She had no idea that Jem left her to lie down on the sofa in the next room; nor that her mother-in-law took little d.i.c.kie on her knee and fed him tenderly; nor that she bathed his eyes with warm water; nor that she refilled the baby's bath, and with Cherry's help undressed and bathed him.

"It is nice," said the poor little fellow, as the kind old woman sat with him on her lap before the fire, and slipped over his head a clean warm little nightgown brought down from her airing-horse up-stairs.

"It's Mrs. Blunt's," she explained to Cherry; "but I'm not a bit afraid but what she'll lend it to him for a night or two. Wasn't it fortunate that she happened to send it in amongst the sheets I do for her? She don't ever send me these sort of things, but this one came for the purpose, I do believe! Don't he look different?"

"He do indeed," answered poor little yawning Cherry. "I never see him look so nice since mother used to undress him. I did the best I could, ma'am, but it was so dreadful hard to keep 'im clean."

Mrs. Seymour shook her head kindly.

"I know it was, child," she said.

She was going to add that she did not know how her Jem was going to support two children; but a glance at Cherry's happy face stopped her, and she only added softly--

"You can wash your face and hands too, child, and then you shall go to bed."

"Are you goin' to bed?" whispered Cherry.

"Not to-night, my dear," glancing towards Meg, "but I'll doze a bit in this chair. Now, d.i.c.kie, shall I put you back in the nice warm bed with Meg, as I promised?"

d.i.c.kie nodded.

She rose, and opening the clothes as gently as she could, she put the clean warm little boy close to Meg's side.

Meg instantly felt him, and understood enough, without rousing herself, to say in a soft little tone of endearment--

"Come along, d.i.c.kie; you won't mind staying with me?"

"No; I'll stay along of mo'ver-Meg," said d.i.c.kie; and as he said it, he put his thin little arms about her neck and kissed her. Then without another word they both sank into dreamless slumber.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XIII.

d.i.c.kIE'S ATTIC.

When Mrs. Seymour had placed the tired little Cherry in her own nice bed, and had made Miss Hobson understand in a few words who it was who would be found in the morning sharing her room, she returned to the next floor and looked round.

In the bedroom Meg and d.i.c.kie slept the sleep of the utterly weary, and leaving them for a moment she went to look after her son Jem.

He too slept soundly, though he had not undressed, but lay covered by a blanket on the sofa.

The clock on the mantel-piece pointed to two, the fire was out, and the room desolate.

Making her own determination, but leaving it for the present for fear of disturbing Jem, she went back to Meg. She stood by the side of the little cot and gazed long and earnestly at the face of her grandchild.

Her grandchild! How she had longed to welcome it! how she had counted on hearing its little feet patter about in her room! how she had yearned to see her Jem with his child on his knee!

Instead of that, a dead baby lay in the cradle; and in Meg's embrace slept a little stranger child, taken, as it were, out of the very gutter; and in Jem's arms had stood a little cripple, who might be a care to him all his days.

Mrs. Seymour could hardly believe that all this had happened in one day--that it could be only yesterday when she had felt that everything was going so well with the pair whom she loved better than herself.

She sat down in Meg's low chair, and looked into the fire with a troubled face. She argued to herself that Jem and Meg little knew the burden they were taking up; and even if they dimly understood it, they were not able to look into the future, and could not know what the years might bring.

While these thoughts were pa.s.sing through her mind, she seemed to see something written across the fire as she gazed into it.

The words were familiar, and yet she could not make them out in their order. She shut her eyes, but still they came again, haunting her with a rebuke as thorough as it was gentle. Was it the Holy Spirit, who teaches all those who are wanting to do their Father's will?

"I was an hungered, and ye gave Me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took Me in. Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me."

"My Lord, have I grudged Thee?" she said, her old eyes dimmed with rare tears. "Oh, forgive me, and let me do my part towards taking Thee in!"

When the clock struck six she rose and softly went into the front room.

With as little sound as possible she set Jem's breakfast, and lighted his fire; putting on the kettle and preparing his room against he should awake.

After that she made some gruel for her daughter, on the clear little fire she had noiselessly kept up all night, and when all was done, she decided it was time to wake Jem.

But when she entered his room again he was already up, all traces of fatigue gone from his face, and her own cheerful Jem stood before her.

She signed to him that Meg was still asleep, and closing the door behind her, she set about making the tea, Jem asking her in a low tone what sort of a night his wife had pa.s.sed.

"Beautiful," said Mrs. Seymour; "she hasn't waked once since I put d.i.c.kie back; and while they're all asleep I want to talk to you, Jem.

Shall we sit down and have a bit of breakfast, so as to be ready when we are wanted?"

Jem willingly complied, and began at once on the subject that was uppermost in his mother's thoughts.

"I dare say, mother, that you think as Meg and me must ha' gone crazy last night?"

"I _did_ think so, but----"

"It wasn't so bad as that," Jem went on, smiling slightly, "for Meg and me has often talked about d.i.c.kie and Cherry; and Meg had said if she got through this, she should do her best to find 'em, and try to teach Cherry somethin' or 'nother to get her livin'."

Mrs. Seymour listened. She had intended to give her son a lecture on caution and rash haste, but since those words had shone out upon her, she could hear nothing but the tender "Inasmuch--ye have done it unto Me." How could she say anything after that?

"Of course we neither of us thought on it comin' all of a heap like this, mother; and we didn't guess as our Lord was goin' to take away with one hand while He gave with t'other! But it's His doin', and we ain't goin' to grumble. Meg said, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord,' and if she could say it, I won't be behind her."

Mrs. Seymour got up to poke the fire, and as she pa.s.sed her son's chair, she bent and kissed his forehead in silence.

"Dear mother!" he said affectionately, "I knew as it 'ud be a sore trial to you; but----"

"Don't say a word more, Jem," she said; "I'll help you all I can, and after a bit we shall see how things turns out. If you decide to keep Cherry with you, and she is a good girl, I'll promise you as I'll let her share my bed; and there'll often be a bit of breakfast for her too.

I 'ain't given so much to my Lord as that I can't spare a little more. I feel to-day as if I'd never done nothing for Him. 'Inasmuch'----!"

"That's right down kind o' you, mother. If you'd seen all as I saw last night, you'd find it easier to understand what I felt."