THE MOTHER'S LEGACY.
And grandmother _did_ try--for she did not want to disappoint Poppy. But
somehow the two teeth would not go into the apple; they were too far
apart, and there were no teeth below to help them; and so, after many
attempts, the poor old woman was obliged to say she was afraid she could
not manage it.
'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. That's a good rule,
my dear; but it doesn't always answer, Poppy. But I'll tell you what, my
little girl,' said she, as she noticed how disappointed the child was,
'I'll put it in the oven and bake it for my supper, and then I _shall_
have a treat!'
'Oh, granny, I'm _so_ glad!' said Poppy, throwing her arms around her
neck--'I do love you so very much--you are so good to me!'
'Why, you're John Henry's bairn,' said granny, as she held her fast in
her arms--'how could I help loving John Henry's bairn?'
'Polly, my dear,' said grandmother the next day to Poppy's mother,
'Polly, my dear, I'm going to take you home with me.'
But the sick woman shook her head.
'Don't shake your head, my dear,' said grandmother; 'I believe if I
could put you down on the top of the moors, and if you could get the
breezes off the heather, why, my lass, I believe you'd get well in no
time!'
'You must ask the doctor, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother; 'he is
coming to-day.'
So when the doctor had paid his usual visit, grandmother trotted after
him downstairs.
'Now, doctor,' said she, 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do; I'm going
to take her home with me. Country air is the best physic after all, now
isn't it, doctor? You can't say anything against that, I'll be bound!'
But the doctor shook his head.
'Dear me, doctor,' said grandmother, 'don't _you_ go and shake your
head. Surely she'll be well enough to go in a week or ten days. Or maybe
a fortnight or three weeks, doctor,' she added, as she saw that he
looked very grave.
'My good woman,' said the doctor, 'you don't know how ill she is! It is
only a question of time now.'
'You don't mean to say, doctor,' said grandmother, 'that she won't get
better?'
'She may live a week,' said the doctor, as he put on his hat, 'but I do
not think she will live so long.'
Poor old grandmother, it was a great downfall to her hopes; she had
thought, and hoped, and believed, that the country air would soon make
John Henry's wife well again, and now she was told that she had only a
few days to live.
She could not go upstairs with such news as that. So she bustled about
the kitchen, pretending to be busy, washing up the tea-things, and
sweeping the fireside, and stopping every now and then to wipe away the
tears that would come in her eyes. And all this time Poppy's mother was
waiting, and listening, and wondering why grandmother did not come to
tell her what the doctor had said.
At last she could wait no longer, but rapped on the floor with the stick
which grandmother had put by her bedside.
Slowly, very slowly, the old woman went upstairs. But even when she was
in the bedroom, she did not seem inclined to talk, but began to wash
Enoch and Elijah, and never turned her face towards her daughter-in-law,
lest she should see how tearful her eyes were.
'Grandmother,' said Poppy's mother at last, 'tell me what the doctor
said.'
'He won't let me take you away, my lass,' said grandmother, shortly.
'Does he think I shall not live long?' asked the sick woman. 'Tell me
what he said, grandmother, please.'
'He said you might perhaps live a week, my dear,' said grandmother,
bursting into tears, and rocking Enoch and Elijah in her arms.
Poppy's mother did not speak, but she did just what king Hezekiah did
when he got a similar message, she turned her face to the wall.
Grandmother did not dare to look at her for some time, and when she did
she saw that her pillow was wet with tears.
'Poor lass, poor lass!' she said tenderly; 'no wonder ye cannot help
fretting; it's a fearsome thing to die, it is indeed.'
'Oh, it isn't that, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother; 'it isn't that. I
was thinking about the poor children.'
'And what about the children, bless 'em?' said the old woman.
'Why, I'm afraid it will go hardly with them in the House,' said the
poor woman, beginning to cry afresh. 'They do say some of them old
nurses are not over-good to babies, and they think 'em such a lot of
trouble, poor little motherless dears! And there's Poppy, too; she's
been ever such a good little girl to me, and she'll feel so
lonesome-like in that big, rambling place. I don't suppose they'll let
her be with the babies, for all she loves them so.'
'Now, Polly, my dear,' said grandmother, starting from her seat, 'never
you say another word about that. If you think I'm going to let John
Henry's bairns go into the Workhouse, why, my dear, you don't know what
sort of stuff John Henry's mother is made of! Why, my lass, it would be
throwing God Almighty's gifts back in His face. I've wearied for my twin
babies all these years, and fretted and fumed because I'd lost them, and
then as soon as He gives 'em back to me, I go and shove them off into
the House! No, no, my dear,' said grandmother, 'I'm not such an old
stupid as that. And as for Poppy, my lass, why, she'll be my right-hand
woman! They shall come home with me, my dear, and I'll be their
mother--dear, blessed little chaps--and Poppy shall be their nurse, and
we'll all be as happy as ever we _can_ be without you, my dear.'
'Oh, grandmother, it seems too good to be true,' said Poppy's mother;
'but you can never keep three children.'
'Yes, my dear, I can; my good man, he was careful and thrifty, and he
saved a good tidy sum. And my lady's very good to me,--why, I live in
the lodge rent free, and get my coals, and many's the coppers the folks
in their carriages throws out, when I go to open the gate. You see it's
a sort of a public road, my dear, and there's all kinds of folk goes by.
So I've enough and to spare; only I'm lonesome often, and haven't nobody
to speak to for hours together. And now the Lord's going to send me good
company, and I shall be a happier woman than I've been since my good
man died, and my John Henry went away; I shall indeed, my dear.'
Poppy's mother was almost too happy to answer her; a great load was
lifted off her heart, and she lay quite still, with her eyes closed for
some time, trying to tell her best Friend how grateful she was to Him
for all He had done for her. Meanwhile, the poor old woman was rocking
the babies in her arms, and wiping away the tears, which would come in
her eyes as she thought of what the doctor had said.
Then Poppy came in, bright and happy, with a bunch of white roses in her
hands, which Jack's friend the greengrocer had given him, and which he
had sent to Poppy's mother. She was very much distressed to see her
grandmother crying.
'What is it, granny, dear?' she said, putting her arms round her neck,
and kissing her; 'are you poorly?'
'You had best tell her, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother; 'it will
come less sudden-like on her after.'
But grandmother could not speak. She tried once or twice, but something
in her throat seemed to choke her, and at length she laid the sleeping
babies on the bed, buried her face in her apron, and went downstairs.
'What is it, mother?' said Poppy; 'did the doctor say you were worse?'
'Poppy,' said her mother, 'shall I tell you what the doctor said, my
darling?'
'Yes, please, mother,' said the child.
'He said that in a few days more I should be quite well, Poppy; well and
strong, like you, my dear--no more pain--no more weakness--for ever.'
'Then why does granny cry?' said Poppy, with a puzzled face.
'Because, darling, grandmother wanted me to go to _her_ home and get
well there; but instead of that, God is going to take me to _His_ home,
Poppy, to be well for ever and ever. Will you try to be glad for me,
darling?'
'Yes, mother,' said little Poppy with a sob,--'I'll try; but, oh mother,
I wish He'd take me too!'