_THE SPIRIT OF PEACE._
Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience
came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce.
She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined
her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her
handkerchief.
"Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early,
for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the
passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market. I met
the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said
they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no
more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have
done if little Miss Joy had been there. But as she loves me a little,
and never laughs at me, I don't mind."
"I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some
news."
"Not that Jack is come? Oh my!"
"No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has--your Aunt Maggie."
Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth.
"My Aunt Maggie! she that went away! I have got her picture in a box.
I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running
about, and she came home with me."
"Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother."
"How do you know?"
"She is with Joy now. I have left them together."
"Are you come to tell grannie? She has been so mopy since the wedding.
Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married. She says she
can't get along living in this house alone with me. Come and see her,
do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie. I think you must tell her that."
"But I do not know your grandmother very well. I have scarcely spoken
a dozen words to her in my life."
"I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said. "Do come along, please, Mrs.
Harrison."
Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet. Just
as they reached the back door--for Bet never entered at the front--she
paused.
"Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her
mother. I say, is it wicked? I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come
back. Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and--she won't care for
me."
"Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any
person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would
make you unhappy. True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison
with the person beloved. Whatever is for the good and for the
happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also. Try to see
that."
"I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I
would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have
her mother, and never want me."
"Or _me_," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it
would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will
love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever."
"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door
and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house.
Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and
straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the
basket on the table with both her tired arms.
"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you."
"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply.
"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back
was turned to the door, and she never moved her position.
Patience advanced to her side and said--
"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news."
"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard
and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched.
"A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said.
"Oh! your scapegraces I suppose. My son Joe has a very bad opinion of
him--I can tell you that."
Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said--
"No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned. She is
little Joy's mother."
"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it."
"Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince
yourself of the truth. If other tokens were wanting, the likeness
between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides----"
"There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said. "I'm a
miserable woman--that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want
nobody or nothing."
Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our
dear little Joy and her mother. You will feel happier then. God will
comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him. Do come and satisfy
yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if
you will let them."
Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and
resolutely turned her head away. But just as Bet was leaving the
kitchen with her visitor she said:
"You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted.
Bide at home and do your duty. Do you hear?"
"You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient. You are sure to
hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over."
It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard
at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there.
"You are Bet, I suppose. Little Joy sent me," she whispered. "I was
afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come,
and tell her I am sorry I offended her. For, Bet, I ought not to have
deserted her, and I see it all now. Where is your grandmother?"
"Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks
very strange. I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the
clock, and thinking it would never end. I have got your picture," she
added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy. _You_ are not like
it now."
"No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me. Poor Bet! I remember
coming to kiss you that night when I went away. Poor little thing, I
pitied you. But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God
has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true
friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother. I think
how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child."
"She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight. "But there's
grannie calling; you had better come."
"Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner. "Shut
the door at once, and come in, will you?"
Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to
the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs.
Skinner sat.
"Mother!"
Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles.
"Mother, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old
age, mother! My little Joy sent me. She does so want to see you, and
to know you will forgive me."
"Forgive you! What do you care for my forgiveness? You chose your own
way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard."
"Come to Joy, mother. Hear her dear little voice asking you to--to be
kind. Will you come?"
"I'll see about it."
"But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising. Oh, mother,
come!"
There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said--
"Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet. I suppose for peace sake I shall
have to go."
But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that
she could hardly fasten her cloak. She followed her daughter silently
out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door."
Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the
clock's chimes as it struck the quarters. At last, lulled by the sound
of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in
her grandmother's chair.
She was awakened by the sound of a laugh--a discordant laugh. It came
from her Uncle Joe's old room. Presently there was the chink of money,
and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened
attentively.
"Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way."
"Oh! I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night."
"Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?"
"She'll be taught _not_ to wonder, that's all."
"Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the
cards were shuffled.
"No, and it will be the worse for him when he does."
Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought
his mother and Bet were safe in bed.
Bet crept upstairs. At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and
then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the
back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key.
Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step
at the front of the house. Running down, she opened the front door
before there was time to ring.
Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained.
"Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold."
"But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a
cup of tea; let me."
Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head
against the back of the chair.
Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling,
and the cup of tea ready. The crackling of the wood, and the sudden
blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily.
"You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now."
As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother
with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry. The
hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore
and seared heart, how sad they are! Bet did not return to her
grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself--
"When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched. I
dare say grannie is like me."
Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and
lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned.
There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very
presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost. In the silent watches
of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange
and unwonted power.
"Grannie," little Joy had said--"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves
us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and
we'll be so happy together--you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and
dear Goody."
"Happy! No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied. Little
Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said:
"Yes, you _will_, if you make other folks happy, grannie. _That's the
secret_."
Was it indeed the secret? Again and again, like a breath of heaven,
gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs.
Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over
the sad, sad past.
The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that
divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light. When the grey,
cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the
shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a
tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne
through the long hot day. That burden was the burden of harsh,
unforgiving judgment and remorse. It had been rolled away, like that
of one of old, at the foot of the cross--the cross of Him who, in the
pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong,
and say, "Father, forgive them."