_THE WAITING IS OVER._
Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when
Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is
come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old
Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and
gasped for breath.
Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily
asked--
"What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news."
"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which
is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he
ran off, and they have locked him up."
"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last.
"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it."
"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my
old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the
business."
George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly
overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner,
with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder.
"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively;
"there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if
Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't
break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What
made you think of it?"
"Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I
never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was
lost."
"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his
mother. Bet, you come along."
"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not."
"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of
Joe--I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect
there is worse behind."
"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set
out together.
The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron
railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter
and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience
Harrison.
"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off
my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the
row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many
years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But
when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh
air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week,
with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where
the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her,
he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was!
and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and
that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea.
But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave
even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from
the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the
sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any
visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the
distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses
which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off.
As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said--
"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much."
"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you
are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you."
That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised
herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow
garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met
by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with
Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_
glad for you!"
"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the
child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker--bless
her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her."
Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways;
when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by
fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange
temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in
the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought,
and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters.
Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a
breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst
those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are
shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others?
Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed,
are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe
the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith
encourage others to seek after a like precious gift.
Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of
painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then
she would put in a little word of her own thoughts.
"There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do
like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! God seems to look at
me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here,
though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then
it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and
doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely.
She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter,
dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs.
Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem
shorter--that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be
the first to tell us when they are coming."
It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards
and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan,
with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming
round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for
Miss Joy to stay in the porch.
"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan."
"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply.
Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her
real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she
found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather
sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite
kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes--
"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's
doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved
them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say,
"There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I
don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when
they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers."
People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their
remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or
reproof.
The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house,
George Paterson said:
"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best."
Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his
mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with
kisses.
"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!"
Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur
over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said:
"Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack. Of course every one forgives
you--because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us. Oh, dear, _dear_
old Jack!"
It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother,
kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God. Then he
drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in
a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him.
"The token has come at last," poor Patience said. "Yes, I marked those
letters on the handkerchief with my own hand. Oh, Jack! Jack! it all
comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is
better to _know_ at last."