"No, there's no use, boys, in your coming here this morning; there's no
one to hold the class; so you'd better be off till the bells ring for
service."
So spake old Ridger, the clerk, on the morning of the Sunday following,
as he stood outside the closed door of the room in which Miss Lee was
wont to meet her young pupils.
Some of the boys looked surprised, but Sam Wright, the gardener's son,
observed, "I was a'most sure as there would be no class to-day, because
Miss Lee is so ill."
"Ill!" echoed several voices.
"Ay, she's been ailing this long time," replied Sam. "Father says that
she's never so much as taken a turn in the garden for months, and she
used to have such pleasure in the flowers."
"But she has never missed her Sunday teaching once," said one of the
boys.
"No, she'd come to that, if she were able to crawl," observed Sam;
"that wasn't a pleasure, but a duty."
"It might have been a pleasure too, if it had not been for some chaps,"
said an elder boy, glancing at Seth.
"I thought that teacher looked very pale last Sunday," observed Eli
Barnes, who had been one of her most attentive pupils; "but then she
had been so worried. I noticed that she twice put her hand to her side."
"It was on Friday night that she was took so bad, so very bad," said
Sam. "Father was just turning into bed, when there was a rap at our
door; one of the servants had come over to tell him to go off in haste
for the doctor. You may guess as father was not long in getting ready,
for the servant said as Miss Lee seemed to be dying. The doctor came in
an hour, as fast as his horse could gallop, though 'twas raining and
blowing like mad. I couldn't get to sleep till I'd heard what he said
of our teacher; neither could father, when he got home all wet to the
skin; he must go up to the Hall for news of the lady."
"And what did the doctor say?" asked several voices at once.
Sam Wright looked very grave as he answered, "The doctor don't much
expect that she'll get over the fever."
Some of the boys uttered exclamations of regret, others sighed and said
nothing. All of them turned from the closed door, feeling sorry to
think that their teacher might never enter it again.
In the meantime Miss Lee was lying in bed in a darkened room, while the
spring sun was shining so brightly, as if to invite all to come out
and enjoy his beams. The few persons who entered that room moved about
as noiselessly as if they were shadows, for the poor patient was in a
burning fever, and the sound of a step, or the rustle of a dress, would
have been to her most distressing. No one spoke to Miss Lee, not even
to ask her how she felt, for the fever had mounted into her brain, and
the sufferer knew nothing of what was passing around her.
The teacher's mind was, however, still working, and even in delirium,
she showed what had been the uppermost care on her mind. From the lips
so parched and blackened by fever, words continually burst, though she
who uttered them knew not what she was saying. The sick-nurse little
guess why the patient grasped her own bed-clothes so tightly, and again
and again cried out in a tone of distress, "I'll not let you go, little
one; I'll not let you go!"
Most of the boys of the Sunday class strolled out on the uplands, to
gather wild flowers, or to chat together, until it should be time for
them to go into church. There was one little boy, however, who did not
go with the rest, but preferred lingering alone amongst the graves in
the churchyard. That boy was Seth Rogers, the naughtiest child in the
Sunday class.
Old Ridger the clerk watched Seth, as the little fellow went slowly and
laid himself down on the turf close to the grave of his mother. Ridger
saw the child hide his face in his hands when he thought that he was
out of the sight and hearing of all.
"That poor little motherless chap takes the lady's illness much to
heart," said the good-natured clerk to himself. "I should not have
expected it of Seth Rogers, for he has been—so my grandson tell me—the
very plague of his teacher's life; and I myself have had to complain
to the vicar a dozen times of his rude behaviour in church. Many a
Sunday I've said, 'I'd like to give that young rogue a good thrashing,
for there's nothing else as will bring him into order.' But the child
seems quiet and sad enough now," added Ridger, and taking up his cane,
the old clerk walked slowly up to the spot where Seth Rogers was lying
on the turf, and as he did so, he heard from the boy something that
sounded much like a sob.
[Illustration]
"Come, child, you mustn't take on so," said the clerk, stooping over
Seth, and gently touching his shoulder. "Miss Lee may recover, and get
about again, if it be the Lord's will; and if not—"
Seth raised himself from the ground; the little fellow's cheeks were
wet, and his eyes were glistening with tears.
"O Mr. Ridger, do you think she will die?" he asked in an agitated tone.
"We should all be very sorry were Miss Lee to die," was the old man's
rather evasive answer.
"No one would be so sorry as I," cried the child, bursting into tears,
"because—because—" Seth could not finish the sentence, his heart was
too full for words.
Old Ridger seated himself on a bench, and drew the little boy close to
his breast, for the clerk was a kindly man, and always felt for a child
in trouble. He gently stroked Seth's shoulder, as he said, "I never
thought that you loved your teacher so much more than do the rest of
the boys."
"It's not that I loved her more, but that I worried her more," murmured
the child, in a scarcely audible tone. "They did not plague her, and
make her so tired, and bring the tears into her eyes. They did not
tell her untruths." The boy was speaking rather to himself than to the
clerk; Seth was thinking aloud in the spirit of those touching lines on
the death of a mother,—
"And now I recollect with pain
How many times I grieved her sore;
Oh, if she would but come again,
I think I would do so no more!"
The old clerk rose from his seat, for the church-bells were sounding,
and it was time for him to go and look out the psalms and the lessons
for the day. Ridger had but one word of comfort to give the poor little
boy before he left him alone.
"You know that you can pray for the lady," said he.
But could Seth Rogers pray? He never had prayed in his life, no, not
even when he had been kneeling close to Miss Lee, while she besought
the Lord to bless her and her little pupils. Seth had, alas! been
too apt even then to stare around, perhaps trying to make others as
careless and inattentive as he was himself. Seth had never once really
joined in the prayer of his teacher, he had only been restless and
impatient to have the praying-time over.
But when old Ridger had gone away, and the child was left for some
minutes alone in the churchyard, then, for the first time, Seth
Rogers really did pray. He threw himself again on the ground on which
lay the shadow from the grave of his mother, and sobbed forth, "Oh,
please—please don't let teacher die, until I've seen her again, and
tried to make up for the past."