_THE LAST PUDDING._
Agnes and her brothers and sisters ran down the steps of their London
home, one frosty morning towards the end of the holidays, and turned
their steps toward Regent's Park. While the roar of omnibuses was for
ever in their ears there could be little talking, but when they began to
find quieter streets they gathered close to Agnes, begging for "a
story." This was a usual custom with them, and Agnes quickly responded
by beginning cheerfully:
"Oh, yes, you have never had the account of our other visit on
Christmas-eve; so I must begin where I left off last time."
* * * * *
"When Minnie and I reached home, with the bells ringing the refrain of
peace and contentment, we just came in to warm our fingers, and then
started forth again on our last errand. This time our parcel was even
heavier than before, and we were very glad when we reached the house to
which our steps were bound.
"House it was not, being just a large room over a stable, where, as you
know, Martha, our former housemaid, lives, since she married Jim, the
cabman.
"We picked our way as well as we could over the stones, slippery and wet
with mud, and at last came to the door leading to the staircase which
runs up by the side of the coach-house. We found it ajar, and as the
bell was broken we made our way up in the darkness. All was pitchy
black, but a baby wailing above told us there must be somebody within.
We found the door of the room at the top, and knocked. A voice, sharp
and quick, which I should hardly have known for Martha's soft one,
answered, 'What do you want?' and on this invitation we entered.
"No light was in the room, but the gas-lamp of the yard shed flickering
and uncertain gleams through the window into the barest and untidiest of
chambers.
"We could see, as our eyes became used to the dim light, that Martha was
seated near the empty grate, holding the baby in her lap, while three
little mites were huddled up against her knees on the floor.
"Desolate indeed everything seemed.
"'Why, Martha,' said I, 'are you all in the dark? Shall I find a light
for you?'
"'Is it you, Miss Agnes?' said Martha, in somewhat of her old tone of
respect. 'I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm that harassed with all my
troubles, that I don't rightly know what I'm doing.'
"'What is it?' asked I, advancing. 'What has come to you?'
"'Everything bad,' she moaned, in the saddest of tones. 'You know I
would marry Jim, though Mrs. Headley told me he was not a steady man,
and too soon I've found her words true; we've been going on from bad to
worse, till one by one all my nice clothes went, then our bits of
furniture, and now we haven't a morsel to eat, nor a scrap of fire, nor
an end of candle!'
"Too utterly miserable to hide her woe under her usual mask of reserve,
and encouraged by the darkness, she continued in a voice husky and dry
with suppressed grief:
"'And it's all through drink! He used to be kind to me; but that's long
past. Then, when he missed the things in the house, he used to ask
angrily for them, and when I told him we couldn't starve, and if he
spent the money on drink we couldn't have food, then he'd up and beat
me.'
"'Oh, hush!' I whispered, 'don't let the little ones hear you say so.'
"'I don't care,' she answered, 'they've seen it often enough, and nothing
matters now; here's my baby, my only boy, dying of hunger!'
"I had sat hitherto spell-bound by her words, but now I started to my
feet. 'Dying!' I said, 'What can I get quickest?'
"'Nought'll save him now,' she said, without a shade of hope in her
voice; 'but if you can get him a drop of milk, it would ease me to think
he hadn't died hungry.'
"There was a sob now in her tearless voice; but not stopping to say a
word, I hastily found the door, and descended the steps.
"You may be sure it was not long before I had got a little milk in a can
from a neighbouring shop, and a bit of candle which the woman lent me at
my earnest request, and I ran back with them as fast as my feet could
carry me.
"Happily a match was forthcoming, and the milk was soon put to the
baby's lips. He was about eight months old, but was shrunken up to skin
and bone. He took with great difficulty a little of the milk, and then
nestled again against his mother.
"'Why didn't you tell us?' I asked, forced to say the words.
"'I couldn't; there, I couldn't, miss. I've never begged yet, and I
can't begin. I can die, and they can die, but I can't beg.'
"'Oh dear, Martha!' I said, my voice choked with tears, 'if we'd only
known!'
"She wept now, hanging her head over the baby with despairing sobs.
"'But aren't you all hungry?' I said suddenly.
"She nodded her head.
"Again I flew out, leaving poor little scared Minnie sitting there; and
hurrying off to a baker's, bought a stale loaf, and hastened back,
ordering on my way a little coal and wood.
"In a few minutes Minnie and I had drawn the shivering little mites from
their mother's knees, and had set them near the fireplace, in which I
hoped there would soon be a blaze, and had given them some slices of
bread, while I handed a piece to poor broken-hearted Martha.
"Then the coals came lumbering up the stairs, and, thanks to mother's
teaching, Minnie and I quickly built up a warm little fire, and we had
time to look round. Then our eyes fell on the parcel. We opened it with
all speed, and arrayed the little cold mortals in the old clothes we had
brought, and when the pudding was laid aside for another time, I drew
out our third text, that it too might carry its message to these sad
hearts: 'Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was
rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty
might be rich.'
"'Rich!' said Martha, with a hoarse laugh, reading the words in spite of
herself with her dim eyes, as I pinned them up, 'it's little riches I
shall ever see!'
"'But what about the baby? If he should die now, will he be poor then,
do you think?' I asked softly.
"She moaned as she hugged him tighter. 'I love him more than anything in
this world, or out of it,' she exclaimed.
"'And perhaps--oh, Martha, I don't know--but perhaps God loved you too
well to let you. You would rather be rich with him there, some day, for
ever, than just keep him a little while here?'
"She shook her head; but while she rocked him in her arms, her eyes were
fastened on the paper before her, and her pale lips repeated, 'He became
poor, He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"We stopped a little while longer, till we had seen the poor little
dears cuddled together asleep under their mother's only remaining shawl,
and with a promise of sending round the first thing in the morning, and
that I thought I knew of some work which I might get for her, Minnie and
I came away, too sad at heart to say a word to each other."
* * * * *
"But when I laid down that night in our warm snug bed, Minnie, who was
awake, whispered to me softly, 'It was kind of Him to become poor for
us, Agnes, wasn't it? For what comfort could we give her if He hadn't?'
"And I thought so too, and could not but thank Him over again before I
slept for His love in taking our flesh and bearing our sorrows, that we
might some day share His glory."
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