Flo was carried into the Buxton Ward for children.
They laid her in one of the pretty white cots, close to a little girl of
three, who was not very ill, and who suspended her play with her toys to
watch her.
Here for many hours she lay as one dead, and the nurses and doctors
shook their heads over her--she had no broken bones, but they feared
serious internal injuries.
Late in the evening, however, she opened her eyes, and after about an
hour of confused wandering, consciousness and memory came fully back.
Consciousness and memory, but no pain either of mind or body. Even when
they told her her dog was dead, she only smiled faintly, and said she
knew 'ee'd give 'is life fur 'er! and then she said she was better, and
would like to go home.
They asked her her name, and the address of her home, and she gave them
both quite correctly, but when they said she had better stay until the
morning, and go to sleep now, she seemed contented, and did sleep, as
calmly as she had done the night before, in her own little bed, in Mrs
Jenks' room.
The next morning she again told them she was better, and had no pain,
but she said nothing now about going home: nor when, later in the day,
Mrs Jenks, all trembling and crying, and Miss Mary, more composed, but
with her eyes full of sorrow, bent over her, did she mention it.
She looked at them with that great calm on her face, which nothing again
seemed ever to disturb, and told them about Scamp, and asked them if
they thought she should ever see her dog again.
"I don't know wot belief to hold about the future of the dumb
creatures," said little Mrs Jenks, "but ef I was you, I'd leave it to
God, dearie."
"Yes," answered Flo, "I leaves heverythink to God."
And when Miss Mary heard her say this, and saw the look on her face, she
gave up all hope of her little servant.
She was going to the place where _His servants shall serve Him_.
Yes, Flo was going to God.
The doctors knew it--the nurses knew it--she could not recover. What a
bright lot for the little tired out London child! No more weary tasks--
no more dark days--no more hunger and cold. Her friends had hoped and
planned for a successful earthly life for her--God, knowing the
uncertainty of all things human, planned better. He loved this fair
little flower, and meant to transplant it into the heavenly garden, to
bloom for ever in His presence.
But though Flo was not to recover she got better, so much better, for
the time at least, that she herself thought she should get quite well;
and as from the first she had suffered very little pain, she often
wondered why they made a fuss about her, why Mrs Jenks seemed so upset
when she came to see her, why the nurses were so gentle with her, and
why even the doctors spoke to her in a lower, kinder tone than they did
to the other children. She was not very ill; she had felt much, much
worse when she had lain on the little bed that God had lent her--what
agony she had gone through then! and now she was only weak, and her
heart fluttered a good deal. There was an undefined something she felt
between her and health, but soon she must be quite well.
In the pleasant Buxton Ward were at this time a great many little
children, and as Flo got better and more conscious, she took an interest
in them, and though it hurt her and took away her breath to talk much,
yet her greatest pleasure was to whisper to God about them. There was
one little baby in particular, who engrossed all her strongest feelings
of compassion, and the nurses, seeing she liked to touch it, often
brought it, and laid it in her cot.
Such a baby as it was! Such a lesson for all who gazed at it, of the
miseries of sin, of the punishment of sin!
The child of a drunken mother, it looked, at nine months old, about the
size of a small doll. Had any nourishment been ever poured down that
baby's throat? Its little arms were no thicker than an ordinary
person's fingers--and its face! Oh! that any of God's human creatures
should wear the face of that baby!
It was an old man's face, but no man ever looked so old--it was a
monkey's face, but no monkey ever looked so devoid of intelligence. All
the pain of all the world seemed concentrated in its expression; all the
wrinkles on every brow were furrowed on its yellow skin.
It was always crying, always suffering from some unintelligible agony.
[The writer saw exactly such a baby at the Evelina Hospital a short time
ago.] The nurses and doctors said it might recover, but Flo hoped
otherwise, and her hope she told to God.
"Doesn't you think that it 'ud be better fur the little baby to be up
there in the Gold Streets?" she said to God, every time she looked at
it. And then she pictured to herself its little face growing fair and
beautiful, and its anguish ceasing for ever--and she thought if she was
there, what care she would take of the baby.
Perhaps she does take care of the baby, up There!
One day great news came to the London Hospital--great news, and great
excitement. It was going to be highly honoured. Her gracious Majesty
the Queen was coming in person to open a new wing, called The Grocers
Company's Wing.
She was coming in a few days, coming to visit her East-end subjects, and
in particular to visit this great Hospital.
Flo, lying on her little bed, weaker than usual, very still, with closed
eyes, heard the nurses and sisters talking of the great event, their
tones full of interest and excitement--they had only a short time to
prepare--should they ever be ready to receive the Queen?--what wards
would she visit? with a thousand other questions of considerable
importance.
Flo, lying, as she did most of her time, half asleep, hardly ever heard
what was going on around her, but now the word Queen--Queen--struck on
her half dull ear.
What were they saying about the Queen? Who was the Queen? Had she ever
seen the Queen? Then like a flash it all came back to her--that hot
afternoon last summer--her ambitious little wish to be the greatest
person of all, her longing for pretty sights and pretty things, the
hurried walk she, Jenks, and Dick had taken to Buckingham Palace, the
crowd, the sea of eager faces, the carriage with its out-riders, the
flashing colour of the Life Guards! Then, all these seemed to fade
away, and she saw only the principal figure in the picture--the gracious
face of a lady was turned to her, kind eyes looked into hers. The
remembrance of the glance the Queen had bestowed upon her had never
passed from the little girl's memory. She had treasured it up, as she
would a morsel of something sacred, as the first of the many bright
things God had given her. Long ago, before she knew of God, she had
held her small head a trifle higher, when she considered that once
Royalty had condescended to look at her, and she had made it a fresh
incentive to honesty and virtuous living.
A thrill of joy and anticipation ran now through her heart. How _much_
she should like to see again the greatest woman in the world; if her
eyes again beheld her she might get well.
Trembling and eager, she started up in bed.
"Please is the Queen coming?"
The sister who had spoken went over and stood by her side. She was
surprised at the look of interest in her generally too quiet little
face.
"Yes, dear," she said, "the Queen is coming to see the Hospital."
"And shall I see the Queen?"
"We are not quite sure yet what wards she will visit; if she comes here
you shall see her."
"Oh!" said Flo, with a great sigh, and a lustrous light shining out of
her eyes, "ef I sees the Queen I shall get well."
The sister smiled, but as she turned away she shook her head. She knew
no sight of any earthly king or queen could make the child well, but she
hoped much that her innocent wish might be gratified.