THE SILENT MESSENGER.
IT may be doubted whether, under these circumstances, Mrs. Crook was
truly "comfortable." Probably many poorer people, on whom she would
have looked down—if she had condescended to look at them at all—would
not have cared to change places with her.
Mrs. Crook tried to think that she was very wise and prudent in thus
caring for her own interests, and did not believe it possible that she
could be mistaken. Yet there were times during the lonely hours—of
which, by her own choice, she had so many—when a voice would seem to
whisper, "Is your life the happiest you can possibly lead in this
world? Has Time nothing better to give? Days and years are passing.
Death must come to you as to others. What about eternity?"
When this last question recurred, Mrs. Crook tried to put it out of her
mind. It was the one she disliked more than all the rest, yet it was
the one which would repeat itself again and again, and for which she
had no answer ready. She found her greatest comfort in thinking that
she belonged to a very long-lived family.
Her grandmother had died at eighty-three; her mother at eighty-seven;
and some of her relatives had attained still greater ages. Why not she?
"Let me see," said Mrs. Crook, when one day this unpleasant question
had persisted in obtruding itself upon her loneliness: "I am just
fifty-eight, and I feel as strong as ever I did in my life. I cannot
remember having had a week's serious illness in all those years. I am a
far stronger woman than mother was, and she lived to be nine-and-twenty
years older than I am now. There is no reason why I should not reach
ninety, or even a hundred. But if it were, say, eighty, which is not a
great age in my family, I have two-and-twenty years to look forward to."
These calculations brought a look of satisfaction to Mrs. Crook's face.
Twenty-two years is a long time to look forward to, and she thought
she was very reasonable indeed not to have settled on twenty-five or
thirty, with the example of her kinsfolk before her.
Then Mrs. Crook was somehow led to consider her mode of life. She had
always been satisfied with it, so far. No one could say she was not
religious. She always attended church when the weather was dry and not
too cold. She could not risk her health by going out in the rain, or
when an east wind was blowing. She would have regarded such doings as a
tempting of Providence.
The collector never had to call twice for her pew rent. In fact she
prided herself a good deal on the amount she thus contributed towards
the maintenance of public worship, seeing that she paid for three seats
and only occupied one.
Mrs. Crook liked to have a little pew to herself. It looked genteel,
and she was not inclined to sit beside "nobody knows who," even at
church.
He would have been a bold apparitor who had shown a stranger into
one of the unoccupied seats, for Mrs. Crook, having paid for them,
considered she had a right to keep them empty if she chose. She never
considered how the minister would feel if everyone did the same, and
expected him to preach to nearly empty pews.
It was just when Mrs. Crook had finally decided that she had a good
two-and-twenty years of life to reckon upon, that her servant, Fanny,
managed to upset all the feelings of satisfaction with which she looked
forward thereto. She brought in the tea-tray to the minute, but as she
placed it on the table, Mrs. Crook noticed that the girl's eyes were
full of tears, and she heard a smothered sob.
"What is the matter with you, Fanny?" she asked, testily. "Toothache
again, I suppose? But if it is, you need not be a baby, and cry about
it. Girls are so frightened of themselves, that if a little finger
aches they go sniffing and crying about a house, and making everybody
miserable!"
Poor Fanny had lately borne a great deal of pain with much patience,
and had gone about her work as usual, when her nights had been sadly
disturbed, and she had been unable to take a proper amount of food.
Knowing that her mistress would be more likely to grumble than to
sympathise she had said little about her sufferings, and Mrs. Crook had
either been, or pretended to be, ignorant of them, until the girl asked
permission to go to a dentist.
Happily, she had obtained relief, and was able to answer:
"My face is all right, thank you, ma'am."
"Then what is the matter? I suppose you think you have something to cry
about. If you have no troubles, you make them. You don't see me cry
about every little thing, do you?"
Fanny could not call to mind any occasion when she had seen her
mistress shed tears, and she said so. Nevertheless, this fact did not
stop the flow of her own, as she answered:
"It is not about myself that I am crying; it is for Miss Lawton. They
say she is dying. And she is so good and so young—only twenty-two,
three years older than I am. They say she never had a day's illness in
her life before; and this is inflammation, that came on all at once,
and there's no hope of her getting better. Mother used to say to me
sometimes, 'Young folks may die soon, old ones must.' But I never
thought Miss Lawton was a bit likely to be called away. What a blessing
she is ready! There will be plenty to grieve after her, though she does
not fret about herself, but is just willing to live and work for God,
if it please Him to spare her, or to depart and to be with Christ,
which is far better."
Fanny's tears prevented more words. Miss Lawton was very dear to the
girl's heart. She had been her Sunday-school teacher, and if her
mistress would have allowed it, Fanny would have remained a member of
the select class which the young lady taught, after she went to service.
But Mrs. Crook ridiculed the idea of a grown-up girl going to a
Sunday-school, so Fanny had to content herself with an occasional sight
of the dear young lady, to whom she owed so much. It was a comfort that
Mrs. Crook attended the same church, and that in service the girl would
still worship under the same roof as her parents, and the friends who
were dearest to her.
Often had this young servant, who was also a humble disciple of Jesus,
spoken to her dear teacher about Mrs. Crook. There never was a lover of
the Saviour who was not a lover of souls also, and to Fanny it was a
real sorrow that her mistress never spoke of Him.
"How nice it would be if Mrs. Crook were like Miss Lawton!" thought
Fanny. "She would have me reading the Bible to her, and she would help
me to understand it better. And she is so lonely, poor lady! She seems
to care for nobody, and nobody cares for her. Yes, I do, though she
would never think it. I feel sorry for her many a time, and wish she
were even as happy as I am.
"This is not one of the brightest houses in the world to serve in, but
I have a deal to be thankful for. The place is respectable, the work
is regular, and what I can do easily; hours early, and the wages paid
to the day. I am near father and mother, and the old school, and, best
of all, Christ is always near to me. But it must be awful quiet and
lonely for her, poor thing, though she says nothing, and seems as if
she wanted to have no neighbours!"
The "her" was Mrs. Crook. Fanny could not believe that her mistress
was a happy woman, or that she could be so without Christ. Many a
prayer did the young servant offer on her behalf, and chief amongst her
desires and petitions for Mrs. Crook was this: "Lord Jesus, let Thy
Holy Spirit show my mistress that she wants a Saviour, and then show
her Thyself, and make her very happy in Thee."
Mrs. Crook had no idea of Fanny's feelings towards herself. She knew
she had a good, steady, truthful servant, who required no telling about
keeping corners clean, or polishing pans. She put these things down
to her mother's training, which had been excellent, but never dreamed
that, as the girl moved about the house, she strove to bear in mind the
words "Thou God seest me," and tried to do the humblest household task
as unto the Lord.
Fanny did not see Miss Lawton very often, but they sometimes met in
the street, at others when coming out of church, and once or twice the
young teacher had ventured to call at Mrs. Crook's and ask permission
to have a few minutes' conversation with her former scholar. The girl
almost trembled at the idea of announcing such a visitor, for her
mistress's household rule was "No followers" in its most comprehensive
sense.
As, however, Miss Lawton asked Mrs. Crook's leave in such a nice
straightforward way, and was so very kind in her inquiries after the
mistress as well as the maid, she obtained it. After all, Mrs. Crook
considered it was creditable to herself that Miss Lawton, who was a
real lady, thought her servant worth looking after.
Moreover, the visitor had shown a wise discretion in staying only a
short time with Fanny.
"And this was not because she was in a hurry," said Mrs. Crook, "for
when I invited her into the parlour, she came in and chatted so
pleasantly, that I felt sorry when she had to go."
Whether the meeting was only for a few seconds in the street, or one of
these privileged interviews under Mrs. Crook's roof, Fanny always felt
better and stronger for the performance of her duties, after having
seen Miss Lawton.
It is easy to understand why she was thus influenced, for the meeting
left sweet memories of good advice, lovingly spoken, of sisterly
sympathy, though in a worldly sense the teacher and scholar were widely
separated, and of cheery words, which seemed to ring in the girl's ears
after the speaker was lost to sight.
It was Fanny's darling wish that Miss Lawton's visits should be blessed
to her mistress, and the young lady, deeply stirred at the thought of
Mrs. Crook's loneliness, earnestly longed to be of use to the solitary
woman.
"If only I might be the messenger of glad tidings to her, how my heart
would rejoice!" she thought. And during those occasional visits, she
strove to introduce the subject which lay nearest to it, namely God's
great love in giving His dear Son to die for sinners.
All to no purpose. She might speak of the weather, the crops, the
hoped-for good harvest, the flowers, of which even Mrs. Crook was so
fond, and their conversation would be animated enough.
But let her speak of Him who giveth to all meat in due season, and who,
beside giving bread to nourish our bodies, has given the "Bread of
Life," to some poor perishing sinners, and Mrs. Crook's interest was
gone. She looked either indifferent or unconscious; she answered in
monosyllables, as if the subject were nothing to her, and Miss Lawton
felt convinced that any allusion to a possibility either of sinfulness
or of need in herself would give deadly offence, and close Mrs. Crook's
door against her for the future. So she could only pray, and wait, and
hope.
The news of Miss Lawton's illness was a sore trial to Fanny. It was
through God's blessing on her teaching that the girl had been brought
to the feet of Jesus, and who can forget such a service as this?
No wonder that Fanny's tears fell fast as she told the sorrowful tale
to Mrs. Crook, and then summoned courage to ask if she might go to see
Miss Lawton.
It was not her night out, and the household rules, as to leave of
absence, were us rigid as those about followers. Still Fanny thought if
Mrs. Crook would relax them, it would surely be for Miss Lawton's sake.
"How do you know the young lady is not likely to get better?" asked
Mrs. Crook sharply.
"The letter says so, ma'am," replied Fanny.
"Letter; what letter?"
"One the postman brought me a few minutes before I came in with the
tray. It is from Miss Lawton's maid, and she was told to write, because
Miss Lawton knew I should be so grieved if I heard about her on a
sudden," said the girl, her tears flowing afresh.
"It is not likely the family will want you going at such a time, Fanny.
If the young lady has been kind, that is no reason you should take
liberties. I do not see that I ought to let you do it," returned Mrs.
Crook.
"Oh, but, please ma'am, Miss Lawton wants me to go, and sent word that
I am to ask your leave. And there is a message for you too. Will you
read it for yourself?"
"A message for me! Well, give me the letter if you like, I will look
over it, and make up my mind whether you can go or not, whilst I am
getting my tea."
Fanny handed the little note which had brought her such sad tidings,
and went downstairs with the thought in her mind, "It will speak to
mistress better than I can."
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