Glad Tidings.
[Illustration] A LITTLE while after the departure of Mr. Russell,
Peter's first visitor, two more gentlemen came towards his bed. The
younger of the two was the house-surgeon, who had set his leg the night
before, and he heard him call the other gentleman "Dr. Turner."
"Have you any new cases?" asked the latter.
"Two or three. One, a boy of twelve, was knocked down and run over by a
cab last evening."
"Much hurt?"
"Left leg broken, forehead cut, and a few bruises. Quite a poor lad—a
baked-potato seller, I believe."
"Poor fellow! This is the one, I suppose. Well, my boy, how do you feel
yourself this morning? Why, bless me! I declare I must know this lad's
face. Look at me, boy. Did you ever see me before?"
"Yes, sir," replied Peter, feebly; for in Dr. Turner, he instantly
recognised the gentleman for whose visit to his cellar home he had so
long watched and waited in vain.
Yes, there by Peter's bed stood the white-haired ruddy-faced gentleman
who gave him the sixpence, and whose words, though little understood,
were the means of his giving up selling on Sundays.
"I thought so," said Dr. Turner. "You are the boy whose name and
address I wrote down, and I promised that I would call to see you
again. This is a nice new year's start for you."
"But you never came to see me, sir," said Peter, going back to his old
disappointment, and speaking in a reproachful tone.
"I never did, Peter. You see I remember your Christian name. And what
did you think of me for not keeping my promise?"
"I kept looking and looking for you, for I believed you would come. But
Sally told me that gentlefolks often promise to do things, and first
they put off, and then they forget altogether. So at last, I thought
you were just like all the rest."
"Then you really believed I had forgotten all about you, Peter?"
"If I hadn't seen you write down my name, and where we lived, I should
have thought you'd forgot them. And if I hadn't seen you put the paper
in your purse, and the purse into your pocket, I might ha' fancied
you'd lost it. I couldn't think anything but that you didn't care about
coming, after all. And I was so disappointed."
"I don't wonder, Peter; yet I was not to blame, after all. What should
you say if were to tell you my purse was stolen from me, with the paper
in it?"
"Was it really, sir? I'm so glad!"
"Well, Peter, you're a nice fellow to say that—to be glad that I was
robbed, and that some person was a thief—on Sunday night too."
The lad looked distressed, and his pale face became a bright crimson.
"I didn't mean that, sir. I'm sorry you lost your purse; but I'm glad
it wasn't because you forgot all about me that you never came, as you
promised to do."
"I understand you, Peter. I did not miss my purse till Monday morning;
and then, though I tried hard, I could not recollect your name or the
place where you lived."
"You have come to see me, after all," said Peter, with a wan smile at
his little attempt at a joke.
"Yes; and I want to help you to get better, which I shall not do if I
talk. Beside, I have ever so many more patients to see; for doctors
don't get a holiday even on New Year's Day. But, Peter, it is a blessed
thing if, by giving up a little of our own ease, we can give comfort
and rest to the suffering. I shall see you again to-morrow, and never
fear but you'll do finely; only you must keep quiet."
"Sally's to come and see me, sir," put in Peter.
"It would be better not. Well, never mind—don't fret—she shall come, if
it will make you happier."
Dr. Turner took Sally's address again, and put it in his waistcoat
pocket. "Not in the purse this time, Peter; though, if I were to lose
it, I should be able to find 'you' for a few days to come."
"Yes, sir," replied Peter, fully appreciating a bit of fun, though at
his own expense, as he lay there helpless; "I shan't run away yet."
Then he added, "I never sold anything on Sundays after that night you
talked to me."
"That's a step on the right road, my lad. And now, as you lie there,
don't be sad. Listen to those bells that are chiming so sweetly. They
are telling the tale of the new year.
"And the sun is peeping in, and casting a bright streak upon your
quilt, Peter; and I believe—I really do—that you will have a happy new
year, though you have begun it here on your back, and are likely to
stay there for the present."
Away went the doctor, and carried with him kind words as well as skill
to other bedsides, and Peter lay contented, happy, hopeful, in spite
of his hurts. Then the motherly nurse brought his medicine, and told
him he looked so bright that he was like another lad; and the pleasant
chime of bells, wafted on the wind, came with their music to his ears,
and at last lulled him to rest again.
While Peter was sleeping, Mr. Russell paid a second visit, and left
the parcel containing the "comforter," ready for Peter to present. He
also brought nice fresh grapes for the lad, and there they were like a
perfect picture when, hours after, he awoke.
In the meanwhile, too, Sally Graham had spent an unusually long time
in "tidying herself" for the afternoon visit to the hospital, and had
informed the inhabitants of Back Potter Street, and Number Three Court
in particular, of all that had befallen "her lad," as she called Peter.
The neighbourhood was astonished for the second time that day by the
presence of a second gentleman, who came in a real carriage of his
own—not a cab—and called on Sally Graham. This was Dr. Turner, who in
a few words told the old woman about his first meeting with Peter, the
reason he had failed in his promise, and all that has already been
related.
By dint of half soothing, half scolding, he made the old woman dry all
her tears; and then, finding how clean and neat she had made herself,
in spite of poor clothing, the doctor said, "I may as well save your
legs a long walk. You are not quite so young as you once were, any more
than I am, so you shall ride along with me. I have to make another call
at the hospital."
Sally was almost overwhelmed at the thought of going in the doctor's
own carriage.
And after it had disappeared from view, the inhabitants of Back Potter
Street and its courts did little else but talk about what had happened
and what else was likely to follow. Everybody prophesied all sorts of
good luck to Peter and Old Sally, now gentlefolks had begun to take
notice of them. They quite overlooked the fact that Peter was lying
with a broken leg, and would be able to do nothing towards earning
bread, for some time to come. They settled it quite comfortably that
the gentlefolks would make it all right, and that the happiest of new
years had just begun for Sally and Peter.
These neighbours did not know that a message was on its way to Peter—a
sweet message of love and peace and mercy, which he had never heard,
but which has been spoken to you, dear child-readers, many and many a
time.
A message? Yes; one meant for the ears of all mankind, for old and
young, for rich and poor—the message that angels sang in the astonished
ears of the Bethlehem shepherds as they watched their flocks by night,
little dreaming that the Shepherd of Israel was so near at hand, in the
form of a newborn babe. The "glad tidings" have not yet reached Peter;
but they will come, borne on the lips of a little child.
There was a touching meeting between Peter and old Sally, who, however,
behaved very well, considering. Sally was terribly afraid that the
doctor would not let her come again unless she was very quiet. This
made her control her feelings as far as possible, cheering the boy with
hopeful words about himself and Mr. Russell's kind help in the way of
money "to keep things going at home."
As to the "comforter" of bright scarlet wool, her new year's gift,
Sally did not know how to admire it enough. Peter insisted that she
should put it on at once, and his face was almost as bright as Sally's
smart present when she declared it was "a comforter both by name and
natur'."
Then Sally went home again, to shed in secret the tears which she had
so bravely restrained while in Peter's presence, and to realise more
than ever how very dull was the cellar in Number Three Court without
her lad to brighten it.
After two or three days, when Peter's head had somewhat recovered from
the effects of its bumps and bruises, Mr. Russell brought his little
daughter Alice to see the boy. She was a warm-hearted little thing
of nine years old, and thoughtful beyond her age. She had been very
carefully and lovingly taught by a good mother, and her great desire
was to be of some use in the world. Alice was very anxious to see
Peter, of whom her father had told her a great deal, and at last she
had leave to come and sit by him for a while.
"I am very sorry you had so much pain," said the little girl. "Are you
better now, Peter?"
"My leg often hurts me a good deal, but my head does not ache. Still,
you know, it isn't very pleasant to lie here always, when I've been
used to run about the day through."
"No, it isn't; but I hope you will get quite strong before very long.
Papa says you were standing outside that house in Kay Street Where the
party was on New Year's Eve."
"Yes; I stood ever so long. Eh, but you were laughing and making a
noise. I wished I was inside."
"I daresay, for it was so cold and windy outside. I don't know how you
could stand at all. I should have had a cold and cough, and I don't
know what beside, if I had stood there even a little while."
"But then, miss, I'm used to being out in all sorts of weather, and it
does not hurt me."
"Papa says you go out selling things; but he has been talking to Dr.
Turner about you, and he wants you to learn something better. I do hope
you will."
The lad's face brightened, and he said, heartily, "Don't I wish I'd a
chance!"
"You will have one, I know. Papa never forgets anything, and he says
he'll help you. And see, Peter, here is some cake mamma has sent you,
and two oranges. And now shall I read to you?"
"Yes, if you please, miss; and thank your mamma for sending me the
things."
"What shall we read about?"
"Just what you like, miss," said Peter, rather amused at the question.
"Well, I've got something here. It is called 'The Old, Old Story.'
Perhaps you have read it, though?"
Peter shook his head.
"Then I'll read it first. It's all about Jesus; and, as Christmas is
only just over, it will be nice. Had you a merry Christmas, Peter?"
The boy smiled. He could understand how little the child knew of "his"
world, so he just answered, "Middling, miss. But please read to me
about Jesus. I don't know that story at all, I'm sure."
If ever a face expressed astonishment, that face was Alice Russell's.
But, fortunately, she remembered that her papa had told her Peter was
very ignorant, with no parents to teach him. So she thought it best
just to read the "Old, Old Story," and let it speak for itself.
Very slowly and solemnly the child read the wondrous tale—
"Of Jesus and His glory,
Of Jesus and His love."
Peter listened—how he did listen! And, as the child's clear voice
sounded in the long ward, other eyes were turned towards her, sounds
ceased, and pale faces were lighted up as the words of that story which
"always seems so new" reached their ears.
The little girl's thoughts were, however, absorbed in her story and him
for whom specially she was reading. As she finished the tale of man's
fall, of God's love for sinners, which made Him give His own dear Son
to die as "the remedy for sin," she looked at Peter, while her own eyes
were filled with tears.
Her young hearer was as much stirred as herself. As she closed the
leaves of her little book, he said, "Miss, I never heard such a story
as that before. It isn't true, is it?"
"Oh yes, Peter, it is. Why, it's in the Bible, and everything in the
Bible is true. Mamma taught me about it when I was such a little girl;
and I thought everybody knew, except the poor heathen in countries a
long way off, where the missionaries go. But the next time I come, I'll
bring my Bible, and read about it there."
"Will you come again to-morrow, miss? I do so want you to read again,
and bring that story too."
"I'll leave it with you, Peter. It is not like a big book. You can
read, I know, and the print is large, so you will hold it and read it
easily. If papa will let me, and the doctors will not be angry, I will
come again to-morrow. Now, good-bye. Papa is beckoning me away."
The child went to her father, who was in conversation with Dr. Turner.
In reply to their questions, she told them what she had been reading,
and that Peter had not heard of Jesus until she read him "The Old, Old
Story."
"He wants me to come again to-morrow," she said. "Papa, you will bring
me, will you not? And you will allow me to come in, sir, won't you?"
Dr. Turner smiled, and told the little girl she should come every day,
if her papa liked.
"And I am to bring my Bible the next time. Peter has no Bible. Papa, I
thought everybody in this country knew about Jesus."
"I wish it were so, my child," replied Mr. Russell. "But here, in
Christian England, there are thousands of heathens who know nothing of
Christ. Peter Grant has had no loving mother to teach him, and there
are many who grow up just as ignorant. My little Alice will be very
happy, and begin this year with gladness, if she should be permitted
to bring the 'glad tidings of salvation' through Christ to the ears of
this poor boy. And we will pray, little one, that God may bless you,
and bring home the precious truths to this poor lad's heart by the
teaching of His Holy Spirit."
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