GETTING A LIVING.
AFTER Mrs. Sanders was buried, people seemed to forget all about Susie.
The landlord called for his rent, and Susie paid him; which was all he
wanted, so he did not trouble himself to inquire whether she was living
alone or had any one to take care of her; and Elfie had told her not to
say anything about it unless she was asked.
Elfie was rather proud of her new mode of living—having a roof to
shelter her at night, a little spot she could call home—and she
honestly believed Susie could not get on without her; and the feeling
that she had some one to take care of, made her more careful of the
things which were placed under her charge in the market.
But in spite of her care, and the extra employment it often brought
her, the rent money could only be made up sometimes by Susie going
without food the day before, for she could not eat the rubbish and
refuse Elfie seemed to enjoy. A breakfast or dinner of raw pea-shells
Susie could not eat above once or twice; and the stale fruit that Elfie
brought home for her often made her ill, so that if she could not
afford to buy a loaf, she often preferred being hungry to the chance of
being ill and unable to work.
But the greatest trouble of all to Susie was the different way in which
she spent Sunday. She missed her mother more on that day than any
other; for poor as Mrs. Sanders had been, she had always contrived to
go to church and take Susie with her, until she came to Fisher's Lane,
and was unable to go out on account of illness. Elfie, however, had
no other idea of Sunday than of a day to play more and eat less; for
as there were no steps to clean nor baskets to mind, and very little
refuse to be found about the market, she generally lay down to sleep,
feeling very hungry on Sunday night.
Susie always folded up her work and put it away early on Saturday, that
she might have time to clean the room, just as her mother had done. And
so Elfie, finding her companion was not going to do any needlework on
Sunday, persuaded her to come out to play; and for the sake of pleasing
her Susie went. But the rough, noisy games of Elfie's companions,
Susie could not enjoy, and she was glad to sit down in a quiet corner
and think of her mother and the bright home she had gone to. Then she
thought of their walks to church, and what she heard there, and how
grieved her mother would be if she could see her now playing with these
children, until she felt strongly inclined to run off to church now if
only she knew her way.
She resolved not to go out to play again on Sunday; and when the next
came round, she said, "Do you know your way to church, Elfie?"
"To church!" repeated Elfie. "They won't let us play there."
"No, I don't want to play," said Susie, looking down at her shabby
frock, and wondering whether that was fit to go to church in. "I want
to do as mother did, and she always went to church on Sundays."
Elfie looked puzzled. "Church ain't for poor people like us," she said.
"Oh yes, it is. Mother used to say she could never bear the trouble at
all, if she could not go to church and get some help from God for it on
Sundays."
"Eh? It's all along of the tables and chairs, and sleeping in beds, I
suppose," said Elfie, a little disdainfully.
"Church has nothing to do with tables and chairs," said Susie. "We go
there to hear about God and the Lord Jesus Christ."
"Well, there ain't no God for poor people that don't have tables and
chairs," said Elfie.
"O Elfie, don't say that; God loves you, and wants you to know and love
him."
"What! Wants me to go to church?" asked Elfie.
Susie nodded. "Come with me, will you?" she said eagerly.
Elfie laughed. "Catch me trying it, won't you; and there's a policeman
walking up and down in front all the time."
"But the policeman is not there to keep people from going in," said
Susie.
"What does he walk up and down there for, then?" asked Elfie quickly.
Susie could not answer this question, but she said, "Well, I know he
don't keep people out."
"Not fine people that's got tables and chairs at home. God wants them
in there perhaps, and so he gives the police orders to let 'em in. I
know all about it, you see," she added triumphantly.
But Susie shook her head. "No, you don't," she said. "God wants us to
know and love him—you and me, Elfie."
"I know them police that stands at the door, and that's enough for me,"
said the girl. "You can go if you like. Church, and tables, and chairs,
and eating off plates, and sleeping in beds, is all one, I guess; and
them that gets used to it can't do without it. But I can, and I shan't
run to the police for that."
But although Elfie would not go with Susie, she willingly consented
to show her the way; for she had not been to a church in this
neighbourhood, and only knew the road to take the work backwards and
forwards. So, after carefully washing her face and brushing her hair,
and making herself as tidy as possible, Susie went out, carrying her
prayer-book in her pocket-handkerchief, and trying to fancy that her
mother was with her still.
Elfie would not come near the church; but after pointing it out,
and watching Susie go in, she ran back to play with her companions,
wondering all the time what could be going on inside the church to make
Susie so anxious to go there. This was her first question when she met
her as she came home.
"What do you look at—what do you do," she asked, "when you go to
church?"
"We pray and sing, and hear what the minister says," answered Susie.
"What does he say?" asked Elfie.
Susie thought for a minute, and then answered, "Well, he reads out of
the Bible, and says, 'Our Father.' You know that, don't you?"
But Elfie shook her head. "Who is 'Our Father'?" she asked.
"God, who lives up in heaven, where mother's gone," answered Susie.
"He's your Father, then, I suppose," said Elfie.
"Yes, and yours too," said Susie quickly.
"No, he ain't; I don't know him," said Elfie, shaking her head with a
little sigh.
"But he knows you, Elfie—knows you, and loves you, and wants you to
love him."
But Elfie shook her head persistently. "I don't know nothing about him,
and nobody ever loved me," she' said.
And to end the conversation, she ran away to finish her game of
buttons, while Susie walked quietly home.
She ate a slice of dry bread for her dinner, and saved one for Elfie;
and then took her mother's Bible out of the little box, and sat down to
read a chapter just as she used to do before her mother died. But the
sight of the familiar old book upset all her firmness, and she sat down
with it in her lap, and burst into tears. She was still crying when
Elfie came rushing in to ask if she would not come out and join their
play.
"What's the matter?" she exclaimed when she saw Susie in tears. "Are
you so hungry?" she asked—for hunger seemed the only thing worth crying
for to Elfie; and then, seeing the slice of bread on the table, and
guessing it had been left for her, she put it on the Bible, saying,
"You eat it, Susie; I've had some cold potatoes, and I ain't very
hungry now."
But Susie put it back into her hands. "No, no, Elfie; you must eat
that," she said. "I'm not crying because I'm hungry."
"What is it then?" said Elfie.
Susie looked down at the book lying in her lap. "I was thinking about
mother," she said.
"Are you getting tired of living with me?" asked Elfie quickly.
"Oh no; you're very kind. I don't know what I should do without you,
Elfie; but I do want my mother," said Susie through her tears.
Elfie looked puzzled. She was beginning to understand that all the
mothers in the world were not like hers—that Susie's was not; and she
could not understand why Mrs. Sanders had gone away and left her.
"What made her go away?" she asked.
Susie left off crying to look at her companion in surprise. "Don't you
know God took her to heaven?" she said.
"Yes, I know, you said that before," answered Elfie impatiently; "but
what made him take her?"
"Because he loved her," said Susie.
"But you said just now he loved you; why didn't he take you up there as
well?"
"I asked mother about that one day, when she was telling me she should
have to go away; but she said she thought God had some work for me to
do in the world first before he took me home." And Susie dried her
tears, and tried to be brave and choke back her sobs as she spoke.
"What work will you have to do?" asked Elfie, sitting down on the floor
close to Susie's stool. Elfie always preferred rolling on the floor to
sitting on any kind of seat; and she greatly enjoyed questioning Susie.
"Mother said God would teach me that if I asked him," answered Susie.
"I don't know yet what it will be."
"Then why don't you ask him?" said Elfie in her straightforward fashion.
"I do," whispered Susie. "I ask him every night; because I want to do
it, and then go home to mother."
"Is that what you do when you kneel down before you get into bed?"
asked Elfie.
Susie nodded. "God hears what I say, too," she answered.
"Well, then, why didn't your mother ask him to let her stay and help
you to do the work, if she didn't want to go away?" said Elfie sharply.
Susie knew not what to answer. The question puzzled her not a little;
and to escape from Elfie's saying any more, she proposed reading a
chapter from the Bible.
Elfie had grown tired of playing, and was quite willing to listen. She
could not read herself, and was full of wonder that Susie could; and
for some time she chattered and questioned so much about this that
Susie could not begin; but at last she grew quiet, and Susie turned to
her favourite verses in St. Matthew—the story of young children being
brought to Jesus.
"That was kind of him to say, 'Let the children come to me,'" said
Elfie when Susie paused.
"Yes; the Lord Jesus is always kind," said Susie.
"I wish he was here in London; I'd go to him," said Elfie. "It's nice
to have anybody speak kind to you."
"You can go to him, Elfie," said Susie. "The Lord Jesus has gone up to
heaven again now; but he'll hear you just as plain as though he was in
the room here."
Elfie stared. "You don't think I'm going to believe that, do you?" she
said sharply.
"Why not? It's the truth," said Susie.
"Maybe it is for fine folks that wants a lot of things to live, but not
for a poor little street girl like me," answered Elfie.
"Why don't you think it's for you, Elfie?" asked her companion.
"Because I know what I am, and I guess he'd soon find out I was street
rubbish, as the fine folks call me in the market." And Elfie clenched
her fist angrily as she spoke.
"O Elfie, Jesus don't think you're street rubbish!" said Susie. "I
think he cares for people all the more when he knows they're poor,
because he was a poor man himself once."
"A poor man!" exclaimed Elfie. "Why, you said he was God's Son, and all
the world was his."
"So it is; but when he came down here, the people wouldn't believe he
was God's Son, and so he lived like a poor man—as poor as you and I, I
think, Elfie."
But Elfie shook her head. "I'm street rubbish, but you ain't," she said.
"I found a verse about it," said Susie, "where Jesus says how poor he
was—'The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the
Son of man hath not where to lay his head.' There; that means Jesus had
no home or comfortable bed, he was so poor," said Susie.
Elfie sat looking at her in dumb surprise.
"He was just as poor as me," she said. "Why didn't he go away, and
leave the people, if he was God's Son?"
"Because he loved them, and he wanted them to know it; and to know that
God loved them too, and wanted them to love him and be happy."
Elfie had never had any one to love her in all her life, and she
could but dimly understand what Susie meant; but she did understand
it a little, and all the vain longings she had felt when looking at a
mother kissing her child sprung up in her heart now, as she said, in a
subdued, gentle voice, "I wish he'd love me just a little."
"He does love you," said Susie, "not a little, but a great deal."
"Did he tell you to tell me so?" asked Elfie eagerly.
Susie knew not what to reply to this; but the thought stole into her
heart—Was this the work her mother had spoken of—was she to tell Elfie
of the love of God, try to make her understand it, and lead her to love
him?
But her silence made Elfie think she had no message for her, and she
said, "You need not be afraid to tell me, Susie; nobody ever did love
me, and nobody ever will; and I don't want any love either." But in
spite of these words, so sharply and angrily spoken, Elfie burst into
tears.
Susie had never seen her cry before, and for very sympathy she burst
into tears herself, as she threw her arms round her companion's neck,
and drew her closely towards her. "Don't cry, Elfie; I'll love you,"
she said. "I'll love you ever so much; and you'll believe God loves you
too; won't you?" she added coaxingly.
Elfie clung to Susie, and held her in a passionate embrace. "Say it
again—" she whispered, "say you love me, Susie; it's what I've been
wanting ever so long, I think."
"Everybody wants it," said Susie. "God puts the feeling in our heart,
mother said; and then he gives us people to love us, just that we may
know how he loves us himself."
"Tell me some more about it," said Elfie, still in the same subdued
voice, and clinging fast round Susie's neck, her dirty tangled head of
hair resting on her shoulder.
"I don't know how to tell it, Elfie, but just as the Bible tells it.
Mother made me learn a good many verses about the love of God. I'll
tell you some of them. 'God is love'; 'Like as a father pitieth his
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him'; 'God so loved the
world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Now, don't you see
God must love you, for you're in the world, and God so loved the world
that he sent Jesus Christ to die that we might be saved?"
"Saved?" repeated Elfie.
"Yes; saved from our sins—the wicked things we do that make God sorry,
and angry too," said Susie.
But Elfie did not care to hear about this; she wanted to know whether
it was possible for God to love her—whether he had told Susie, he would
love her.
"I'd do anything for that," she said, pushing back her tangled hair.
"Do you think he'd like me better if I was to keep my face clean and
comb my hair like you do?" she asked.
Susie smiled. "I think God does like people to be clean," she said;
"and I'd like it, Elfie."
"Then I'll do it," said Elfie in a determined tone. "I've thought it
was no good. Before, I was just street rubbish, and nobody cared for
me; but if you do, and God will, I'll wash my face; and perhaps he will
by-and-by, as the Lord Jesus his Son was a poor man himself."
And Elfie went at once to fetch some water to wash her face, and Susie
promised to help her to do her hair.