CHAPTER XI

IS G.o.d GOOD?

During these dark days Neighbour Bessie was a constant visitor, and she never came without seeking to bring some brightness, though mostly it was in the form of fun. Sometimes it jarred on Phebe when she first came in, but invariably Phebe was found enjoying the fun before Bessie left.

Bessie was in high feather when Phebe told her in neighbourly confidence that an old great-uncle, recently deceased, had left her the freehold of a meadow at Edenholme, a place four miles from Hadley.

"Do you mean to say you are a landed proprietress?"

"Yes, if you care to put it in that grand style."

"Of course I do--style is everything. But really to be serious, I should like to see this estate of yours!"

"Estate! Just one field, with one solitary donkey, perhaps, in it."

"Well, let's make the dear donkey's acquaintance, anyhow. Could we not drive there? Couldn't Darling Jones drive you and me, and let's have half-a-day's holiday? Now, do, there's a dear! I'm sure I'm losing all my complexion because I never get an outing."

"I do wish you wouldn't call that young man by that foolish name.

Suppose he should overhear you?"

"That would be perfectly lovely! He'd put his hand on his heart, and say 'Somebody loves me!'" and Bessie put herself in the supposed tragic att.i.tude.

"You are a dreadful girl. Now, just for a punishment Reynolds shall drive us."

"Then you consent to go?" and Bessie's eagerness confirmed Phebe in her suspicion that it was simply a ruse to get her out.

However, the drive was taken and enjoyed. Instead of the donkey being found in the meadow, there was a blind child groping about on hands and knees for flowers and gra.s.ses. "Just look there!" exclaimed Bessie, quite philosophically; "and yet with two eyes of quite the proper sort and power, most of us miss heaps of flowers we might gather."

The meadow was close by a small railway station soon to become an important junction, a new line being under construction which would run into it from quite an opposite direction.

Reynolds drove them to the other side of the line, where some hundreds of men were at work on a long tunnel. The curious little wooden houses in which some of the men lived were inspected, and Phebe had quite a long chat with one of the "gangers."

On their return home Bessie informed Mrs. Colston that the "estate" had some "park-like stretches," and was quite "a suitable site for a summer holiday with the help of a tent." "But it is a shame," she went on, "that it is not on the other side of the railway. Why, if that meadow had only been near that tunnel the railway folks would have given ever so much for it. Don't you think it is too bad?"

"No, I don't."

"You don't! Wouldn't you like Mrs. Waring to make an honest bit of money?"

"Of course I should. But if it would have been better for the meadow to have been where you wished it, it would have been there, no doubt about that."

"Do you think, then, that whatever is, is best? But I don't see how you can. I didn't have any breakfast this morning. Mother said I was in one of my tantrums. Suppose I was; but I can tell you it wasn't the best thing for me."

"Perhaps it just was; but I cannot say positively about your affairs, because I don't know that you come under the same list as mistress does."

"What list is that?"

"The list of Christians. You know 'whatever is _is_ best' for them.

Perhaps it doesn't seem so at the first, but G.o.d makes it so sooner or later."

"He doesn't do so, then, for everybody?"

"No, I don't think so; I can't see how they can expect Him to."

"It's a bad look-out for me, then, Mrs. Colston," and the girl looked her frankly in the face. "I often wish I were a Christian; but there, I never shall be."

"Why not, Bessie, dear? Tell me what is your difficulty."

"I can't give up my nonsense and fun; it's no good, I couldn't be serious like Mrs. Waring is for anything. And then," dropping her voice, "mother would never believe I was trying to be good, no, not if I tried like an archangel."

"What your mother believes, or doesn't believe, shouldn't come into the question, dear. It's the Lord's opinion of us we've got to trouble about. But you make a great mistake if you think you've got to give up fun, so long as it's innocent fun. Why, I believe G.o.d is often disappointed in His children because they're such a long-faced, sour lot; I do indeed."

But just then Mrs. Marchant sent in a message that Bessie was wanted at once.

That same evening Phebe was called into the grocery department to see a woman who particularly wished to speak to her. She was a very forlorn-looking being, and seeing the marks of tears upon her face Phebe invited her into the parlour, placing a chair for her by the fire, for the evening was chilly.

"I've come to ask you, Mrs. Waring, if you will come and see my husband.

I do believe he is dying."

"But why do you want me to see him?" Phebe was feeling very bewildered.

"Why not get a doctor? I'm not even a nurse."

"Oh, it's not that. I've got a doctor for him; he wants to talk to you.

It's him that sent me to ask you."

"But why does he want to see me?"

"I asked him if I should get anybody to come and pray to him, and he said as how he didn't want no parsons a-bothering of him, but he would like Mrs. Waring to come, for," in quite a whisper, "he's mortal afeared of dying."

"He wants me to come in place of a minister?" said Phebe with a gasp.

"How does he know me? How did he come to ask for me?"

"Why, you know he used to go a good deal to 'The Rose in June,' and they was a-talking about you there one night--he told me so when he came home--as how you shut your shops early on Sat.u.r.day 'cause you were particular about Sunday. One of your shopfolks said so to somebody. And my Jim said as how you must be one of the right sort, for your religion cost you summat. That's how it is. He's talked about it a lot of times; and one night some of the men that goes to 'The Rose in June' came to have a look at you."

Phebe smiled. "I should like to help your husband all I could," she said, "but I am quite unfit to talk to a dying man. Why not let me send for one of our good ministers? Or, I will ask my friend if she will go."

"I'm sure he won't see anybody else," the woman exclaimed, but Phebe was out of hearing. Presently she returned, saying in a very quiet voice that she would accompany her home at once. Nanna had firmly refused to go, saying it was a distinct call from G.o.d to Phebe herself, and that it would be wicked to disobey.

So in great fear and trembling Phebe went.

The man was lying on a wretched bed, evidently very weak, but with no signs of death about him. After inquiring as to how he felt Phebe started straightway by telling him how unfit she was to help anybody, being only a learner herself, and her very simple straightforwardness drew the sick man all the more to her.

"But, look here, missis," he said, turning on his elbow eagerly towards her. "You can help me all I want, and I'd rather have you than one of them preaching chaps as is paid to do it. What I wants to know is this: Do you think as how G.o.d is good and only does good things?"

Phebe paused for a moment, and while she hesitated the man was keenly watching her, with great hungry-looking eyes.

"I want my answer to be perfectly true," she replied, "that is why I waited."