B essie's high spirits had all flown away. The scene with Aunt Patty, and the fear that the weather would not allow Maggie and herself to carry Uncle Ruthven's gift to blind Willie, on which pleasure, in spite of her father's warning, she had quite set her mind, were enough to sadden that sensitive little heart. More than this, she was very much hurt at what Aunt Patty had said of her mother. She, that dear, precious mamma, always so tender and devoted, so careful of her by night and day, to be so spoken of! No one else had ever dared to speak so to mamma in her hearing, and she did not feel as if she could forgive it. Poor little soul! she was very indignant, but she "Come here, Bessie," said Miss Rush, who was sitting by the window, "I have something to show you; see there," as Bessie climbed upon her lap. "A few moments since I saw a break in the clouds, and a bit of blue sky peeping out. I did not call you right away, lest you should be disappointed again; but the blue is spreading and spreading, so I think we may hope for a fine day, after all. And see, there is the sun struggling through. Ah, I think you will have your walk with papa." Yes, there came the sun shining quite brightly now, and the pools of water on the sidewalk began to dance in his beams as if they were saying, "How do you do, Mr. Sun? We are glad to see you after a week's absence, Bessie watched for a few moments, and then ran to find Maggie, who had gone up-stairs with mamma for a new story-book which Aunt Bessie had promised to read for them. "Maggie, Maggie!" she called from the foot of the stairs, "come and see how the blue sky is coming out and how the sun is shining;" and as she spoke, Maggie ran along the upper hall, and came down, saying, dolefully,— "Oh, Bessie! I saw it up-stairs, and I went to the window to look, and there's a great cloud coming over the sun. There, see! he's all gone now. I just believe it is going to rain again." It was too true, and as the little girls ran to the front-door, and Maggie drew aside the lace which covered the large panes of glass in the upper part, so that they might peep out, they saw that the blue sky had disappeared, and a moment later, down splashed the heavy drops of rain. Bessie felt a great choking in her throat, and Maggie said, impatiently, "It is never going to clear up; I know it. It just rains this way to provoke poor children who want to go out." "Maggie, darling, who sends the rain?" came in Aunt Bessie's gentle tone through the open parlor-door, and at the same moment a stern voice behind the children said,— "You are very naughty, child. Do you remember that God hears you when you say such wicked words?" Both children turned with a start to see Mrs. Lawrence in hat and cloak, and with an enormous umbrella in her hand. "No," she said, severely, as poor frightened Maggie shrank before the glance of her eye, "you will not go out to-day, nor do you deserve it." Then Bessie's anger broke forth. "You are bad, you're cruel!" she said, stamping her foot, and with her face crimson with passion. What more she would have said will never be known, save by Him who reads all hearts; for as these last two words passed her lips, she checked herself, and rushing to Aunt Bessie, who had gone to the parlor-door at the sound of Mrs. Lawrence's voice, buried her face in the folds of her dress. "Our Father!" Was she his little child now when in her fury and passion she had forgotten that his holy eye rested upon her, when she was grieving and offending him? Such was the thought that had stopped her, even as she poured forth those angry words. For one moment she stood with her face hidden, sending up a silent, hurried prayer to the Great Helper, then turning to Aunt Patty, she said, with a touching meekness,— "Please forgive me, Aunt Patty. I didn't try hard enough that time; but I'll try not to do so again. The wicked passion came so Yes, the passion had come quickly, but it had been quickly conquered, and as Aunt Patty looked at her, these words came to her mind: "Greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city;" and she stood humbled before this little child. Turning away without a word, she opened the front-door and passed out, while Miss Rush led the children back to the parlor. Aunt Bessie's own eyes glistened as she lifted the sobbing child upon her lap, while Maggie stood beside her, holding Bessie's hand in one of her own, and with her pocket-handkerchief wiping the tears that streamed from her little sister's eyes. "Oh, it has been such a bad day, and we thought it was going to be such a nice one, didn't we?" said Bessie. "We were so very glad when we woke up this morning, and we have had such very misable times all day, and now I was so naughty. And I did ask for "I think it did come, darling," said Aunt Bessie. "If it had not, you could not have conquered yourself as you did the moment you remembered you were displeasing your heavenly Father. If you forgot for a moment, and your temper overcame you, I think he knew how you had struggled with it this morning, and so pitied and forgave, sending the grace and strength you needed as soon as you saw your own want of it." "It's all Aunt Patty's fault, anyhow," said Maggie. "She provoked us, hateful old thing! I know I ought not to say that about the rain, Aunt Bessie, 'cause it's God's rain, and he can send it if he chooses; but it was not her business to meddle about, and I am a great deal more sorry for your speaking so kind than for all the scolding. I just wish—I wish—" "I would not wish any bad wishes for Aunt Patty, dear," said Miss Rush. "That will not help any of us to feel better." "I don't know about that," said Maggie, gravely shaking her head. "I think I'd feel more comfortable in my mind if I wished something about her. I think I'll have to do it, Aunt Bessie." "Then wish only that she were a little more amiable, or did not speak quite so sharply," said Miss Rush, smiling at Maggie's earnestness. "Oh, pooh! that's no good," said Maggie. "She never will learn to behave herself. I'll tell you, I just wish she was a Lot's wife." "Lot's wife?" said Miss Rush. "I mean Lot's wife after she 'came a pillar of salt, and then maybe she'd be all soaked away in this pouring rain, and no more left of her to come back again and bother us." There was never any telling where Maggie's ideas would carry her, and at the thought of the droll fate she had imagined for Aunt Patty, Miss Rush fairly laughed outright, and even Bessie smiled, after which she said she would go up-stairs and talk a little to her This shower proved the last of the rain for that day, and by twelve o'clock the clouds had all rolled away and the pavements were drying rapidly, giving fresh hope to Maggie and Bessie that they would be able to go over to the policeman's house; but before that Aunt Patty had returned. She was very silent, almost sad, and the many troubled looks she cast towards the little girls made Mrs. Bradford think that she was sorry for her unkindness of the morning. This was so, but there was more than that to trouble the old lady, for her errand to Dr. Dawson had been fruitless. When she reached his house, he was out, but she sat down to wait for him. He soon came in and without waiting for her to speak, told her that, having an hour to spare, he had just been up to the police-station to give Richards the good news. So it was too late after all, for now that the policeman knew of her gift, Mrs. Lawrence "Bradford," said Mr. Stanton, as he stood in his brother-in-law's office that morning, "those dear little girls of yours have put me to shame with their lively, earnest desire to do good to others. Here have I been leading this lazy, useless life ever since I came home, looking only to my own comfort and happiness; and in my want of thought for others scarcely deserving the overflowing share of both which has fallen to me. Your little ones have given me a lesson in their innocent wish to extend to others the benefits which God has heaped upon them; now cannot you help me to put it into practice? I am still so much of a stranger in my own city that I "Doubtless, my dear fellow," answered Mr. Bradford. "I think you are rather hard upon yourself; but I can show you where both time and money can be laid out with a certainty of doing good and bringing happiness to those who deserve them. Just now—But how far do your benevolent intentions go?" "Tell me the necessities of your protegÉe or protegÉes," said Mr. Stanton, smiling, "and I will tell you how far I am inclined to satisfy them. I had not thought much about it, having just been roused to a sense that it was time I was doing somewhat for the welfare of those who are not as well off as myself." "I was about to say," continued Mr. Bradford, "And how much is that?" asked Mr. Stanton. Mr. Bradford named the sum, and after hearing all the circumstances, Mr. Stanton drew a check for the amount needed to pay the rest of the debt to Dr. Schwitz, and gave it to his brother-in-law, asking him to hand it to the policeman with his own gift. "You had better come with us this afternoon, and see for yourself," said Mr. Bradford. "It is going to be fine, and I have promised those dear little things that they shall carry their prize to the blind boy's home. I believe we are likely to find Richards there about three o'clock, and I should like you to know him." So Mr. Stanton was persuaded; and as Maggie and Bessie were watching eagerly from the window for the first glimpse of papa, they saw him coming up the street with Uncle Ruthven. When they were ready to go, those three precious notes, the price of Willie's sight, But there was a sore disappointment in store for these poor children. As they were leaving the house, and before Mr. Bradford had closed the door behind them, who should appear at the foot of the steps but Sergeant Richards himself, with his broad, honest face in a glow of happiness and content. "Ah! Richards, how are you?" said Mr. Bradford. "At your service, sir," answered the policeman, politely touching his cap. "I just came round to say a word to you, but I see you are going out. I sha'n't detain you two moments, though, if you could spare me that." "Willingly," said Mr. Bradford. "We were on our way to your house, but our errand will keep;" and he led the way back to the parlor, followed by the whole party. Mrs. Bradford and Miss Rush were there also, just ready to go out; while Aunt Patty sat in the library, where every word that passed in the front room must reach her ears. "No, I'll not sit down, thank you, sir," said the policeman, "and I'll not keep you long. You have been so kind to me, and taken such an interest in all my difficulties, that I felt as if I must come right up and tell you of the good fortune, or, I should say, the kind Providence, which has fallen to me. I have been furnished with the means to pay my debt to Dr. Schwitz; and more, thank God! more than this, Dr. Dawson has received the amount of his charge for the operation on Willie's eyes. I shall be able to hold up my head once more, and that with the chance of my boy having his sight again." "And how has this come about?" asked Mr. Bradford. "I cannot say, sir. Some unknown friend has done it all; but who, I know no more than yourself, perhaps not so much;" and the policeman looked searchingly into Mr. Bradford's face. "And I know absolutely nothing," said the gentleman, smiling. "I see, Richards, you thought I had some hand in it, and expected to find me out; but I assure you, it is not my doing. These little girls of mine had, through the kindness of their uncle, hoped to place in your hands the sum needed for Dr. Dawson, and it was for this purpose that we were on our way to your house; but you say some one has been beforehand with us." "That's so, sir," said Richards; "but none the less am I most grateful to you and the little ladies and this kind gentleman for your generous intentions. I am sure I don't know what I have done that the Lord should raise me up such friends. But it is most strange as to who could have done this, sir, and about that old lady." "What old lady?" asked Mr. Bradford. "Why, sir, she who either has done this or has been sent by some one else. If I don't keep you too long, I should just like to tell you what I know." "Not at all," said Mr. Bradford. "Let us have the story." "Yesterday morning," said the policeman, "Mrs. Granby was sitting by the window, when she saw an old lady going to 'most all the houses, and seeming to be asking her way or inquiring for some one. So Mrs. Granby puts out her head and asks if she was looking for any one. 'I want Mrs. Richards, the policeman's wife,' says the old lady. Mrs. Granby told her that was the place and opens the door for her. Well, she walked in, but a stranger she was, to be sure; neither my wife nor Mrs. Granby ever set eyes on her before, and they did not know what to make of her. All sorts of questions she asked, and in a way Mary did not like at all, never telling who she was or what she came for. Well, after a "And you have no possible clew to who this person was, Richards?" asked Mr. Bradford. "None, sir. I might track her easy, I suppose, but since she didn't seem to wish it to be known who she was or where she came from, I wouldn't feel it was showing my gratitude for the obligations she's laid me under, and you see by the printing she don't wish to be tracked even by her handwriting. Nor was this all. Early this morning, round comes Dr. Dawson to the station, asking for me; and he told me that an old lady had been to his house yesterday, and after asking a lot of questions, had paid him a hundred and fifty dollars for undertaking the operation on Willie's eyes, and took a receipted bill from him. By all accounts, she must be the same person who was at my place yesterday, and if "I see no possible objection to your using the money," said Mr. Bradford. "It certainly has been intended for you, however singular the way in which it has been conveyed to you, or however disagreeable the manner of the messenger. It has probably been the work of some eccentric, but kind-hearted person who does not choose to have his good deeds known." "I can't say but I would feel better to know whom it came from, Mr. Bradford, grateful from my very soul as I am. I shouldn't have been too proud to take such a favor from one who I knew was a friend to me, with the hope, maybe, of one day making it up, but it's not so comfortable to have it done in this secret sort of way, and as if it were something to be ashamed of." "Do not look at it in that way, Richards, but believe that your friend has only acted "Well, may God bless and prosper him, whoever he is," said the policeman. "I only wish he knew what a load is lifted from my heart. And thank you too, sir, for your advice and for all your interest in me." While the policeman had been telling his story, Maggie and Bessie had stood listening eagerly to him. At first they looked pleased as well as interested, but when it was made plain to them that some stranger had done the very thing on which they had set their hearts, a look of blank dismay and disappointment overspread their faces. By the time he had finished, Bessie, with her head pressed against her mother's shoulder, was choking back the tears, and Maggie, with crimson cheeks and wide-open eyes, was standing, the very picture of indignation. "Papa," she exclaimed, as Mr. Richards said the last words, "does he really mean that woman went and paid that money for blind Willie to be cured?" "Yes, my darling," said her father, with a feeling of real pity for the disappointment of his two little daughters, "but I think—" "It's too bad," said Maggie, without waiting for her father to finish his sentence; "it's as mean, as mean as—Oh! I never heard of anything so mean; the horrid old thing! something ought to be done to her. I know she just did it to make a disappointment to Bessie and me. Oh, dear! It's too bad!" She finished with a burst of tears. "My dear little girl," said her father, "I know this is a great disappointment to you; but you must not let it make you unreasonable. This person is probably an entire stranger to you; and any way, she could know nothing of your purpose." "You will find plenty of uses for the money," said Uncle Ruthven, catching Bessie "But," said Bessie, mournfully, as she wiped her eyes, "we wanted to use it for Willie, and we thought so much about it, and we were so glad when we thought how pleased he would be! Oh! we are very much trialed; are we not, Maggie?" "Now the Lord love you for your thought of my boy," said the policeman, "and I'm sure I wish, for your sake, that the old lady had stopped short of Dr. Dawson's door, keeping her money for some other folks that had need of it, and leaving it to you two dear little ones to do this kind turn for my child. But Willie will think just as much, as I do, of your meaning to do it, as if you'd done it out and out; and if you'll allow it, madam,"—here he turned to Mrs. Bradford, "I'd like to bring him over, that he may say so." Mrs. Bradford said she would be very glad The policeman promised to do this, and then, once more thanking Mr. Bradford and his family for all their kindness, he went away. Decoration, end of chap. XIII Title decoration chap. XIV |