need it."
"I'll take it fer you, Rosa, if you say so, but I don't think we'll need
it. 'Pears like the man said somethin' about their not gittin' hungry no
more, nor thirsty."
"But then mebbe we'll want it on the way."
"All right, all right, Rosa, but are you 'most ready? Seems like I can't
wait."
"Yes, I'm ready now, but I'm so 'fraid you'll be cold, grandpa, dear."
"No, no, child, we'll soon git there."
The two children trudged down the three long flights of steps, the
younger leading the older lest he should trip and fall.
The morning was dreary, with a cold wind blowing and with snow flakes
scurrying through the air. Both being insufficiently clad, they were
shivering before having gone a block.
"'Tis mighty cold, ain't it, dearie? I had no idee about it; but then we
won't mind, jest so we git there."
"Yes, grandpa, but I hope it won't take us long, for the wind blows so
awful hard. It used to make mother cough to be out in a wind like this.
"The big black carriage that came after her, went 'round this corner, so
we'll go this way too. I'm sure nobody on Burton street knows the way
anyhow. I'd think they would, though, when the fare's all paid; but
p'rhaps they've never been told about it.
"When we see a pretty lady dressed fine, we'll ask her, for I guess
she'd know; but then it's for poor folks, too.
"I wonder why nobody ever told me about Jesus before? I'll be so glad
when I see Him."
Tenderly clasping each other by the hand, they walked for blocks,
meeting hundreds of people, though none of them appealed to Rosa's
fancy. She was looking for a beautiful girl with blue eyes and a blue
suit, who would look down upon her with a smile. A feeling of
uncertainty was beginning to depress her, but to grandpa she continued
to talk hopefully.
At last realizing that he was becoming very tired, she determined to
wait no longer before inquiring the way. Singling out of the jostling
crowd a well-dressed woman with a fur cloak, which Rosa thought looked
so warm, she stepped up to her, and said:
"Please, ma'am, grandpa and me want to go to the beautiful land where
folks don't cough no more. Mother's gone, and Jesus paid all the fare,
and it don't cost nothing to live there, neither. Won't you please tell
us the way?"
"What a very singular question!" was the unfeeling reply, the haughty
face relaxing not at all as the woman passed on.
"I think she didn't understand, grandpa," said the disappointed child,
"but I'll try again. There's a lady dressed in blue. I'm pretty sure
she'll know."
In a tremulous voice the question was repeated.
"Why, you queer little girl! Are you talking about heaven?"
"I don't know, ma'am, only it's where Jesus has paid the fare, and where
there ain't no rent days to come 'round."
"Really, I scarcely know what to say, only you and this poor old man
ought not to be out on this cold day."
"We thought we'd soon be there, ma'am, but 'tis dreadful cold," she
replied, her slight frame shivering violently from head to foot.
"Can't you tell us? We want to go so awful bad. I should think you
could, since it's for everybody."
"It is too cold and crowded to stand here and talk, child. Do you go to
Sunday school?"
"No, ma'am; what is Sunday school?"
"You poor little heathen! Don't you know what Sunday schools are? They
have them in all the churches. Find one and go tomorrow. They will tell
you what you want better than I can.
"Take this quarter and get something to eat, then go back home. You will
meet no one on the street to help you."
Having thus somewhat eased her conscience, this church-member of many
years went on to complete her shopping. However, things did not go well
the rest of the day. The wan face, the sad brown eyes and the pathetic
earnestness of the little questioner were constantly before her.
Stopping to see the church treasurer on her way home, she left a check
for fifty dollars to be used in city mission work, feeling confident
that at last her responsibility in the case was at an end.
It was nearing the noon hour, and Rosa was hungry.
"I think instead of eating that dry bread in your pocket, grandpa, that
we'll get some warm sandwiches. You wait: I can get them in here, 'cause
I was in one time before with mother."
Very soon she returned, bringing with her their feast.
"Let's go down this alley and sit on that box. I guess the p'licemen
won't care."
"All right, dearie, but it's a mighty long ways to the beautiful land,
ain't it? I thought we'd surely be there by now, and I'm gittin' so
tired and cold. I think if Tom knew we'd started, he'd come and meet
us."
While they were eating, Rosa was frightened to hear suddenly the abrupt
question in a gruff voice, "What are you doing here?" and before her
terrified eyes loomed a great policeman.
She, like most children of her class, feared instinctively these city
protectors, and would have run, had it have not been for grandpa.
"Oh," she replied, with as much dignity and composure as possible, "we
are going to the beautiful land, and are just eating our sandwiches. It
don't cost nothing to go, 'cause God so loved the world and Jesus paid
all the fare. Mother's gone, and folks don't cough no more there. You
don't have to pay rent, and can have everything you want, too."
So astonished was the policeman at this unexpected reply that he forgot
to order them away.
"Well, I never!" at last he ejaculated, being unable to think of
anything more appropriate for the occasion. "But let me tell you, little
girl, you and that old man want to turn in wherever you came from before
dark, or you'll be more likely to go to the police station than to this
beautiful land you're talking about."
So saying, he started off upon his beat.
The mere thought of spending the night at the police station so
thoroughly terrorized Rosa that her heart for the instant almost stood
still.
Billy Bruce, the boy who lived next door to Mrs. Gray, had told her
blood-curdling tales concerning his oft-repeated experiences in being
locked up for the night, and, moreover, according to his criterion, he
was always innocent of any misdemeanor.
"But the worst part of all," he had confided, "is a goin' before the
judge. You know the judge is the man what's made to git folks into
trouble."
What should she do? Her childish eyes could see that grandpa was about
given out, but the mere thought of returning to Burton street filled her
with a feeling akin to terror.
"But," she argued, "Mis' Gray won't be home till Monday, and mebbe it's
too far to the beautiful land that we can't get there today, anyhow. And
I know mother'd feel awful if we'd get put in the p'lice station.
"Say, grandpa," she suddenly inquired, "why didn't we ask that p'liceman
the way? They're on purpose to tell folks how to go. I wish we had, but
then I'm afraid to speak to another."
"I don't know, child, but I wish we wuz there. I'm so cold and tired,
and I want Tom."
"I'll tell you, grandpa, let's go back and get warm and rested. You know
there is some of that bushel of coal left Mis' Gray got the other day.
Then tomorrow we can try once more. The lady said something about church
and Sunday school, but I don't know what she meant. Mebbe we can find
some yet to tell us, when it's for everybody. I'd think we could."
"Jest as you say, dearie, jest as you say, but it 'pears like we must
find it, 'cause I'm so homesick."
Slowly they began retracing their steps, the old man leaning heavily
with one hand upon the stick which served as a cane, and with the other
clasping Rosa's.
Turning a corner, they suddenly came face to face with a well-dressed
gentleman who, Rosa thought, could certainly tell them.
"Oh, say, mister," she said running up to his side, "won't you please--"
"No, I won't, you little beggar, I have nothing for you."
For the instant she was so surprised and indignant, that she could not
answer, but, collecting herself, shouted after him:
"We ain't either beggars, and I don't want no money. I just want to know
the way to the beautiful land."
But the man was lost in the crowd, and the weary, disappointed pilgrims
started on.
So frequently did they have to turn aside into some alley or secluded
spot for grandpa to rest that Rosa became alarmed. What if night should
overtake them, bringing to pass the policeman's direful prediction?
She was so tired and cold, and her heart so heavy from repeated
disappointments, that the tears began rolling down her pale cheeks.
"What is it, my little girl?" unexpectedly some one gently asked.
In unutterable surprise, she looked up into the face of another
policeman who was smiling kindly upon her.
Many a warm heart beats beneath the policeman's star, and Rosa's evident
sorrow had aroused the sincere sympathy of this one.
"You and the old man step up here out of the wind by this building, and
tell me your trouble. Are you lost?"
"No, sir, we ain't lost, but just can't find the way."
"Not lost, but can't find the way? How is it? I don't understand. Maybe
I can help you, if you will explain."
At this Rosa broke into uncontrollable sobs, and for several minutes
could not answer.
At last, with many a pause, the whole story was told.
"And oh," she added, with all the earnestness of which her intense
nature was capable, "can you really tell us? Please, oh, please do, for
I can't stand it any longer without mother, and she's looking for me,
'cause Jesus paid the fare. I just must go!"
[Illustration: Rosa broke into uncontrollable sobs. [Page 60.)]
"Ah, sweet baby," he faltered, his massive frame shaking with emotion,
"I've a mother in the beautiful land looking for me, too!
"Long years ago I promised to meet her there, but, no, I've never found
the way. I cannot tell you."
"If the way's so hard to find, how do folks get there? And lots of them
are going, for the lady said so. I do wish mother'd come back for
grandpa and me"; and again the child broke into sobs.
"Don't cry any more, little one. They say the way is easy to find. Let
me think a minute; maybe I can help you after all. There's a big church
on the corner there, and I know the pastor loves poor people. If you
should go there tomorrow, he would tell you the way, I know.
"Now cheer up, and get back to your home as soon as possible. It will be
getting dark presently, and you will half freeze. I will walk down to
the corner with you, and point out the church."
Rosa's hopes were beginning to rise once more, but upon beholding the
massive stone structure indicated by the policeman, she felt less
sanguine.
"Are you real sure, mister, we could find the way if we'd go in there?"
at length she said.
"Yes, I know it, for the pastor has wanted many times to teach me the
way, and I wouldn't let him."
Rosa had no idea who or what the pastor might be, and forgot to
inquire, because of her unutterable surprise.
It was simply unthinkable that any one could deliberately refuse the
information which she and grandpa so earnestly coveted.
"Mister p'liceman, why didn't you want to know the way?" she gasped,
impulsively grasping his big, brawny hand. "Wouldn't you like to know
now?"
"Yes, little one, I would, and by God's help I will. But come, you must
be gone! It is almost dark. I'll watch for you in the morning, and take
you to the door. Be sure not to disappoint me. Goodbye!"
That evening in the quiet of his room a wonderful thing happened.
Tucked away in the bottom of his trunk was a Bible, given to him years
before by his mother, when he was but a mere lad. This he brought forth,
and till a late hour poured over its precious contents. Then falling
upon his knees, this prodigal of many years found in Jesus the true way
to the beautiful land. He Himself said that no man cometh unto the
Father but by Him. And an unspeakable peace filled his soul.
The last half mile of their walk seemed almost interminable both to Rosa
and grandpa.
As the darkness began to gather, every shadow to her excited
imagination was transformed into a policeman coming to lock them up.
After the trying experiences of the day, it was a relief to be back once
more in the dingy rooms which they had expected never to see again.
Rosa soon had a fire feebly burning in the little stove, then prepared a
scanty supper, offset by another cup of tea for grandpa.
The shabby couch she pulled up by the stove for him, and did all within
her power to make him warm and comfortable.
Sitting by his side and watching him solicitously, she was beginning to
fear that he might not be able for the journey tomorrow, for without a
doubt he was much exhausted. At last the tears began rolling down his
face and fell upon her hand.
"Oh, grandpa, what is it?" she asked, the tears coming to her own eyes.
"You ain't sick, are you?"
"No, no, dearie, but mighty dis'p'inted. I thought we'd be there tonight
sure, and I'm so homesick! Too bad, too bad, ain't it, when the fare's
all paid, and they're a-looking fer us? We wouldn't git hungry nor cold
there, neither, nor tired."
"Yes, but, grandpa dear, the p'liceman said we could find the way
tomorrow in that great big building. Of course he must know, don't you
think so?"
"Say, Rosa," he asked excitedly, not noticing her question, and rising
partly up, while his eyes sparkled with new hope, "I can't remember, but
did it have a steeple a-p'intin' straight up?"
"Yes, such a big one, grandpa. It must go pretty nearly to the sky."
"Then it'll be all right, I'm mighty sure of that, but it 'pears like
it'd ought to have green vines a-runnin' all over it, and with roses
a-growin' 'round. Wuz there any?"
"No, grandpa, for this is winter, you know. The roses won't be blooming
outdoors now, but sometimes I see them in the stores."
"And so we'll git there tomorrow, Rosa," he added dreamily, "and not be
dis'p'inted no more! I'm so mighty glad, so mighty glad."
Grandpa was asleep, but becoming more and more restless. His hands no
longer were cold, but felt hot to Rosa, as she vainly endeavored to keep
them covered. The flushed cheeks and rapid breathing convinced his
faithful and experienced young nurse that it would be wise for her to
sit by his side till morning. The hours were long and dreary, and at
every sound her overtaxed nerves would cause her to start. Sometimes she
was sure that a policeman was coming after them; and again Mrs. Gray was
about to enter the room with a cruel whip in her hand. So certain was
she once of hearing her mother call that she jumped to her feet to obey
the summons. Then before her vision would stand a lovely girl dressed in
blue, smiling down upon her and saying:
"Jesus paid all the fare long ago."
Toward morning grandpa grew more quiet. The little watcher dropped her
head upon his pillow and fell asleep, dreaming that mother was holding
her in her arms, softly singing as of yore.
[Illustration]
VI.
THE WAY FOUND
It was late before they awakened the next morning. Rosa, though not much
rested herself, was delighted to see grandpa apparently so well. She
could not remember ever before having seen him step so lightly around
the room. His eyes were shining, and every few minutes he would sing
snatches of his one song, while assisting her in the preparation of
their light breakfast.
"We're a-goin' to find it today, Rosa, I'm mighty sure, yes, mighty sure
of that; and I'm so glad."
"I hope so, grandpa dear."
"Yes, we are, fer he said so."
"Who said so?"
"Why, Tom. Don't you remember? We seen him last night, Rosa. Surely you
ain't fergot.
"We wuz a-crossin' the pretty brook on the bridge under the willers,
when all to once Tom come a-runnin' up, and wuz so glad to see us. Jest
then the bell on the little white meetin' house with the steeple
a-p'intin' straight up begun a-ringin', and it sounded better'n music.
Oh, it wuz so mighty sweet, Rosa! I can 'most hear it now. And when we
got there, the people was a-singin' about the beautiful land. Everybody
wuz so happy, 'cause the fare wuz paid and they all know'd the way. Tom
he says, 'Don't be dis'p'inted no more, father, 'cause you're a goin' to
git there, and no mistake!'
"Now, Rosa dear," he continued, while walking rapidly back and forth
across the room, "let's git ready and start right off, and not lose no
more time.
"We're goin' to the big meetin' house today, didn't you say?"
"Yes, grandpa, the one the p'liceman showed us, you know."
"'Pears like we'd ought to fix up a little bit then. My shoes look most
mighty bad, don't they? It might worry Tom some. I don't like to have
him find out how poor I've been, but then it won't make no difference
after we git there.
"Say, do you think Sary would miss it, if I'd take some of her stove
polish and black 'em up a little?"
"Oh, I don't believe she would."
"Then I'll take jest a tiny bit, not that she'd care, fer Sary's a good
woman, yes, a very good woman, but mighty partic'lar about her
blackin'."
Rosa patiently assisted in the process, but it would have been difficult
for the aesthetic eye to have discovered the improvement. Grandpa was
satisfied, and that was enough.
"I don't want you to get cold like you did yesterday, grandpa. The
wind's blowing hard. Wish you had more to put 'round you."
"Well, I ain't got it, dearie, but I don't mind, fer we're a-goin' to
git there today. Tom'll look after me then."
"Here, you take this: it'll help a little," and she slipped from her own
neck a well-worn muffler formerly belonging to her mother. She carefully
pinned together his thin shabby coat, for the buttons long since were
gone, and wrapped the muffler about his neck and face.
Her own clothing, since mother moved, had grown threadbare and ragged,
forming but little protection against the cold, cutting winds.
Their hearts, notwithstanding all outward difficulties and the
disappointments of the preceding day, were buoyant with hope as they
started out once more upon their pilgrimage.
Their one friend, the policeman, saw them coming and met them a short
distance from their destination.
"Good morning, grandpa and my little lady," he cheerily called, "I have
been expecting you for some time. I had almost begun to fear that
something had prevented your coming. Follow me, and I shall see that the
usher gives you a seat up in front. I know you will find the way in
here, and I have at last, thank God, found it myself!"
Rosa wondered at this, but could ask no questions. They were entering
the imposing building now, while throngs of well-dressed people, eyeing
her curiously, were surging by. She was disappointed, for her past
experience had convinced her that no well-dressed person but her one
girl in blue, knew the way to the beautiful land.
While she was considering the advisability of an immediate retreat, the
policeman called to an usher:
"Here, Dawson, are some friends of mine whom I want Dr. Fairfax to meet
personally. Send a messenger for him at once. I know he will be willing
to come; then give them good seats where they can both hear and see. Do
just as I say, for these are my very special friends," he added, as the
usher looked at him both quizzically and uncertainly.
"And, Dawson, tell him, too, that I have found the way, praise the Lord!
"I must go now, and God take care of you, Rosa. You have taught me what
you so want to know yourself. The old Book says that a little child
shall lead them, and it is true."
The usher hesitated somewhat to break the pastor's quiet half-hour which
he had always spent with a few faithful workers before going into the
pulpit, but seeing the tears beginning to roll down the sweet, sad face
of the child, he sent the messenger post-haste.
Very soon a tall, handsome man appeared.
"Good morning, Mr. Dawson, and what may I do for you?" he pleasantly
inquired.
Something about his voice and kindly manner attracted Rosa immediately,
and, characteristically impulsive, not waiting for Mr. Dawson's reply
she ran up to the stranger's side and said:
"Oh, please, mister, won't you tell me how to go? The policeman said you
could. Grandpa and me want to go to the beautiful land, and mother's
gone. Folks don't cough no more there, and Jesus paid all the fare,
'cause the pretty lady said so, and it don't cost nothing after you get
there. Can you tell me the way?"
The pastor in his surprise stood motionless for a moment, then
astonished Mr. Dawson by lifting the little girl up in his arms and
kissing her fondly.
"Rosa," he said, "you are the straying lamb for whom Esther and I have
been praying for weeks, and now God has sent you. By His help I shall
teach you the way this very morning.
"This is grandpa, is it not?" he added, grasping the old man cordially
by the hand. "I am indeed very glad to see you.
"Mr. Dawson, you are needed to seat the people. I shall escort these to
a pew myself."
The trio a few minutes later slowly passing down the aisle was certainly
unusually striking. The pastor, with head erect and thoroughly conscious
that many were displeased, was half supporting upon his strong right arm
the shabbily-dressed and feeble man, while the child in ragged apparel
he tenderly led by the hand.
An observant eye might have noted various expressions upon the faces in
the audience. Some evidently were disgusted that their popular pastor
would so demean himself. Others were interested because of the oddity of
the scene, still others amused, while here and there was one conversant
with the language of the Master and who prayed God's blessing to abide
upon all three.
Belonging to the first-named class was Dr. Dale, wealthy, cautiously
conservative always, aristocratic, exclusive in his circle of friends,
and who wished also to be exclusive in his church relationship. The
knowledge of his power over the majority of his acquaintances was a
source of constant gratification to the proud man, but the fact that his
pastor would not bow the knee to his wealth and position chafed him
sorely. The events of this particular Sunday morning he took as only
another personal insult.
"Umph!" he grunted in deep displeasure, and reached over to pick up his
hat preparatory to leaving. He could not countenance anything so
ridiculously absurd. If the pastor's eccentricities continued to develop
as they had in the last year, he would be compelled to seek another and
more congenial church home, where form was more in evidence.
Prim little Mrs. Dale, the one person in the world who could influence
her austere husband, gently tapped him upon the arm and whispered:
"Stay, my dear, and see what comes of it all. It is really quite
unusual."
"Well," he thought, "I'll stay to please her, and in the meantime take a
nap."
More to his discomfiture than ever, Dr. Fairfax had seated the strange
pair directly across the aisle from him in the pew with Esther.
Glancing over to note the effect upon her, Mr. Dale saw that she took
the little girl up into her lap, bestowing upon her fond caresses. He
looked long enough for Rosa's large brown eyes to meet his own, then
with a great heart pang turned away. When had he ever seen so perfect a
likeness to his own Margaret, his only and idolized darling, who had
left his home the year before? Something seemed to be clutching at his
heart most relentlessly, while a lump was filling his throat. Nervously
and hastily lest his wife might see, he wiped from his brow the
gathering perspiration. Persistently he endeavored to settle down for
the nap, but with eyes either closed or open, all he could see was the
child across the aisle. One moment he wished to fold her within his arms
so strangely empty for twelve long months, and the next mentally
upbraided her for so cruelly tearing open the one deep wound of his
life.
Presently he became aware that the voluntary had ceased, and that a
restlessness was sweeping over the great audience. Arousing himself
somewhat from his harrowing reveries, he looked at his watch and found
that it was ten minutes past the time for the service to begin, and Dr.
Fairfax had not yet entered the pulpit.
While the people were wondering what the cause of the delay might be, he
appeared.
An unusual note of tenderness in the invocation prepared the auditors in
some degree for what followed.
"Brethren," he said, "it is recorded in Holy Writ that Jesus took a
child and set it in the midst of them. Just as truly has He set in our
midst today a child, and for this reason the whole order of service
shall be changed. God helping me, I shall hide behind the cross, that
the people may see Jesus only, and I shall present the way of salvation
so simply that wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein.