Under the Yew Tree
IT was wonderful what a difference that talk with Granny Robin had made
in Audrey's and Stephen's lives. They never forgot what she had said
to them, or that they were the Children of Light. And when Audrey's
birthday came, Granny Robin gave her a beautiful text to hang up in her
bedroom; and the words of the text were these—
"WALK AS CHILDREN OF LIGHT."
"How ought Children of Light to walk, Granny Robin?" asked Audrey.
"What does it mean?"
"It means, behave as Children of Light," said the old woman; "do
nothing and say nothing which the Children of Light ought not to do or
say."
"I will try, Granny Robin," said Audrey.
And she did try, from that day forward. When Aunt Cordelia was in one
of her difficult, fault-finding moods, Audrey would say to herself:
"I am a Child of Light," and would keep back the angry, fretful answer.
When she was tempted to be idle at school, or to join in the
disturbance which most of the children were making, she would say again:
"I am a Child of Light," and the thought would make her work with all
her might.
When she lay awake at night, and felt lonely in the little top
room where she slept, she would creep out of bed and look into the
churchyard, and above the old tower to the stars shining overhead, and
would say to herself:
"I am a Child of Light."
And then she never felt afraid; for were not the angels watching over
all the Children of Light, their little brothers and sisters in the
Kingdom?
As for Stephen, he was happier than he had ever been before; it was his
one thought night and day.
He was always asking his father, "Father, are you one of the Children
of Light? Have you crossed over the bridge?"
And when he received no answer to his question, he would throw his arms
round his father's neck, and would say, "Oh, I do hope you are in the
Kingdom of Light, father—the Kingdom of the dear Son!"
It must have been about the beginning of May—just at the time when the
lilac on the bush near Granny Robin's window was in full bloom—that a
very strange thing happened. The children had seen nothing more of the
light in the church since the Sunday when they had called Mr. Robin to
see it, and they were beginning to despair of ever seeing it again. Yet
still, when Sunday evening came, they climbed on the flat tombstone,
and looked in through the window, hoping against hope that it might
appear, and that they might be able to prove the truth of their story.
But as the days grew longer and lighter, it became more and more
unlikely that any one who might happen to be in the old church would
require a light until long after Audrey's and Stephen's bedtime.
But it so happened that one Sunday night, Aunt Cordelia told Audrey
that when she left church, she was going to see a friend of hers who
was ill, and who lived on the other side of the river, almost two miles
away. This would take her a long time, as the friend might require her
help when she arrived, and in that case it would be late before she was
home.
Audrey was in alone, for the rain was falling fast, and she and Stephen
had not been together all day. The little girl sat for some time by
the window, watching the rain which was beating mercilessly on the old
tombs, and covering the grave of the two grandchildren who died young
with the tiny blue blossoms of the forget-me-not which Stephen had
planted there.
It was a long, dreary evening, and it seemed as if it would never
come to an end. She would have liked to have gone to church with Aunt
Cordelia, but she was not allowed to go in the evening. Once a day was
enough for little girls, Aunt Cordelia said.
After a time it grew so dark that Audrey thought she would go to bed,
but then she remembered that she had had no supper, and that Aunt
Cordelia would not like her to help herself to any. If it had only been
fine, and she could have been with Stephen, she would not have minded
how long Aunt Cordelia had been away; they would have been so happy
together that the time would have seemed short to both of them.
As she was sitting at the window, she suddenly remembered the strange
light, and she wondered if it was burning. It was dark enough for any
one to need a light, and if it was to be lighted at all that night,
she felt sure it would be already burning. It was still raining fast.
Audrey could hear it beating against the window, and there was not even
light enough for her to see the crooked old tombstone which stood only
two yards from the house.
A great longing came over the little girl to run across the churchyard
to the other side of the old church, and to peep in at the window.
Would Aunt Cordelia be angry if she came home and found her out? She
did not think she would be, if she told her how very long the time had
seemed to her. Besides, she would not be five minutes away, and she
would know for certain whether that strange light was burning or not.
Aunt Cordelia's old mackintosh was hanging behind the kitchen door, and
Audrey took it down, and wrapping it round her, she opened the window
and crept cautiously out. It was so dark that to any one else, it
would have been impossible to cross the churchyard, full as it was of
rough, uneven stones, some of which were half buried in the long grass,
without either stumbling over them or falling against them. But Audrey
knew every inch of the churchyard, and she could find her way about it
by night more easily than a stranger could have done so by day.
So the little figure, in her long waterproof cloak, went in and out
amongst the old tombstones in safety, and at length reached the wall of
the church. Feeling her way by means of it, she passed under the east
window on her way to the flat stone on the other side of the church.
But just as Audrey was turning the corner, she stumbled over something
which was lying on the ground, and fell forward with her head against
the flat tombstone. What could it be? There was no grave close to the
wall, and she had felt quite safe in walking there. Audrey sat up and
rubbed her head, and wondered more and more what had made her fall. It
was very dark at this side of the church, for a thick yew tree overhung
the flat tombstone, and Audrey could distinguish nothing whatever.
She thought Stephen must have left something on the ground when he had
been playing there the day before; and she was just going to climb
upon the stone that she might look for the light, when she heard close
beside her a strange noise. It seemed to be a moan, or the cry of some
creature in pain; and Audrey thought she must have stumbled over some
wounded cat or dog, which must have crept under the church wall to die.
Wrapping her cloak tightly round her, she climbed down from the stone,
and felt with her hand on the grass below. To her utter horror and
astonishment, a voice spoke to her as she did so.
"Is any one there?" said the voice.
Audrey was trembling so much that she could not answer the question.
"Is any one there?" said the voice again.
"Yes," said Audrey fearfully, "I'm here; Who are you?"
"You needn't be scared," said the voice, "I'm only old Joe." And then
he gave another groan, which went straight to Audrey's little heart.
"What's the matter with you?" she said. "Are you ill? Have you hurt
yourself?"
"I'm dying, I think," said the voice faintly.
"I'll fetch somebody," said Audrey, getting up from the stone; "I'll
bring Mr. Robin."
"Oh no," said the old man in a louder voice, "don't tell of me. I
didn't do nobody any harm—don't fetch anybody; don't thee now—they'll
lock me up if they come!"
[Illustration: "I'LL FETCH SOMEBODY," SAID AUDREY.]
"Mr. Robin won't lock you up," said Audrey; "he's very kind is Mr.
Robin."
He made no answer to this, so Audrey did not speak to him again, but
at once began to creep past him. She was still trembling so much that
she could hardly stand, but she managed to make her way back to the old
houses, though not so quickly as she had come.
She stopped at Granny Robin's window, and knocked on the pane. Mr.
Robin opened it.
"Why, Audrey," he said, "what are you doing at this time of night—and
all wet and dripping, too?"
She could hardly tell him what she wanted, for her heart was beating so
fast with the fright she had had; but she begged him to come with her,
and to come at once, and to bring a candle with him.