"It isn't a real tune," she explained shyly, when she had reached the end. "I liked the words so much that I learnt them by heart, and they ran in my head until I found myself singing them to any sort of drone that would fit them."

"I think it is all lovely," said Charlie; "don't you, Jessie?"

"Oh, _lovely_," breathed Jessie softly. She was too deeply impressed to be able to talk much. "G.o.d make my life a little flower," the words repeated themselves again in her brain. "Miss Patch called me a piece of sweet garden. I wonder--" But what Jessie wondered she could not put into words.

In a vague way, that she scarcely as yet understood, it had suddenly come home to her that, perhaps, after all it was for some good purpose that she had been called upon to bear all that she had to bear. Without those sweet, happy years at Springbrook she could never have come as a little piece of sweet garden to this sad corner of the world. Perhaps G.o.d had something for her--even a little girl like herself--to do for Him. And she would try her utmost, she determined--yes, her utmost; to do her best in the new life she had been called to, and to make others happier by her presence.

CHAPTER X.

CHARLIE REACHES HOME.

After that exciting morning, Jessie saw Miss Patch always once a day, at least, for she never failed to go up to her room to ask her if she could do any errands, or anything else for her, and very, very glad Miss Patch was, many a time, to be saved the long drag down all the stairs and up again, and the walk through the cold wet streets during the bitter winter months.

Being saved this much exertion, she was able to get down oftener to see Charlie, and both he and Jessie loved these visits of hers.

More than once, too, when her husband was away, Mrs. Lang came for a brief spell, and they had tea together again in Charlie's room.

It was on one of the occasions when she was alone with Miss Patch that Jessie told of her Sunday-school in the garden, or by the fireside, with her grandfather. Her tears fell as she told of it, and her deep grief broke out uncontrollably, but Miss Patch did not try to check her story, she let her tell it all, thinking it would be better for her.

"And I've never been to Sunday-school, or to church since," she sobbed. "Father won't let me."

It was to Miss Patch, too, that she sobbed out the story of that dreadful day, and her grief for her grandparents and their suspense.

"It would not be so bad," she moaned, "if father would Let me write to them and tell them I am well and--and safe, and--and not so very unhappy; and I wouldn't mind so much if I knew how they were, but granny was ill, and I know granp would feel it dreadfully losing me like that and never knowing what had become of me. They don't know where I am, or if I am alive or dead, and--and it has nearly killed them, I expect!" and her tears choked her.

"Will not your father let you write?" asked Miss Patch in a husky voice. The cruelty of it all made her kind heart ache with pain and indignation.

Jessie shook her pretty head mournfully. "No. He says it would unsettle me, and they would be always worrying round, and he wants peace and quietness--but, oh, Miss Patch, they loved me so, it must have nearly broken their hearts! And--and I love them so, I feel sometimes I can't bear it, I can't, I can't. I feel I _must_ run away and find my way back to them. I am sure "--hopefully--"

I could."

Miss Patch laid her thin hand very kindly on Jessie's bowed head.

"Don't ever do that, dear! Don't ever set yourself against G.o.d's will. You are told in the Bible to obey your G.o.d and your earthly father, and G.o.d must have sent you here for some good purpose, dear.

Perhaps to teach you something we cannot understand yet, perhaps to bring help and happiness to--to others, to your mother, and dear little Charlie there, and--and me.

"G.o.d make my life a little staff, Whereon the weak may rest, That so what health and strength I have May serve my neighbours best.

"I think that is what G.o.d wants you for, little flower, to help us and bring joy to us in this gloomy corner of the world; and, oh, my dear, you have such chances here. And if you go on trusting and hoping, little Jessamine, trying to hold the faith that never faileth, all will come right. I know it will, I am sure."

Jessie lifted a very eager face to her old friend. "Do you really think so?" she asked anxiously.

"I am sure of it, dear; quite sure."

Silence fell on them both for a few moments, then Jessie looked up with a face alight with eagerness. "Miss Patch, couldn't I have a little Sunday-school for Charlie, just like granp had for me?

I couldn't teach him, but I could read to him, and learn hymns with him, couldn't I? Don't you think it would be nice?"

"I think it is a beautiful idea," agreed Miss Patch warmly.

Then, after a moment, she added, "How would you like it if I had the school, and you both came to me? I could go down to Charlie's room, as a rule, but I do believe that sometimes you might both come up to me. If he were carried up very carefully and laid on my bed I feel sure it would not hurt him, and I think the change of surroundings might even do him good. What do you think of that plan?" and Miss Patch looked nearly as eager as Jessie by the time she had finished speaking.

Jessie had sprung to her feet with excitement. "I think it is perfectly lovely," she cried, "perfectly lovely! Shall we begin next Sunday? Oh, do, please! and may I go down and tell Charlie? He will be _so_ glad. Thank you ever and ever so much," and putting up her hands she drew Miss Patch's thin face down to her own and kissed it warmly.

Charlie was as delighted as Jessie, and the prospect of going up to Miss Patch's room for an hour or so filled him with joyful excitement. Mrs. Lang was pleased, too. Anything that gave Charlie pleasure was sure to give her pleasure, and she was thankful for any means of teaching him and giving him new interests.

No one told Harry Lang about it, for he took no interest in anything they did, and they knew too well that his crooked temper would find delight in putting a stop to any little scheme they made. Tom Salter knew, though, for having met Mrs. Lang one day struggling up the stairs with Charlie in her arms, wrapped in blankets, he insisted on carrying him up for her, every time he went, after that, and when he was asked to stay, he did stay, and listened to Miss Patch reading, and joined in the hymns, and after the first time he came quite often.

Jessie was delighted, she liked Tom Salter, for though he spoke but little, he had often done her a kindness, helping her carry a heavy scuttle of coal up the stairs, or a pail of water; and many a time, of a Sat.u.r.day night, he cleaned several pairs of the lodgers' boots for her in readiness for Sunday; and many other kindly acts he had done, that meant much to the little over-burthened worker, for Jessie's life was a hard one in those days.

Miss Patch took care of her own room, and required no attention, but there were two lodgers in the front rooms on each landing, and all required meals cooked and carried to their rooms mornings and evenings, their rooms swept and dusted, their boots cleaned, and a hundred little attentions, and to Jessie it seemed as though she spent most of her life on the stairs, on her way up or down, generally carrying heavy trays or a load of some sort.

Then there were the beds to help to make, windows to clean, rooms and stairs to sweep, and numberless other duties. Fortunately, Jessie liked housework, and Mrs. Dawson might well have been proud of her pupil, could she have seen the difference that by degrees crept over the look of the house, both inside and out, as time went on.

The windows were kept bright now, and the sills whitened; the doorsteps, which used to be so dirty and neglected, were now kept swept and whitened, too; and the lodgers appreciated the change, and said so more than once.

So the days and weeks pa.s.sed by, and the weeks became months, and soon the months had become a whole year. Jessie could not believe it when Charlie first drew her attention to the fact. A whole year!

What could have become of poor granny and granp all this time!

She wondered if they ever wept and wept, and longed for her as she did for them. Sometimes, when the wind howled, or some one played sad music in the streets, she felt as though her heart would break with its weight of sad longing.

Fortunately for her, her days were too full and busy to allow of constant repining; and at night she was too weary to lie awake long grieving. Miss Patch had said, "Have faith and trust and all will come right some day," and Jessie did try to have faith, and to trust hopefully, though she worked hard and the fond poor, though her father was neglectful and cruel, and her mother gloomy and reserved.

"G.o.d make my life a little flower, That giveth joy to all, Content to bloom in native bower, Although its place be small."

She sang, and she did try hard to be content, and to do what she could, and the result was that in many ways she was happy in spite of all.

She loved Miss Patch, and the lonely little old woman loved her, and helped her over many a stony bit of road. Charlie loved her, and clung to her, too, and her mother, she fancied, was fond of her in her own quiet, cold way. At any rate, she never beat her, as her father did, or scolded and bullied her. But soon after her second year in London had begun a new trouble, and a very heavy one, came to Jessie. Charlie, she was sure, was getting worse.

He was growing thinner, and paler, and feebler, week by week.

The first time the truth dawned on her was one Sunday, when he said languidly that he thought he would not go up to Miss Patch's room that afternoon, he was too tired.

Jessie was so astounded that for a second or so she could only stand and stare at him. Then, with a sudden sharp fear at her heart, she flew to his side.

"Aren't you feeling very well?" she asked anxiously, and Charlie shook his head, but with tears in his eyes, tears of weakness and disappointment.

"Shall I ask Miss Patch to come down here?" she asked presently, longing to rouse and cheer him. But he only shook his head again.

"No, thank you, it would be too much trouble for her, and--don't you think it would be nice to stay quiet, just by ourselves, this afternoon?" he asked. "Will you read to me, or tell me about Springbrook?"

"Of course I will, dear," she answered warmly; "but--but I had better go up and tell Miss Patch, hadn't I, or she would think it unkind?"

This, though, was not her only reason for going. She wanted to be alone, away from him for a moment, to try and recover herself, and face this new shock.

"Miss Patch," she cried in a tone of agony, "I believe Charlie is worse, he seems so quiet, and so tired, and--and--Oh, Miss Patch, what shall I do! He _must_ get better, he must, he must."

But the tears came into Miss Patch's eyes too, and she had little comfort to offer. She had long had grave fears, and though she had tried to put them aside, she had never quite succeeded.

But Jessie had to control herself, for Charlie was waiting for her.

"When these fogs are gone, and the spring comes, and the sunshine,"

she said, trying to pluck up hope, "he will be better, I am sure."