THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.
Well, the days passed on, and little Pollie pursued her work of selling
violets; for those sweet flowers are a long time in season, bearing
bravely the March winds and April showers, as though desirous of
gladdening the earth as long as possible. All honour, then, to these
hardy little blossoms.
So day after day found Pollie in the same spot where we first saw her,
until at last the little brown-eyed girl became well known to the
passers-by. Kind old gentlemen, fathers, or it may be grandfathers some
of them, thought of their own more fortunate children, whose lives were
so much easier, and so thinking, stopped and bought of the shy little
maiden, speaking kindly to her the while; girls on their way to the city
workrooms gladly spent a hard-earned penny for violets, and worked more
cheerfully afterwards, gladdened by the mere remembrance of Pollie's
grateful thanks. A sturdy policeman, too, whose beat was at that place,
and where he seemed to hold stern sway over all the omnibus and cab
drivers, took her, as it were, under his lordly care (perhaps he had a
little girl of his own), and would shield her many times from the
jostling crowd, or take her safely over the crossings. Indeed, he was so
kind, that one day, when she was going home, she summoned up courage
enough to overcome her shyness, and offer him some of the violets she
had not sold. To her great delight he accepted them, saying kindly,--
"Thank you, my little woman."
And all through that day he kept them in his pocket, sometimes, however,
taking them out to smell their fragrance, and then, somehow, the
remembrance of Pollie's wee face as she looked when timidly offering the
flowers, carried him back to the days of "auld lang syne," those happy
days when he and his little sister (long since dead) had rambled through
the green lanes of his native village, searching for sweet violets, and
this memory cheered the poor tired policeman, made him forget the
ceaseless din around and the never-ending wilderness of bricks. Even the
London sparrows looked less dingy, and the sunbeams falling across the
dusty pavement recalled to his mind how fresh the green was where he
used to play when a boy, and how the shadows seemed to chase the
sunshine over the uplands on such an April day as this. Yes, Pollie's
violets were not useless, they were speaking with their mute
voices----speaking of the past with its brightest memories to this poor
man.
Not that Sally Grimes had deserted her little friend, far from that, for
somehow she "took to her," as she herself expressed it, and was always
hovering about the child in case she needed protection. But Sally's
movements were inclined to be erratic; she dashed in and out among all
sorts of vehicles in search of customers so recklessly, any one less
experienced would have trembled for her safety; but she knew no fear,
and dared the dangers of the streets most bravely.
Sometimes Lizzie Stevens would walk with Pollie as far as the Bank, then
leaving the child to sell her flowers, would proceed to the East End
with her own work; but on her return, the little girl was always ready
to join her, and they would all three go home together. A great
friendship existed between the hitherto lonely seamstress and Pollie's
mother, whose kind heart was touched by the account the child gave of
their friendless young neighbour; so she sought her out, and finding how
good she was, and how bravely she struggled to earn her daily bread
honestjly, gradually won her confidence; so that now Lizzie felt she was
not _quite_ alone in this wide wide world. There _was_ a kind motherly
love in which she could rest, and life was made brighter for her; even
the days were less dreary than before, for as Mrs. Turner's room was
nicer than hers, she invited her to bring her work over, and they
stitched hour after hour at their ceaseless work, yet still they did not
feel their loneliness so much, and were a comfort and help to one
another.
All this was a happiness to Pollie, as she felt her mother would not be
sad during her absence (as she very often was), for the child's
"business" had become more extensive, her ally, Sally, having persuaded
her to sell flowers in the evening also; and as her mother and Mrs.
Flanagan had offered no objection to this plan, Pollie was only too glad
to earn more; indeed the little girl's gains, small though they were,
helped to get many simple comforts for the humble home.
One evening about six o'clock she came home, swinging her empty basket
in her hand and singing softly a merry song from sheer gladness
thinking also of the dear face upstairs that would brighten up to
welcome her, as it ever did, when, as she entered the doorway, she
stumbled over poor little Jimmy, crouching as usual just inside the
entrance.
"There ain't nobody at home, Pollie," he said; "yer mother has gone to
help Lizzie Stevens carry to the shop a real heap of work."
"I daresay Mrs. Flanagan is in her room," said the child.
"No, she ain't neither," replied Jimmy, "for I see'd her go out to the
market; I know, 'cos she took her great basket with her."
"Oh then!" exclaimed Pollie, laughing, "I must just let myself in, and
wait for mother; I know where she puts our key. Good-night, Jimmy dear."
And she was going up the stairs when she felt the little cripple boy
gently pull her frock to detain her.
"I say, Pollie," he said hesitatingly, "I be so lonesome here, will yer
mind biding with me and telling me about the kingdom of heaven, and that
good man what took such as you and me in his arms--like you told me
t'other day?"
"Oh yes, Jimmy, that I will," cried the little girl; "here, let us sit
on this lowest stair; I don't think many people will be passing up now,
and then I shall see mother when she comes in."
The poor ragged outcast crept near to his tiny friend as she requested,
and then sat looking up into her bright face, whilst in simple words
such as a child would use she told him that sweet story of old--of our
Saviour, a babe in the manger of Bethlehem--His loving tenderness to
us--of His death upon the Cross for our redemption--of His glorious
resurrection and ascension to heaven, whither He has gone to prepare a
place for those who love and believe Him.
"And does He want me in that beautiful land?" asked the awe-struck boy,
almost in a whisper.
"Yes, Jimmy, even you," was the reply.
"But I be so dirty and ugly," he said.
"God made you, dear, and He makes nothing ugly," replied the little girl
soothingly.
"And you say we shall never hunger or thirst in heaven, and never feel
pain any more. O Pollie, I wish I was there; nobody wants me here."
His little friend took his claw-like hand tenderly in hers and stroked
it gently. She knew what a wretched life was his, and could not wonder
at what he said--"nobody wants me here"--but her heart was full of
sympathy for his loneliness.
"Shall I teach you a prayer to say to Jesus, Jimmy?" she asked after a
pause of some length, during which her companion had been silently
gazing up at the only piece of sky that was visible in that narrow
court, as though trying to imagine where heaven really was, the child
having pointed upwards whilst speaking of the home beyond the grave.
"What is prayer?" he asked.
Pollie could not explain it correctly, but she did her best to make it
easy to his benighted mind. She gave him _her_ idea of what prayer is.
"It is speaking to God," she said with reverence.
"And will He listen to the likes of me?" was the question.
"Oh yes, if you pray to Him with your whole heart," was her reply.
The boy paused awhile, as though musing upon what she had said.
"Pollie," he presently entreated in hushed tones, "please teach me to
pray."
And then at the foot of the stairs knelt those two children--children of
the same heavenly Father, lambs of the dear Saviour's fold--alike and
yet so unlike; and the poor outcast cripple, following the actions of
the little girl, meekly folded his hands as she clasped hers, and with
eyes raised heavenward to where a few stars were now softly shining, he
repeated after her--
"Consider and hear me, O Lord my God! lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep
the sleep of death; for Jesus' sake!"
He murmured the blessed words over two or three times after she had
ceased to speak; then in silence they sat down upon the stair again, to
wait for mother.
The daylight faded quite away, only the stars were shining. The court at
this time of the evening was always very quiet, and the peace of God was
resting on those little ones. By degrees a calm had fallen upon the poor
boy's soul. Never, never so happy before, he laid his weary head upon
the little girl's lap with a feeling of perfect rest, murmuring to
himself--
"For Jesus' sake."
And so Pollie's mother found them fast asleep, with the star-light
shining on their upturned faces.
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven."