The Coffee-Stall and its Keeper PAGE 5
CHAPTER II.
Jessica’s Temptation 15
CHAPTER III.
An Old Friend in a New Dress 23
CHAPTER IV.
Peeps into Fairy-land 35
CHAPTER V.
A New World Opens 44
CHAPTER VI.
The First Prayer 50
CHAPTER VII.
Hard Questions 54
CHAPTER VIII.
An Unexpected Visitor 60
CHAPTER IX.
Jessica’s First Prayer Answered 69
CHAPTER X.
The Shadow of Death 82
Jessica’s First Prayer.
CHAPTER I.
THE COFFEE-STALL AND ITS KEEPER.
In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges
which span the streets of London there could be seen, a few years
ago, from five o’clock every morning until half-past eight, a tidily
set out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which
stood two large tin cans with a small fire of charcoal burning under
each, so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the
morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their
way to their daily toil. The coffee-stall was a favorite one, for
besides being under shelter, which was of great consequence upon rainy
mornings, it was also in so private a niche that the customers taking
their out-of-door breakfast were not too much exposed to notice; and,
moreover, the coffee-stall keeper was a quiet man, who cared only
to serve the busy workmen without hindering them by any gossip. He
was a tall, spare, elderly man, with a singularly solemn face and a
manner which was grave and secret. Nobody knew either his name or
dwelling-place; unless it might be the policeman who strode past the
coffee-stall every half-hour and nodded familiarly to the solemn man
behind it. There were very few who cared to make any inquiries about
him; but those who did could only discover that he kept the furniture
of his stall at a neighboring coffee-house, whither he wheeled his
trestle and board and crockery every day not later than half-past
eight in the morning; after which he was wont to glide away with a
soft footstep and a mysterious and fugitive air, with many backward
and sidelong glances, as if he dreaded observation, until he was lost
among the crowds which thronged the streets. No one had ever had the
persevering curiosity to track him all the way to his house, or to find
out his other means of gaining a livelihood; but in general his stall
was surrounded by customers, whom he served with silent seriousness,
and who did not grudge to pay him his charge for the refreshing coffee
he supplied to them.
For several years the crowd of work-people had paused by the
coffee-stall under the railway-arch, when one morning, in a partial
lull of his business, the owner became suddenly aware of a pair of very
bright dark eyes being fastened upon him and the slices of bread and
butter on his board, with a gaze as hungry as that of a mouse which has
been driven by famine into a trap. A thin and meagre face belonged to
the eyes, which was half hidden by a mass of matted hair hanging over
the forehead and down the neck--the only covering which the head or
neck had; for a tattered frock, scarcely fastened together with broken
strings, was slipping down over the shivering shoulders of the little
girl. Stooping down to a basket behind his stall, he caught sight of
two bare little feet curling up from the damp pavement, as the child
lifted up first one and then other and laid them one over another to
gain a momentary feeling of warmth. Whoever the wretched child was, she
did not speak; only at every steaming cupful which he poured out of his
can her dark eyes gleamed hungrily, and he could hear her smack her
thin lips as if in fancy she was tasting the warm and fragrant coffee.
“Oh, come now,” he said at last, when only one boy was left taking his
breakfast leisurely, and he leaned over his stall to speak in a low and
quiet tone, “why don’t you go away, little girl? Come, come; you’re
staying too long, you know.”
“I’m just going, sir,” she answered, shrugging her small shoulders to
draw her frock up higher about her neck; “only it’s raining cats and
dogs outside; and mother’s been away all night, and she took the key
with her; and it’s so nice to smell the coffee; and the police has left
off worriting me while I’ve been here. He thinks I’m a customer taking
my breakfast.” And the child laughed a shrill laugh of mockery at
herself and the policeman.
“You’ve had no breakfast, I suppose,” said the coffee-stall keeper, in
the same low and confidential voice, and leaning over his stall till
his face nearly touched the thin, sharp features of the child.
“No,” she replied, coolly, “and I shall want my dinner dreadful bad
afore I get it, I know. You don’t often feel dreadful hungry, do you,
sir? I’m not griped yet, you know; but afore I taste my dinner it’ll be
pretty bad, I tell you. Ah! very bad indeed!”
She turned away with a knowing nod, as much as to say she had one
experience in life to which he was quite a stranger; but before she had
gone half a dozen steps she heard the quiet voice calling to her in
rather louder tones, and in an instant she was back at the stall.
“Slip in here,” said the owner, in a cautious whisper; “here’s a little
coffee left and a few crusts. There. You must never come again, you
know. I never give to beggars; and if you’d begged I’d have called the
police. There; put your poor feet towards the fire. Now, aren’t you
comfortable?”
The child looked up with a face of intense satisfaction. She was seated
upon an empty basket, with her feet near the pan of charcoal, and a cup
of steaming coffee on her lap; but her mouth was too full for her to
reply except by a very deep nod, which expressed unbounded delight.
The man was busy for a while packing up his crockery; but every now and
then he stopped to look down upon her, and to shake his head.
“What’s your name?” he asked, at length; “but there, never mind! I
don’t care what it is. What’s your name to do with me, I wonder?”
“It’s Jessica,” said the girl: “but mother and every body calls me
Jess. You’d be tired of being called Jess, if you were me. It’s Jess
here, and Jess there: and every body wanting me to go errands. And they
think nothing of giving me smacks, and kicks, and pinches. Look here!”
Whether her arms were black and blue from the cold or from ill-usage
he could not tell; but he shook his head again seriously and the child
felt encouraged to go on.
“I wish I could stay here for ever and ever, just as I am!” she cried.
“But you’re going away, I know; and I’m never to come again, or you’ll
set the police on me!”
“Yes,” said the coffee-stall keeper very softly; and looking round to
see if there were any other ragged children within sight, “if you’ll
promise not to come again for a whole week, and not to tell any body
else, you may come once more. I’ll give you one other treat. But you
must be off now.”
“I’m off, sir,” she said, sharply; “but if you’ve a errand I could go
on I’d do it all right, I would. Let me carry some of your things.”
“No, no,” cried the man; “you run away, like a good girl; and, mind!
I’m not to see you again for a whole week.”
“All right,” answered Jess, setting off down the rainy street at a
quick run, as if to show her willing agreement to the bargain; while
the coffee-stall keeper, with many a cautious glance around him,
removed his stock in trade to the coffee-house near at hand, and
was seen no more for the rest of the day in the neighborhood of the
railway-bridge.
CHAPTER II.
JESSICA’S TEMPTATION.
Her part of the bargain Jessica faithfully kept; and though the solemn
and silent man under the dark shadow of the bridge looked for her every
morning as he served his customers, he caught no glimpse of her wan
face and thin little frame. But when the appointed time was finished
she presented herself at the stall, with her hungry eyes fastened
again upon the piles of buns and bread and butter, which were fast
disappearing before the demands of the buyers. The business was at its
height, and the famished child stood quietly on one side watching for
the throng to melt away. But as soon as the nearest church clock had
chimed eight she drew a little nearer to the stall, and at a signal
from its owner she slipped between the trestles of his stand and took
up her former position on the empty basket. To his eyes she seemed even
a little thinner, and certainly more ragged, than before; and he laid a
whole bun, a stale one which was left from yesterday’s stock, upon her
lap, as she lifted the cup of coffee to her lips with both her benumbed
hands.
“What’s your name?” she asked, looking up to him with her keen eyes.
“Why,” he answered, hesitatingly, as if he was reluctant to tell so
much of himself, “my christened name is Daniel.”
“And where do you live, Mr. Dan’el?” she inquired.
“Oh, come now!” he exclaimed, “if you’re going to be impudent, you’d
better march off. What business is it of yours where I live? I don’t
want to know where you live, I can tell you.”
“I didn’t mean no offence,” said Jess humbly; “only I thought I’d like
to know where a good man like you lived. You’re a very good man, aren’t
you, Mr. Dan’el?”
“I don’t know,” he answered uneasily; “I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Oh, but you are, you know,” continued Jess. “You make good
coffee; prime! And buns too! And I’ve been watching you hundreds of
times afore you saw me, and the police leaves you alone, and never
tells you to move on. Oh, yes! you must be a very good man.”
Daniel sighed, and fidgeted about his crockery with a grave and
occupied air, as if he were pondering over the child’s notion of
goodness. He made good coffee, and the police left him alone! It was
quite true; yet still as he counted up the store of pence which had
accumulated in his strong canvas bag, he sighed again still more
heavily. He purposely let one of his pennies fall upon the muddy
pavement, and went on counting the rest busily, while he furtively
watched the little girl sitting at his feet. Without a shade of change
upon her small face she covered the penny with her foot and drew it in
carefully towards her, while she continued to chatter fluently to him.
For a moment a feeling of pain shot a pang through Daniel’s heart;
and then he congratulated himself on having entrapped the young thief.
It was time to be leaving now; but before he went he would make her
move her bare foot and disclose the penny concealed beneath it, and
then he would warn her never to venture near his stall again. This was
her gratitude, he thought; he had given her two breakfasts and more
kindness than he had shown to any fellow-creature for many a long year,
and at the first chance the young jade turned upon him and robbed him!
He was brooding over it painfully in his mind when Jessica’s uplifted
face changed suddenly, a dark flush crept over her pale cheeks, and the
tears started to her eyes. She stooped down, and picking up the coin
from among the mud she rubbed it bright and clean upon her rags and
laid it upon the stall close to his hand, but without speaking a word.
Daniel looked down upon her solemnly and searchingly.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Please, Mr. Dan’el,” she answered, “it dropped, and you didn’t hear
it.”
“Jess,” he said sternly, “tell me all about it.”
“Oh, please,” she sobbed, “I never had a penny of my own but once; and
it rolled close to my foot; and you didn’t see it; and I hid it up
sharp; and then I thought how kind you’d been, and how good the coffee
and buns are, and how you let me warm myself at your fire; and, please,
I couldn’t keep the penny any longer. You’ll never let me come again, I
guess.”
Daniel turned away for a moment, busying himself with putting his cups
and saucers into the basket, while Jessica stood by trembling, with
the large tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. The snug, dark corner,
with its warm fire of charcoal and its fragrant smell of coffee, had
been a paradise to her for these two brief spans of time; but she had
been guilty of the sin which would drive her from it. All beyond the
railway-arch the streets stretched away, cold and dreary, with no
friendly face to meet hers and no warm cups of coffee to refresh her;
yet she was only lingering sorrowfully to hear the words spoken which
should forbid her to return to this pleasant spot. Mr. Daniel turned
round at last, and met her tearful gaze, with a look of strange emotion
upon his own solemn face.
“Jess,” he said, “I could never have done it myself. But you may come
here every Wednesday morning, as this is a Wednesday, and there’ll
always be a cup of coffee for you.”
She thought he meant that he could not have hidden the penny under his
foot, and she went away a little saddened and subdued, notwithstanding
her great delight in the expectation of such a treat every week; while
Daniel, pondering over the struggle that must have passed through her
childish mind, went on his way, from time to time shaking his head,
muttering to himself, “I couldn’t have done it myself: I never could
have done it myself.”
CHAPTER III.
AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS.
Week after week, through the three last months of the year, Jessica
appeared every Wednesday at the coffee-stall and, after waiting
patiently till the close of the breakfasting business, received her
pittance from the charity of her new friend. After a while Daniel
allowed her to carry some of his load to the coffee-house, but he
never suffered her to follow him farther, and he was always particular
to watch her out of sight before he turned off through the intricate
mazes of the streets in the direction of his own home. Neither did he
encourage her to ask him any more questions; and often but very few
words passed between them during Jessica’s breakfast time.
As to Jessica’s home, she made no secret of it, and Daniel might have
followed her any time he pleased. It was a single room, which had once
been a hay-loft, over the stable of an old inn, now in use for two or
three donkeys, the property of costermongers dwelling in the court
about it. The mode of entrance was by a wooden ladder, whose rungs were
crazy and broken, and which led up through a trap-door in the floor
of the loft. The interior of the home was as desolate and comfortless
as that of the stable below, with only a litter of straw for the
bedding and a few bricks and boards for the furniture. Every thing that
could be pawned had disappeared long ago, and Jessica’s mother often
lamented that she could not thus dispose of her child. Yet Jessica was
hardly a burden to her. It was a long time since she had taken any
care to provide her with food or clothing, and the girl had to earn or
beg for herself the meat which kept a scanty life within her. Jess was
the drudge and errand-girl of the court; and what with being cuffed
and beaten by her mother, and overworked and ill-used by her numerous
employers, her life was a hard one. But now there was always Wednesday
morning to count upon and look forward to; and by and by a second scene
of amazed delight opened upon her.
Jessica had wandered far away from home in the early darkness of a
winter’s evening, after a violent outbreak of her drunken mother, and
she was still sobbing now and then with long-drawn sobs of pain and
weariness, when she saw a little way before her the tall, well-known
figure of her friend Mr. Daniel. He was dressed in a suit of black,
with a white neckcloth, and he was pacing with brisk yet measured steps
along the lighted streets. Jessica felt afraid of speaking to him, but
she followed at a little distance, until presently he stopped before
the iron gates of a large building and, unlocking them, passed on to
the arched doorway, and with a heavy key opened the folding-doors and
entered in. The child stole after him but paused for a few minutes,
trembling upon the threshold, until the gleam of a light lit up within
tempted her to venture a few steps forward, and to push a little way
open an inner door, covered with crimson baize, only so far as to
enable her to peep through at the inside. Then, growing bolder by
degrees, she crept through herself, drawing the door to noiselessly
behind her. The place was in partial gloom, but Daniel was kindling
every gaslight, and each minute lit it up in more striking grandeur.
She stood in a carpeted aisle, with high oaken pews on each side
almost as black as ebony. A gallery of the same dark old oak ran round
the walls, resting upon massive pillars, behind one of which she was
partly concealed, gazing with eager eyes at Daniel, as he mounted the
pulpit steps and kindled the lights there, disclosing to her curious
delight the glittering pipes of an organ behind it. Before long the
slow and soft-footed chapel-keeper disappeared for a moment or two into
a vestry; and Jessica, availing herself of his short absence, stole
silently up under the shelter of the dark pews until she reached the
steps of the organ loft, with its golden show. But at this moment Mr.
Daniel appeared again, arrayed in a long gown of black serge; and as
she stood spell-bound gazing at the strange appearance of her patron,
his eyes fell upon her, and he also was struck speechless for a minute,
with an air of amazement and dismay upon his grave face.
“Come, now,” he exclaimed, harshly, as soon as he could recover his
presence of mind, “you must take yourself out of this. This isn’t any
place for such as you. It’s for ladies and gentlemen; so you must run
away sharp before any body comes. How did you ever find your way here?”
He had come very close to her, and bent down to whisper in her ear,
looking nervously round to the entrance all the time. Jessica’s eager
tongue was loosened.
“Mother beat me,” she said, “and turned me into the streets, and I see
you there, so I followed you up. I’ll run away this minute, Mr. Daniel;
but it’s a nice place. What do the ladies and gentlemen do when they
come here? Tell me, and I’ll be off sharp.”
“They come here to pray,” whispered Daniel.
“What is pray?” asked Jessica.
“Bless the child!” cried Daniel, in perplexity. “Why, they kneel down
in those pews; most of them sit, though; and the minister up in the
pulpit tells God what they want.”
Jessica gazed into his face with such an air of bewilderment that a
faint smile crept over the sedate features of the pew-opener.
“What is a minister and God?” she said; “and do ladies and gentlemen
want any thing? I thought they’d every thing they wanted, Mr. Daniel.”
“Oh!” cried Daniel, “you must be off, you know. They’ll be coming in a
minute, and they’d be shocked to see a ragged little heathen like you.
This is the pulpit, where the minister stands and preaches to ’em; and
there are the pews, where they sit to listen to him, or to go to sleep,
may be; and that’s the organ to play music to their singing. There,
I’ve told you every thing, and you must never come again; never.”
“Mr. Daniel,” said Jessica, “I don’t know nothing about it. Isn’t there
a dark little corner somewhere that I could hide in?”
“No, no,” interrupted Daniel impatiently; “we couldn’t do with such
a little heathen, with no shoes or bonnet on. Come, now, it’s only a
quarter to the time, and somebody will be here in a minute. Run away,
do!”
Jessica retraced her steps slowly to the crimson door, casting many a
longing look backwards; but Mr. Daniel stood at the end of the aisle,
frowning upon her whenever she glanced behind. She gained the lobby at
last, but already some one was approaching the chapel door, and beneath
the lamp at the gate stood one of her natural enemies, a policeman. Her
heart beat fast, but she was quickwitted, and in another instant she
spied a place of concealment behind one of the doors, into which she
crept for safety until the policeman passed on upon his beat.
[Illustration]
The congregation began to arrive quickly. She heard the rustling of
silk dresses, and she could see the gentlemen and ladies pass by the
niche between the door and the post. Once she ventured to stretch out a
thin little finger and touch a velvet mantle as the wearer of it swept
by, but no one caught her in the act, or suspected her presence behind
the door. Mr. Daniel, she could see, was very busy ushering the people
to their seats; but there was a startled look lingering upon his face,
and every now and then he peered anxiously into the outer gloom and
darkness, and even once called to the policeman to ask if he had seen
a ragged child hanging about. After a while the organ began to sound,
and Jessica crouched down in her hiding-place, listening entranced to
the sweet music. She could not tell what made her cry, but the tears
came so rapidly that it was of no use to rub the corners of her eyes
with her hard knuckles; so she lay down upon the ground and buried her
face in her hands and wept without restraint. When the singing was over
she could only catch a confused sound of a voice speaking. The lobby
was empty now, and the crimson doors closed. The policeman also had
walked on. This was the moment to escape. She raised herself from the
ground with a feeling of weariness and sorrow; and thinking sadly of
the light, and warmth, and music that were within the closed doors, she
stepped out into the cold and darkness of the streets, and loitered
homeward with a heavy heart.
CHAPTER IV.
PEEPS INTO FAIRY-LAND.
It was not the last time that Jessica concealed herself behind the
baize-covered door. She could not overcome the urgent desire to enjoy
again and again the secret and perilous pleasure, and Sunday after
Sunday she watched in the dark streets for the moment when she could
slip in unseen. She soon learned the exact time when Daniel would
be occupied in lighting up, before the policeman would take up his
station at the entrance, and again, the very minute at which it would
be wise and safe to take her departure. Sometimes the child laughed
noiselessly to herself until she shook with suppressed merriment, as
she saw Daniel standing unconsciously, in the lobby, with his solemn
face and grave air, to receive the congregation, much as he faced his
customers at the coffee-stall. She learned to know the minister by
sight, the tall, thin, pale gentleman who passed through a side door,
with his head bent as if in deep thought, while two little girls, about
her own age, followed him with sedate yet pleasant faces. Jessica took
a great interest in the minister’s children. The younger one was fair,
and the elder was about as tall as herself, and had eyes and hair as
dark; but oh, how cared for, how plainly waited on by tender hands!
Sometimes, when they were gone by, she would close her eyes, and wonder
what they would do in one of the high black pews inside, where there
was no place for a ragged barefooted girl like her; and now and then
her wonderings almost ended in a sob, which she was compelled to stifle.
It was an untold relief to Daniel that Jessica did not ply him with
questions, as he feared, when she came for breakfast every Wednesday
morning; but she was too shrewd and cunning for that. She wished him
to forget that she had ever been there, and by-and-by her wish was
accomplished, and Daniel was no longer uneasy, while he was lighting
the lamps, with the dread of seeing the child’s wild face starting up
before him.
But the light evenings of summer-time were drawing near apace, and
Jessica foresaw with dismay that her Sunday treats would soon be over.
The risk of discovery increased every week, for the sun was later in
setting, and there would be no chance of creeping in and out unseen in
the broad daylight. Already it needed both watchfulness and alertness
to dart in at the right moment in the gray twilight; but still she
could not give it up; and if it had not been for the fear of offending
Mr. Daniel, she would have resolved upon going until she was found out.
They could not punish her very much for standing in the lobby of a
chapel.
Jessica was found out, however, before the dusky evenings were quite
gone. It happened one night that the minister’s children, coming early
to the chapel, saw a small tattered figure, bareheaded and barefooted,
dart swiftly up the steps before them and disappear within the lobby.
They paused and looked at one another, and then, hand in hand, their
hearts beating quickly, and the color coming and going on their faces,
they followed this strange new member of their father’s congregation.
The pew-opener was nowhere to be seen, but their quick eyes detected
the prints of the wet little feet which had trodden the clean pavement
before them, and in an instant they discovered Jessica crouching behind
the door.
“Let us call Daniel Standring,” said Winny, the younger child, clinging
to her sister; but she had spoken aloud and Jessica overheard her, and
before they could stir a step she stood before them with an earnest and
imploring face.
“Oh, don’t have me drove away,” she cried; “I’m a very poor little
girl, and it’s all the pleasure I’ve got. I’ve seen you lots of times,
with that tall gentleman as stoops, and I didn’t think you’d have me
drove away. I don’t do any harm behind the door, and if Mr. Daniel
finds me out he wont give me any more coffee.”
“Little girl,” said the elder child, in a composed and demure voice,
“we don’t mean to be unkind to you; but what do you come here for, and
why do you hide yourself behind the door?”
“I like to hear the music,” answered Jessica, “and I want to find out
what pray is, and the minister, and God. I know it’s only for ladies
and gentlemen, and fine children like you; but I’d like to go inside,
just for once, and see what you do.”
“You shall come with us into our pew,” cried Winny, in an eager and
impulsive tone; but Jane laid her hand upon her outstretched arm, with
a glance at Jessica’s ragged clothes and matted hair. It was a question
difficult enough to perplex them. The little outcast was plainly too
dirty and neglected for them to invite her to sit side by side with
them in their crimson-lined pew, and no poor people attended the chapel
with whom she could have a seat. But Winny, with flushed cheeks and
indignant eyes, looked reproachfully at her elder sister.
“Jane,” she said, opening her Testament, and turning over the leaves
hurriedly, “this was papa’s text a little while ago: ‘For if there come
unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, and there
come in also a poor man in vile raiment; and ye have respect to him
that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto him, Sit thou here in a
good place; and say to the poor, Stand thou there, or sit here under my
footstool; are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges
of evil thoughts?’ If we don’t take this little girl into our pew we
‘have the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with
respect of persons.’”
“I don’t know what to do,” answered Jane, sighing; “the Bible
seems plain, but I’m sure papa would not like it. Let us ask the
chapel-keeper.”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Jessica, “don’t let Mr. Daniel catch me here. I
wont come again, indeed; and I’ll promise not to try to find out about
God and the minister, if you’ll only let me go.”
“But, little girl,” said Jane, in a sweet but grave manner, “we ought
to teach you about God, if you don’t know him. Our papa is the
minister, and if you’ll come with us we’ll ask him what we must do.”
“Will Mr. Daniel see me?” asked Jessica.
“Nobody but papa is in the vestry,” answered Jane, “and he’ll tell us
all, you and us, what we ought to do. You’ll not be afraid of him, will
you?”
“No,” said Jessica cheerfully, following the minister’s children as
they led her along the side of the chapel towards the vestry.
“He is not such a terrible personage,” said Winny, looking round
encouragingly, as Jane tapped softly at the door, and they heard a
voice saying, “Come in.”
CHAPTER V.
A NEW WORLD OPENS.
The minister was siting in an easy chair before a comfortable fire with
a hymn-book in his hand, which he closed as the three children appeared
in the open doorway. Jessica had seen his pale and thoughtful face many
a time from her hiding-place, but she had never met the keen, earnest,
searching gaze of his eyes, which seemed to pierce through all her
wretchedness and misery, and to read at once the whole history of her
desolate life. But before her eyelids could droop, or she could drop
a reverential courtesy, the minister’s face kindled with such a glow
of pitying tenderness and compassion as fastened her eyes upon him,
and gave her new heart and courage. His children ran to him, leaving
Jessica upon the mat at the door, and with eager voices and gestures
told him the difficulty they were in.
“Come here, little girl,” he said, and Jessica walked across the
carpeted floor till she stood right before him, with folded hands, and
eyes that looked frankly into his.
“What is your name, my child?” he asked.
“Jessica,” she answered.
“Jessica?” he repeated, with a smile; “that is a strange name.”
“Mother used to play ‘Jessica’ at the theatre, sir,” she said, “and I
used to be a fairy in the pantomime, till I grew too tall and ugly. If
I’m pretty when I grow up mother says I shall play too; but I’ve a
long time to wait. Are you the minister, sir?”
“Yes,” he answered, smiling again.
“What is a minister?” she inquired.
“A servant!” he replied, looking away thoughtfully into the red embers
of the fire.
“Papa!” cried Jane and Winny, in tones of astonishment; but Jessica
gazed steadily at the minister, who was now looking back again into her
bright eyes.
“Please, sir, whose servant are you?” she asked.
“The servant of God and of man,” he answered solemnly. “Jessica, I am
your servant.”
The child shook her head, and laughed shrilly as she gazed round the
room and at the handsome clothing of the minister’s daughters, while
she drew her rags closer about her and shivered a little, as if she
felt a sting of the east wind which was blowing keenly through the
streets. The sound of her shrill childish laugh made the minister’s
heart ache.
“Who is God?” asked the child. “When mother’s in a good temper,
sometimes she says ‘God bless me!’ Do you know him, please, minister?”
But before there was time to answer the door into the chapel was
opened and Daniel stood upon the threshold. At first he stared blandly
forward, but then his grave face grew ghastly pale, and he laid his
hand upon the door to support himself until he could recover his speech
and senses. Jessica also looked about her, scared and irresolute, as if
anxious to run away or to hide herself. The minister was the first to
speak.
“Jessica,” he said, “there is a place close under my pulpit where you
shall sit, and where I can see you all the time. Be a good girl, and
listen, and you will hear something about God. Standring, put this
little one in front of the pews by the pulpit steps.”
Before she could believe it, for very gladness, Jessica found herself
inside the chapel, facing the glittering organ, from which a sweet
strain of music was sounding. Not far from her Jane and Winny were
peeping over the front of their pew with friendly smiles and glances.
It was evident that the minister’s elder daughter was anxious about
her behavior, and she made energetic signs to her when to stand and
when to kneel; but Winny was content with smiling at her whenever her
head rose above the top of the pew. Jessica was happy, but not in the
least abashed. The ladies and gentlemen were not at all unlike those
whom she had often seen when she was a fairy at the theatre; and very
soon her attention was engrossed by the minister, whose eyes often
fell upon her, as she gazed eagerly, with uplifted face, upon him. She
could scarcely understand a word of what he said, but she liked the
tones of his voice and the tender pity of his face as he looked down
upon her. Daniel hovered about a good deal, with an air of uneasiness
and displeasure, but she was unconscious of his presence. Jessica was
intent upon finding out what a minister and God were.
CHAPTER VI.
THE FIRST PRAYER.
When the service was ended the minister descended the pulpit steps
just as Daniel was about to hurry Jessica away, and taking her by the
hand in the face of all the congregation he led her into the vestry,
whither Jane and Winny quickly followed them. He was fatigued with
the services of the day, and his pale face was paler than ever, as he
placed Jessica before his chair, into which he threw himself with an
air of exhaustion; but bowing his head upon his hands he said, in a low
but clear tone, “Lord, these are the lambs of thy flock. Help me to
feed thy lambs!”
“Children,” he said, with a smile upon his weary face, “it is no
easy thing to know God. But this one thing we know, that he is our
Father--my Father and your Father, Jessica. He loves you, and cares for
you more than I do for my little girls here.”
He smiled at them, and they at him, with an expression which Jessica
felt and understood, though it made her sad. She trembled a little, and
the minister’s ear caught the sound of a faint though bitter sob.
“I never had any father,” she said sorrowfully.
“God is your Father,” he answered very gently: “he knows all about you,
because he is present everywhere. We cannot see him, but we have only
to speak and he hears us, and we may ask him for whatever we want.”
“Will he let me speak to him, as well as these fine children, that are
clean and have got nice clothes?” asked Jessica, glancing anxiously at
her muddy feet, and her soiled and tattered frock.
“Yes,” said the minister, smiling, yet sighing at the same time; “you
may ask him this moment for what you want.”
Jessica gazed round the room with large wide-open eyes, as if she were
seeking to see God; but then she shut her eyelids tightly, and bending
her head upon her hands, as she had seen the minister do, she said, “O
God! I want to know about you. And please pay Mr. Daniel for all the
warm coffee he’s give me.”
Jane and Winny listened with faces of unutterable amazement; but the
tears stood in the minister’s eyes, and he added “Amen” to Jessica’s
first prayer.
CHAPTER VII.
HARD QUESTIONS.
After waiting until the minister left the vestry Daniel found that
Jessica had gone away by the side entrance. He had to wait, therefore,
until Wednesday morning for an opportunity to speak to her, and the
sight of her pinched little face was welcome to him when he saw it
looking wistfully over the coffee-stall. Yet he had made up his mind to
forbid her to come again, and to threaten her with the policeman if he
ever caught her at the chapel, where for the future he intended to keep
a sharper lookout. But before he could speak Jess had slipped under
the stall and taken her old seat upon the upturned basket.
“Mr. Daniel,” she said, “has God paid you for my sups of coffee yet?”
“Paid me?” he repeated, “God? No.”
“Well, he will,” she answered, nodding her head sagely; “don’t you be
afraid for your money, Mr. Daniel; I’ve asked him a many times, and the
minister says he’s sure to do it.”
“Jess,” said Daniel, sternly, “have you been and told the minister
about my coffee-stall?”
“No,” she answered, with a beaming smile, “but I’ve told God lots and
lots of times since Sunday, and he’s sure to pay in a day or two.”
“Jess,” continued Daniel, more gently, “you’re a sharp little girl, I
see; and now, mind, I’m going to trust you. You’re never to say a word
about me or my coffee-stall; because the folks at our chapel are very
grand, and might think it low and mean of me to keep a coffee-stall.
Very likely they’d say I mustn’t be chapel-keeper any longer, and I
should lose a deal of money.”
“Why do you keep the stall then?” asked Jessica.
“Don’t you see what a many pennies I get every morning?” he said,
shaking his canvas bag. “I get a good deal of money that way in a year.”
“What do you want such a deal of money for?” she inquired; “do you give
it to God?”
Daniel did not answer, but the question went to his heart like a
sword-thrust. What did he want so much money for? He thought of his
bare and solitary room, where he lodged alone, a good way from the
railway-bridge, with very few comforts in it, but containing a desk,
strong, securely fastened, and in which were his savings’ bank book,
his receipts for money put out at interest, and a bag of sovereigns,
for which he had been toiling and slaving both on Sunday and week-days.
He could not remember giving any thing away, except the dregs of the
coffee and the stale buns for which Jessica was asking God to pay him.
He coughed, and cleared his throat, and rubbed his eyes; and then,
with nervous and hesitating fingers, he took a penny from his bag and
slipped it into Jessica’s hand.
“No, no, Mr. Daniel,” she said; “I don’t want you to give me any of
your pennies. I want God to pay you.”
“Ay, he’ll pay me,” muttered Daniel; “there’ll be a day of reckoning
by and by.”
“Does God have reckoning days?” asked Jessica. “I used to like
reckoning days when I was a fairy.”
“Ay, ay,” he answered, “but there’s few folks like God’s reckoning
days.”
“But you’ll be glad; wont you?” she said.
Daniel bade her get on with her breakfast, and then he turned over in
his mind the thoughts which her questions had awakened. Conscience told
him he would not be glad to meet God’s reckoning day.
“Mr. Daniel,” said Jessica, when they were about to separate, and he
would not take back his gift of a penny, “if you wouldn’t mind, I’d
like to come and buy a cup of coffee to-morrow, like a customer, you
know; and I wont let out a word about the stall to the minister next
Sunday. Don’t you be afraid.”
She tied the penny carefully into a corner of her rags, and with a
cheerful smile upon her thin face she glided from under the shadow of
the bridge and was soon lost to Daniel’s sight.
CHAPTER VIII.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
When Jessica came to the street into which the court where she
lived opened, she saw an unusual degree of excitement among the
inhabitants, a group of whom were gathered about a tall gentleman
whom she recognized in an instant to be the minister. She elbowed her
way through the midst of them, and the minister’s face brightened as
she presented herself before him. He followed her up the low entry,
across the squalid court, through the stable, empty of the donkeys just
then, up the creaking rounds of the ladder, and into the miserable
loft where the tiles were falling in and the broken window-panes were
stuffed with rags and paper. Near to the old rusty stove, which served
as a grate when there was any fire, there was a short board laid across
some bricks, and upon this the minister took his seat, while Jessica
sat upon the floor before him.
“Jessica,” he said, sadly, “is this where you live?”
“Yes,” she answered; “but we’d a nicer room than this when I was a
fairy and mother played at the theatre; we shall be better off when I’m
grown up, if I’m pretty enough to play like her.”
“My child,” he said, “I’m come to ask your mother to let you go to
school in a pleasant place down in the country. Will she let you go?”
“No,” answered Jessica; “mother says she’ll never let me learn to
read, or go to church; she says it would make me good for nothing. But
please, sir, she doesn’t know any thing about your church, it’s such
a long way off, and she hasn’t found me out yet. She always gets very
drunk of a Sunday.”
The child spoke simply, and as if all she said was a matter of course;
but the minister shuddered, and he looked through the broken window to
the little patch of gloomy sky overhead.
“What can I do?” he cried mournfully, as though speaking to himself.
“Nothing, please, sir,” said Jessica, “only let me come to hear
you of a Sunday, and tell me about God. If you was to give me fine
clothes--like your little girls’--mother ’ud only pawn them for gin.
You can’t do any thing more for me.”
“Where is your mother?” he asked.
“Out on a spree,” said Jessica. “She wont be home for a day or two.
She’d not hearken to you, sir. There’s the missionary came, and she
pushed him down the ladder till he was nearly killed. They used to call
mother ‘the vixen’ at the theatre, and nobody durst say a word to her.”
The minister was silent for some minutes, thinking painful thoughts,
for his eyes seemed to darken as he looked round the miserable room,
and his face wore an air of sorrow and disappointment. At last he spoke
again.
“Who is Mr. Daniel, Jessica?” he inquired.
“Oh,” she said cunningly, “he’s only a friend of mine as gives me sups
of coffee. You don’t know all the folks in London, sir!”
“No,” he answered, smiling, “but does he keep a coffee-stall?”
Jessica nodded her head, but did not trust herself to speak.
“How much does a cup of coffee cost?” asked the minister.
“A full cup’s a penny,” she answered promptly; “but you can have half a
cup; and there are half-penny and penny buns.”
“Good coffee and buns?” he said, with another smile.
“Prime,” replied Jessica, smacking her lips.
“Well,” continued the minister, “tell your friend to give you a full
cup of coffee and a penny bun every morning, and I’ll pay for them as
often as he chooses to come to me for the money.”
Jessica’s face beamed with delight, but in an instant it clouded over
as she recollected Daniel’s secret, and her lips quivered as she spoke
her disappointed reply.
“Please, sir,” she said, “I’m sure he couldn’t come; oh! he couldn’t.
It’s such a long way, and Mr. Daniel has plenty of customers. No, he
never would come to you for money.”
“Jessica,” he answered, “I will tell you what I will do. I will trust
you with a shilling every Sunday, if you’ll promise to give it to your
friend the very first time you see him. I shall be sure to know if you
cheat me.” And the keen, piercing eyes of the minister looked down into
Jessica’s, and once more the tender and pitying smile returned to his
face.
“I can do nothing else for you?” he said, in a tone of mingled sorrow
and questioning.
“No, minister,” answered Jessica, “only tell me about God.”
“I will tell you one thing about him now,” he replied. “If I took you
to live in my house with my little daughters you would have to be
washed and clothed in new clothing to make you fit for it. God wanted
us to go and live at home with him in heaven, but we were so sinful
that we could never have been fit for it. So he sent his own Son to
live among us, and die for us, to wash us from our sins, and to give us
new clothing, and to make us ready to live in God’s house. When you ask
God for any thing you must say, ‘For Jesus Christ’s sake.’ Jesus Christ
is the Son of God.”
After these words the minister carefully descended the ladder,
followed by Jessica’s bare and nimble feet, and she led him by the
nearest way into one of the great thoroughfares of the city, where he
said good-by to her, adding, “God bless you, my child,” in a tone which
sank into Jessica’s heart.
He had put a silver sixpence into her hand to provide for her breakfast
the next three mornings, and with a feeling of being very rich she
returned to her miserable home.
The next morning Jessica presented herself proudly as a customer at
Daniel’s stall, and paid over the sixpence in advance.
He felt a little troubled as he heard her story, lest the minister
should endeavor to find him out; but he could not refuse to let the
child come daily for her comfortable breakfast. If he was detected, he
would promise to give up his coffee-stall rather than offend the great
people of the chapel; but unless he was it would be foolish of him to
lose the money it brought in week after week.
CHAPTER IX.
JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER ANSWERED.
Every Sunday evening the barefooted and bareheaded child might be seen
advancing confidently up to the chapel where rich and fashionable
people worshipped God; but before taking her place she arrayed herself
in a little cloak and bonnet which had once belonged to the minister’s
elder daughter, and which was kept with Daniel’s serge gown, so that
she presented a somewhat more respectable appearance in the eyes of
the congregation. The minister had no listener more attentive, and he
would have missed the pinched, earnest little face if it were not to
be seen in the seat just under the pulpit. At the close of each service
he spoke to her for a minute or two in his vestry, often saying no
more than a single sentence, for the day’s labor had wearied him. The
shilling, which was always lying upon the chimney-piece, placed there
by Jane and Winny in turns, was immediately handed over, according to
promise, to Daniel as she left the chapel, and so Jessica’s breakfast
was provided for her week after week.
But at last there came a Sunday evening when the minister, going up
into his pulpit, did miss the wistful, hungry face, and the shilling
lay unclaimed upon the vestry chimney-piece. Daniel looked out for
her anxiously every morning, but no Jessica glided into his secluded
corner, to sit beside him with her breakfast on her lap and with a
number of strange questions to ask. He felt her absence more keenly
than he could have expected. The child was nothing to him, he kept
saying to himself; and yet he felt that she was something, and that he
could not help being uneasy and anxious about her. Why had he never
inquired where she lived? The minister knew, and for a minute Daniel
thought he would go and ask him; but that might awaken suspicion. How
could he account for so much anxiety when he was supposed only to know
of her absence from chapel one Sunday evening? It would be running a
risk, and, after all, Jessica was nothing to him. So he went home and
looked over his savings bank book and counted his money, and he found
to his satisfaction that he had gathered together nearly four hundred
pounds, and that he was adding more every week.
But when upon the next Sunday Jessica’s seat was again empty the
anxiety of the solemn chapel-keeper overcame his prudence and his
fears. The minister had retired to his vestry, and was standing with
his arm resting upon the chimney-piece, and his eyes fixed upon the
unclaimed shilling which Winny had laid there before the service, when
there was a tap at the door, and Daniel entered with a respectful but
hesitating air.
“Well, Standring?” said the minister questioningly.
“Sir,” he said, “I’m uncomfortable about that little girl, and I know
you’ve been once to see after her; she told me about it; and so I make
bold to ask you where she lives, and I’ll see what’s become of her.”
“Right, Standring,” answered the minister; “I am troubled about the
child, and so are my little girls. I thought of going myself, but my
time is very much occupied just now.”
“I’ll go, sir,” replied Daniel promptly; and after receiving the
necessary information about Jessica’s home he put out the lights,
locked the door, and turned towards his lonely lodgings.
But though it was getting late upon Sunday evening, and Jessica’s home
was a long way distant, Daniel found that his anxiety would not suffer
him to return to his solitary room. It was of no use to reason with
himself, as he stood at the corner of the street, feeling perplexed
and troubled, and promising his conscience that he would go the very
first thing in the morning after he shut up his coffee-stall. In the
dim, dusky light, as the summer evening drew to a close, he fancied he
could see Jessica’s thin figure and wan face gliding on before him,
and turning around from time to time to see if he were following. It
was only fancy, and he laughed a little at himself; but the laugh was
husky, and there was a choking sensation in his throat, so he buttoned
his Sunday coat over his breast, where his silver watch and chain hung
temptingly, and started off at a rapid pace for the centre of the city.
It was not quite dark when he reached the court, and stumbled up the
narrow entry leading to it; but Daniel did hesitate when he opened the
stable-door, and looked into a blank, black space, in which he could
discern nothing. He thought he had better retreat while he could do
so safely; but as he still stood with his hand upon the rusty latch he
heard a faint, small voice through the nicks of the unceiled boarding
above his head.
“Our Father,” said the little voice, “please to send somebody to me,
for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.”
“I’m here, Jess,” cried Daniel, with a sudden bound of his heart, such
as he had not felt for years, and which almost took away his breath as
he peered into the darkness until at last he discerned dimly the ladder
which led up into the loft.
[Illustration]
Very cautiously, but with an eagerness which surprised himself, he
climbed up the creaking rounds of the ladder and entered the dismal
room, where the child was lying in desolate darkness. Fortunately he
had his box of matches in his pocket, and the end of a wax candle with
which he kindled the lamps, and in another minute a gleam of light
shone upon Jessica’s white features. She was stretched upon a scanty
litter of straw under the slanting roof where the tiles had not fallen
off, with her poor rags for her only covering; but as her eyes looked
up into Daniel’s face bending over her a bright smile of joy sparkled
in them.
“Oh!” she cried, gladly, but in a feeble voice, “it’s Mr. Daniel! Has
God told you to come here, Mr. Daniel?”
“Yes,” said Daniel, kneeling beside her, taking her wasted hand in his,
and parting the matted hair upon her damp forehead.
“What did he say to you?” said Jessica.
“He told me I was a great sinner,” replied Daniel. “He told me I
loved a little bit of dirty money better than a poor, friendless,
helpless child, whom he had sent to me to see if I would do her a
little good for his sake. He looked at me, or the minister did, through
and through, and he said, ‘Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be
required of thee: then whose shall those things be which thou hast
provided?’ And I could answer him nothing, Jess. He had come to a
reckoning with me, and I could not say a word to him.”
“Aren’t you a good man, Mr. Daniel?” whispered Jessica.
“No; I’m a wicked sinner,” he cried, while the tears rolled down his
solemn face. “I’ve been constant at God’s house, but only to get money;
I’ve been steady and industrious, but only to get money; and now God
looks at me, and he says, ‘Thou fool!’ Oh, Jess, Jess, you’re more fit
for heaven than I ever was in my life!”
“Why don’t you ask him to make you good for Jesus Christ’s sake?” asked
the child.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve been kneeling down Sunday after Sunday
when the minister’s been praying, but all the time I was thinking
how rich some of the carriage people were. I’ve been loving money and
worshipping money all along, and I’ve nearly let you die rather than
run the risk of losing part of my earnings. I’m a very sinful man.”
“But you know what the minister often says,” murmured Jessica:
“‘Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent
his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.’”
“I’ve heard it so often that I don’t feel it,” said Daniel. “I used to
like to hear the minister say it, but now it goes in at one ear and out
at the other. My heart is very hard, Jessica.”
By the feeble glimmer of the candle Daniel saw Jessica’s wistful eyes
fixed upon him with a sad and loving glance; and then she lifted up
her weak hand to her face, and laid it over her closed eyelids, and her
feverish lips moved slowly.
“God,” she said, “please to make Mr. Daniel’s heart soft, for Jesus
Christ’s sake. Amen.”
She did not speak again, nor Daniel, for some time.
He took off his Sunday coat and laid it over the tiny, shivering frame,
which was shaking with cold even in the summer evening; and as he did
so he remembered the words which the Lord says he will pronounce at the
last day of reckoning:
“Forasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my
brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Daniel Standring felt his heart turning with love to the Saviour,
and he bowed his head upon his hands, and cried, in the depths of his
contrite spirit, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”
CHAPTER X.
THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
There was no coffee-stall opened under the railway arch the following
morning, and Daniel’s regular customers stood amazed as they drew
near the empty corner where they were accustomed to get their early
breakfast. It would have astonished them still more if they could have
seen how he was occupied in the miserable loft. He had intrusted a
friendly woman out of the court to buy food and fuel, and all night
long he had watched beside Jessica, who was light-headed and delirious,
but in the wanderings of her thoughts and words often spoke to God,
and prayed for her Mr. Daniel. The neighbor informed him that the
child’s mother had gone off some days before, fearing that she was ill
of some infectious fever, and that she, alone, had taken a little care
of her from time to time. As soon as the morning came he sent for a
doctor, and after receiving permission from him he wrapped the poor
deserted Jessica in his coat, and bearing her tenderly in his arms down
the ladder he carried her to a cab, which the neighbor brought to the
entrance of the court. It was to no other than his own solitary home
that he had resolved to take her; and when the mistress of the lodgings
stood at her door with her arms a-kimbo, to forbid the admission of the
wretched and neglected child, her tongue was silenced by the gleam of a
half-sovereign which Daniel slipped into the palm of her hard hand.
By that afternoon’s post the minister received the following letter:
“REVERED SIR,
“If you will condescend to enter under my humble roof you will have
the pleasure of seeing little Jessica, who is at the point of death,
unless God in his mercy restores her. Hoping you will excuse this
liberty, as I cannot leave the child, I remain with duty,
“Your respectful servant,
“D. STANDRING.
“P. S. Jessica desires her best love and duty to Miss Jane and Winny.”
The minister laid aside the book he was reading, and without any delay
started off for his chapel-keeper’s dwelling. There was Jessica lying
restfully upon Daniel’s bed, but the pinched features were deadly
pale, and the sunken eyes shone with a waning light. She was too feeble
to turn her head when the door opened, and he paused for a moment,
looking at her and at Daniel, who, seated at the head of the bed, was
turning over the papers in his desk, and reckoning up once more the
savings of his lifetime. But when the minister advanced into the middle
of the room Jessica’s white cheeks flushed into deep red.
“Oh, minister,” she cried, “God has given me every thing I wanted
except paying Mr. Daniel for the coffee he used to give me!”
“Ah! but God has paid me over and over again,” said Daniel, rising to
receive the minister. “He’s given me my own soul in exchange for it.
Let me make bold to speak to you this once, sir. You’re a very learned
man, and a great preacher, and many people flock to hear you till I’m
hard put to it to find seats for them at times; but all the while,
hearkening to you every blessed Sabbath, I was losing my soul, and you
never once said to me, though you saw me scores and scores of times,
‘Standring, are you a saved man?’”
“Standring,” said the minister in a tone of great distress and regret,
“I always took it for granted that you were a Christian.”
“Ah,” continued Daniel, thoughtfully, “but God wanted somebody to ask
me that question, and he did not find anybody in the congregation, so
he sent this poor little lass to me. Well, I don’t mind telling now,
even if I lose the place; but for a long time, nigh upon ten years,
I’ve kept a coffee-stall on week-days in the city, and cleared,
one week with another, about ten shillings: but I was afraid the
chapel-wardens wouldn’t approve of the coffee business, as low, so I
kept it a close secret, and always shut up early of a morning. It’s me
that sold Jessica her cup of coffee, which you paid for, sir.”
“There’s no harm in it, my good fellow,” said the minister kindly; “you
need make no secret of it.”
“Well,” resumed Daniel, “the questions this poor little creature has
asked me have gone quicker and deeper down to my conscience than all
your sermons, if I may make so free as to say it. She’s come often and
often of a morning, and looked into my face with those clear eyes of
hers, and said, ‘Don’t you love Jesus Christ, Mr. Daniel?’ ‘Doesn’t
it make you very glad that God is your Father, Mr. Daniel?’ ‘Are we
getting nearer heaven every day, Mr. Daniel?’ And one day says she,
‘Are you going to give all your money to God, Mr. Daniel?’ Ah, that
question made me think indeed, and it’s never been answered till this
day. While I’ve been sitting beside the bed here I’ve counted up all my
savings: £397 18s. it is; and I’ve said, ‘Lord, it’s all thine; and I’d
give every penny of it rather than lose the child, if it be thy blessed
will to spare her life.’”
Daniel’s voice quavered at the last words, and his face sank upon the
pillow where Jessica’s feeble and motionless head lay. There was a very
sweet yet surprised smile upon her face, and she lifted her wasted
fingers to rest upon the bowed head beside her, while she shut her
eyes and shaded them with her other weak hand.
[Illustration]
“Our Father,” she said in a faint whisper, which still reached the
ears of the minister and the beadle, “I asked you to let me come home
to heaven; but if Mr. Daniel wants me, please to let me stay a little
longer, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.”
For some minutes after Jessica’s prayer there was a deep and unbroken
silence in the room, Daniel still hiding his face upon the pillow, and
the minister standing beside them with bowed head and closed eyes, as
if he also were praying. When he looked up again at the forsaken and
desolate child he saw that her feeble hand had fallen from her face,
which looked full of rest and peace, while her breath came faintly but
regularly through her parted lips. He took her little hand into his
own with a pang of fear and grief; but instead of the mortal chillness
of death he felt the pleasant warmth and moisture of life. He touched
Daniel’s shoulder, and as he lifted up his head in sudden alarm he
whispered to him, “The child is not dead, but is only asleep.”
Before Jessica was fully recovered Daniel rented a little house for
himself and his adopted daughter to dwell in. He made many inquiries
after her mother, but she never appeared again in her old haunts, and
he was well pleased that there was nobody to interfere with his charge
of Jessica. When Jessica grew strong enough, many a cheerful walk had
they together, in the early mornings, as they wended their way to the
railway bridge, where the little girl took her place behind the stall
and soon learned to serve the daily customers; and many a happy day was
spent in helping to sweep and dust the chapel, into which she had crept
so secretly at first, her great delight being to attend to the pulpit
and the vestry, and the pew where the minister’s children sat, while
Daniel and the woman he employed cleaned the rest of the building.
Many a Sunday also the minister in his pulpit, and his little
daughters in their pew, and Daniel treading softly about the aisles, as
their glance fell upon Jessica’s eager, earnest, happy face, thought
of the first time they saw her sitting among the congregation, and of
Jessica’s first prayer.
Jessica’s Mother
Hesba Stretton
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Great Plans PAGE 3
CHAPTER II.
It’s Only a Stroke 14
CHAPTER III.
Jessica’s Mother 23
CHAPTER IV.
Jessica’s Choice 37
CHAPTER V.
How a Christian Ought to Act 45
CHAPTER VI.
Daniel’s Prayer 54
CHAPTER VII.
A Busy Day for Daniel 61
CHAPTER VIII.
Hopes of Recovery 70
CHAPTER IX.
The Gate of Death 76
CHAPTER X.
Speak of His Love 85
JESSICA’S MOTHER.
CHAPTER I.
GREAT PLANS.
It was a gloomy Sunday in the gloomiest part of the year, when the
fog hung over London day and night, only lifting itself off a little
for two or three hours about noon time. The bells which rang from
the church towers might have been chiming from some region above the
clouds, so distant they sounded and so hidden were the belfries in
which they hung.
In the early part of the day the congregations went to and from their
various places of worship with a feeling of sombre depression at the
long continuance of the gloom; but after nightfall the darkness was
only natural, and though the lamps gave but little light, and shone
merely like yellow balls in the fog, the passengers in the street moved
more briskly and talked more cheerfully than in the morning. Here and
there the brilliantly illuminated windows of some church or chapel cast
a pleasant gleam upon the pavement, and the open doors seemed to invite
any cold or weary passer-by to enter into its light and warmth; but
as if these buildings, the temples of God, were designed only for the
rich, and for those who had comfort enough in their own dwellings, it
was noticeable that but a very scanty sprinkling of worshippers dressed
in vile raiment were to be seen among the congregations, though there
was no lack of those who wore goodly apparel and gay clothing.
The fashionable chapel of which Daniel Standring was the chapel-keeper
was no exception to the general rule, for there were no poor to be
found in it. There was within it every appliance of comfort and style
such as could give satisfaction to a wealthy congregation. The oak pews
were high enough for the head of an occasional slumberer to repose in
quiet indulgence, and they were well lined and carpeted and cushioned.
The shades for the lamps toned down their light to a clear yet soft
lustre, and the apparatus for heating the building was of the most
efficient kind.
The crowds who flocked to hear the minister were increasing every
Sunday, and Daniel Standring had, with some reluctance, yielded to the
necessity of sharing his office of pew-opener with a colleague; a man,
however, of less dignity and solemnity of deportment than himself, and
who was quite willing to look up to him as a superior. Moreover, the
old members of the church, the “carriage people” especially, recognized
him only as their chapel-keeper, and entrusted any message or any
commission to him alone; and he also retained the charge of attending
upon the vestry. The other man was no more than a subordinate; and
after a while he was reconciled to this division of the office.
There had been two things much talked about among the people for some
time past: the first, that the minister himself should have a colleague
found for him, and the second, that a large and still more fashionable
chapel should be built.
As to the colleague there were several difficulties in the way, the
chief one being to find such a preacher as would attract the same
congregations as those which came in crowds to listen to the minister;
for it was found that whenever it was known that he would be absent
from his pulpit the numbers dwindled away, until during his yearly
holiday the chapel would seem almost empty, compared to the throng of
curious and eager listeners who hung upon his words, and scarcely dared
to sigh over his representations of their misery and peril lest they
should miss hearing a single syllable of the eloquence which described
it.
Still every member of the congregation said it was essential that
a colleague should be found for their beloved pastor before he had
quite worn himself out; and great blame was thrown back upon the small
provincial church which five-and-twenty years ago had thrust him, a
mere youth of twenty, upon the exhausting duties of the ministry. As
for the second subject, it was settled without much difficulty, for
only money, not a man, was wanted; and upon the vestry table there was
a subscription-list already promising some thousands of pounds, and
beside it lay the plans for the new chapel, drawn up by an eminent
architect.
The chapel doors had been opened by Daniel, and the gas toned down to
precisely the brilliance and softness which the congregation loved,
especially the lamps on each side of the pulpit, which shed a revealing
light upon the minister’s thoughtful face and upon his dark hair
just tinged with grey. In the vestry Jessica had just given a final
and delicate stroke of dusting, and was wiping the large pulpit Bible
and hymn-book with her clean pocket-handkerchief ready for Daniel to
carry up into the pulpit while the organist was playing the opening
voluntary, which he did with so solemn and ministerial an aspect that
a stranger, not accustomed to the etiquette of the place, might be
betrayed into the supposition that he was the minister himself.
Daniel was waiting now in the porch like some faithful steward ready
to receive his master’s guests; and as carriage after carriage rolled
up almost a smile of satisfaction softened his rigid features. The
minister’s children had passed him with a smile and a nod, and he had
shut the door of their pew in the corner, so he knew the minister
was come, and putting a little additional briskness in his manner he
looked out for seats for the strangers who were filling the aisles, at
the same time listening for the first notes of the organ.
The minister had entered the vestry just as Jessica had finished wiping
the imaginary dust off the Bible and hymn-book, and he drew his chair
up close to the fire, as if coming through the fog had chilled him. He
looked sad and downcast, and his head sank forward upon his breast.
For a minute Jessica stood behind his chair in silence, and then she
stretched out her hand, a small thin hand still, and laid it timidly
upon his arm.
“Jessica,” said the minister, covering her small palm with his
scholarly hand, “I am sorrowful to-night, and I have great heaviness of
heart. Tell me, my child, do you understand what I preach about in my
pulpit?”
“Oh, no, no!” answered Jessica, shaking her head deprecatingly, “only
when you say God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven! I know what you mean
by them.”
“Do you?” said the minister, with a very tender smile; “and do I say
them often, Jessica?”
“Sometimes they come over and over again,” replied Jessica, “and then I
feel very glad, because I know what you are preaching about. There is
always God in your sermon, but sometimes there isn’t Jesus Christ and
heaven.”
“And what do I mean by God, and Jesus Christ, and heaven?” he asked.
“I don’t know anything but what you’ve taught me,” said Jessica,
folding her brown hands meekly over one another; “you’ve told me that
God is the Father of our souls, and Jesus Christ is our elder brother,
who came down from heaven to save us, and heaven is the home of God,
where we shall all go if we love and serve him. I don’t know any more
than that.”
“It is enough!” said the minister, lifting up his head with a brighter
look; “one soul has learned the truth from me. God bless you, Jessica,
and keep you in his fear and love for evermore.”
As he spoke the deep tones of the organ fell upon their ears, and the
vestry door was opened by Daniel, coming for the pulpit books. There
was an air of solemn pride upon his face, and he bowed lower than usual
to his minister.
“There’s a vast crush of people to-night, sir,” he said; “the aisles
and the galleries are all full, and there’s a many standing at the door
yet who will have to go away, for there’s no room for them.”
The minister covered his face with his hands and shivered, with the
cold no doubt; and Daniel and Jessica were leaving the vestry when they
were called back by his voice speaking in husky and agitated tones.
“Standring,” he said, “I have something of importance to say to you
after the service this evening, so come back here as soon as the
congregation is gone. And, Jessica, take care to sit in your own
place, where I can see you; for I will preach about Jesus Christ and
heaven to-night.”
Jessica answered only by a little nod, and left the vestry by a door
which did not open into the chapel. In a minute or two afterwards she
was making her way up the crowded aisles to her usual seat at the foot
of the pulpit steps, where, with her head thrown back, her face lifted
itself up to the minister’s gaze.
She had just time to settle herself and glance at the minister’s
children, who were looking out for her, when the last quiet notes of
the organ ceased, and the vestry door opened. The minister mounted the
stairs slowly, and with his head bent down, but as soon as he was in
the pulpit he looked round upon the faces whose eyes were all fastened
upon him.
Many of the faces he knew, and had seen thus upraised to him for scores
of Sundays, and his eyes passed from one to another swiftly, but with
a distinguishing regard of which he had never been conscious before,
and their names swept across his memory like sudden flashes of light.
There sat his own children, and his eyes rested fondly upon them as
they looked up to him; and he smiled tenderly to himself as his glance
caught the flushed and fervent face of Jessica.
The sermon he had prepared during the week was one of great research
and of studied oratory, which should hold his hearers in strained
and breathless attention; but as he bowed down his head in silent
supplication for the blessing of God he said to himself, “I will preach
to this people from the saying of Christ, ‘He calleth His own sheep by
name, and leadeth them out.’”