"GO again, child, and see if the postman ben't coming down the lane!
It's past nine, sure he ought to be here!"
This was the third time that old Janet Jones had sent her little Annie
out into the snow, on the last day of the year. It was clear that the
cottager was expecting the postman to bring her some very important
letter indeed.
"No, Granny, I can't see him," said Annie, as for the third time she
came back from the road, shaking the flakes from her hair, and stamping
the snow from her boots. "Perhaps our old clock is wrong."
"Everything is wrong, I think," muttered Janet Jones, who was employed
in taking some filberts out of a basket, to put in glasses to sell in
her window. "Half these nuts are bad, and only fit for the fire!" And
into the fire she flung some that were indeed but empty husks.
"Yes," went on the old woman, knitting her brows into very deep
furrows, "the old year ends badly enough with me. The pig dead, the
potatoes bad, the weather sharp, and the pocket empty. These be very
hard times!"
"But Joe, dear Joe, is sure to send you money, Granny," said Annie, who
stood leaning against the wall. She did not sit down, for she expected
soon to be sent a fourth time to look for the postman.
"Joseph ought to," replied Janet, as sharply as if the child had said
that her brother would send not a penny. "He, a great tall fellow,
earning good wages, fifteen pounds a year, and everything found,
feeding on the fat of the land, and dressed as smart as a goldfinch! It
will be hard if he can't spare something for his poor old Granny in her
need."
"Joe will—I know that he will. He loves you so much," cried Annie.
"We'll soon see how much," said old Janet, "words without deeds are
like husks without seeds." And angrily she threw another rotten nut
into the fire.
Annie, to take off her grandmother's mind from her troubles, began to
tell her what she had seen the day before at the Hall, when sent up
with some work done for the ladies.
"Oh! Granny, I wish you'd been with me yesterday, and seen the
Christmas presents which Mrs. Poler has given her nieces! There was
a doll, dressed just like a lady, and the prettiest little set of
tea-things."
"What do I care about hearing of such trash," cried old Janet. "Mrs.
Poler had better spend her money on buying tea for them as wants it,
than on giving children tea-cups no bigger than filberts."
Annie was afraid to remind her Granny how kind Mrs. Poler had been in
filling her own little apron with apples to carry home to old Janet, or
to mention the hundredweight of coals which the lady had sent before
Christmas. Annie only remarked, "I suppose that Mrs. Poler gives toys
to her nieces because she loves them so much."
"Giving toys when one has lots of money to buy them with is no great
proof of love," cried the old woman. "When these little ladies had
the smallpox, Mrs. Poler never so much as went near them, for fear of
catching it."
"Perhaps Mrs. Poler knew that she could not nurse them; not every one
can nurse as you do, Granny," said the child. "What care you took of
Joe when he had that bad fall down an area, and broke his poor leg, the
very first month that he went into service in London."
"Ah! Poor fellow, he slipped on the steps one cold, frosty day; and his
master sent him all the way here to be nursed, for he knew that no one
would look after him like his old Granny. Didn't I sit up three nights
with my boy when the pain made the fever run high; and didn't I tear up
my own handkerchiefs into bandages for his leg, and half starve myself
to scrape up money to pay the doctor?"
"Joe will never forget all you did," said Annie.
"I hope that he'll give a proof now that he does not," began Janet,
when she caught a sight through the window of some one coming up to the
door. "Here's the postman at last!" she exclaimed, starting up from her
seat in such a hurry that she knocked over her basket, and sent a good
many of her nuts flying in every direction over her cottage floor.
Annie flew to the door, the postman had no need to knock. "Here's the
letter—the letter from Joe!" cried the little girl, joyfully, as she
returned with the note. "I was sure, quite sure, that he would write
soon!"
"I hope that he has done something more than merely write," said Janet,
looking very anxious, with mingled hope and fear in her face as she
broke open her grandson's letter. When she had taken out the written
sheet, instead of reading it, she shook it to see if any money-order
would drop out, then looked into the empty envelope, and muttered in a
tone of great disappointment, "I made sure of one pound at least! Did
I not write to him that the rent must be paid to-morrow, or that we
should both be turned out of doors."
"Won't you read Joe's letter, dear Granny?" asked Annie; she was very
anxious to hear it.
"You read it to me, child, my eyes are getting dim with old age," said
the old woman, giving her the note.
Annie glanced up at her Granny, and saw that the dimness came from
something besides age, for the eyes of Janet were brimful of tears
which were ready to flow over.
Annie read out as follows:—
"Dear Granny, I am very sorry indeed that the pig is dead, and you in
such trouble, but I hope that things will be brighter soon. I have
hardly a minute for writing, but will soon let you hear again. I wish
you and Annie a happy New Year, and send lots of love to you both; from
your loving grandson, Joseph."
"Is that all?" asked Janet almost fiercely.
"I have not missed a word," replied Annie. She spoke sadly for she was
as much disappointed as her Granny could be, though she was not, like
her, angry besides.
"Then you may just fling that letter into the fire after the rotten
nuts!" exclaimed Janet, trembling with vexation. "After all I wrote to
him about the potatoes and the rent, to think of his not sending so
much as a sixpence to his Granny, who nursed him when sick, and fed him
and cared for him—ungrateful, selfish fellow that he is!"
"Oh! Granny," interrupted the poor little sister, who could not bear to
hear such hard words spoken of Joe.
"He 'is' selfish," repeated old Janet. "Did he not buy himself a silver
watch last summer, I guess that cost him a pretty bit of money, enough
to clear off my debt for rent—and more. Think of his buying himself a
watch, and leaving his Granny and his sister to be turned out of doors
for want of a couple of pounds! 'Lots of love' he sends us, does he!
I'd not give a crooked pin for such love! I like proofs, real proofs of
love. I've given him many many such, though now he forgets them all!"
Poor Janet put her thin hands before her face to hide the big drops
that were now running fast down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Granny, do let us 'trust' Joe," said Annie softly. "Perhaps he could
not send any money, he may have spent all before he heard of your
trouble."
"He might have written so then," said Janet, drying her eyes. "No, no,
in the fine big house in London he forgets all about the poor little
cottage which was his home for many a day. While he feasts like a lord
with meat twice a day, what does it matter to him if we have not so
much as a bit of bacon even on Sundays? He might have thought of 'you,'
Annie, my poor child, if my trouble was nothing to him."
"I am 'sure' that Joe loves me," said Annie firmly, her cheeks flushing
red at the thought that any one should doubt it.
For Annie remembered the old times before Joe had first gone into
service. He had been the kindest of brothers to his little sister, who
was many years younger than he. Many a ride had Annie had on Joe's
knee, or upon his shoulder. Many a sugar-plum or cake the generous boy
had given to his sister instead of eating it himself. What pains Joe
had taken to make for Annie a beautiful boat as a parting present!
Annie had thought it then the prettiest boat in the world, and after
six years she thought so still. There was the boat now on its shelf,
always kept nicely dusted by Annie, and almost as good as new,
reminding her every day of Joe.
Oh! Young brothers, if you only knew how much power you have by words
and deeds of kindness to make your little sisters happy, and win their
lifelong love, you would not so often give pain to them when you might
so easily give pleasure! Annie had never had from Joe one rough word,
far less one thoughtless blow. He would far rather have hurt himself
than have hurt his little sister. Annie looked up now at the boat, her
brother's keepsake, and could not and would not doubt his love. She
was quite able to trust him, and her greatest pain was to see that her
grandmother did not.
Perhaps my reader is inclined to think that Janet was a cross,
ill-tempered old woman, proud of what she had done for others, and
expecting others to do a great deal for her in return. And yet Janet
was an honest and kind-hearted woman, one who loved her Bible, and
never passed a Sunday without going to church. Janet feared God, and
tried to obey His commandments, but she had not yet learned to trust
His love. Janet let the wicked thought lurk in her heart that if the
Lord really cared for her, He would not leave her to be so poor. And if
old Janet thus dared to doubt the love of her heavenly Father, who can
wonder if she doubted the love of earthly friends! This want of trust
made every trial that came to her doubly heavy to Janet; this made her
temper cross, and filled her with bitter thoughts.
There are many who sin like Janet, without half the excuse which she
had for her discontented spirit. Janet had had very great trials to
bear. Once she had been well-off; she had lived with her good husband
in a pretty thatched cottage, and had been as happy and contented a
woman as any in the village. But in one year, poor Janet had lost both
her husband and her married daughter,—and with an almost broken heart
had received her two grandchildren into her home. Even that home was
not to be left to her long.
One day as the widow was returning from a distant field in which she
had been helping to reap, she saw thick volumes of smoke rising from
the direction of her cottage above the trees which hid it from view.
With a feeling of fear she rushed forwards, and terrible was the sight
which was soon before her eyes. Her pretty cottage was in flames, the
thatch was burning fiercely, and though an engine had come from the
town, and firemen and neighbours were doing their best to put out the
fire, they could not succeed, and what was once a comfortable home was
soon but a heap of ashes. Janet Jones was then, not only a widow, but a
very poor widow, and hard work she had had to bring up the two orphan
children left to her charge. These were no small troubles, and others,
in Janet's place, might have been sorely tempted to murmur.
"I wish that 'I' could give poor Granny some proof of love," thought
little Annie. "But I have nothing to give, not one penny! To-morrow is
New Year's day, and it will be such a sad day to her. Is there nothing
that I could do to please her?"
Now when we think hard to discover some way of pleasing a friend, we
are pretty sure to find one.
"I remember," said Annie to herself, "that there was a hymn which took
Granny's fancy in a book which Mrs. Brown lent us to read last summer.
Granny wished that I could write well enough to copy it out fair on the
flyleaf of her large Bible. I can write now much better than I could
then. I have no New Year's present to give, but I might copy out that
hymn; I am sure that Mrs. Brown would lend me the book again if I asked
her. But this is such a little, such a 'very' little thing to do for my
Granny. Ah! I would do much more if I earned wages like Joe!"
Copying out a hymn was a very little thing, but it was a "proof of
love," and a proof that cost Annie some self-denial. She did not like
writing at all, and she knew that it would take her hours to copy out
six verses quite neatly, taking care not to make one blot. She resolved
however to do so, and ran out again into the snow, and went over to
Mrs. Brown's to ask her to lend her the book.
Mrs. Brown had a large cheerful home, and four merry little children
full of play.
"Oh! Annie, we're so glad you've come!" cried the eldest, clapping her
hands as Annie entered.
"I hope you'll stop all day with us," said kind Mrs. Brown, who knew
that the girl had a very dull home.
"Oh! Yes,—stop, stop!" cried Charlie Brown. "We're to have roast beef
and roley-poley, 'cause it's the last day in the year."
"And grandfather's coming, and he tells us such famous stories,—we'll
have games, and all sorts of fun!" exclaimed little Bess.
Annie longed to stop to share the food and the fun. She hesitated, but
only for a moment. She had real love for her Granny, and gave a proof
of it at once.
"No, thank you so much," she said, "but I cannot leave poor Granny to
spend the last day of the year by herself."
Annie soon returned to her cottage with the book containing the hymn.
She got down the little bottle of ink, and a pen, and began her copying
work, while old Janet sat gloomy and sad by the fire, never speaking a
word except to abuse ungrateful Joe.
It was well that Annie had to give much attention to what she was
doing, so that she scarcely heard what her Granny was muttering to
herself. The verses are so beautiful that they took up Annie's thoughts
as she wrote. They are so suitable for the New Year that I will copy
them out for my readers, as Annie did for her Granny. I wish that each
would learn by heart the loving questions which the Saviour, in this
hymn, asks alike of the old and the young:
"I gave My life for thee,
My precious blood I shed,
That thou mightest ransomed be,
And quickened from the dead.
I give My life for thee,
WHAT HAST THOU GIVEN FOR ME?
"I spent long years for thee,
In weariness and woe,
That one eternity
Of joy thou mightest know.
I spent long years for thee,
Hast thou spent ONE for Me?
"My Father's house of light,
My rainbow-circled throne,
I left for earthly night,
For wand'rings sad and lone.
I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left AUGHT for Me?
"I suffered much for thee,
More than thy tongue can tell,
Of bitterest agony,
To rescue thee from Hell.
I suffered much for thee,
WHAT DOST THOU BEAR FOR ME?
"And I have brought to thee,
Down from My home above,
Salvation full and free,
My pardon, and My love.
Great gifts I brought to thee,
WHAT HAST THOU BROUGHT TO ME?
"Oh! let thy life be given,
Thy years for Me be spent
World fetters all be riven,
And joy with suffering blent,
I gave MYSELF for thee,
Give thou THYSELF to Me?"