IN THE CABINET.
MRS. SWIFT was sitting with Randall one morning while Gertrude went
out for the constitutional which the doctor insisted on, and he had
been chatting to her about all his affairs with great volubility, she
listening, as she said to her husband afterwards, "with one ear," and
meanwhile plying her needle and thinking her own thoughts as well.
"Where's Miss Ashlyn?" he asked at length.
"Out for a walk, or else she's gone in to see my husband."
"Is he better?" asked Randall, with interest.
"Yes!—a deal better. He's better every way since Miss Ashlyn came to
see us."
"Then you are glad I've been ill here?"
"Very glad," answered Mrs. Swift heartily.
"So am I—"
Mrs. Swift looked up at him with surprise.
"Yes, I'm very glad," said Randall. "Do you know, all that time that my
throat was so bad, she used to read to me out of her little Bible, or
say a verse now and then, till it got right into my head. Wasn't that
funny? Now I can't forget it, and I don't want to either."
"That is very nice, I'm sure, dear. What words was it that you can't
forget?"
"I think she said them oftener than any others. Sometimes I'd sort of
wake up, and there she would be feeding me with little bits of ice, and
saying so softly, it didn't disturb me a bit, 'Him that cometh to Me, I
will in no wise cast out.' I've never forgotten it, now I'm better."
"Those are beautiful words—she said them to me. Have you come to Jesus
too, dear, and found He speaks true?"
Randall did not answer. His eyes shone, but the "yes" which he murmured
was hardly audible.
"I made up my mind to tell her something yesterday," he said presently.
"Miss Ashlyn?"
"Yes,—I want to ask her something, and to tell her something too."
"She is coming up-stairs, now," said Mrs. Swift, rising to leave the
room, "so I'll go down to my husband and repeat to him your text, dear!
It's always best to pass on good things!"
Randall smiled, and as Gertrude entered, she caught the look.
"What is it?" she asked brightly.
"I want you to let me do something!"
"To get up to-day? You may if you like; the doctor has permitted it."
He shook his head. "It is not that," he said. "Only—I've got nobody but
you here, and I want you to let me call you—Gertrude!"
She bent and kissed his forehead, answering softly, "If you love me
enough to wish it, I will let you, gladly, Randall."
He put his two arms round her neck. "I do love you—now," he whispered.
She sat down by him, still holding his hand and stroking it softly.
"Do you love me—now?" he questioned with a comical little look which
made her ready to laugh and cry both at once.
"Indeed, I do."
"You did not always? I don't wonder, because I was very nasty. But you
didn't love me till lately, did you, Gertrude?"
How could she answer? How could she acknowledge that there was a time
when this child had seemed almost an enemy? Still he was gazing in her
face expecting a reply.
"I began loving you when I remembered how much Jesus loved you," she
answered at length.
He pressed her hand in both his. "Ah, that was nice!" he murmured.
And Gertrude saw that the love of Jesus can bind together what else
might never be bound, can make the crooked straight, and the rough
places plain; so that each one of His loved ones may boast joyfully, "I
can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
Presently Randall started up with fresh energy.
"Gertrude! Oh, how kind you are to let me call you so! Gertrude, I'm
going to tell you about the Museum that day."
"Are you, dear?"
A week ago the thought would have made her shiver. Now she rejoiced
that she could think of it calmly, almost without pain.
"I didn't get lost—" began Randall.
"I knew that, dear."
"Did you? Why didn't you get me punished then? Well, I didn't get lost,
I lost myself. When Mr. Leigh left me in the doorway to go to you, I
waited till he was behind a big bit of furniture, and I just slipped
into a corner, and when no one was looking, I got into one of the old
cabinets! I could see you through the crack of the door searching about
for me."
"Oh, Randall!"
Still he looked in her face with quiet eyes. "I did it on purpose to
annoy you—I wasn't a bit sorry, I was very glad."
"But you are not now?" she said anxiously.
"Oh, no! Gertrude, you've been so very good to me that I ought to tell
you what made me sorry. Shall I?"
Her eyes were answer enough.
"It was yesterday—at least I think I was rather sorry before—but when
you told me to just say to myself, 'Jesus loves me,' all at once I
thought, how could Jesus love such a naughty, wicked little boy? And
then thought how kind He was not to cast out anybody, but to forgive
them; and then I asked Him to forgive me; and after that I was so
sorry—oh, so sorry for everything I have done wrong."
And as Gertrude kissed him again, she felt more glad than she could
say. Her prayer had indeed been answered abundantly.
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