THE LOST CHILD.
"Is there in God's world so drear a place
Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain—
Where tears of penance come too late for grace,
As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?"
OCTOBER was drawing to a close. The bright-tinted leaves were falling
with every gust of wind; but the air was pleasant, and Priscilla Warner
had taken her book into the garden to enjoy it in quiet, nominally
taking charge of little Claude, who was amusing himself gathering the
leaves into heaps.
Baby and nurse had come out also; and for a while even her loved book
was put aside whilst Prissy took her little sister in her arms and
carried her up and down. Truly baby Ruth might be called her sister's
guardian angel; for the love which had sprung up in her heart to the
little one, who, like herself, lacked a mother's love and care, was
beautiful to see, and that love was, under God, the means of preventing
the girl's heart from turning cold and hard.
The almost passionate love she gave her father seemed thrown back on
her to smoulder only more deeply within her. But with little Ruth it
was different. The baby returned her affection, and clung lovingly to
her sister, following her with her eyes, and nestling confidingly in
her arms as she would have done in those of her mother. And however
busy Prissy might be, one sight of those baby arms extended to her was
enough to make her stop any occupation in order to take her into her
arms.
And even when her father let this motherless babe get a place on his
knee, and apparently in his heart, which Priscilla had never got, she
stifled her rising feeling of jealousy, and became happy in seeing that
Ruth, though "only a girl," was gaining a warm place in her father's
affection.
Poor Prissy! Once or twice when she saw the babe seated on her father's
knee, where she never remembered to have sat, her eyes would fill with
tears; and one day she amazed the doctor by saying, "Happy Ruth! I
wonder what it feels like to sit on your knee, father."
He pushed the spectacles he wore up on his brow, and looked at her for
a moment, then said, "What do you mean, my daughter? Did you never sit
there? Ah! true. I remember I did not care much for babies when you
were little. But then you had a mother's knee to sit on, and my wee
Ruth has none. Don't grudge her mine, Priscilla."
And she did not. And now on the October day we are writing of, as she
walked up and down she was thanking God for the blessing of possessing
the love of her little sister.
Presently nurse came to take the child; and Prissy resumed her book,
and became so engrossed in it that she forgot everything around her—how
time was passing, where she was, and even the fact of little Claude's
existence. At last a voice roused her:
"Priscilla, are you never coming in to luncheon? And where is Claude?
Nurse is vexed he has remained so long out of doors. He should have
been ready for his dinner now."
The speaker was Miss Vernon, and Prissy sprang to her feet in dismay.
"Oh, I am sorry, Miss Vernon," she said; "but I never thought it was so
late.—Claude! Claude!" she called, running down the garden path. "Where
are you, child?"
But no reply came, and both she and Miss Vernon sought in every corner
of the garden in vain; no Claude was to be found.
Could he have gone into the house? No. Nurse left baby and joined in
the search; but the child was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly Priscilla
observed that a back gate which was seldom used, and which led from
the garden to the common, was open, and she at once suggested that
Claude might have slipped through and got out on the common. True, the
children were forbidden to go there alone; but Claude was young, and
might have forgotten that.
The common was searched in all directions, but with no success; and
with an unspeakable pang of agony, Prissy remembered that not far-off
there was a deep pond. She feared to speak of it. Oh, if only Austin
were home; if only she could keep her father from knowing. Surely in a
little, the child would be found; he could not have wandered far. Poor
little Claude! How could she, oh, how could she have neglected him so?
And why did Harry Lascelles' words about the work which angels might
envy come into her memory now?
Just then, to Miss Vernon's great relief and to Prissy's dismay, Dr.
Warner entered the garden and demanded what was the matter.
"Claude amissing? What do you mean?" he said. "Who had charge of him?"
"Priscilla," was the answer.
"What was she doing to allow a child like that to go off by himself?"
"She was studying," replied Miss Vernon.
"Studying? Nonsense! What could she be studying?—Bring the book to
me, Priscilla," he continued; then lingering a moment to look at the
name, and muttering, "Astronomy? Absurd! What can a girl know or care
about that?" he quickly pocketed the cherished volume, and without
vouchsafing a word to his daughter strode off in search of the child.
But all searching proved useless. And during those long hours of
suspense, the voice of conscience, which Prissy had stifled so long,
made itself be heard, and her eyes were at last opened to see her
error. Oh, how she had been neglecting her God-given work for her own
selfish ends and ambitious purposes!
At four o'clock, Lewis and Austin returned from school, and were
startled by the troubled faces that met them. Dr. Warner was like a man
possessed, walking up and down unable to decide what measures to take
next. It was Austin who suggested, though in a low tone in case the
words should reach his sister's ears, to drag the pond.
"God help us!" said the father. "Are you afraid of that? Is it
possible? Shameful neglect! It is unpardonable in Priscilla."
"Stop, father," said Austin; "don't speak hastily to poor Prissy. Look
at her; she is heart-broken."
At that moment, the gate which led into the common was opened wider,
and André M'Ivor entered, bearing in his arms the motionless figure of
little Claude.
With a cry, half of despair, half of thankfulness, Prissy darted to him
and took the child in her arms.
"O Claude, darling Claude, speak! Just one word!—He is not dead! Oh,
say he is not dead!"
"No, Miss Warner," said the lad in a calm, firm voice, "he is not
dead, only faint from the effects of a bad fall; and I think he has
dislocated his ankle. See, he is looking up. Let me carry him into the
house."
But Dr. Warner strode up, his face white and stern.
"Thank God, and you also, M'Ivor," he said.
Then putting Priscilla determinedly aside, he carried the child home
himself.
"Get Dr. la Rue instantly."
And allowing no one into the room save nurse and Miss Vernon, he sat
down to watch till the doctor arrived.
In vain Priscilla sought admittance. As yet her father's wrath against
her was too great to permit him even to look at her.
But when the doctor arrived, the girl forced her way into the room and
heard his opinion.
Yes; Claude would live, he believed. He had sustained no serious
injury; but a bone in the ankle was broken, and it would probably be
weeks ere he would be able to walk. He must have perfect quiet now, and
get the person he liked best to be with him.
"I suppose that will be his sister," said the doctor, turning kindly to
Priscilla.
But the child, who was conscious now, shook his head and said—
"No, not Prissy. Prissy always say, 'Go 'way, I'se busy.'"
Poor Priscilla! For one moment she caught her father's eye fixed on
her, now not so much in anger as in disappointment and grief. And
without saying a word, she went to her own room and threw herself on
her bed in an agony of tears. But they were more tears of shame than of
anything else; and her cry was:
"Mother! mother! I've gone all wrong since you left me, and poor
Claude's accident is my fault—mine only."
I think when the angels heard that cry they were glad. The first step
to betterness is, they know, when a soul acknowledges it has sinned.
And ere Prissy went to bed that night, after kissing Claude, she sat a
while and thought about the kingdom of God and the work she had to do.
Then the conviction flashed on her mind that she herself had never yet
taken the first step into that kingdom of which it is written:
"Unless ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall in
no wise enter therein."