherry she bends over her head and whispers somethin'. Then, Dickie, who'd been listenin' all the time, says to her, ''Ou mus' go down now, Kittie, 'cause Jesus 'ull help 'ou, now.'

"So Kittie got up without another word and left the room, but when she got to the door she ran back and kissed them both over and over again. 'I do love Him,' she says, 'and I _will_ try to do as He likes!' And then she runs down in good earnest. After that Cherry begins to sing that one about the snow--'Wash me in the Blood of the Lamb, and I shall be whiter than snow.' That was just before you come in, Mrs. Seymour, and I was, as I says, sittin' nigh the gate of Heaven: for it seems to me, when we come to think o' His forgivin' love, as we mount up, and up, and up, till we are a'most lost in wonder!"

Mrs. Seymour did not answer beyond a gentle "Yes--yes--yes," as she busied herself in preparing her invalid's supper; but the story sank down into her heart, and many a time little Kittie got a kind smile or a word of encouragement, where before she would have passed her with a nod. And thus she gave "a cup of cold water" to another of His little disciples.

A day or two after this Jem and Meg bade Cherry good-bye, and left her under Mrs. Seymour's wing, proud to be of some use in the world. For Mrs. Seymour's last words as she placed her hand upon the girl's shoulder were--

"She's my grandchild, you know, Meg, and I couldn't spare her now for anything."