Benny prays.
Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of the eye
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.
--Montgomery.
The long summer days passed all too quickly, and autumn came again.
The days began to shorten, and the evenings to be cold. Nelly felt the
change in an unmistakable manner, for her cough returned worse than
ever, and her appetite and strength began to fail rapidly. But the
hopeful little child battled bravely with her growing weakness, and
each morning went forth to earn her daily bread.
One afternoon in October Benny was down on the pier, when he saw Perks
coming towards him, and not wishing to have anything to say to him, he
was about to turn away, when Perks called out,
"Does yer want to hear a bit o' news?"
"No!" said Benny.
"Yer wants to 'ear what I knows, I'm sartin."
"Well! what is it?" said Benny, carelessly.
"Your Nelly's killed!"
"It's a lie!" said Benny, paling to the lips.
"'Taint a lie, neither; she's been run over with a 'bus, an' 'ad her yed
cut off."
"You lying thief!" said Benny. "If yer not out o' my sight in a minit
I'll pound yer to a jelly."
And Benny made a rush towards him. But Perks was not to be caught, and
was soon out of sight.
Benny did not believe a word Perks had said; and yet, somehow, his words
troubled him, and very long seemed the time till four o'clock, when he
would meet her in the shadow of St. George's Church.
If Perks' only object was to plague and annoy Benny, he could not have
been more successful, for try as he would, he could not get Perks'
words out of his head. Punctually at four o'clock he was standing
by the church, but Nelly was not there, and a dull pain crept into
his heart, such as he had never felt before. Five minutes pass--ten
minutes--fifteen minutes pass, and still Nelly had not come, and Benny
began to fear that something had really happened to her.
Just then he saw Bill Tucker--a boy of his acquaintance--coming towards
him.
"Have yer seen Nelly, Bill?" he shouted, when the lad got within hearing
distance.
"Ay; ain't yer heerd?"
"Heerd what?" said Benny, growing paler than ever.
"Why, she's got hurt," said the other.
"Are 'e sure, now?" said Benny, great tears starting in his eyes.
"Ay, quite sure. I seed the perlice myself takin' her to the 'firmary."
"Oh, no! 't aint true, are it, Bill? Say yer a-foolin' me," said Benny,
trembling from head to foot.
"I wish it weren't true," said, the lad, "but I seed 'em pick her up
mysel', an' I's 'feared she's dead; she looked like it."
"Did a 'bus run over her?"
"No. A big dog runned agin her, an' she fell with her yed on a sharp
stone."
"Yer quite sure, Bill?"
"Ay, quite," said the lad; "but go to the 'firmary an' see for yoursel'."
"Which way?" said Benny.
"Haaf-way up Brownlow Hill, an' roun' to the left; a mighty big 'ouse."
And off Benny started, like the wind. By dint of many inquiries he found
himself in the right street, but looking in vain for the Infirmary.
Just then a policeman came up.
"Could yer tell me where the 'firmary are, please?" said Benny, doffing
his cap.
"Why, there, right afore your eyes."
"What, that?" said Benny, pointing to the huge building.
"Ay, to be sure," said the policeman.
"Oh, lor'!" was the reply, "I thought that wur the 'ouse the Queen lived
in."
The policeman was about to laugh, but noticing Benny's troubled face, he
said,
"Do you want to get in?"
"Ay," said Benny, "that I do."
"Then go up this street. There's the lodge door on your left; you can't
miss it."
"Thanks, sir," and off Benny started. In response to his timid knock the
door was opened by a kind-looking man.
"This are the 'firmary, ain't it?" said Benny.
"Yes, my little man," was the answer. "What do you want?"
"I wants to know if Nelly are in 'ere?"
"I don't know. Who is she?"
"My sister," said Benny, the tears starting in his eyes.
"When was she brought here?"
"To-day. Bill Tucker said as 'ow she was hurt in the street an' brought
here."
"Yes, a little girl was brought in two or three hours ago."
"Wur she very white, an' had long hair?"
"Yes, my little man."
"Oh, that wur Nelly. Let me see her, please."
"You cannot to-day, it's against rules; you can see her to-morrow
morning, after ten o'clock."
"Oh, do let me jist peep at her."
"I cannot, my little fellow; and besides, it would do her no good."
"But it ud do me good," said Benny, gulping down a great lump in his
throat. "She is all I has in the world."
"I'm very sorry, my boy, but you can't see her to-night."
"Not for jist a minit?"
"No, not to-night."
"She ain't dead, then?"
"No, but she is unconscious."
"Will she get better?"
"I hope so. Now run away and come again to-morrow, and rest satisfied
that your little sister will be well taken care of."
"Oh, please," said Benny, making a last appeal, the great tears running
down his cheeks the while.
"I cannot let you see her, however willing I might be," said the man.
"Now run away, there's a good lad."
"Oh, dear," groaned Benny, as he stepped out into the darkening street.
"What shall I do? what shall I do?"
He had tasted no food since noon, but he never thought of hunger. He had
been on the tramp all the day, but he felt no weariness. There was one
great pain in his heart, and that banished every other feeling. Nelly
was in that great house suffering, perhaps dying; and he could not speak
to her--not even look at her. What right had these people to keep his
Nelly from him? Was not she his own little Nell, all that he had in the
wide, wide world? How dared they, then, to turn him away?
Hour after hour he wandered up and down in front of the huge building,
watching the twinkling lights in its many windows. How could he go away
while Nelly was suffering there? Could he sleep in his snug corner while
his own little Nell was suffering amongst strangers? It could not be.
So when the great town grew silent around him, he sat down on a doorstep
nearly opposite the entrance, and waited for the morning.
The night was chilly, but he felt not the cold; his heart felt as if it
would burn through his body. How long the night seemed, and he almost
wondered if morning would ever come.
Suddenly a thought struck him. Had he not better pray? He remembered
how Nelly prayed every night ere she lay down to sleep, and once he had
prayed and felt all the better for it. He would pray again.
So he got up and knelt on the cold flags, and looking up into the silent
heavens, where the pale stars kept watch over the sleeping earth,
he said, "Oh, Mr. God, I's in great trouble, for Nelly's got hurt,
and they's took her into the 'firmary, an' won't let me see her till
to-morrer, but You knows all about it, I specks, for Joe says as how You
knows everything. But I dunna want her to die, for Joe says You takes
people who dies that is good to a mighty nice place; nicer'n Eastham by
a long chalk, an' how You has lots an' lots o' childer; an' if that be
the case, I's sure You needn't take little Nell; for oh, Sir, she's all
I's got in the world. Please let her stay an' get better. Oh, do now!
for I'll break my heart if she dies. An' 'member, I's only a little
chap, an' I's no one but Nelly; an' 'tis so lonesome out here, an' she
in there. Please make her better. If I was in Your place, an' You was a
little chap like me, I'd let Your Nelly stay. I would for sure. An' oh,
if You'll let my Nelly stay an' get better, I'll be awful good. Amen."
Benny waited for a few moments longer in silence, then got up and crept
to the doorstep, and in five minutes after he was fast asleep.
He was aroused in the morning about nine o'clock by the door being
opened suddenly, against which he was leaning, and he fell into the
passage. He got up as quickly as possible, but not in time to escape a
fierce kick dealt him by a hard-featured woman.
Poor child! it was a painful awaking for him. But he was thankful it was
broad day. He was cold, and almost faint for want of food, yet he was
not conscious of hunger.
When at length he was admitted into the Infirmary he walked as one in a
dream. At any other time he would have noticed the long corridors and
broad flights of stairs. But he saw nothing of this to-day. He kept his
eyes fixed on the nurse who walked before him, and who was leading him
to his little Nell.
He was told that he must be very quiet, and on no account excite her, or
it might prove fatal to her, as she was in a very critical state. She
had recovered consciousness on the previous night, but she was so weak,
and her nervous system had received such a shock, that she could not
bear any excitement.
Benny only partly understood what it all meant, but he had determined
that he would be very quiet, and make no more noise than he could
possibly help. So he followed the pleasant-faced nurse as silently as
possible into the Children's Ward. He noticed the two long rows of beds
between which they were passing, but he had no eyes for the occupants.
At length the nurse stopped by the side of a little cot, and with a
sudden bound he stood by her side. He could hardly repress a cry that
rose to his lips, and a great lump rose in his throat that almost choked
him; but with a tremendous effort he gulped it down, and brushed away
the tears that almost blinded him.
There in the cot was his little Nell, pale as the pillow on which she
lay, yet with a look of deep content upon her face, and just the shadow
of a smile lingering round the corners of her mouth.
Benny was about to throw his arms around her, but the nurse held up her
finger. Nelly's eyes were closed, so that she did not know of their
presence, and Benny was made to understand that he must wait until she
should open her eyes of her own accord.
So he stood as motionless as the little figure on the bed, gazing with
hungry eyes at his little sister, who was silently slipping away from
his grasp. He had not to wait long. Slowly the great round eyes opened,
the vanishing smile came back and brightened all her face, the lips
parted sufficiently for her to whisper "My Benny." And with a low cry
Benny bent down his head, and the little wasted arms were twined about
his neck, and then the round eyes closed again, and the nurse saw two
tears steal out underneath the long lashes, and roll silently down her
cheek.
For a few moments they remained thus in silence, then Benny, unable
longer to restrain his feelings, sobbed out--
"Oh, Nelly! I can't bear it; my heart's breaking."
"Don't give way so," she said softly. "It's so comfortable here, an' the
good Lord'll take care o' you, Benny."
"But you will soon be better, Nelly, won't you?"
"Yes, Benny, I'll soon be better, but not as you mean it. I's going to
Jesus, and shall never have no more cough, nor feel no more pain."
"Oh, no! you's going to get better. I axed the Lord last night to make
you better an' let you stay."
"No, Benny, I shan't stay long. I's known it for months, an' I's willin'
to go, 'cause I know as how the Lord will take care of you."
"But I canna let you go," said Benny, sobbing louder than ever.
Then the nurse came forward, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. "You
must not excite your sister," she said kindly, "for that is not the way
to make her better."
"Oh, but she's all I has," he sobbed.
"Yes, poor boy, I know," she replied. "But if your sister leaves you
she'll be better off, and will not have to tramp the streets in the cold
and wet; so you must think that what is your loss will be her gain."
Nelly raised her eyes to the nurse with a grateful look for talking to
Benny in that way. And before he left he had grown calm, and seemingly
resigned. It was a painful parting; but Nelly did her best to cheer him
up, reminding him that in two days he would be able to come and see her
again.
Granny was in great trouble at the absence of the children, and it was
no small relief to her when, about noon, Benny put in an appearance
at Tempest Court. One look at his face, however, was sufficient to
convince her that something had happened, and when Benny told her what
had befallen his little Nell, the old woman sat down and cried; for she
knew very well that never more would the little face brighten the dingy
court. And granny had got to love the sweet, patient little child as her
own; and though for months she had been convinced that the little flower
was marked to fall, yet it had come in a way she had not expected, and,
like Benny, she felt it very hard to give her up.
After dinner Benny went out again to face the world. It was with a very
sad heart that he did it; for he felt that from henceforth he would have
to fight the battle of life alone.