When Faith came in a few moments later, she found her father pacing up
and down the room. His anger and vexation were still burning hot; he
was still in his heart wishing that Roy were an older child, so that he
might punish him more severely. It was a great relief to see Faith's
pale, anxious little face. Yes, without any doubt Faith was the real
culprit. On Faith then should the full vials of his wrath fall.
"See what you have done," he said; "come here, right over here, and see
what you have done."
Faith, her face growing a shade whiter, approached and saw the scattered
pieces of the prize essay still lying on the floor.
"Wot h'ever is that, father?" she ventured to say.
"What ever is that? 'tis my essay, my prize essay, that your brother
tore all into bits. How dare you, how dare you, I say, disobey me and
leave the child alone? You have done mischief that can never be put
right, and I'll never forgive you."
"Oh! father," said Faith piteously. She went on her knees and took some
of the tiny torn fragments into her hand.
"There! don't touch them; 'tis jest enough to madden a man, but you
shall suffer. If you can't take care of the child, some one else shall.
Yes, you shan't hear the last of this. Now, tell me where you have
been this hour and more."
"I went to Sunday-school, father. I don't know why I disobeyed you;
indeed I never did it before, but I 'ad a kind of hankering to go jest
once. I left Roy asleep, and I never guessed as he 'ud wake; I thought
I'd be back long afore, and I never guessed as you'd come home; I never,
never guessed it. Oh! Indeed I'm dreadful, bitter sorry, indeed I am."
"You have need to be; you can't even guess how angry God Almighty is
with you; you're a very, very wicked girl. There, get out of my sight
go into the bedroom, you shan't have no tea to-night."
Faith went slowly towards the bedroom door, she opened it and shut it
behind her; she cared nothing for the punishment of going without her
supper, she was glad to be away from her father, glad to be alone with
the dreadful, dreadful weight which rested on her heart. Her father had
said that she was a very, very wicked girl, that no one could even guess
how angry God was with her. Yes, she believed her father; she had done
wrong. It was most certainly wrong to disobey, she had disobeyed her
father's strictest command. Tears burned in her eyes, but lay too heavy
there to roll down her cheeks; she sat on the floor, a little bent-up
bundle of misery, and forgot Roy and every one else in the anguish of
being under God's displeasure. And she had been having such a happy
time. How sweet that Sunday-school was! how kind the teacher, who had
welcomed the timid child standing at the door! then how gentle and good
were her words--all, all about Jesus and His love--all about the tender
care the great Heavenly Father takes of His little ones. Faith
listened, and when all was over, with her heart quite full of her great
question, she lingered behind the other scholars.
"You will come again to my class next Sunday?" said the Sunday teacher,
smiling at her.
"I'm dreadful afeared as I can't," answered Faith. "I'd like to beyont
any words, but I'm feared as I can't come no more; I only come to-day
'cause I do want to know how to bring Roy to Jesus."
"Who is Roy?" asked the teacher.
"Please, lady dear, he's my little, little brother; he's quite a baby
boy; I do want to bring him to Jesus."
"The Bible tells us how to bring little children to the dear Saviour
Jesus," answered the teacher in her sweet, low voice. "But I think you
need to have it explained to you, Faith. If you can manage to come even
once again to Sunday-school, and if you will be here just five minutes
before the school opens, why I will come too, and tell you all about it.
I am sorry I must run away now."
She nodded and smiled at Faith, and Faith went away with a great and
wonderful joy in her heart. But oh! how changed was everything now!
God, who was spoken of as very loving, very forgiving, very kind at
Sunday-school, was dreadfully angry with her. Her father had said he
never would forgive her, and Faith felt that she deserved some
punishment, for in disobeying her father she certainly had done wrong.
Oh! what a lonely, lonely little girl she was; were it not for Roy, how
without love and interest would her life be! but yes, she still had her
darling, precious baby boy. At the remembrance of him she raised her
face, and then got up slowly from her crouching position. It was full
time to give him his supper and put him to bed. She reproached herself
afresh for having forgotten him so long. Was it possible that he was
still asleep on the sofa in the sitting-room! no, this could scarcely be
the case, for her father had said that he had done the incalculable
mischief of tearing up his prize essay. Poor, poor little Roy, how
innocently he had committed this great crime! how often had she kept him
quiet by giving him an old newspaper to tear! Yes, she, and she alone,
was the only one to blame for the mischief done that night; but whoever
was the guilty party, Roy must have his supper and go to bed; it was far
too late already for a little child only two years old to be up. Faith
must brave her father's anger and fetch Roy from the sitting-room. She
trembled a little as she approached the door, and thought of her stern
father's voice and manner; but though far too timid to raise even a
finger to help herself, Faith was one of those who would gladly take her
very life in her hand to save or aid one whom she loved. She opened the
door softly and looked in. Her father was seated by the table, the gas
flaring high over his head; he was trying laboriously to put some of his
torn essay together; he heard the movement at the door, but without
looking up called out harshly--"Go away; I can't be disturbed."
"Please, father, 'tis only me fur Roy. I want Roy to give him his
supper."
"Roy ain't here. Go away, I say." Faith's heart gave a great bound.
No, Roy was certainly not in the room. Could she have overlooked him in
the bedroom? There was no light, except from the gas outside, in the
room. Had her father been very harsh and angry with little Roy, and had
he crept in here and fallen asleep? She went back, struck a light with
a trembling hand, and looked around her.
No, he was not in the big bed. He was not in his own little cot. He
was nowhere, either under the bed or on the floor.
"Roy, Roy, little darling Roy," she called, but no sweet, gay voice
answered to hers. Oh! where was little Roy? She went into the tiny
dressing-room where her father slept. No, Roy was not there.
A horrible dread came over Faith. Where was Roy? Her father had said
that as she could not take proper care of him, some one else should.
Had he really taken Roy away, and given him into the care of some
stranger, some dreadful, dreadful stranger who would not love him, or
care for him as he ought to be loved and tended? The agony of this idea
took all fear away from Faith. Without a particle of hesitation now,
she went back to her father. He was so busy he did not even hear her
swift step, and started when her voice sounded at his elbow.
"Please, father, I must know where you ha' tuk Roy. It 'ull kill me
unless I know that much at once."
The agony and consternation in her tone caused Warden to raise his head
in surprise.
"I don't know what you mean, Faith. I only took Roy into the bedroom.
There! go, and put him to bed, and don't act more foolishly than you can
help."
"You only tuk him inter the bedroom?" repeated Faith. She did not stay
another second with her father, she rushed away from him and back to the
inner room. A fear even more terrible than her first fear had come to
her. She remembered that the door leading into the passage was open.
Was it possible, possible that little Roy, her little sweet baby Roy,
had gone out through that open door, had slipped down-stairs, and into
the street? Oh! no, it never could be possible. However angry God was
with her, He could never allow such an awful punishment as this to
overtake her. She rushed wildly up-stairs and down-stairs, looking into
every room, calling everywhere for Roy. No one had seen him, no one had
heard the baby steps as they stole away. The whole house was searched
in vain for little Roy. He was not to be found. In five minutes, Faith
came back to her father. She came up to him, her breath a little gone,
her words coming in gasps. She laid her hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, father," she said, "you wor quite, quite right. God h'Almighty's
werry angry wid me. I don't know how I'll h'ever bear it. Little Roy
ain't in the house, father. When you put him in the bedroom he runned
out by the other door, he ran inter the street. We ha' searched h'all
the house over, and he ain't there. My little Roy is quite, quite
lost."
"Lost!" echoed Warden. He sprang to his feet. "Roy not in the house!
Roy lost!" Back over his memory came the picture of the lovely sleeping
boy, of the real love and pride with which he had kissed him. His prize
essay became as nothing to him. But swift through his hard, cold heart
passed an arrow of intolerable pain. "Roy, lost?" he repeated. "God
help me! and I wor werry rough to the little chap."
They were the humblest words that had ever passed his lips. He rushed
from the room, for he must find his son.