JOY.
There was joy almost too great for utterance in two London homes that
night. After partaking of a wonderful meal provided by Lady Wharton,
Gracie's little brothers and sisters had the treat of sitting up late
to look at father, who, weak as he was, would not go to bed, but
reclined in an armchair lent by a sympathising neighbour--ah, how
sweet and beautiful is the kindness of the poor to the poor!--and with
Gracie's hand in his, gazed with gratitude upon the dear ones to whom
he had been almost miraculously restored. It seemed as if the dark
clouds which had hung for so many weary years over his life had
vanished, and that there lay before him the sure promise of better
times. Lady Wharton had asked him if he would not like to live in the
country with his wife and children. There was, she said, a cottage
large enough for them all, and a garden, and she offered to find
employment on her estate for the poor London clerk. A vision of
paradise--fairy scenes, with good food, and decent clothes, and
flowers, and grass, and trees, and heaven knows what wonders. In fancy
they heard the birds singing, and saw the white lambs in the meadows.
But nothing was settled, it was only talked about.
"And if you don't care to live in the country," said the kind-hearted
lady before she left them, "we'll find something for you here in
London."
Then, with a silver shilling to each of the children, she and her
brother bade them a merry good night. The treasure was now hidden in
six little hot palms, which every now and then were opened just wide
enough for a peep--to make sure that it had not spread its wings and
flown away.
* * * * *
There was a prayer in the hearts of Aunt Rob's family as they sat
round the tea table, and joyful tears that would not be repressed. For
here was Aunt Rob singing and crying at the same time, and breaking
down, and kissing Florence and Reginald and Dick and Uncle Rob, and
then singing again with a happy sob in her throat, and saying in the
midst of it all.
"Oh, Dick, Dick, how shall we ever repay you!"
If Gracie was the heroine in her humble home, he was the hero in
Aunt Rob's, but both of them were inclined to rebel against this
hero-worship, and made little of what they had done.
Certain things had been discussed, and certain plans laid, by Aunt
Rob's family, which needed to be carried out that night, and carried
out they were. At eight o'clock they walked up the stairs in Draper's
Mews, and being admitted were gladly welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Death
and the children. Not because of the store of food and wine and
jellies they brought with them, but genuinely for their own sakes.
Where they all found room to sit is one of those wonders which are
never to be explained, but find room they did, and they talked and
talked, and the children listened and listened, and Gracie sat by
Dick's side on the poor bed, and wine was drunk by the elder people
and tasted by the younger, and Abel Death's eyes brightened, and Dick,
suddenly recollecting, pulled out a bag of brandyballs, which he gave
to the youngsters. And then Reginald put a piece of paper into
Gracie's hand.
"What is it?" she asked, and looking at it, trembled so that she had
to hold Dick tight. "Mother--father--look!"
"It will be paid at the bank to-morrow," said Reginald. "Dick will go
with you to get the money."
"Two--hundred--pounds!" gasped Gracie.
"For finding Mr. Abel Death," said Reginald. "And, oh, Gracie, how
thankful I am to pay it!"
Gracie hid her face on Dick's breast. When she raised her head there
were no tears in her eyes, but the same beautiful light in them that
Dick had seen once before that day.
"You'll be all right now, father," she said, giving him the cheque.
"God is very good to us!" murmured Mrs. Death, and then all the
foolish women in the room began to sob.
THE END.
* * * * * * * * *
_Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury,
England_.