THE GRASSHOPPER A BURDEN.
It was some time before the full meaning of Susan's letter penetrated
to her father's brain; but when it did, he was not at first altogether
pained by it. True, it was both a grief and disappointment to think
that his daughter, instead of returning to him, was already on her way
across the sea to a very distant land. But as this came slowly to his
mind, there came also the thought that there would now be no one to
divide with him the treasure committed to his charge. The little child
would belong to him alone. They might go on still, living as they had
done these last three days, and being all in all to one another. If he
could have chosen, his will would certainly have been for Susan to
return to them; but, since he could not have his choice, he felt that
there were some things which would be all the happier for him because
of her absence.
He put Dolly to bed, and then went out to shut up the shop for the night.
As he carried in his feeble arms a single shutter at a time, he heard
himself hailed by a boy's voice, which was lowered to a low and
mysterious whisper, and which belonged to Tony, who took the shutter out
of his hands.
"S'pose the mother turned up all right?" he said, pointing with his thumb
through the half open door.
"No," answered Oliver. "I've had another letter from her, and she's
gone out to India with her husband, and left the little love to live
alone with me."
"But whatever'll the Master say to that?" inquired Tony.
"What master?" asked old Oliver.
"Him--Lord Jesus Christ. What'll he say to her leaving you and the
little 'un again?" said Tony, with an eager face.
"Oh! he says a woman ought to leave her father, and keep to her husband,"
he answered, somewhat sadly. "It's all right, that is."
"I s'pose he'll help you to take care of the little girl," said Tony.
"Ay will he; him and me," replied old Oliver; "there's no fear of that.
You never read the Testament, of course, my boy?"
"Can't read, I told you," he answered. "But what's that?"
"A book all about him, the Lord Jesus," said Oliver, "what he's done, and
what he's willing to do for people. If you'll come of an evening, I'll
read it aloud to you and my little love. She'll listen as quiet and good
as any angel."
"I'll come to-morrow," answered Tony, readily; and he lingered about the
doorway until he heard the old man inside fasten the bolts and locks, and
saw the light go out in the pane of glass over the door. Then he
scampered noiselessly with his naked feet along the alley in the
direction of Covent Garden, where he purposed to spend the night, if left
undisturbed.
Old Oliver went back into his room, where the tea-table was still set
out for his Susan's welcome; but he had no heart to clear the things
away. A chill came over his spirit as his eye fell upon the preparations
he had made to give her such a cordial greeting, that she would know at
once he had forgiven her fully. He lit his pipe, and sat pondering
sorrowfully over all the changes that had happened to him since those
old, far-away days when he was a boy, in the pleasant, fresh, healthy
homestead at the foot of the Wrekin. He felt all of a sudden how very old
he was; a poor, infirm, hoary old man. His sight was growing dim even,
and his hearing duller every day; he was sure of it. His limbs ached
oftener, and he was earlier wearied in the evening; yet he could not
sleep soundly at nights, as he had been used to do. But, worst of all,
his memory was not half as good as it had been. Sometimes, of late, he
had caught himself reading a newspaper quite a fortnight old, and he had
not found it out till he happened to see the date at the top. He could
not recollect the names of people as he did once; for many of his
customers to whom he supplied the monthly magazines were obliged to tell
him their names and the book they wanted every time, before he could
remember them. And now there was this young child cast upon him to be
thought of, and cared and worked for. It was very thoughtless and
reckless of Susan! Suppose he should forget or neglect any of her tender
wants! Suppose his dull ear should grow too deaf to catch the pretty
words she said when she asked for something! Suppose he should not see
when the tears were rolling down her cheeks, and nobody would comfort
her! It might very easily be so. He was not the hale man he was when
Susan was just such another little darling, and he could toss her up to
the ceiling in his strong hands. It was as much as he could do to lift
Dolly on to his feeble knee, and nurse her quietly, not even giving her a
ride to market upon it; and how stiff he felt if she sat there long!
Old Oliver laid aside his pipe, and rested his worn face upon his hands,
while the heavy tears came slowly and painfully to his eyes, and
trickled down his withered cheeks. His joy had fled, and his unmingled
gladness had faded quite away. He was a very poor, very old man; and the
little child was very, very young. What would become of them both, alone
in London?
He did not know whether it was a voice speaking within himself in his own
heart, or words whispered very softly into his ear; but he heard a low,
quiet, still, small voice, which said, "Even to your old age I am he,
and even to hoar hairs I will carry you: I have made, and I will bear;
even I will carry, and will deliver you." And old Oliver answered, with a
sob, "Yes, Lord, yes!"