A MOTHER'S QUEST
THE uncertainty as to whether she would gain admittance to the fever
hospital, did not deter Mrs. Brown from going there. Fortunately she
found that a tramcar from the neighbourhood of Mortimer Street passed
the gates of the hospital, so that she was able to reach it without
walking much further. When at last the hospital was reached, and the
gate opened to her impatient ringing, it seemed hours that she had
to wait, before she could gain any certain news about Fanny. The
only thing the porter did seem certain about was that she could not
go beyond the porch of the building, where inquiries had to be made.
To see Fanny, unless she was dangerously ill, was quite out of the
question. So Mrs. Brown had to go back at last with what comfort she
could get from the assurance that she was going on very well, and if
there was any change for the worse, she would be sent for immediately,
as this was the rule of the hospital.
Then the sliding window closed, and Mrs. Brown turned homewards by
another road to avoid going through the town. She grew more calm and
less anxious about Fanny the longer she considered the matter, for she
had heard of this fever hospital before, and knew that the patients
received every care, and were as well nursed as if they were at home.
She felt sure that Fanny would be taken good care of; but she wanted to
see her, and know all that had happened, and why she did not write to
tell her she was ill, before she was so bad as to be taken away. There
were so many things she wanted to ask her, that it was well for Fanny
that her mother could not go to see her just now.
Mrs. Brown had asked about Fanny's clothes, and the lady had told her
that, after she had been taken away, the parish authorities had sent to
fetch them to be disinfected.
"They had better be sent home when they are ready," said Mrs. Brown.
And, at her request, Mrs. Lewis wrote a note to this effect, and this
Mrs. Brown left at the office as she passed, telling the clerk that she
was the girl's mother, and that Fanny would return home as soon as she
was well.
Brown wrote to his wife the next day, when he heard the news from her,
saying what he could to comfort her, and that if he had been working at
the factory close at hand he could have done no more than she had, and
that he was glad she made the necessary inquiries about her clothes,
for the poor girl thought so much of her clothes, he knew, and she
would want them when she came home.
What a bitter commentary on this the next day brought. A large, blue,
official-looking letter came in the middle of the afternoon.
Mrs. Brown's fingers shook as she took it out of the postman's hands,
and Jessie Collins, who had been helped to limp over to pay her first
visit to her friend, said, in a tone of alarm, "Is there anything the
matter, Mrs. Brown?" when she went into the kitchen with the letter in
her hand.
"I don't know, I don't know," said Mrs. Brown; and then, with a
desperate effort, she tore open the envelope, and took out the large
sheet of blue paper and read, "I regret to inform you that your
daughter, Fanny Brown, died this morning, and I have to request that
her body—"
Mrs. Brown did not read any further. The letter slipped from her
fingers, her head drooped, and she would have fallen out of the chair
on which she was sitting if Jessie had not saved her.
Jessie was frightened, but managed to reach to the wall, and knock for
the next-door neighbour, who was a friend of Mrs. Brown's.
"Whatever is the matter?" she exclaimed, as she rushed in at the back
door.
"It was all through reading this blue letter," said Jessie; and when
the woman had moved Mrs. Brown to the armchair, she picked up the
letter to see what could have caused the fainting-fit.
"Mrs. Poole, Fanny Brown is dead!" exclaimed Jessie.
At the same moment, Selina ran in from school, and was in time to hear
Jessie's exclamation.
"I don't believe you, Jessie Collins. What have you done to my mother?
Oh, mother, mother, speak to me!" implored the little girl, bursting
into tears. "Don't you believe what Jessie Collins says," she went on,
as her mother slowly opened her eyes. Selina's cry had done more to
restore her than all the water and burnt feathers Mrs. Poole had used.
For a minute she looked round the room in a dazed fashion, as though
waking from a terrible dream. Then all at once she looked at Jessie,
and said—
"The letter! the letter! I thought I had a terrible letter!"
Selina was holding the letter now, and gave it to her. She shuddered as
her fingers touched it.
"Yes, yes, it is true then," she said; "and my Fanny is dead."
She did not faint again, but sat and stared at the letter for a minute,
and then said—
"I must go to him. I must tell my husband."
Selina had run out and spread the news, and in a few minutes other
neighbours had come in. They soon persuaded Mrs. Brown that the best
thing she could do was to send a telegram to her husband, bidding him
and Jack come home at once, as Fanny was worse.
This would be the best way of telling the sad news, Mrs. Poole thought;
so just as he had finished his day's work, the telegram was handed to
Brown.
But although he started for home as soon as he could after he received
it, he did not reach his wife until nearly ten o'clock, and then it was
too late to go to the hospital and ascertain further particulars about
Fanny's death.
He went on this sad errand the next morning, leaving his wife in the
care of Jessie and Mrs. Poole, for she was now so ill that the doctor
had been sent for, and had ordered her to keep her bed for the present.
The fatigue of the long walk a day or two before, followed by the shock
of the sudden news of Fanny's death, had proved too much for her.
The only person she asked to see was the Vicar, and when he came, she
said—
"Where is my Fanny now, sir?"
"In God's keeping," he answered tenderly. "Nothing can take her out of
His hands."
"But she is dead," said the poor heart-broken mother; "and I know she
had been wilful and selfish, and—"
But there the invalid stopped with a groan.
"And you do not know anything that happened to the poor silly girl
after she went to the hospital? But cannot you believe that God was
there with your wilful child, as well as in the cave with your brave
girl? And could He not lead Fanny to repentance for the past, as well
as give courage and endurance to her sister?"
A little something like hope crept into the poor woman's eyes as she
listened.
"Do you really think so," she asked.
"I do, indeed. Many a lesson learned at home or at school, and
forgotten or neglected, perhaps despised for years and years, often
comes back when we are ill. And what is more likely than that your
Fanny turned to God and asked His forgiveness for Christ's sake? And
though no one may know of this, we are sure that God was ready to
forgive all her sins, and receive her to Himself."
Mrs. Brown was too ill to bear much talking; but the Vicar felt sure,
from the changed look in her sad eyes, that the few words he had
spoken had led her to hope in God's mercy to Fanny. And then he left,
promising to help in the business arrangements if his help was needed.
Of these, however, Mrs. Brown heard very little, Fanny's body had been
placed in a coffin, and fastened down before her father reached the
hospital, and arrangements for the funeral had to be made, and carried
out very quickly.
Mrs. Brown was too ill to ask many questions, so she did not know that
her husband had not been able to look upon the face of their child. He
was careful to keep this to himself as far as he could. By-and-by they
might be able to talk the matter over. Now they spoke of the pleasant
shady spot where Fanny had been laid in the churchyard, and where
several of her old schoolfellows had already placed bunches of choice
wildflowers, such as Fanny had often gathered herself in her lifetime.
Jessie Collins insisted upon doing her share of the nursing for her
friend, and Minnie allowed her to sit with her mother many an hour,
when she would rather have been there herself, because she knew that
Jessie longed to show her gratitude by doing what she could for them in
their trouble.
Everybody was very kind to the bereaved parents; and when at last Mrs.
Brown was able to come downstairs once more, friends and neighbours
tried all they could to shield her from any painful reminder of her
loss, and tried to interest her in what was going on.
There was one subject that was in the mind of a good many people;
although Mrs. Brown herself had apparently forgotten it, and this was
Fanny's box of clothes. Brown had sent to the parish authorities asking
them not to send them back immediately, as his wife was ill, and his
work took him away from home at present.
To this request a polite answer had been returned that the clothes
might remain in their charge for a month, if that would suit the
convenience of Mr. Brown, and this arrangement being made, Brown
thought no more about the matter, and the days and weeks went on, until
more than a month had passed since the news of Fanny's death first
reached her mother. One morning, after the girls had gone to school, a
cart stopped at the door, and when Mrs. Brown went to open it to the
man who had knocked, she saw that he had just set down Fanny's box.
"Good morning, ma'am. Will you please look through this, and see that
everything is right by this paper?" and he held out a list of what the
box had contained when it was taken from Mrs. Lewis's.
For a minute Mrs. Brown felt that she could not open the box; but,
after a minute's hesitation, she said—
"If you will lift it into the front room, I will open it."
"All right," answered the man; and he handed the key to Mrs. Brown.
With trembling fingers she unlocked it, and lifted the lid. She did
not recognize the first article she lifted out, for it was Fanny's new
dress, now limp and tumbled and creased.
Then came articles that Mrs. Brown knew quite well, and these brought
the tears to her eyes, and a pang to her heart, but the business had to
be gone through, and the articles compared with the list the man had
given to her.
At the very bottom, underneath caps and aprons and all the small
keepsakes she had treasured, was a cotton bag, and in this was Judds'
collecting-card, with its record of what she had paid; and also the
watch and chain, which had been the source of all Fanny's trouble, and
her mother's sorrow and disappointment.
At the sight of this Mrs. Brown burst into a violent flood of tears.
"I cannot do any more," she said, with a gasp.
The man lifted his cap, and scratched his head.
"It's kind of upset you, missus," he said, in a tone of apology. "But
there, we've got to the end now, and if you'll just write your name at
the bottom of this paper I shan't want to bother you again."
Mrs. Brown choked back her tears, and wiped her eyes that she might
see to write her name where the man told her it was to be written, and
having done this, and shut the street door, she could do as she pleased
with these memorials of her lost darling. For nearly an hour she sat
tearless, but with a bitter pang at her heart; for, try as she would,
she was forced to admit that there was conclusive evidence that self,
and self-gratification had been the ruling spirit of Fanny's life to
the very last. But this should not be known to any one but herself. She
would put away the things, lock the box, and keep the key. She replaced
the watch and chain in its bag, puzzled a little as she read the rules
printed on the collecting-card, but holding to the belief in what Fanny
had told her that she had bought the watch for ten shillings. Then,
when the well-known articles, which she herself had made, were replaced
in the box, the new brown dress was shaken out and examined, and when
the quality of the material was noted and the way in which it was made,
Mrs. Brown exclaimed—
"Where could the silly girl have bought this? She certainly could not
afford it!" And tears filled her eyes once more, for how could she
endure to blame Fanny now that the silence of death severed them, and
she could not explain how and why she had bought this expensive dress?
At any rate, no one else should see it. She would hide her daughter's
folly in her own heart, that no word of blame might be spoken or even
thought of by any one but herself, and for her she must learn to think
kindly and tenderly of poor Fanny, even though bitter thoughts of
blame must sometimes mingle with them. She folded the new brown dress
carefully, and put it at the top of the other things in the box, then
closed the lid and locked it, before either of the girls came home from
school.
Selina looked at her mother closely as she came in.
"Is there anything the matter, mother?" she asked.
"No, dear, nothing, only I have a little headache to-day."
"Mother, I met Eliza as I came out of school, and she told me to tell
you that she is coming home to tea this afternoon." It was Minnie who
spoke, and Selina at once asked when she had seen Eliza.
"As I was coming out of school," repeated her sister. "You always stay
behind to the last minute, and so, of course, you missed seeing her,
for she could only stay a moment to ask how mother was, and to tell me
she was coming home to tea with her to-day."
Selina pouted. "It was all teacher's fault," she grumbled. "She made me
go back into the class and sit down because I pushed past Bella Hinton,
and the little stupid cried about it."
"Well, it was unkind to push a poor little lame thing like Bella," said
Minnie, reproachfully.
"Oh, well, people have to look after themselves if they don't want to
be left behind," said Selina.
"My dear, I hope you are not going to make that your rule of life,"
said her mother. "For I am afraid, if you do, yours will not be a very
happy one, nor will your friends have much happiness through you."
Mrs. Brown spoke very seriously, and Minnie looked up at her mother in
wondering surprise. "It was only a little thing, mother," she said, by
way of excuse for Selina.
"Yes, dear, it is, I know, only a little thing. Straws, too, are little
things; but by the way they float on the top of a stream they show
which way the tide is running, or the stream flowing; and so a little
girl, who will push a lame schoolfellow aside to be able to run past
her, will be likely to grow up a selfish girl, considering only her
own convenience and pleasure rather than the wishes and wants of other
people. Now, I particularly wish my little girls to think of the other
people as well as themselves, to try and put themselves in the place
of the other, and ask themselves what they would like that other to do
to them if they could exchange places. Now, how would Selina like it,
if she had a lame foot and could not walk very well, to have a strong
girl, who could run anywhere, come and push her out of the way? Would
you like to see the strong girl running past you and getting to the
playground first?"
Selina shook her head, but did not reply audibly.
"Well, now, I want you in future, for mother's sake, to think of this
whenever you are going to do something that is not quite kind. Just
wait a moment, and say to yourself, 'Should I like it if I was in her
place?'"
Mrs. Brown thought this would be enough for the first lesson; but she
was resolved that Selina, who promised to grow up like Fanny, should
not be left to follow her own inclinations on these small things, lest
by-and-by she too should become a cause of bitter pain and suffering to
others, instead of a blessing and comfort, such as every girl should be
to her parents.