THE HELPER STILL
DO you imagine that the train soon started? Nothing seemed farther from
its thoughts.
The baby eagerly drank his milk from the bright tin cup, much occupied,
it is true, as soon as his first hunger was appeased, with gazing at
the queer shapes in its sides, but never recognizing, apparently, his
own beautiful face. But after each gaze, he would seize the cup and
take another long draught.
"I tell you he was hungry and thirsty both, I should think!" Wells
said, watching him with interest. "His mother ought to give you a great
many thanks for this."
"Poor mother!" said Christie with a sigh, and she drew the baby closer.
He settled back in her arms at last, satisfied and smiling.
"Tamed," Wells called it, and he and the old gentleman who had returned
to his own seat exchanged smiles of admiration, as Christie "mothered"
the baby, cooing him presently into quiet, restful slumber.
The shawl did duty again as a pillow, and this time, genuine sleeping
was done.
Long past nine o'clock now, and no train either came or went. The
officials seemed all to have departed, and some of the passengers. The
old gentleman kept his seat, so did the pale-faced man, so did the
disgusted young lady who had finished her book, and had now no other
occupation to indulge in but grumbling.
"How far are we from the city?" Christie questioned.
"Why, not more than a dozen miles."
"I should think some of the men who are in a hurry would try to hire a
wagon to take them in."
Wells shook his head. "I should like to see a wagon that could get
through this mud!" he explained. "You see there is no wagon road; the
old road strikes off at that junction down below, and winds around,
I don't know how many miles. I don't suppose it would be possible to
drive direct from here to the city, and the regular road is used so
little out this way now, that it must be horrid after these rains."
"Well, shouldn't you think that man over there, who is so anxious,
would try to walk? I think I could walk twelve miles if mother or the
baby was sick."
"Not in this mud, I venture. I doubt if you ever took many long walks
in such mud. Why, in some places it is knee deep! Besides, don't you
see he would stand a chance of seeing this train whisk by him when he
was about half-way. No; his best plan is to sit still and be patient."
"He doesn't look patient," said Christie. "I never saw anybody's face
look less patient than his; and I am so sorry for him I don't know
what to do. I keep thinking I wish I could do something to help him. I
wonder if it is his mother who is sick."
Wells studied him for a few minutes, and then gave it as his opinion
that it was the lady whom he meant to marry; though why he thought so,
I am sure I don't know.
The next thing that claimed attention was the sprained ankle.
"I'll tell you what it is," said Wells, "there's something going on
down there in my foot that I don't like. It gives the most horrid
tweaks of pain every few minutes that you ever heard of, and it is
swelling so that I don't believe I shall ever be able to wear a boot
again."
"It ought to be bathed," said Christie, "and bandaged; that is what
mother did when father sprained his foot once. She took cold water
and bathed and bathed it, oh, a long time! Then she made a great long
bandage, and bound it up, and it got well after a while. I think I
ought to bathe your foot."
"You!" said Wells in dismay, and looking more astonished than he had at
anything yet. "As if I should allow you to do such a thing!"
"Why not? I should think you would be very foolish not to let me. I
know how; I've done it for father, by the hour. You see it soothes the
pain, and makes the swelling go down. But I don't know what I could
put water in. How queer it is that we can get to places where we miss
all the little things that we thought we should have, of course! Now I
thought I should 'always' be where I could get a basin or a bowl to put
water in.
"If the baby had drank all the milk, I could use the pail. But I dare
not throw it away, because he might need it before his mother gets to
him."
"I should think not!" said Wells, meaning about the milk. "It costs too
much to throw away."
"Yes," said Christie gravely. "But then they did not charge me any more
than other people charge for a quart of milk."
Wells' eyes danced over this; he had not meant the cost in money, but
he said nothing.
Meantime, Christie looked up and down the car, her face thoughtful and
anxious. She was studying ways for bathing the sick foot.
Wells was secretly glad that there seemed no chance for it. He would
have liked his mother to do it, but he could not bear to think of
having his foot bathed by this trim little girl.
Suddenly Christie hopped up, her face bright, and yet doubtful, if
you can imagine the two on the same face. She saw a way to do it, if
only the "Seaside Library" woman would be good and help. It was very
unpleasant to have to ask a favour of her, but Christie was not one to
stop at unpleasant things, when they looked as though they ought to be
done.
The lady's satchel lay open at her side on the seat. She was fumbling
discontentedly through it, looking for something that she did not seem
to find.
But the thing that Christie saw was a small white pitcher lying snugly
among the napkins, empty, and waiting, apparently, for work to do.
She went over to her in haste. It would not do to take much time to
think about this thing which was so disagreeable.
"Would you be so kind as to lend me the pitcher for a little while to
keep baby's milk in? I want to fill the pail with water to bathe the
lame foot. It is beginning to swell very much, and I think that will
help it. Mother thought it helped father."
A long speech for Christie. The lady looked so "very" disagreeable that
the child felt a nervous desire to keep on talking, and not give her a
chance to make a disagreeable answer. But she came to the end of her
long sentence at last, and waited.
Wells was laughing. He was almost willing to have his ankle bathed, if
it would in any way add to the discomfort of the lady.
For what seemed to poor Christie several long minutes, she stared at
her as though she were some unpleasant curiosity that had not been seen
before, then said:
"I suppose so. What a set I have got among! The insolent boy doesn't
deserve to have his ankle bathed! If he had been sitting in the cars
as he ought, the accident would not have happened. Why can't you throw
that slop of milk away, if you want the pail?"
Christie meekly explained her fears that the baby might fancy himself
hungry when he awoke.
And at last, with a disgusted sigh, the lady took the delicate china
pitcher from its nest and passed it into Christie's keeping.
"Here," she said. "You will break it, I presume, the next thing; and it
belongs to a set. I was a simpleton to bring it, but how was I to know
there would be such a nuisance of a time?"
"Oh, thank you!" said Christie. "I will be very careful of it." And she
tripped away with a relieved face.
The old gentleman was watching. When the milk was carefully poured into
the china pitcher, what did he do but offer to take care of it!
Very grateful was Christie, for while she poured, she had wondered what
she should do with the frail china thing, in order to keep it from
bumping against the car. To be sure there was no motion now, but there
was always the hope that the cars would start.
Next the pail must be washed. For the first time in her life Christie
made her way to the water-cooler, which stood in a corner of the car,
and managed to learn how to make the water flow. Washing the pail was
an easy matter. It was a relief to come to something that she knew just
how to do, and had often done before.
She was soon at her work, a neat handkerchief doing duty as a bathing
cloth. The sock was carefully, tenderly drawn from the poor swollen
foot—not without help from Wells' knife, for the ankle was by this time
very unwilling to be touched—and the bathing began. At first Wells'
face had a flush on it that was not all caused by pain. It was such a
queer thing to have a little girl, and she a stranger to him, bathing
his foot. But the cold water felt so pleasant, and the touch of the
small hand was so gentle and skilful, that gradually a feeling of
relief and satisfaction began to steal over him.
"I did not know there was so much good in water," he said, watching her
as she steadily passed her cool cloth up and down the foot.
"Water is real wonderful," said Christie. "Mother says that half the
people in the world don't know what a splendid doctor it is. Sometimes
she uses it real hot, and it will stop a pain in a few minutes. Hot
water would be good for your foot if we could get some. I wish we
could, for I am most sure that it would make this swelling go down
faster."
"We might split some pieces off the side of the car, and start a fire.
I could whittle some off, maybe, or the old gentleman would. No, he
can't leave his pitcher of milk. But the young man hasn't anything to
do; we might try him. I have some matches in my pocket."
By this time he had to stop and laugh over the bewildered look on the
little nurse's face.
"I beg your pardon," he said, seeing the flushed cheeks. "I am afraid
it sounds like making fun of you, and that is the last thing I am
thinking of, I can tell you. I was only thinking that you had done so
many things to-day that seemed impossible, perhaps you would manage a
fire, to heat water. You can't think how nice the cold water feels. I
hate to have you down there mussing over me. You are getting drops of
water all over your pretty dress. I'm afraid among us we shall manage
to spoil all your clothes. But my foot feels fifty per cent. better.
I can tell you somebody who will be very much obliged to you for this
morning's work, and that's my mamma."
Said Christie, "Isn't it nice that the baby sleeps all this while? If
he should waken before I get your foot bandaged, I don't know what I
should do!"
The distressed tone of motherly anxiety in which she said this, set
Wells off into another laugh. He thought her the strangest little girl
he had ever seen in his life. The truth was, that he was not acquainted
with any little girls who knew how to do things which are supposed to
belong to women. But Christie had been her mother's oldest daughter,
and her only helper in the home for so many years, that she had learned
many things, and had a fashion of planning beforehand, very much as her
mother did.
"Bandaged!" repeated Wells when his laugh was over. "Why what will you
bandage it with? I should say that was about as hard to manage as a
fire."
"Oh, no! I didn't know what you meant about making a fire. I'm sure
there is fire enough in the stove. If I could make a place on the stove
to set this pail, I could have hot water; but I really 'can't' do that.
A bandage, though, from somewhere we 'must' have. You see the foot must
be bandaged now that it has been wet; mother thinks they swell more
after wetting, unless they are bound up pretty tight. I have one other
handkerchief, but it is small; still it would make a beginning, and I
suppose you have one, and the old gentleman maybe has two, men often
have; I think we can get enough to make quite a nice bandage."
"Are you really going through the car to take up a collection of
handkerchiefs for my benefit?"
Wells was so amused that he could hardly speak the words, but Christie
looked perfectly sober.
"Why not?" she said. "Anybody who had one would give it for such
a thing, you know. And it is really necessary. Mother was 'very'
particular about it when father had a sprain."
"Well! I suppose you will do it. I think you would do anything that
it happened to come into your head ought to be done. But I beg you to
ask each of the contributors for their addresses, for I shall want to
express a few handkerchiefs to them, if this train ever 'does' reach
the city."
In due course of time, Christie did just that thing. She went timidly
over to the old gentleman and told him her plan. She did not like to do
it, but it seemed the next thing to be done. And as she walked along,
she remembered that she had not liked to do one of the things that had
come to her since she stopped the train; yet they had all turned out
well, so far. Even the china pitcher was doing its duty as nicely as
though its owner had been willing to lend it.
The old gentleman was delightful. He shook out two of the largest and
finest cambric handkerchiefs that Christie had ever seen. It did seem a
pity to tear them, but he gave them up as though it was a pleasure to
him to think of their being torn in bits.
The young man was equally ready, and more able, for he opened his case,
and produced three or four, which Christie saw with joy, for she need
not now go to the owner of the pitcher.
"How are you going to fasten the pieces?" he asked, as he spread out
the handkerchiefs and prepared to help tear them. "Pins will scratch,
and besides will not make a smooth bandage. Take care, you are getting
that one too wide; bandages are nuisances unless they fit nicely. What
shall we do about the sewing? I suppose you haven't a work-box with
you?"
"Not quite," said Christie, laughing, and feeling as though she were
well acquainted with him, "but I have something that will do to sew
bandages. I had a necktie to hem for father, and I took it along for
work to-day at my uncle's. The only trouble is it is black silk, and I
ought to have white thread, but it will do."
"Of course it will do," her new friend said heartily. "Did you ever
read fairy stories? There is one about a little woman who had in her
pocket, or her mouth, or her shoes, somewhere about her, just the thing
that was wanted next. I didn't know that fairies travelled in the cars,
but I believe you must be her cousin at least.
"I wonder if you would like some help in putting this bandage on? I
have done such things before now, and I think perhaps my hands are a
little stronger than yours."
"Oh!" said Christie, relieved, and smiling. "I am so glad. I didn't
know how it would get on. I tried once to bandage father's foot, and
I did not do it well at all. But I thought I must do the best I could
this time, and maybe it would last until he got to the city. Are you a
doctor, sir?"
"Not quite; I am only studying, with the hope of being one sometime.
You did not know you were a teacher as well as a fairy, did you?"
"I?" said Christie, looking greatly astonished.
"You. I have been watching you all the morning, and I concluded just
now, that it was time I roused myself and began to think of something
besides my own great disappointment. I suppose I shall reach the city
just as soon if I help bandage that foot as though I sat here and
looked at my watch, and longed for the train to start."
The sentence ended with a little sigh, and the anxious look came back
to his pale face as he skilfully rolled the bandage into a hard little
ball.
"I am very sorry for you," said Christie gently. "I do hope you will
get to the city in time! And I can't help thinking that you will."
There was such a confident little note in her voice that he glanced at
her curiously.
"Do your fairy powers reach in that direction?" he asked, smiling just
a little. "Could you wave your wand, do you think, and make this train
start on its way?"
She shook her head, smiling, yet with a serious mouth.
"Nobody ever thought of such a thing as calling me a fairy; I'm only
Christie Tucker. But I prayed to God to let you get to the city as
quick as He could, and to let your friend get well. And I cannot help
thinking that He will do it. I 'know' He will if it is best."
"How did you find that out?"
"Why," said Christie, puzzled how to answer this, yet feeling that it
ought to be answered, "of course He will. He said so, you know. Or,
well, He said so about some people. Are not you one of them, sir?"
"One of whom?"
"One of the people who love God? He said He would make everything come
just right to the people who love Him. And He never breaks a promise,
you know."
"Look here, little woman, that lady over there who is tearing a letter
into bits, has not been very polite to you I have noticed, and I
suppose she doesn't love you nearly as well as your mother does, for
instance: but suppose you knew that her sister was very sick, and that
she was anxious to get to her; if you could, wouldn't you make this
train go on as fast as possible, so as to give her a chance to get to
the city?"
"Yes, sir," said Christie unhesitatingly, "I would, of course."
"Then you are better than God? You see He doesn't do it."
Christie considered this for a moment, then said:
"But I might make a dreadful mistake. Perhaps two trains would run into
each other, or it might be all wrong in some way. You see, God knows
how to do things, and I don't."
"Ah, but if you knew how to do things, you could plan so that it would
all come out best. This is what you say God does for those who love
Him, and I am showing you that you would do it for those who don't love
you, and are therefore making yourself out to be better than God. Don't
you see?"
Christie looked distressed. What she saw, was, that this man needed to
have somebody explain things to him. He did not disturb her faith, but
how was she going to show him that God was good to all?
She thought it over in silence, while he still rolled at the bandage,
which showed a perverse desire to twist, and needed care from her
watchful fingers all the time.
At last she said timidly, "I know there is a way to explain, but I
don't know how to do it. If you knew our minister, he could tell you.
Don't you think, though, that some people won't 'let' God do the best
for them? He wants them to choose to love Him, and then He can take
care of them and see that everything comes out all right. Our minister
told me about it.
"There was a little boy living at Mr. Briggs' that came all the way
from the Home for Little Wanderers in New York. Mr. Briggs took him to
work on the farm. His name is Johnnie, and our minister said:
"'What if Johnnie should run away, and refuse to live with Mr. Briggs,
could he be taken care of as he would have been if he had stayed with
the man who had promised him a home?'
"He said a great deal more, and made it real plain. If you could talk
with him, I know he could make you understand: but I am only a little
girl."
"You are a very good little girl," he said gently, "and whether I
understand things as you do or not, I thank you for praying for me.
That will not do me any harm, I am sure. Now we will go and see about
fitting the bandage to that sick foot."
Skilful fingers soon had the foot more comfortable than it had been
since the accident. Wells submitted to the new helper meekly, though he
made a wry face at Christie behind the piece of handkerchief that was
left from the bandage.
"I don't know about liking that man," he said to Christie when the foot
was nicely done up and resting on the cushions of the turned seat. "He
might have walked up before and helped you with that baby. He must have
seen that it was a tug for you."
"Men don't know about babies," Christie answered gravely, "but I am
glad that he knows about bandages. How nicely he did that! It looks
just as though a doctor had been here. Well, he is a doctor."
"The mischief, he is! Then I ought to have offered to pay him."
"Oh, no!" said Christie, distressed. "I don't believe he would have
liked that. He did it for kindness, not for pay. He is very pleasant,
but just as sad! He gives very long sighs, right in the midst of his
talk. I am sorry for him; sorrier than before he helped us."
"Why?"
"Because I am afraid he doesn't believe in God. He is not one of God's
people, I'm most sure: because they never talk in that way, and it
makes things a great deal harder to bear."
"Talk in what way? How do you tell people of that kind?"
"Why, he almost found fault with God! Talked as though he did not
believe that God would do the best for everybody. And you know His
children never say such things."
"Don't they? I'm sure I did not know it. I guess I am not acquainted
with many of them. I'll tell you what it is, Christie, I have a brother
whom I would like to have you make understand things if you could.
He is sick and lame, and will never be any better; and he got so by
helping somebody else, doing his duty, you know. It would be hard work
for you to make him believe that things are just right in this world.
He thinks it is awful that he doesn't get well. And I must say it seems
most too bad. He was a splendid scholar, you see, led his class in
college, and was going to make a great man, people thought; now it is
all spoiled, and he suffers all the time, and will have to, as long as
he lives."
"What hurt him?" asked Christie, her eyes full of sympathy and sorrow.
"Why, a house was burning, and he climbed a ladder when nobody else
would, and went inside, and saved a little baby: and part of the wall
fell on him and hurt his back. The doctor says he will never be any
better."
Christie's tears came outright now.
"I'm so sorry for him!" she said. "But if he only knew God, it would be
a great deal easier to bear."
What a long, long, morning it was!
The baby had his nap out, and awoke and fretted a good deal, and cried
outright for his mamma, and drank some more milk, and played with the
old gentleman's gold-headed cane, and went over to the pale-faced young
man and was entertained for a while, and cried some more, and was given
a cookie, and at last fell asleep again.
And there that train stood immovable. It began to be certain now that
there was serious trouble. Word came, through the railroad men, that
the track was injured a long distance ahead, and for that reason no
train could get out from the city to relieve them.
To add to the dreariness, it began to rain, a fierce, driving storm,
and of course the mud grew deeper every moment.
"Dear, dear!" said Christie. "I hope they don't know about it at home.
Mother will be so worried that she won't know what to do."
"It's most a wonder that your people let you start out," said Wells. "I
suppose the morning papers gave an account of the mischief done by the
rain in the night: but our folks are all away, and I, like an idiot,
never looked at a paper."
Then Christie, her cheeks somewhat red, explained that they did not
take a daily paper, that father couldn't quite afford it yet, and so
they had known nothing about trouble on the railroad.
"There is always some trouble with this road," said Wells, feeling
cross. "First it is a freshet, and then a landslide, or a washout,
or the engine gives out. I don't know how many times we have been
detained, but never so long as this. I should like to know what we are
to do for some dinner? I know I am as hungry as a wolf. I didn't eat
much breakfast this morning; it was so sort of stupid to be sitting in
that great dining-room all alone."
It was after twelve o'clock when this remark was made. The patience of
everybody in the car was exhausted, and Christie was beginning to look
anxiously at the dribble of milk left in the pitcher. What should she
do if the train did not start soon, or the mother come?
"That doctor of yours will have to plunge through the mud and get us
some more milk, or something," said Wells at last, trying to raise
himself on his elbow to get a view of the rainy world.
"What object is that!" he said, as he drew back his head. "Look,
Christie, there are two of them, and they are dragging a basket between
them that must be decidedly heavy. How are they ever going to get
through that puddle of water? And where are they bound for, do you
suppose?"
Said Christie, "It is Sarah Ann!"