Child Life in Prose Part 19

"Yes."

"I never thought of the little tr.i.m.m.i.n.g till the last minute. I had another errand."

I waited.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I thought at first I would not tell you just yet. But I suppose the time has come; it will be no more easy to put it off. I have been to Worcester all these times to see a doctor."

I bent my head in the dark, and listened for the rest.

"He has his reputation; they said he could help me if anybody could.

He thought at first he could. But to-day--"

The leaves rustled out of doors. Faith, up stairs, was singing herself to sleep with a droning sound.

"I suppose," she said at length, "I must give up and be sick now; I am feeling the reaction from having kept up so long. He thinks I shall not suffer a very great deal. He thinks he can relieve me, and that it may be soon over."

"There is no chance?"

"No chance."

I took both of her hands, and cried out, "Auntie, Auntie, Auntie!" and tried to think what I was doing, but only cried out the more.

"Why, Mary!" she said; "why, Mary!" and again, as before, she pa.s.sed her soft hand to and fro across my hair, till by and by I began to think, as I had thought before, that I could bear anything which G.o.d, who loved us all,--who _surely_ loved us all,--should send.

So then, after I had grown still, she began to tell me about it in her quiet voice; and the leaves rustled, and Faith had sung herself to sleep, and I listened wondering. For there was no pain in the quiet voice,--no pain, nor tone of fear. Indeed, it seemed to me that I detected, through its subdued sadness, a secret, suppressed buoyancy of satisfaction, with which something struggled.

"And you?" I asked, turning quickly upon her.

"I should thank G.o.d with all my heart, Mary, if it were not for Faith and you. But it _is_ for Faith and you. That's all."

When I had locked the front door, and was creeping up here to my room, my foot crushed something, and a faint, wounded perfume came up. It was the little pink and purple chain.

"_The Gates Ajar._"

THE OPEN DOOR.

Poor Mrs. Van Loon was a widow. She had four little children. The eldest was Dirk, a boy of eight years.

One evening she had no bread, and her children were hungry. She folded her hands, and prayed to G.o.d; for she served the Lord, and she believed that he loved and could help her.

When she had finished her prayer, Dirk said to her, "Mother, don't we read in the Bible that G.o.d sent ravens to a pious man to bring him bread?"

"Yes," answered the mother, "but that's long, long ago, my dear."

"Well," said Dirk, "then the Lord may send ravens now. I'll go and open the door, else they can't fly in."

In a trice Dirk jumped to the door, which he left wide open, so that the light of the lamp fell on the pavement of the street.

Shortly after, the burgomaster pa.s.sed by. The burgomaster is the first magistrate of a Dutch town or village. Seeing the open door, he stopped.

Looking into the room, he was pleased with its clean, tidy appearance, and with the nice little children who were grouped around their mother. He could not help stepping in, and approaching Mrs. Van Loon he said, "Eh, my good woman, why is your door open so late as this?"

Mrs. Van Loon was a little confused when she saw such a well-dressed gentleman in her poor room. She quickly rose and dropped a courtesy to the gentleman; then taking Dirk's cap from his head, and smoothing his hair, she answered, with a smile, "My little Dirk has done it, sir, that the ravens may fly in to bring us bread."

Now, the burgomaster was dressed in a black coat and black trousers, and he wore a black hat. He was quite black all over, except his collar and s.h.i.+rt-front.

"Ah! indeed!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Dirk is right. Here is a raven, you see, and a large one too. Come along, Dirk, and I'll show you where the bread is."

The burgomaster took Dirk to his house, and ordered his servant to put two loaves and a small pot of b.u.t.ter into a basket. This he gave to Dirk, who carried it home as quickly as he could. When the other little children saw the bread, they began dancing and clapping their hands. The mother gave to each of them a thick slice of bread and b.u.t.ter, which they ate with the greatest relish.

When they had finished their meal, Dirk went to the open door, and, taking his cap from his head, looked up to the sky, and said, "Many thanks, good Lord!" And after having said this, he shut the door.

_John de Liefde._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE PRINCE'S VISIT.

It was a holiday in the city, for the Prince was to arrive. As soon as the cannon should sound, the people might know that the Prince had landed from the steamer; and when they should hear the bells ring, that was much the same as being told that the Mayor and Aldermen and City Councillors had welcomed the Prince, by making speeches, and shaking hands, and bowing, and drinking wine; and that now the Prince, dressed in splendid clothes, and wearing a feather in his cap, was actually on his way up the main street of the city, seated in a carriage drawn by four coal-black horses, preceded by soldiers and music, and followed by soldiers, citizens in carriages, and people on foot. Now it was the first time that a Prince had ever visited the city, and it might be the only chance that the people ever would get to see a real son of a king; and so it was universally agreed to have a holiday, and long before the bells rang, or even the cannon sounded, the people were flocking into the main street, well dressed, as indeed they ought to be, when they were to be seen by a Prince.

It was holiday in the stores and in the workshops, although the holiday did not begin at the same hour everywhere. In the great laundry it was to commence when the cannon sounded; and "weak Job," as his comrades called him, who did nothing all day long but turn the crank that worked a great was.h.i.+ng-machine, and which was quite as much, they said, as he had wits to do, listened eagerly for the sound of the cannon; and when he heard it, he dropped the crank, and, getting a nod from the head man, shuffled out of the building and made his way home.

Since he had heard of the Prince's coming, Job had thought and dreamed of nothing else; and when he found that they were to have a holiday on his arrival, he was almost beside himself. He bought a picture of the Prince, and pinned it up on the wall over his bed; and when he came home at night, tired and hungry, he would sit down by his mother, who mended rents in the clothes brought to the laundry, and talk about the Prince until he could not keep his eyes open longer; then his mother would kiss him and send him to bed, where he knelt down and prayed the Lord to keep the Prince, and then slept and dreamed of him, dressing him in all the gorgeous colors that his poor imagination could devise, while his mother worked late in her solitary room, thinking of her only boy; and when she knelt down at night, she prayed the Lord to keep him, and then slept, dreaming also, but with various fancies; for sometimes she seemed to see Job like his dead father,--strong and handsome and brave and quick-witted,--and now she would see him playing with the children, or shuffling down the court with his head leaning on his shoulder.

To-day he hurried so fast that he was panting for want of breath when he reached the shed-like house where they lived. His mother was watching for him, and he came in nodding his head and rubbing his warm face.

"The cannon has gone off, mother," said he, in great excitement. "The Prince has come!"

"Everything is ready, Job," said his mother. "You will find all your things in a row on the bed." And Job tumbled into his room to dress himself for the holiday. Everything was there as his mother had said; all the old things renewed, and all the new things pieced together that she had worked on so long, and every st.i.tch of which Job had overlooked and almost directed. If there had but been time to spare, how Job would have liked to turn round and round before his sc.r.a.p of looking-gla.s.s; but there was no time to spare, and so in a very few minutes he was out again, and showing himself to his mother.

"Isn't it splendid!" said he, surveying himself from top to toe, and looking with special admiration on a white satin scarf that shone round his throat in dazzling contrast to the dingy coat, and which had in it an old brooch which Job treasured as the apple of his eye.

Job's mother, too, looked at them both; and though she smiled and did not speak, it was only--brave woman!--because she was choking, as she thought how the satin was the last remnant of her wedding-dress, and the brooch the last trinket left of all given to her years back.

"If you would only have let me wear the feather, mother!" said Job, sorrowfully, in regretful remembrance of one he had long h.o.a.rded, and which he had begged hard to wear in his hat.

"You look splendidly, Job, and don't need it," said she, cheerfully; "and, besides, the Prince wears one, and what would he think if he saw you with one, too?"

"Sure enough," said Job, who had not thought of that before; and then he kissed her and started off, while she stood at the door looking anxiously after him. "I don't believe," said he, aloud, as he went up the court, "that the Prince would mind my wearing a feather; but mother didn't want me too. Hark! there are the bells! Yes, he has started!" And Job, forgetting all else, pushed eagerly on. It was a long way from the laundry to his home, and it was a long way, too, from his home to the main street; and so Job had no time to spare if he would get to the crowd in season to see the grand procession, for he wanted to see it all,--from the policemen, who cleared the way, to the noisy omnibuses and carts that led business once more up the holiday streets.