Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 24

"It's easy for doctors to prescribe."

"He thinks she might come around if she had proper nourishment. But we are in the Lord's hands," he added patiently.

"Yes, and I guess the Lord has sent one of His ravens to look after you.

Not that Miss Selwyn looks like a raven--she's more like a lily."

"Is Miss Selwyn here?" he asked, turning around eagerly.

"Yes, I reached home last evening. I am sorry to find you in such trouble."

"The Lord knows what is best for us. I want nothing but what He wills for me. If pain, and poverty come, they are His evangels, and should I dare to repine?"

"Perhaps He has seen that you are patient under severity, and He may send comfort now."

"My Father is rich and wise, therefore I am content; for I know His kindness is without limit."

I looked in his face. A grave, refined expression lent dignity to features already handsome, while there was a serenity one of the Old Masters might have coveted to reproduce on one of their immortal pictured faces.

"Your daughter shall have all the nourishment the doctor orders after this; and I believe she will soon be better. The Lord is more pitiful than we are," I said, gently.

"G.o.d will reward you, my dear friend. Pardon me for calling you such; but you have indeed been a friend in adversity."

"I am glad to be a friend of one who is the friend of G.o.d. I esteem it both an honor and privilege."

"I pray G.o.d you may very soon hold the dearer relation to Himself of child, if you are not that already." He turned his face to me with an eager, expectant expression.

"No, not in the way you speak of. I am no nearer to Him than I was in childhood. It is only of late I realized the need to be reconciled to Him."

"He answers prayer." There was such a ring of joyful faith in his voice I felt convinced there was one praying for me who had a firm hold on G.o.d.

I turned to Mrs. Blake, who was busying herself in trying to make a fire.

"Where can we get some coals, or do they burn wood?" I asked.

"They sell the waste at the mill pretty cheap for kindlings, but the coal is far cheapest."

"Can we get some directly?"

"Yes, with the money," she said, grimly.

I took out my purse--alas, now far from full--when would I learn economy?

I gave her two dollars. "Will that buy enough for the present?" I asked anxiously; for I was exceedingly ignorant of household furnis.h.i.+ngs.

"Deary me, yes; it'll last for a month or more." I was greatly relieved.

By that time a little private venture of my own might be bringing me in some money. I told Mrs. Blake to present the dry goods as soon as I was out of the house. I fancied they would have an indirect medicinal effect on the sick woman.

"I shall go home immediately and get Mrs. Reynolds to make some beef tea.

She will keep Mrs. Lark.u.m supplied, I am sure, as long as there is need, and I will either bring or send a bottle of wine directly," I said encouragingly to Mr. Bowen, whose face under all circ.u.mstances seemed to wear the same expression of perfect peace.

"I have not language to express my grat.i.tude, but you do not ask for thanks." The a.s.sertion was something in the form of a question.

"I have a feeling that you will make me the debtor before long," I murmured softly, and then took my leave. Reynolds entered very heartily into my scheme for relieving Mrs. Lark.u.m, and Mrs. Flaxman, always eager to help others when once her attention was aroused, packed a generous hamper of wine and preserves, fresh eggs and prints of delicious Alderney b.u.t.ter, and fresh fruits, with more solid provisions, and sent them around by the uncomplaining Thomas, at an hour that suited his convenience. Cook also gave me a good basket full of cooked provisions; so I set out with Thomas very well provided for at least a week's siege.

I found Mrs. Blake still at the Lark.u.ms. She had been in the mean time very busy getting them made comfortable; and while so doing had taken minute stock of their ways and means. "I had no idea they was so bad off," she a.s.sured me in whispered consultation. "There was the barrel of flour she got with the money you give her, and not another airthly thing in the house to eat but some salt and about a peck of potatoes."

"Did Mr. Bowen know this morning there was so little?"

"Sartinly; but I believe he'd starve afore he'd let on; he kinder looks to the Lord for his pervisions, and he thinks it's a poor sort of faith to ask human beings. I think he's most too good for such a forgetting world as this is."

"The Lord has provided abundantly to-day, Mrs. Blake."

"I won't allow but somebody has. Maybe the Lord put it in your heart, I can't say for sartin. It's a curious mixed up world, and we don't know where men leaves off and the Lord begins; but that blind man is a Christian, and if there is such a thing as religion he's got it and no mistake."

As I looked around at the changed appearance of everything about me I concluded Mrs. Blake did the work of the Christian, even if she made no profession. The house had been scrubbed, the stove nicely polished, and the children's faces shone with the combined effects of soap and water and the good cheer that was being provided.

Mr. Bowen was sitting back, as if afraid of absorbing too much of the heat, rocking the cradle and singing in a rich, low voice one of the most beautiful hymns I ever heard, the look of peace that came from some unseen source still lighting his face. With Mrs. Blake's a.s.sistance, and with occasional exclamations of delight, on her part I unpacked the hamper and then I took a little wine and a bunch of grapes in to Mrs.

Lark.u.m. I was shocked at the change a few weeks had made in her appearance. She saw the pained look in my face and her own countenance fell.

"Mrs. Blake told me you seemed sure I would get better. Do you think now there is no hope?" she asked pitifully.

"I shall not give you up until we try the effect of these," I said cheerfully, putting the cup that contained the wine to her lips and laying the grapes in her hand. She took a sip or two and then put the cup aside. "I have eaten so little for several days you would soon make me intoxicated with that rich wine. I never tasted any like it," she said, with a pitiful attempt at a smile. I got out a slice of cook's home-made bread, and toasting it before the fire, with Mrs. Blake's help, we soon had a dainty lunch prepared for her with jelly, and a cup of tea with real cream, an unknown delicacy in her cottage, floating on the top.

I carried it and watched while she ate it all. "Perhaps it may kill me,"

she said, plaintively, "but I believe I am more hungry than sick. This cold cut me right down, and I had nothing to tempt my appet.i.te."

"I believe Miss Selwyn is one of them wonderful people what has the gift of healing. I've heard tell of 'em, but I never seen one," Mrs. Blake said, regarding me at the same time very seriously.

"I shouldn't wonder," Mrs. Lark.u.m responded calmly. "I made up my mind only this morning it was useless for me to expect to get round again; and I was nearly heartbroken thinking of poor father and the children going on the parish."

"A nice new frock, and good vittels ain't bad medsin for poor folks sometimes," Mrs. Blake said dryly.

"That is true; but I was feeling very low and weak," Mrs. Lark.u.m said, apologetically.

"We all know that, and more'n yourself was afraid it might go hard with you."

"So we have decided that it was the food and clothes that have wrought the miracle, and not any unusual healing virtues in me," I said, quite relieved; for the change wrought was so sudden and great, I began to feel uneasy lest I might be possessed unconsciously of some mysterious power.

Mrs. Lark.u.m smiled gently. "I am not sure of that. I find you always make me happier whenever I see you. I seem to get a fresh hold on hope, as if there might yet be something in store for us."

"I understand why you feel that way. I am glad it is no mere inexplicable experience." I went into the kitchen thinking to give Mr. Bowen and the children a few of the surplus dainties.

He had ceased singing, but was sitting with uplifted face, as if in deep communion with G.o.d; his lips moved, but no sound escaped.

The eldest boy seeing me hesitate came to my side and whispered softly.

"Mother says we are not to speak when grandfather looks like that--cos he's praying." I stood holding the child's hand, an indescribable sensation stealing over me while I stood gazing into the rapt, sightless face.

Never before in great cathedral, or humble church, had I felt the awful presence of G.o.d as at that moment. A strange trembling seized me, and, involuntarily I turned my head away, as if I were gazing too boldly upon holy things. I was reminded of the ancient high priest of the Jewish religion who, once a year, took his life in his hand, and went into the Holy of Holies, to gaze on the Divine token.

The child, too, stood silently with bated breath, perhaps more deeply impressed than his wont at seeing my emotion. After awhile he pulled my hand gently and then motioned for me to stoop down to him. I did so.