A LITTLE HEROINE.
Two days afterwards it was Sunday. Pickles and his mother went to
church, but Sue did not accompany them. She had hitherto,
notwithstanding her disguise, been afraid to stir abroad. To-day,
however, when mother and son had departed, she ran eagerly up to the
tiny attic where she slept. In this attic was an old box without a lock.
Sue opened it in some perturbation. There were several articles of
wearing apparel in this box, all of a mothy and mouldy character. One by
one Cinderella pulled them out. First there was a purple silk dress. She
gazed at it with admiration. Yes; no one would ever recognize Sue in
silk. It would be delightful to put it on. She did so. The skirt was
much too long, but with the aid of a whole boxful of pins, she managed
to bundle it up round her waist. Then came a soft, many-colored Paisley
shawl. Would any one in all the world think of the little machinist if
she sallied forth in purple silk and Paisley shawl? Sue did not believe
it possible. She put on the shawl, and tied on her head an old-fashioned
bonnet, trimmed with many-colored ribbons. There was further, in the
wonderful box, an old remnant of gauze. This would act as a veil. Now,
indeed, she was completely disguised. She thought herself very grand,
and wondered had the Prince ever bought finer clothes for the real
Cinderella. She shut the box again, tripped downstairs, and out into the
street. She had not been out for a whole month now, and the fresh,
frosty air, even coming to her through the musty gauze, was very
refreshing. She walked quickly. She had an object in view. Very
purposeful was her careworn little face as she stepped briskly along.
She had a problem to solve. It was too weighty for her young shoulders;
she must get the advice of another. She meant to consult Father
John--not by words; no, not even with him would she dare confide her
secret. But he preached now both Sunday morning and Sunday evening. She
would stand with the crowd and listen to his sermon. Perhaps once again
there would be a message for her in it. She had not forgotten that last
sermon of his; and that last message sent to her from God by his lips
had been with her all through her month of captivity.
It had been a sad and anxious month for Sue, and now its crisis had
come, for the kind people who had protected her could do so no longer;
she could no longer eat their bread, nor accept the shelter of their
home. No; Sue quite agreed with Pickles that it would be impossible for
her to stay in hiding always. Better go forth at once and meet the worst
and have it over. She would be put in prison. Yes--that is, either she
or Peter Harris would be put in prison. Pickles had quite brought her
round to the belief that Harris was really the guilty party. He had done
a very, very dreadful thing. Sue could not understand why he had acted
so badly, so cruelly by her. Surely he was the right person to go to
prison; she could not bear his crime for him. But then, again, it would
be very like Jesus Christ if she did. It was wonderful how the thought
of the Great Example was before the mind of this simple, ignorant child
as she walked hastily on to meet the one who she believed would decide
her fate. To-morow, most likely, Pickles would come to her and ask for
her final decision. She must make up her mind to-day. She had a long way
to walk, and when she reached the street where Father John held his
weekly services the place was already crowded. The preacher had mounted
on his chair and had commenced his discourse. Sue heard one or two
people say, "Look at little Mother Hubbard." But others, again, admired
her costume, and out of respect for the rich silk dress, made way for
her to approach nearer to the preacher.
"Now, Lord Jesus, please do give me the right word," whispered Sue. Then
through her musty veil her eyes were fixed anxiously on Atkins. Was it
more than a coincidence? This was the sentence which fell upon the
expectant ear:
"My dear, dear brothers and sisters, 'tis a wonderfully happy thing to
be good. It gives a man rare courage. You, most of you, knew poor Bob
Daily. Well, he died this morning. He was not a scrap afraid. I was with
him, and he went away rejoicing. He knew he was going straight away to
Jesus--straight away to the arms of Jesus. He told me a queer thing
which had happened to him when he was a young man. He was falsely
accused of a crime which he had not done. He was put in prison. He had
to stay locked up for what he was innocent of for two years. He said he
guessed who had really done the crime, but he did not like to tell on
this man, who was much worse off than himself. He bore the punishment
for the guilty man, and he had his reward. All the time he was in prison
Jesus remained so close to him that He made his heart sing. He says that
he could look back on that part of his life as the very happiest time
that he had ever spent."
"I'm a bit faint-like," said Sue to her nearest neighbor. "Let me out,
please." The people made way for her, and for a moment or so she leant
against the nearest lamp-post. She did not hear another word of the
sermon. She did not need to. When she felt better she walked back to
Great Anvill Street.
* * * * *
That night, just before Pickles went to bed, Sue sought him.
"Pickles, I ha' made up my mind--I ha' made it up quite," she said.
"Well?" asked Pickles.
"You gave me three days, Pickles, and the time 'ull be up to-morrow.
Well, I'll go to prison 'stead o' Peter Harris. I ha' that in my mind
which 'ull make it come uncommon light ter me. I'll go to prison 'stead
o' he."