Left to Ourselves Part 23

"'Ain't there any more?' asked the elder boy.

"'No, there ain't,' said his mother sharply; all the more sharply that she would have given anything to have been able to say yes instead of no.

"The big boy looked disappointed enough, and shuffled his feet about discontentedly.

"'What have yer got for dinner to-morrow?' he asked.

"'Usual fare,' said his mother; 'there ain't nothing but bread now-a-days, and not too much of that.'

"An ominous silence brooded over the only half-satisfied children, and the mother rocked the baby to and fro with a look on her face which was both sad and hopeless.

"'Why don't we have something nice, even if father's work is short? When it's plenty I should ha' thought we might ha' saved a bit,' grumbled the eldest.

"'Save!' exclaimed the poor mother, 'why, if we've got it, you know ye eat it, and if we ain't got it, we go without.'

"'Well, I don't like not having 'nuff to eat,' said the big boy vexedly.

'I brings home all I earns, and it ain't fair.'

"'And how much have you earned _this_ week?' asked his mother crossly.

"'Well, look at this weather, for yer,' answered he; 'how can us earn when no one won't build at any price?'

"'Then shut up,' answered the tired mother, 'and wait for better times.'

"She rose, and prepared to put the baby to bed. The eldest little girl washed up the few cups, while the boys began an undertoned game at tickling each other, which soon resulted in laughter and subdued noise.

This brought down on them a sharp reprimand from their mother, and finally a box on the ears all round.

"Somewhat quieted, but in no good humour, they retired into a corner, and proceeded to cut up some pieces of wood which their brother's trade supplied them with. They could muster but one knife between them, but a boy cautiously crept to the cupboard and abstracted one belonging to the housekeeping, the rest watching their mother's head lest she should discover the act of disobedience; for such it was in this little home, where a lost knife would be a serious misfortune.

"At last the baby was carried upstairs for the night, and the mother descended with her hands free for the time.

"'Off to bed you go,' she said to the next three, who were crowding over the little fire.

"There was no objection for once, but just as the little girl of ten years old was taking the lamp to light them to bed a knock came at the door and startled them all.

"The girl set down the light and opened the door.

"'Why if it ain't Miss Agnes Headley;' said the mother. 'Come in, miss, do.'

"'No thank you, I have only come to bring you a little present for Christmas, and I hope you will have a happy day,' said Miss Headley.

"The big boy jumped up in a moment, and took it from her, with a 'thank ye, miss,' which meant a great deal; but Miss Headley did not wait, and they closed the door from the bitter wind, while all crowded round the table in anxious expectation.

"At the top of the parcel was an immense Christmas pudding, of a size to satisfy the appet.i.tes of even that numerous party. On it was pinned a paper with these words written: 'This pudding is cooked, but must be boiled for an hour and a half to warm it through. The cloth is for you.'

"A shout of pleasure was forced from the delighted family as they viewed their promised treat.

"Under the pudding, which had been wrapped up in a whole newspaper, lay an old jacket, a comforter, a worn pair of trousers, and a frock for the girl of ten. Last of all was a piece of stout paper on which someone (Hugh Headley I think) had painted these words: 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'

"On the back of this was written, 'Please pin this up on the wall for a Christmas text.'

"The eldest boy produced two or three nails, and had put it over the mantelshelf before they could say a word, and then, as the mother reminded them the pudding would come all the sooner for going to bed, they took her advice and disappeared, all but the big boy, who hung behind to say, 'I'm mortal hungry, mother, I suppose you ain't got a crust?'

"Half an hour before she would have answered 'no' hastily enough, but there were tears in her eyes as she handed him the bit of bread which was to have served for her supper, as she said:

"'I'm sorry, boy, it's all so short, but you know what yer boots cost last week, and you can't have everything.'

"'Good-night, mother,' he said, stooping to give her a rough kiss; 'but it _is_ hard to be hungry.'

"When the little door had closed upon her children the mother sat down in a chair with her hands drooping in her lap. Then she wiped away the unwonted tears as she looked round at the package on the table, and then back at the bright text in front of her. It was that text which had softened her heart, and made her cry. It was that text which had suddenly reminded her of old days when she had thought more of these things than she did now.

"'Come unto Me, all ye that are heavy laden.'

"The tired, worried, over-wrought mother buried her face in her hands.

Long she sat and wept.

"'I thought He had forgotten me,' she whispered. And then she rose up and made the room ready for the father, repeating softly to herself all the while, 'I will give you rest, I will give you rest.'

"After some time, much later than she had expected, the well-known footstep was heard at the door.

"The mother knew before the father entered that the foot bore a more cheerful sound than had been of late, and his words corroborated her thought.

"'Well, wife, so here you are all alone! Why, so they're all gone to roost!'

"To get the sooner to Christmas-day," answered the mother, her eyes falling, as his did, on the table scattered over with the things they had received.

"They needed very little explanation, and meanwhile the father was fumbling in his pocket for something, which he now laid on the table by his wife.

"'That's my share for to-morrow,' he said. 'I stayed out all these hours on the chance of a job, and at last I got one. A gentleman couldn't get a cab nohow, everything's engaged on this wet night, to say nought of its being Christmas; so I carried his heavy portmanteau nigh on four miles, and he gave me this half-crown. And now I want my supper, wife.'

"The mother rose quickly and stirred the little fire. Already the kettle boiled, and the cup was set on the table with perhaps, unusual care. But the fare was indeed scant--a piece of bread cut off for the father before she had begun for the children and a bit of dripping. Meanwhile she was hastily putting on bonnet and shawl.

"'Where to?' asked he, surprised; 'there ain't no hurry to get a bit of meat. The butchers will be open for hours yet; so sit still for once.'

"'I shan't be a minute,' she said, and was gone before he could object.

"It was not much more ere she appeared again, bringing in her hand a large loaf, and a herring which she immediately placed on the fire, while she cut some fresh slices of the day-old bread, with a heart filled with pleasure that she had it to give him.

"'I've been looking at yon words,' he said, 'and they seem to say to me as we haven't thought so much of Him as we should, eh, old woman? We couldn't have a better day nor to-morrow to begin, eh?'

"'I've begun to-night,' she said. 'I've forgot Him lately, but He ain't forgot me!'"

Alice looked up now, as Agnes finished her narration, and said wonderingly, "I can't think how you know it, Agnes."

"I will not keep you in suspense then," she answered. "Mrs. Freeman came round early on Christmas-day to thank us for the things, and in a few simple words explained her despair and her comfort, and how the words, 'Come unto _Me_,' had put a new life before her, a life of rest and peace, even in the midst of outward turmoil. Our little effort for her, you see, did even more than we could have hoped."

"Have you any more stories?" asked Hugh.