A LONG NIGHT.
Yes, they were locked in, there was no doubt about it!
'But don't cry, Poppy,' said Jack, as she burst into tears, 'we'll soon
make them hear; the verger sits on that bench close by.'
Jack hammered with his fists on the door, and the sound echoed through
the hollow building. Then the three children waited, and listened,
hoping to hear the verger's footsteps approaching the door. And when
some moments had passed and no one came, he knocked again, and once more
they waited and listened. But it was all in vain; no one heard the
rapping on the door, no one came to let the little prisoners out.
'He must have gone into the crypt,' said Sally; 'he goes down there when
folks come to see the cathedral; maybe he'll be back soon.'
But Jack did not answer her; he was on his knees on the ground, peeping
under the crack of the door.
'What can you see, Jack?' asked Poppy.
'It's all dark,' said Jack; 'the cathedral lights are out, and
everybody's gone home; whatever shall we do?'
The two little girls sat down on the bottom step, and cried and sobbed
as if their hearts would break.
'What's the use of crying?' said Jack, rather angrily; 'what we've got
to do is to try to get out. Let's climb up again, and get out on the
roof; maybe we can make some one hear if we shout loud enough.'
'It's so dark up there now,' said Sally, glancing fearfully at the
narrow, winding staircase; 'we can't see our way a bit.'
'Never mind that, we can _feel_,' said the boy; 'come along.'
'Oh! I shall fall--I shall fall!' sobbed Sally.
'You stop down here, then,' said her brother. 'Poppy and I will go.'
'Oh no,--no,--no!' cried the frightened child; 'don't leave me; I don't
want to stop here by myself.'
Very slowly and carefully the three children felt their way up the steep
steps, and many a tear fell on the old stones as the girls followed
Jack. It seemed a long, long way to them, far farther than it had done
before; and the wind, which had been rising all the afternoon, came
howling and whistling through the narrow window-slits in the tower, and
made them cold and shivering.
At last they reached the open place on the roof, but they found it was
impossible to stand upon it; such a hurricane of wind had arisen, that
they would have been blown over had they tried to leave the shelter of
the tower. So all they could do was to remain where they were, and to
shout as loudly as they could for help; but the cathedral close was very
large, and no one passed through it on that cold, stormy evening, and
the street was far away--so far that the voices of the children could
not be heard by the passers-by, but were drowned by the noisy,
blustering wind. They shouted until they were hoarse, but no help came,
and at last even Jack was obliged to acknowledge that he was afraid
there was no help for it, but that they must make up their minds to stay
there for the night.
'Oh, dear, whatever will mother do without me!' said Poppy; 'she'll have
nobody to help her; I _must_ get back to my babies. Oh, Jack, Jack, I
_must_ get back to my babies.'
'But you _can't_ get back, Poppy,' said Jack mournfully; 'there's nothing
for it but waiting till morning.'
'I'm so cold,' sobbed Sally, 'and I want my tea; whatever shall we do
without our tea?'
'It can't be helped,' said Jack, 'and it's no good crying; let's go to
the bottom of the tower again, it's not so windy there as it is up
here.'
It was hard work getting down in the dark, and with the whistling wind
rushing in upon them at every turn; the old stone steps were worn away
in many places, for thousands of feet had trodden them since the day
they were put in their places, and the children sometimes lost their
footing, and would have fallen had they not held so tightly to each
other.
When they reached the bottom of the stone staircase they crouched
together close to the door, in the most sheltered corner they could
find, and tried to keep each other warm. But it was a bitterly cold
night, and the rough noisy wind came tearing and howling down the
staircase, and found them out in their hiding-place, and made them
shiver from head to foot. And as the hours went by, they felt more and
more hungry; their long walk had given them a good appetite, and they
had had a very early dinner.
Poor little Sally cried incessantly, and the others did all they could
to cheer her; but she refused to be comforted, and at last she was so
tired and exhausted that she sobbed herself to sleep. Jack soon
afterwards followed her example and fell asleep beside her, and only
poor Poppy was awake, crying quietly to herself, and thinking of her
mother and of Enoch and Elijah. She was too anxious and too much
troubled to sleep, and the hours seemed very long to her. It was such a
lonely place in which to spend the night: there was no sound to be heard
but the howling of the wind and the striking of the great cathedral
clock, which made Poppy jump every time it struck the hour.
How long it seemed to Poppy from one hour to another; the time went much
more slowly than usual that night, she thought. Once she became so very
lonely and frightened that she felt as if she must wake the others; but
she was an unselfish little girl, and she remembered how much poor Sally
had cried, and felt glad that she and Jack could forget their trouble
for a little time. So she crept quietly away without disturbing them,
and climbed slowly up the steep steps to the place where she remembered
the first window-slit in the tower came. She thought she would feel less
lonely if she could see the lamps burning in the streets, and would feel
that the world was not quite so far away as it had seemed to her during
all those long, quiet hours.
Poppy did not like to go so far from the other children, and once or
twice she turned back, but at length she climbed as far as the slit, and
looked out. There were the lamps on either side of the long street which
led to the cathedral, but they seemed a great way off, and the cathedral
close was quite dark and empty.
'There isn't anybody near,' said Poppy to herself, as she looked down.
And then she looked up,--up into the sky. It was covered with clouds
which the wind was driving wildly along, but, as Poppy looked, there
came a break in the clouds, and one little patch of sky was left clear
and uncovered. And there, shining down upon Poppy, was a star,--such a
bright beautiful star.
It made her think of heaven, and of God who made the stars. 'God is
near,' said Poppy to herself. 'Mother says He is always close beside us.
Oh, dear, I quite forgot--I've never said my prayers to-night.'
The child knelt down at once on the cold stone steps, and prayed, and
her little prayer went up higher than the towers of that great
cathedral--to the ears of the Lord, who loves little children to speak
to Him.
'O God,' prayed Poppy, 'please take care of me, and Jack, and Sally, and
please don't let mother be frightened, and please make the babies go to
sleep; for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.'
Poppy felt comforted after she had prayed; she crept down the steps
again, and wrapping her little red cloak as tightly round her as she
could, she lay down beside Sally, and fell asleep.