THE GRASSHOPPER A BURDEN.
It was some time before the full meaning of Susan's letter penetrated
to her father's brain; but when it did, he was not at first
altogether pained by it. True, it was both a grief and
disappointment to think that his daughter, instead of returning to
him, was already on her way across the sea to a very distant land.
But as this came slowly to his mind, there came also the thought that
there would now be no one to divide with him the treasure committed
to his charge. The little child would belong to him alone. They
might go on still, living as they had done these last three days, and
being all in all to one another. If he could have chosen, his will
would certainly have been for Susan to return to them; but, since he
could not have his choice, he felt that there were some things which
would be all the happier for him because of her absence.
He put Dolly to bed, and then went out to shut up the shop for the
night. As he carried in his feeble arms a single shutter at a time,
he heard himself hailed by a boy's voice, which was lowered to a low
and mysterious whisper, and which belonged to Tony, who took the
shutter out of his hands.
"S'pose the mother turned up all right?" he said pointing with his
thumb through the half open door.
"No," answered Oliver. "I've had another letter from her, and she's
gone out to India with her husband, and left the little love to live
alone with me."
"But whatever'll the Master say to that?" inquired Tony.
"What master?" asked old Oliver.
"Him--Lord Jesus Christ. What'll he say to her leaving you and the
little 'un again?" said Tony, with an eager face.
"Oh! he says a woman ought to leave her father, and keep to her
husband," he answered, somewhat sadly. "It's all right, that is."
"I s'pose he'll help you to take care of the little girl," said Tony.
"Ay will he; him and me," replied old Oliver; "there's no fear of
that. You never read the Testament, of course, my boy?"
"Can't read, I told you," he answered. "But what's that?"
"A book all about him, the Lord Jesus," said Oliver, "what he's done,
and what he's willing to do for people. If you'll come of an
evening, I'll read it aloud to you and my little love. She'll listen
as quiet and good as any angel."
"I'll come to-morrow," answered Tony, readily; and he lingered about
the doorway until he heard the old man inside fasten the bolts and
locks, and saw the light go out in the pane of glass over the door.
Then he scampered noiselessly with his naked feet along the alley in
the direction of Covent Garden, where he purposed to spend the night,
if left undisturbed.
Old Oliver went back into his room, where the tea-table was still set
out for his Susan's welcome; but he had no heart to clear the things
away. A chill came over his spirit as his eye fell upon the
preparations he had made to give her such a cordial greeting, that
she would know at once he had forgiven her fully. He lit his pipe,
and sat pondering sorrowfully over all the changes that had happened
to him since those old, far-away days when he was a boy, in the
pleasant, fresh, healthy homestead at the foot of the Wrekin. He
felt all of a sudden how very old he was; a poor, infirm, hoary old
man. His sight was growing dim even, and his hearing duller every
day; he was sure of it. His limbs ached oftener, and he was earlier
wearied in the evening; yet he could not sleep soundly at nights, as
he had been used to do. But, worst of all, his memory was not half
as good as it had been. Sometimes, of late, he had caught himself
reading a newspaper quite a fortnight old, and he had not found it
out till he happened to see the date at the top. He could not
recollect the names of people as he did once; for many of his
customers to whom he supplied the monthly magazines were obliged to
tell him their names and the book they wanted every time, before he
could remember them. And now there was this young child cast upon
him to be thought of, and cared and worked for. It was very
thoughtless and reckless of Susan! Suppose he should forget or
neglect any of her tender wants! Suppose his dull ear should grow
too deaf to catch the pretty words she said when she asked for
something! Suppose he should not see when the tears were rolling
down her cheeks, and nobody would comfort her! It might very easily
be so. He was not the hale man he was when Susan was just such
another little darling, and he could toss her up to the ceiling in
his strong hands. It was as much as he could do to lift Dolly on to
his feeble knee, and nurse her quietly, not even giving her a ride to
market upon it; and how stiff he felt if she sat there long!
Old Oliver laid aside his pipe, and rested his worn face upon his
hands, while the heavy tears came slowly and painfully to his eyes,
and trickled down his withered cheeks. His joy had fled, and his
unmingled gladness had faded quite away. He was a very poor, very
old man; and the little child was very, very young. What would
become of them both, alone in London?
He did not know whether it was a voice speaking within himself in his
own heart, or words whispered very softly into his ear; but he heard
a low, quiet, still small voice, which said, "Even to your old age I
am he, and even to hoar hairs I will carry you: I have made, and I
will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you." And old Oliver
answered, with a sob, "Yes, Lord, yes!"