The geranium was not at all happy in her new quarters. Although George
attended to her wants most carefully she still thought with bitter
regret of the greenhouse where she had been reared, and of the old
gardener who had ministered to her. Here on the window sill of George's
attic thousands of smuts settled daily upon her leaves, and the air was
heavy. So great was her discomfort that she would have most certainly
ceased to live had not a sunbeam lost his way among the narrow courts of
the city, and while darting in and out of the grimy streets in his
endeavours to find the sun, espied the unhappy flower. He immediately
climbed up his golden ladder, and rested among the broad green leaves,
much to her delight.
She confided her pitiful history to this new-found friend, who was so
kind and sympathetic that the geranium grew warm and happy. Presently
the sun shone out in the murky sky, and immediately the sunbeam glided
along his golden thread and rejoined his parent. He did not, however,
forsake the plant which had sheltered him, but frequently visited her,
so that she forgot her struggle for life, and grew into a fine healthy
geranium, much to the delight of her young master.
As time passed George began to realise that his mother would never rise
from her bed again. Father Francis had gently told him that there was
little hope of her recovery, and that when the great blow fell upon him
he must reconcile himself to the will of the Almighty.
The poor waif suffered many hours of agony alone in his garret. Kneeling
before the crucifix, he would beg God to spare the one thing he loved in
all the world.
"I have so few comforts, dear Lord," he would say, "no clothes, little
food; I can stand want if only you will not take her away." But when he
was tired out with pain, he would raise his lips to the pierced feet,
and kissing them, murmur, "Thy will be done."
His imagination had so often realised the picture that one morning, on
finding his mother dead in her bed, he was hardly shocked.
The doctor said that death had resulted from syncope, accelerated by
want of nourishment and neglect.
So the waif was left alone. His bright look departed. The wish for
greatness was forgotten in his sorrow, and even his little sweetheart
failed to comfort him.
On hearing of George's sad plight his father returned to live with him.
The boy's saddened face touched Ermen's hard heart, and for a time the
son's misery was alleviated by his parent's kindness. His father was
decently dressed, and evidently had a little money, for food was more
plentiful in the garret than it had ever been during George's
remembrance.
Thanks to the sunbeam's care, the geranium continued to thrive
marvellously, and as show day drew near she approached her prime.
Miss Brand gave George a clean collar and a decent jacket, and Father
Francis bought him his first pair of shoes for the great occasion.
On the morning of the distribution he was up at five o'clock, for at
that early hour he had been told to take his geranium to the schoolroom,
and enter it for the competition.
Very gently he watered the leaves, taking care that not a drop should
fall upon one of the five brilliant blossoms. As he stood admiring the
plant he was surprised to hear footsteps in the adjoining room. His
father had been away some days. He thought he must have returned earlier
than he had expected. He therefore hurried to the door, and opened it, a
joyful expression on his face. But it was the landlady, who stood there
holding a dirty-looking letter in her hand.
"Look 'ere, sonnie, your father's been took ter gaol. 'E was on 'is way
'ome when the perlice took 'im in charge for that big jewel robbery at
Manchester. 'E's wrote me this letter," she said, pausing to unfold the
dirty piece of paper, while George stood pale to the lips with terror.
"'E sends you this message: 'Tell my son not ter grieve for me. It's all
quite true what they says against me. I am a scamp, and always have
been.'"
"'E'll get a lifer, that's a certainty," she observed to the lodgers
downstairs when she had left the horror-stricken boy alone.
George couldn't weep at this last blow. He had not shed a tear since his
mother's death. The agony in his heart was therefore all the more
unbearable. He clenched his hands in pain.
Hours passed, the bitterest he had ever spent. Whatever suffering the
future held for him he never experienced such anguish again.
At last he raised his head. His face was white, his eyes were heavy and
dull.
"Everything is against me," he moaned. "My mother's dead; my father, who
had become so kind, taken and thrown into gaol. Why should I suffer
hunger and cold and disgrace and beggary? Other boys, through no merit
of theirs, are born rich. Why wasn't I a lord's son instead of a waif of
the streets? Why should my mother die of neglect, when others have all
they need? Oh! I'll ask God to kill me; death ain't so very terrible.
I've seen lots of boys of my age fished out of the river. It's only a
few moments' pain, and Jesus wouldn't be 'ard on a little chap what's
ben drove to it."
The geranium trembled with fear as she heard the boy's wild words. She
spread out her blossoms and endeavoured to attract his attention.
Suddenly the garret was brilliantly illuminated. The sunbeam had glided
down his golden ladder, and stood on the window sill.
George was amazed. He must be dreaming! What was this beautiful tiny
creature enveloped in a haze of glory?
"The angels are sad when you despair, little boy. Gather your energies.
Receive your prize! You are ungrateful to the flower which has grown
into so beautiful a plant for your sake. You are ungrateful to your God
thus to abandon hope when you possess one of His greatest gifts."
"What gift?"
"Youth, a magic watchword that can open the enchanted gates in the land
of genius."
"Genius?" said the boy wonderingly. "I have never heard of it."
"Live your life. Lose not a moment. At your years time flies. Be a great
and a good man. Persevere. Out of the mire of this wilderness a golden
flower shall rear its head, and grow in beauty day by day. It may even
reach the Sun-lands."