The blacksmith's daughter received her father's description of the proceedings at the quarterly meeting with much enjoyment, and true to her taste for seeking out the neediest, emphatically endorsed the idea of making evangelical war on Midden Harbour. Pondering how she could help forward this worthy scheme, she made her way, one evening, to pay a visit to the ailing wife of Piggy Morris. Lucy's piety was a very cheerful and attractive type. Those who think that religion must necessarily tinge the life with melancholy, and wrap its possessor in a veil of gloom, would have felt inclined to question the genuineness of her profession, and to doubt as to whether she had "the root of the matter" within her. Her bright eyes were seldom dim with other tears than those of sympathy and joy; her smiles were never long absent from her face; her full, free, musical ripple of laughter was perfectly contagious, and her manifold charms of form and feature were brightened and intensified by the Christian faith and joy that dwelt within. No one could be long in Lucy's company before any "megrims" of their own began to pa.s.s away; and no sooner did she enter the home of sickness and of sorrow, than the gloom began insensibly to lift, and the inmates were led to look at matters from their brighter side. This power of radiating happiness is of wondrous value, and ought to be cultivated, as it may, by all who keep the heart-fires of grace brightly burning, from whence the subtle and potent blessings are evolved. This cheering quality made Lucy's visits unspeakably precious to such a despondent invalid as Mrs. Morris. To Mary Morris they were as bright spots in a very cloudy sky, and even Piggy Morris himself, glum and crusty as he was, was fain to declare his pleasure at her visits, and to give her a welcome such as greeted no visitor besides.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LUCY BLYTH.--_Page 140._]

"Well, Mrs. Morris, how are you to-day?" said Lucy to the ailing woman, who sat, propped up with pillows, in an old arm-chair by the fireside. "Why, I declare, you look ever so much better and brighter than when I was here last. Some of these fine days we shall be having you out of doors again, and you and Mary will be having a cup of tea with me at the Forge."

Mrs. Morris's thin and sallow face gleamed with satisfaction at the sight of her welcome guest; but she shook her head as one who had made up her mind to say "good-bye" to hope, and accept the inevitable.

"No, Miss Blyth, I don't feel better; I'm not able to say just what ails me, or where or what my complaint is. But I'm wearing away, slowly and surely, and at times I feel such a sinking and a fainting, that I sit waiting and waiting, thinking every moment will be my last."

"Yes, that's just it. I don't believe in 'thinking and waiting' of that kind. When you feel a sinking and a fainting, you should tell Mary to get you a little beef-tea, or a cup of tea, to give you a rising; and make up your mind that you aren't going to die yet, because you're wanted here."

"Nay, I don't know about that," said the despondent soul, always entertaining hard thoughts about herself. "I'm not wanted here. I'm such a poor helpless invalid that I'm no use to anybody."

"Oh, that's it, is it? Mary Morris you just come here. Now, Mrs.

Morris, just tell her, will you, that she doesn't want you, and that you are no use to her!"

Mrs. Morris looked at the speaker, and then into her daughter's loving and gentle face, down which the tears were quietly descending, and said, as she put her arms around her neck,--

"No. G.o.d bless her, I can't say that, for I know she loves her mother."

Mary returned the embrace warmly, saying,--

"Love you? Aye, that I do, next to my G.o.d."

"Why, bless my life, Mrs. Morris, there are folks in the world that haven't got so much as a cat or a dog to wag their tails when they see 'em; and you've got such a wealth of tenderness as there is in this girl's heart to call your own. When did Bob and d.i.c.k come to see you last?"

"Oh, they were both here last Sunday. No, Bob was here on Monday, too, and again last night."

"What did he want?" said Miss Inquisitive.

"Oh, only to inquire how I was. Last night he brought me a few oranges that he had bought."

"Indeed! Where did he get _them_, I wonder?"

"He fetched them from Kesterton on Monday night after his day's work was over."

"Oh, that's it, is it? And so you have two good sons, who come and spend their Sundays, the only day in the week they have at liberty.

One comes again on Monday, after toiling all the day, and the other poor, tired lad goes all the way to Kesterton to buy some oranges to refresh you, and yet you dare to tell me you are not wanted! G.o.d bless them both! How dare you?"

At that moment Piggy Morris came in from a distant market.

"Good-night, Miss Blyth," said he. "It's as good as a golden guinea to see your smiling face."

"Is it?" said Lucy. "Then give me a golden guinea for our new chapel, and you shall look at it again."

A sudden thought struck her. She saw he was in a good humour. Probably markets had been favourable and bargains good. It was a hazard, but she risked it.

"Come here, Mr. Morris," and taking him by the hand, she led him to his wife. "Look at this dear soul. She says that she isn't wanted, and is of no use to anybody, because she's weak and ill," and Lucy looked at him a whole volume of entreaty and desire.

Morris understood her purpose, and whether he was thinking, as he gazed upon the fallen cheek, the sunken eye, and the dark hair so thickly silvered--remnants of the beauty of the older and brighter days before he brought sorrow over the threshold--or whether Lucy's influence acted on him like a spell, cannot be said, probably a little of both; but he took his wife's hand in his, and stroked it, saying,--

"Why, bless you, Sally, there's n.o.body we could spare so ill as thee."

Lucy's eyes and smile repaid him for that unusual grace, and then turning to his wife, she said,--

"There, you naughty soul. Mary loves you; Bob and d.i.c.k love you; your husband loves you, and yet you dare to look me in the face and tell me you're not wanted!" And, kissing her cheek, "Jesus loves you, and I love you, and if you call the cat it will jump upon your knee and tell you the same thing. Yet you 'feel a sinking and a fainting,' and you 'sit waiting and thinking that every moment is going to be the last!'

Mrs. Morris, I'm"----"

But by this time the work was done. The poor woman's face was all aglow.

"Yes, yes," said she. "I am richer than I thought."

"Richer! I should think you are; and you have all the love of G.o.d, all the promises of the Bible, and all the hopes of heaven into the bargain. Mrs. Morris, I'm going to sing, and if you don't join in the chorus I won't stop and have a cup of tea."

Lucy's singing was an inspiration, and Piggy Morris stopped the process of unlacing his boots to look and listen, as she sang,--

THE DARK AND THE DAWN.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."--_Ps_. x.x.x, 5.

To-night there are tears, To-night there are fears, To-night there is sighing and sorrow, My tears shall be dried, My fears shall subside, 'Twill be singing--not sighing--to-morrow!

So this is my song, As I travel along!

Come neighbours, and join in my chorus!

The tears of the night, Become pearls in the light, The light of the morning before us.

To-night I may sigh; But pray tell me why, From the future more tears I should borrow?

No! strengthened by hope, With my cares I will cope, For they all will evanish to-morrow!

So this is my song, &c.

Though hard I may toil, And wearily moil, And with tears cast my seed in the furrow; Not long shall I weep; I am certain to reap A harvest of joy on the morrow!

So this is my song, &c.

I care not a jot For the crook in my lot, Though I grieve a few moments in sorrow; They soon will be past, And the "First and the Last"

Will send me deliv'rance to-morrow.

So this is my song, &c.

Even now, as I weep, I see the dawn peep Through the shadowing curtains of sorrow!

Hope widens the rift-- Even now do they lift, And the rosy dawn smiles a "Good morrow!"

So this is my song, As I travel along-- Come neighbours and join in my chorus?

Be sure by-and-bye We shall reign in the sky, When the glory gates open before us!

You might go far before you found a brighter atmosphere than that which filled the house of Piggy Morris, and all owing to the presence of that concentrated piece of sunshine, Lucy Blyth. After tea d.i.c.k came in, and received such a warmth of greeting from her that he almost lost his balance, and blushed like a peony, as hobbledehoys will under such circ.u.mstances.

"Why, Mrs. Morris," said Lucy, "here's that troublesome fellow here again. He was here last night, and on Monday night, and on Sunday, too. Look here, young man; what do you come here so often for?"