_WHERE ONE PUDDING WENT._
Agnes was one of those girls who loved to be a true elder sister. Many a
time, when she sat down to tell a story, she would have preferred to
bury herself in an interesting book, or to go on with a piece of
painting, or delicate needlework; but by experience she had learned the
blessedness of giving rather than taking pleasure, and her restless
brothers interested for an hour, or Alice's and Minnie's hearts warmed
and stirred up by a story, was, in her estimation, something
accomplished for her Lord and Master.
So when the day after Christmas-day dawned, and found them all a little
out of sorts, with later hours, and more excitement than usual, she took
the opportunity to gather them together to hear the account of where the
puddings went, and how they were received.
John threw himself into an arm-chair with a yawn, Hugh stretched
himself on the sofa with his face downwards, while Alice and Minnie sat
on the hearthrug resting their heads against her knee.
Agnes was not offended at her brothers' positions, knowing that their
fatigued dulness meant no disrespect to her, and would soon change to
interest in her narration when once she began.
"Ahem!" said Hugh.
"Now don't, Hugh, I am going to begin; but I must have time to collect
my thoughts."
"I shall be asleep then," he answered. "Agnes, why do you choose such a
morning to tell us? we can't do justice to you."
For answer, Agnes only smiled and began.
* * * * *
"'Bother the children, they are in my way from morning to night! Not a
bit of peace. And how I'm to do to-morrow I don't know any more than
nobody!'
"The words were spoken by a woman who looked inexpressibly worried and
tired. The room was small, the children were many, the fire was poor,
and the cold was severe. As she spoke she pushed one child into one
corner, another into another; she hustled a big clumsy boy away from the
little fire, and she swept down some poor little playthings off the
table on to the floor with a sharp rattle which betokened a breakage of
a toy, such as it was.
"A bitter cry from a little pale boy, to whom this small plate had
belonged, arrested the mother's attention for a moment, but only to add
to her exasperation.
"'Stop yer crying,' she exclaimed, 'or I'll stop yer!' and the little
fellow swallowed down his tears as best he might, and wiped the rest on
his sleeve, as he bent down to gather his little sticks together,
picking up the remains of his one doll's plate, which had enabled him to
have imaginary dinners and teas in his play for many a day.
"The children saw that they had better make themselves scarce, and
though a keen east wind and sleet raged outside on this Christmas-eve,
most of them turned out into the narrow street till tea should be ready.
"When, through the uncurtained window, they could see from their
mother's movements that they might venture in, they gladly once more
entered the little untidy room.
"Their mother had cut them each two slices of bread and dripping, and to
this they sat down with ravenous appetites. Alas! much too soon were the
pieces demolished, and the crumbs picked up off the comfortless bare
table.
"'Ain't there any more?' asked the elder boy.
"'No, there ain't,' said his mother sharply; all the more sharply that
she would have given anything to have been able to say yes instead of
no.
"The big boy looked disappointed enough, and shuffled his feet about
discontentedly.
"'What have yer got for dinner to-morrow?' he asked.
"'Usual fare,' said his mother; 'there ain't nothing but bread
now-a-days, and not too much of that.'
"An ominous silence brooded over the only half-satisfied children, and
the mother rocked the baby to and fro with a look on her face which was
both sad and hopeless.
"'Why don't we have something nice, even if father's work is short? When
it's plenty I should ha' thought we might ha' saved a bit,' grumbled the
eldest.
"'Save!' exclaimed the poor mother, 'why, if we've got it, you know ye
eat it, and if we ain't got it, we go without.'
"'Well, I don't like not having 'nuff to eat,' said the big boy vexedly.
'I brings home all I earns, and it ain't fair.'
"'And how much have you earned _this_ week?' asked his mother crossly.
"'Well, look at this weather, for yer,' answered he; 'how can us earn
when no one won't build at any price?'
"'Then shut up,' answered the tired mother, 'and wait for better times.'
"She rose, and prepared to put the baby to bed. The eldest little girl
washed up the few cups, while the boys began an undertoned game at
tickling each other, which soon resulted in laughter and subdued noise.
This brought down on them a sharp reprimand from their mother, and
finally a box on the ears all round.
"Somewhat quieted, but in no good humour, they retired into a corner,
and proceeded to cut up some pieces of wood which their brother's trade
supplied them with. They could muster but one knife between them, but a
boy cautiously crept to the cupboard and abstracted one belonging to the
housekeeping, the rest watching their mother's head lest she should
discover the act of disobedience; for such it was in this little home,
where a lost knife would be a serious misfortune.
"At last the baby was carried upstairs for the night, and the mother
descended with her hands free for the time.
"'Off to bed you go,' she said to the next three, who were crowding over
the little fire.
"There was no objection for once, but just as the little girl of ten
years old was taking the lamp to light them to bed a knock came at the
door and startled them all.
"The girl set down the light and opened the door.
"'Why if it ain't Miss Agnes Headley;' said the mother. 'Come in, miss,
do.'
"'No thank you, I have only come to bring you a little present for
Christmas, and I hope you will have a happy day,' said Miss Headley.
"The big boy jumped up in a moment, and took it from her, with a 'thank
ye, miss,' which meant a great deal; but Miss Headley did not wait, and
they closed the door from the bitter wind, while all crowded round the
table in anxious expectation.
"At the top of the parcel was an immense Christmas pudding, of a size to
satisfy the appetites of even that numerous party. On it was pinned a
paper with these words written: 'This pudding is cooked, but must be
boiled for an hour and a half to warm it through. The cloth is for you.'
"A shout of pleasure was forced from the delighted family as they viewed
their promised treat.
"Under the pudding, which had been wrapped up in a whole newspaper, lay
an old jacket, a comforter, a worn pair of trousers, and a frock for the
girl of ten. Last of all was a piece of stout paper on which someone
(Hugh Headley I think) had painted these words: 'Come unto Me, all ye
that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'
"On the back of this was written, 'Please pin this up on the wall for a
Christmas text.'
"The eldest boy produced two or three nails, and had put it over the
mantelshelf before they could say a word, and then, as the mother
reminded them the pudding would come all the sooner for going to bed,
they took her advice and disappeared, all but the big boy, who hung
behind to say, 'I'm mortal hungry, mother, I suppose you ain't got a
crust?'
"Half an hour before she would have answered 'no' hastily enough, but
there were tears in her eyes as she handed him the bit of bread which
was to have served for her supper, as she said:
"'I'm sorry, boy, it's all so short, but you know what yer boots cost
last week, and you can't have everything.'
"'Good-night, mother,' he said, stooping to give her a rough kiss; 'but
it _is_ hard to be hungry.'
"When the little door had closed upon her children the mother sat down
in a chair with her hands drooping in her lap. Then she wiped away the
unwonted tears as she looked round at the package on the table, and then
back at the bright text in front of her. It was that text which had
softened her heart, and made her cry. It was that text which had
suddenly reminded her of old days when she had thought more of these
things than she did now.
"'Come unto Me, all ye that are heavy laden.'
"The tired, worried, over-wrought mother buried her face in her hands.
Long she sat and wept.
"'I thought He had forgotten me,' she whispered. And then she rose up
and made the room ready for the father, repeating softly to herself all
the while, 'I will give you rest, I will give you rest.'
"After some time, much later than she had expected, the well-known
footstep was heard at the door.
"The mother knew before the father entered that the foot bore a more
cheerful sound than had been of late, and his words corroborated her
thought.
"'Well, wife, so here you are all alone! Why, so they're all gone to
roost!'
"To get the sooner to Christmas-day," answered the mother, her eyes
falling, as his did, on the table scattered over with the things they
had received.
"They needed very little explanation, and meanwhile the father was
fumbling in his pocket for something, which he now laid on the table by
his wife.
"'That's my share for to-morrow,' he said. 'I stayed out all these hours
on the chance of a job, and at last I got one. A gentleman couldn't get
a cab nohow, everything's engaged on this wet night, to say nought of
its being Christmas; so I carried his heavy portmanteau nigh on four
miles, and he gave me this half-crown. And now I want my supper, wife.'
"The mother rose quickly and stirred the little fire. Already the kettle
boiled, and the cup was set on the table with perhaps, unusual care. But
the fare was indeed scant--a piece of bread cut off for the father
before she had begun for the children and a bit of dripping. Meanwhile
she was hastily putting on bonnet and shawl.
"'Where to?' asked he, surprised; 'there ain't no hurry to get a bit of
meat. The butchers will be open for hours yet; so sit still for once.'
"'I shan't be a minute,' she said, and was gone before he could object.
"It was not much more ere she appeared again, bringing in her hand a
large loaf, and a herring which she immediately placed on the fire,
while she cut some fresh slices of the day-old bread, with a heart
filled with pleasure that she had it to give him.
"'I've been looking at yon words,' he said, 'and they seem to say to me
as we haven't thought so much of Him as we should, eh, old woman? We
couldn't have a better day nor to-morrow to begin, eh?'
"'I've begun to-night,' she said. 'I've forgot Him lately, but He ain't
forgot me!'"
* * * * *
Alice looked up now, as Agnes finished her narration, and said
wonderingly, "I can't think how you know it, Agnes."
"I will not keep you in suspense then," she answered. "Mrs. Freeman came
round early on Christmas-day to thank us for the things, and in a few
simple words explained her despair and her comfort, and how the words,
'Come unto _Me_,' had put a new life before her, a life of rest and
peace, even in the midst of outward turmoil. Our little effort for her,
you see, did even more than we could have hoped."
"Have you any more stories?" asked Hugh.
"Not to-day. Minnie and I saw other things, but you will have to wait
for those till we have another opportunity."
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