A LITTLE PEACEMAKER.
It was a very strange event which had befallen old Oliver. He went
back to his own chair, where he smoked his Broseley pipe every night,
and sank down in it, rubbing his legs softly; for it was a long time
since he had nursed any child, and even Dolly's small weight was a
burden to him. Her tiny clothes were scattered up and down, and
there was no one beside himself to gather them together, and fold
them straight. In shaking out her frock a letter fell from it, and
Oliver picked it up, wondering whoever it could be for. It was
directed to himself, "Mr. James Oliver, News-agent," and he broke the
seal with eager expectation. The contents were these, written in a
handwriting which he knew at first sight to be his daughter's:--
"DEAR FATHER,
"I am very very sorry I ever did anything to make you angry with me.
This is your poor Susan's little girl, as is come to be a little
peacemaker betwixt you and me. I'm certain sure you'll never turn
her away from your door. I'm going down to Portsmouth for three
days, because he listed five months ago, and his regiment's ordered
out to India, and he sails on Friday. So I thought I wouldn't take
my little girl to be in the way, and I said I'll leave her with
father till I come back, and her pretty little ways will soften him
towards me, and we'll live all together in peace and plenty till his
regiment comes home again, poor fellow. For he's very good to me
when he's not in liquor, which is seldom for a man. Please do
forgive me for pity's sake, and for Christ's sake, if I'm worthy to
use his name, and do take care of my little girl till I come home to
you both on Friday. From your now dutiful daughter,
"POOR SUSAN."
The tears rolled fast down old Oliver's cheeks as he read this letter
through twice, speaking the words half aloud to himself. Why! this
was his own little grandchild, then--his very own! And no doubt
Susan had christened her Dorothy, after her own mother, his dear
wife, who had died so many years ago. Dolly was the short for
Dorothy, and in early times he had often called his wife by that
name. He had turned his gas off and lighted a candle, and now he
took it up and went to the bedside to look at his new treasure. The
tiny face lying upon his pillow was rosy with sleep, and the fair
curly hair was tossed about in pretty disorder. His spectacles grew
very dim indeed, and he was obliged to polish them carefully on his
cotton handkerchief before he could see his grand-daughter plainly
enough. Then he touched her dimpled cheek tremblingly with the end
of his finger, and sobbed out, "Bless her! bless her!" He returned
to his chair, his head shaking a good deal before he could regain his
composure; and it was not until he had kindled his pipe, and was
smoking it, with his face turned towards the sleeping child, that he
felt at all like himself again.
"Dear Lord!" he said, half aloud, between the whiffs of his pipe,
"dear Lord! how very good thou art to me! Didst thee not say, 'I'll
not leave thee comfortless, I'll come to thee?' I know what that
means, bless thy name; and the good Spirit has many a time brought me
comfort, and cheered my heart. I know thou didst not leave me alone
before. No, no! that was far from thee, Lord. Alone!--why, thou'rt
always here; and now there's the little lass as well.
Lonesome!--they don't know thee, Lord, and they don't know me.
Thou'rt here, with the little lass and me. Yes, yes,--yes."
He murmured the word "yes" in a tone of contentment over and over
again, until, the pipe being finished, he prepared for sleep also.
But no sleep came to the old man. He was too full of thought, and
too fearful of the child waking in the night and wanting something.
The air was close and hot, and now and then a peal of thunder broke
overhead; but a profound peace and tranquillity, slightly troubled by
his new joy, held possession of him. His grandchild was there, and
his daughter was coming back to him in three days.
Oh, how he would welcome her! He would not let her speak one word of
her wilfulness and disobedience, and the long, cruel neglect which
had left him in ignorance of where she lived, and what had become of
her. It was partly his fault, for having been too hard upon her, and
too hasty and hot-tempered. He had learnt better since then.