John Travis stood with upraised hand. Clearly, slowly, the words fell,
and you could hear only the labored respiration of the women. There was
a benediction--he could not recall it, but a verse of Scripture came into
his mind. _"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the
world giveth give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither
let it be afraid."_
"The Lord will bless you," said the trembling old woman.
He squeezed something into her hand as she turned to go. Mrs. Murphy's
sickly baby began to cry, and one of Dil's woke up. The little crowd
dispersed.
It began to grow dusky. Night came on early in Barker's Court. Days were
shorter, and sunless at that.
Travis stepped back to Bess.
"I shall ask my friend to tell me all about you--she will write it. And I
shall come back." He stooped and kissed Bess on the brow, for the last
time. Heaven help her on her lonely journey. But the Saviour who blessed
little children would be tender of her surely.
"We'll all go--won't we--to heaven? The singin' was so beautiful. An' the
everlastin' spring."
"Good-by." He clasped Dil's hand. "Remember, wherever you are, I shall
find you. Oh, do not be afraid, God will care for you."
"I don't seem to understand 'bout God," and there was a great, strange
awe in Dil's eyes. "But you've been lovely. I can understand that."
One more glance at Bess, whose face was lighted with an exalted glow, as
if she were poised, just ready for flight. Oh, what could comfort Dil
when she was gone? And _he_ had so much! He was so rich in home and
love.
A woman stood in the lower hallway, the half-despairing face he had
noted. She clutched his arm.
"See here," she cried. "You said, 'deliver us from evil.' Is anybody--is
God strong enough to do it? From horrible evil--when there seems no other
way open--when you must see some one you love--die starvin'--an' no work to
be had--O my God!"
The cry pierced him. Yes, there was a beneficent power in money. He gave
thanks for it, as he crushed it in her hand. How did the poor souls
live, herded in this narrow court? His father's stable was a palace to
it in cleanliness.
He had reasoned about poverty being one of the judicious forces of the
world. He had studied its picturesque aspects, its freedom from care and
responsibility, its comfortable disregard of conventionals, its happy
indifference to custom and opinion. Did these people look joyous and
content? Why, their faces even now haunted him with the weight of
hopeless sorrow. Oh, what could he do to ease the burthen of the world?
Dil picked up the baby after she had lighted the lamp. She was still in
a maze, as if some vision had come and gone. Was he really here? Or had
she been in a blissful dream?
"Come an' spell out what he's written--an'--an' his name, Dil!"