GOING OUT TO TEA
WHEN William Jones had told Mrs. Brown that Melina had quite turned
over a new leaf he had spoken nothing but the truth; for a softening
influence was at work in her heart—the influence of God's love. Since
she had made the acquaintance of the little gentleman Melina had felt
less lonely and embittered, and, impelled by a sense of deep gratitude
towards him on account of his evident good will for her, she had
continued to attend Sunday school, and had there been taught more
of the Saviour whom Mr. Blackmore had spoken of as the one perfect
Friend. At first the story of Christ's life on earth and His love for
sinners had appeared to her a beautiful romance, too wonderful to be
credited—that anyone could care for her enough to die for her had
sounded incredible; but slowly the amazing truth was being revealed to
her. The circumstances of her life had not changed, yet she herself
was different; for she was learning to have faith in Jesus, and a new,
sweet sense of happiness was creeping into her heart.
It was on a Wednesday when Melina received Mrs. Brown's invitation,
and on Friday evening Mrs. Berryman called her into her bedroom, and,
pointing to a brown-paper parcel on a chair, told her to open it and
see what was inside. Melina did so, and then uttered a little cry of
mingled astonishment and pleasure.
"Oh, Gran!" she exclaimed, "a new frock!—for me?"
"Yes," nodded Mrs. Berryman; "I bought it ready-made, but it's quite
new."
"I see it is." The frock in question was of cheap, coarse blue serge,
and could not have cost more than a few shillings, but Melina's face
was expressive of the greatest delight as she fingered it. "Thank you,
Gran," she said earnestly; "I may wear it to-morrow, mayn't I?"
Mrs. Berryman assented. "You want it badly enough," she admitted; "I
didn't notice the frock you are wearing was so shabby till I saw you
in the sunshine yesterday. It costs something to clothe a growing girl
like you," she added grudgingly.
Melina flushed, and thought of the money hidden in the chimney. She
proceeded to try on her new frock in silence; it fitted her very
nicely, and a smile lit up her thin little face as she looked down over
herself and noted the fact.
"Agnes will hardly know me to-morrow," she said with a pleased laugh;
"she's never seen me anything but shabby yet. I never had a really
new frock before." Hitherto, poor child, she had always been clad in
second-hand clothes.
"Oh, Gran," she went on, "I wish—oh, I do wish I could have a new hat
too! It wouldn't cost much—just a cheap one, I mean. I saw a sailor
hat, with a dark-blue ribbon, ticketed 'sevenpence three-farthings'
in a shop in the town the other day; it would look so nice with this
frock."
"Sevenpence three-farthings? That means eightpence. Let me see your old
hat."
Melina fetched it, and watched anxiously whilst her grandmother
examined it. Perhaps Mrs. Berryman had not realised that it was so
disgracefully shabby as it was, for she quickly laid it aside and,
taking out her purse, presented Melina with a shilling.
"There, child, you can buy the hat you fancy," she said, "and you can
keep the change."
For a minute Melina almost doubted that she had heard aright; then she
gave a little gasp and cried quite excitedly:
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Gran! Why, I shall have fourpence after
buying the hat! Do you know what I shall do? I shall begin to save
towards buying a Bible."
"Towards buying a Bible?" echoed Mrs. Berryman in great astonishment.
"Yes," assented Melina. "Agnes Brown has one of her own—her mother gave
it to her as soon as she had learnt to read. The Bible is God's word,
you know, and it is full of beautiful stories—true stories; and it
tells all about Jesus, too—"
"Yes, yes," interposed Mrs. Berryman, "everyone knows that."
She took her keys from her pocket as she spoke, and unlocked an
old box, covered with wall-paper, which stood in a niche near the
fireplace. Then she lifted the lid of the box, which, Melina saw, held
a lot of faded old garments and several books. One of the books, a
small, thick, leather-covered volume, Mrs. Berryman selected from the
rest and handed to her granddaughter, remarking as she did so:
"There's no need for you to think of buying a Bible; you can have this
one. It's yours by right, for it belonged to your mother."
"To my mother!" Melina took the sacred volume eagerly, and, opening it,
read on the fly-leaf, in a plain, round handwriting, "Melina Mead, her
book." She glanced at her grandmother inquiringly.
"Mead was your mother's maiden name," Mrs. Berryman explained. "Your
father gave me the Bible to keep for you; I'd nigh forgotten it till
just now. That's your mother's writing on the fly-leaf, I believe.
There's her name, isn't there, and a text?—her favourite text, I mind
your father said it was."
"'Him that cometh to Me I will in nowise cast out,'" Melina read aloud.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "she must have been a Christian, my mother! See
how her Bible has been used! Some of the pages are quite worn! Yes, she
must have been a Christian, I feel sure of it!"
"I don't know about that," Mrs. Berryman said; "I never saw your
mother. Your father married her when he was living in London, and she
died a year later when you were born—you've heard me say so before."
"But didn't father ever tell you what she was like?" Melina questioned
wistfully.
"He told me that she was as good as she was pretty," Mrs. Berryman
answered, rather impatiently; "but there, child, don't bother me with
any more questions. Take your book and go."
The little girl moved obediently towards the door, saying as she went:
"Thank you for the shilling, Gran. Oh, I do hope that sailor hat hasn't
been sold!"
The sailor hat had not been sold, and the following morning Melina
became its purchaser. She felt very happy and light-hearted as she
carried it home in a paper bag. On reaching Jubilee Terrace she found
Mrs. Jones cleaning the doorstep of her cottage, and she stopped to
speak to her, really to allow her a peep at the new hat.
"It's very pretty and neat," Mrs. Jones remarked, after she had looked
into the paper bag; "to my mind it's just what you want."
Melina nodded. "I've a new frock too," she said confidentially, "and
this afternoon I'm going to tea with a friend of mine called Agnes
Brown. If you look out of the window at three o'clock you'll see me
start."
"Poor child," Mrs. Jones muttered to herself, when the little girl had
left her, "it's a novelty for her to have anything new. How bright she
looks! She has certainly improved very much of late!"
Punctually at three o'clock Melina started for Gladstone Street, which
was nearly half an hour's walk from Jubilee Terrace. Mrs. Jones, from
her parlour window, waved her hand and nodded to her; and at the corner
of the terrace she met William Jones in company with a friend. She
noticed that the two boys stared at her very hard, and William was
surprised into remarking on her personal appearance.
"Why, Melina," he cried, "what a swell you look! Where are you off?"
The little girl coloured, but not with displeasure. "I'm going out to
tea," was her response.
Her way took her past South View. The garden in front of the house was
gay with spring flowers, and she lingered to admire a clump of golden
daffodils which grew near the gate. She was moving on when she heard
her name called behind her, and, looking back, saw the slim, upright
figure of the little gentleman.
"Good afternoon, Melina," he said; "were you admiring my flowers?"
"Yes," she assented, adding half apologetically, fearful that she had
been guilty of a breach of good manners, "just for a minute."
"Wait, and I will give you a nosegay."
"Oh, sir, how kind of you!"
She stood at the gate and watched whilst he gathered some blooms of
narcissi and daffodils, and thanked him gratefully when he returned to
her and put the flowers into her hands.
"May I do what I like with them?" she asked, her face aglow with
pleasure.
"Certainly; they are your own," he replied, smiling. "Perhaps you would
like to give some to your friends, the Browns, as you are going to tea
with them?"
"Oh yes! That was just what I was thinking! But how did you know that—"
She broke off, looking at him in a puzzled fashion.
"How did I know where you are going? Because I met Mrs. Brown this
morning, and she told me she expected you to tea this afternoon. I hope
you will have a pleasant time. I am so glad you are making friends,
Melina. Now, run along or you'll be late. Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," Melina returned, "and thank you very, very much."
She walked on quickly now, and did not stop again until she reached the
Browns' house in Gladstone Street. There she found Agnes and Mrs. Brown
on the look out for her, and was welcomed most cordially by them both.
She retained a few of the flowers Mr. Blackmore had given her, for
herself; but the rest she gave to her hostess, and subsequently they
graced the centre of the tea-table.
Melina was rather shy at first, but not for long, and she had become
quite at home by the time Mr. Brown and his two little sons appeared
upon the scene, when they all had tea. Melina enjoyed her tea, which
was served in a fashion to which she was wholly unaccustomed, for Mrs.
Berryman never cared whether the cloth was clean or otherwise—indeed,
she often dispensed with it altogether.
Here, however, the cloth was clean and uncrumpled, and the tea things
laid with care; whilst the wooden bread platter was spotless, and the
butter was in a pretty glass dish. Before the meal commenced Melina was
surprised to see her companions bow their heads reverently, whilst Mr.
Brown thanked God for the meal they were about to take: she had never
heard grace said before.
"You must come and see us again, my dear," Mrs. Brown said a while
later, when her little visitor was about to leave; "you would like to,
wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes, please," Melina answered, her dark eyes meeting Mrs. Brown's
with an expression of wondering gratitude in them. "I can't imagine
why you are so kind to me!" she added, thinking that she liked Agnes'
mother very much.
Mrs. Brown did not know what response to make to this. She put an arm
around Melina and gave her a warm, impulsive kiss; but, instead of
returning it, Melina drew back and looked at her in astonishment.
"What is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Brown; "don't you like to be
kissed?"
"Oh yes," the little girl replied quickly, fearful of being
misunderstood, "but I—I am so surprised. You see, I can't remember that
anyone ever kissed me before."
"Oh, poor child!"
"Gran never has—no, never! But I don't want to be kissed by Gran!
You—oh, I do like you! I wish you were my mother, that I do!"
"Your own mother is dead, is she not?"
"Yes. If she had lived she would have loved me, wouldn't she?—just like
you love Agnes?"
"Just like that."
Melina sighed. "I wish she had not died," she said, with trembling lips
and a sudden rush of tears to her eyes.
"You must not wish that, my dear. God took her, and all He does is for
the best; you will, I hope, realise that some day. Now good-bye. Agnes
and the boys will go part way home with you—they will like the walk."
Mrs. Brown kissed her little visitor again, and this time the caress
was returned.
"Good-bye," Melina whispered, in a voice which was tremulous with deep
feeling; "oh, you don't know how much I shall look forward to coming
again!"