Old Griffin Falls Asleep.
JOHN GRIFFIN lay with closed eyes, breathing heavily, when little
Maggie re-entered the sick room. It seemed to the child's anxious gaze
that he was looking far worse than when she had left him. She stole to
his side, and laid her little hand tenderly on his. Mrs. Griffin sat on
the other side of the bed, holding his right hand. She was quite calm;
but her face was very sad as she watched the last moments of him whose
life had been linked to hers for more than thirty years.
The child's light touch seemed to awake the old man to consciousness,
for he opened his eyes, and casting a glance round the room, murmured,
"My little maid; where is my little maid?"
"I'm here, grandfather, close beside you," said Maggie, leaning forward
to kiss him.
Old Griffin looked up at her with a bright smile of recognition. "It is
you," he said, feebly; "I'm so glad you've come."
Then, making a great effort, he said, as clearly as his failing breath
would permit, "Maggie, I've told all—all about the Worcester jug. The
colonel knows; you belong to him now. You must be a good girl, and do
as he tells you."
"I'll try to be good, grandfather," said the child, with quivering lips.
"You've always been a good little maid to me," he said. "And you'll
not forget the old woman, Maggie. It'll be hard for her to be left all
alone. And, Maggie, I've tried to undo all the wrong I have done. I've
repented of my sins. Do you think the Lord will forgive me? Will He
open the gate for me?"
"The gate is open," said little Maggie, scarce knowing what she said;
"wide, wide open."
"Say the words again," he murmured.
"What words?" she asked, wonderingly. Then guessing his meaning, she
repeated:
"'There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin,
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven and let us in.'"
A faint smile stole over the face of the dying man. "Yes," he murmured,
"He has paid the price. He died for me."
Presently a slight movement of the hand she held told his wife that he
wished to speak to her. She bent over him to catch the low words.
"Old wife, I'm thinking that I shall find our little Polly there. And
you'll come by-and-by. It won't be very long."
"No, it won't be long," she responded, brokenly.
He said no more; there was silence in the room, save for the sound of
his heavy, painful breathing. At last that grew fainter, and he passed
into a doze.
Little Maggie must have slept too, as she sat beside him, for it seemed
to her as if but a few minutes had passed, when an hour later she was
roused by the sound of Mrs. Griffin's bitter sobs. Then she saw Colonel
Platten standing near her.
"Come with me, my dear," he said, as he tried to draw her away; but she
resisted his touch.
"Don't!" she cried. "I must stay with grandfather. I cannot leave him
now."
"My child, he has left you," said the colonel, tenderly. "His spirit
has passed from earth. You must let me be your grandfather now."
And as Maggie glanced at the still, white face, and saw Mrs. Griffin
weeping unrestrainedly, she knew that his words were true; and crying
aloud in her grief for the loss of her friend, she suffered him to lead
her away.
Colonel Platten would gladly have taken Maggie at once to his own home;
but the child refused to leave Mrs. Griffin alone in her sorrow. She
stayed with her through the sad, still days till John Griffin's body
was carried to its resting-place in the quiet cemetery. The house would
have been dreary indeed without the presence of the child. Maggie's
little arms clinging around her neck, and Maggie's soft kisses pressed
against her withered cheek, comforted the old woman more than any words
could have done. She shrank from the thought that the discovery of
Maggie's parentage, and her relationship to the colonel, must result in
her losing the child whom she loved so dearly.
But, after some deliberation, Colonel Platten resolved that he would
not separate Maggie from the woman who had been so good to her. He
offered Mrs. Griffin a home in his house as Maggie's guardian and
friend. Her duties would be very simple, and only such as she would
delight to perform.
Mrs. Griffin gladly agreed to his proposal. She was thankful that she
might still be near her darling, and have the joy of serving her.
So the business in which old Griffin had taken such pride was disposed
of; and his widow removed, with such of her household treasures as she
would not part with, to two rooms at the top of Colonel Platten's large
house in Lockyer Street.
But ere she settled down to her new life, there another change
awaited her. Mrs. Thornton was regaining strength but slowly, and the
doctor wished to send her away from Plymouth for a time. So it was
arranged that she, Maggie, and the colonel, with Mrs. Griffin as their
attendant, should go for a month to Bournemouth.
Dr. Thornton was very pleased to see how well the whole party, and in
particular his dear young wife, looked when they returned. He observed
in Maud a greater change than the mere return of health as time went on.
She had seen life in its true light as she lay on her sick bed; and
after that solemn revelation she could not sink back into her old
light, thoughtless self. But she was not a whit less charming or less
bright for the change which had been wrought in her. Her beauty shone
with a purer lustre under the influence of the womanly graces which
gradually crowned it, as she bravely took up her duties as a doctor's
wife, and faithfully shared her husband's self-denial and anxiety.
Their wedded life knew a fuller, richer joy as together they trod the
noble path along-which Jesus has led the way, striving by His help to
make their own lives worthy, and the lives of others better and happier.
Though at first she had shrunk timidly from his advances, Maggie's
heart soon began to be drawn to her grandfather, who spared no pains
to win her love. His heart was thrilled with pain as he learned
from the child's simple words what cruel suffering his daughter had
known. The idea of his beautiful Maggie dying in want and misery in a
wretched lodging-house at but a short distance from his own home was
insupportable. He was convinced from what little Maggie told him of
her mother's going to Lockyer Street on the night on which she died,
that it was a desire to obtain his forgiveness, and to ask him to show
kindness to her child, which had induced her to return to Plymouth in
her poverty and failing health.
Colonel Platten saw much for which to reproach himself as he looked
back on the past; but Maggie's presence in his home brought him
comfort. Under her influence, his manner grew gentler, and his face
lost somewhat of its proud, stern look. His love for the child deepened
every day; and as she responded to it, the bond between them grew to be
a strong one.
But Maggie could never forget that other grandfather who had adopted
her when she was poor and friendless, and who had always been so good
and kind and patient to his "little maid." She often accompanied Mrs.
Griffin on her visits to her husband's grave; and when spring came,
Maggie took great pains to plant "forget-me-nots" and sweet mignonette
upon the mound beneath which lay the mortal remains of the china-dealer.
And as long as she lived, Maggie guarded as a priceless treasure the
old Worcester jug, which had played so important a part in her history.
[Illustration]
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LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET E. C.