CHRISTIE WELL CARED FOR.
"What's the matter with that little lad?" said one of the men to the
landlady, as she was preparing their breakfast the next morning. "He's
got a fever, or something of the sort. He's been talking about one thing
or another all night. I've had toothache, and scarcely closed my eyes,
and he's never ceased chatting the night through."
"What did he talk about?" asked another man.
"Oh! all sorts of rubbish," said the man with the toothache, "bright
cities, and funerals, and snowdrops; and once he got up, and began to
sing; I wonder you didn't hear him."
"It would have taken a great deal to make _me_ hear him," said the
other, "tired out as I was last night; what did he sing, though?"
"Oh! one of the tunes on his old organ. I expect he gets them in his
head so that he can't get them out. I think it was 'Home, sweet Home,'
he was trying at last night;" and the man went to his work.
"Well, Mrs. White," said another man, "if the boy's in a fever, the
sooner you get him out of this the better; we don't want all of us to
take it."
When the men were gone, the landlady went up to Christie to see if he
were really ill. She tried to wake him, but he looked wildly in her
face, and did not seem to know her. So she lifted him by main force into
a little dark room under the stairs, which was filled with boxes and
rubbish. She was not an unkind woman; she would not turn the poor child
into the street in his present condition; so she made him up a little
bed on the floor, and giving him a drink of water, she left him, to
continue her work. That evening she fetched the parish doctor to see
him, and he told her that Christie was in a fever.
For many days little Christie hung between life and death. He was quite
unconscious of all that went on; he never heard the landlady come into
the room; he never saw her go out. She was the only person who came near
him, and she could give him very little attention, for she had so much
to do. But she used to wonder why Christie talked so often of "Home,
sweet Home;" through all his wanderings of mind this one idea seemed to
run. Even in his delirium, little Christie was longing for "the city
bright."
But, after a time, Christie began to recover; he regained his
consciousness, and slowly, very slowly, the fever left him. But he was
so weak that he could not even turn in bed; and he could scarcely speak
above a whisper. Oh, how long and dreary the days were to him! Mrs.
White had begun to grow tired of waiting on him, and so Christie was for
many a long hour without seeing any one to whom he could speak.
It was a very dark little chamber, only lighted from the passage, and
Christie could not even see a bit of blue sky. He felt very much alone
in the world. All day long there was no sound but the distant shouts of
the children in the court, and in the evening he could hear the noise of
the men in the great lodging-room. Often he was awake the greater part
of the night, and lay listening to the ticking of the clock on the
stairs, and counting the strokes hour after hour. And then he would
watch the faint gray light creeping into the dark room, and listen to
the footsteps of the men going out to their daily work.
No one came to see Christie. He wondered that Mr. Wilton did not ask
after him, when he missed him from the mission-room. Oh, how glad
Christie would have been to see him! But the days passed slowly by, and
he never came, and Christie wondered more and more. Once he asked Mrs.
White to fetch him to see him, but she said she could not trouble to go
so far.
If little Christie had not had a friend in Jesus, his little heart would
almost have broken, in the loneliness and desolation of those days of
weakness. But though his faith was sometimes feeble, and he was then
very downcast in spirit, yet at other times little Christie would talk
with Jesus, as with a dear friend, and in this way he was comforted. And
the words which the clergyman had read to his old master were ever
ringing in his ears, "Let not your heart be troubled."
Still, those weeks did seem very long and tedious. At last, he was able
to sit up in bed, but he felt faint and dizzy whenever he moved. For he
had had a very severe attack of fever, and he needed all manner of
nourishing things to bring back his strength. But there was no one to
attend to the wants of the poor motherless boy. No one, except the dear
Lord; He had not forgotten him.
It was a close, tiring afternoon. Christie was lying upon his bed,
panting with the heat, and longing for a breath of air. He was faint and
weary, and felt very cast down and dispirited. "Please, dear Lord," he
said aloud, "send some one to see me."
And even as he spoke the door opened, and the clergyman came in. It was
too much for little Christie! He held out his arms to him in joy, and
then burst into tears.
"Why, Christie," said the clergyman, "are you not glad to see me?"
"Oh," said little Christie, "I thought you were never coming, and I felt
such a long way from home! Oh, I am so glad to see you."
Then Mr. Wilton told Christie that he had been away from home, and that
another clergyman had been taking his duty. But the night before he had
preached for the first time since his return in the little mission-room,
and he had missed Christie from the front bench. He had asked the woman
who cleaned the room about him, and she had told him that Christie had
never been there since he went away. The clergyman had wondered what was
the matter, and had come as soon as he could to hear.
"And now, Christie," he said, "tell me all about these long, weary
weeks."
But Christie was so glad and so happy now, that the past seemed like a
long, troubled dream. He had waked up now, and had forgotten his sorrow
and his loneliness.
The clergyman and Christie had much pleasant talk together, and then Mr.
Wilton said,--
"Christie, I have had a letter about you, which I will read to you."
The letter was from little Mabel's papa, who was a friend of the
clergyman.
"MY DEAR MR. WILTON,--There is a poor boy of the name
of Christie (what his surname is I do not know) living in a
lodging-house in Ivy Court, Percy Street. He lived formerly with
an old organ-grinder, but I believe the old man was thought to be
dying some weeks ago. My dear wife took a great fancy to the boy,
and my little Mabel frequently talks of him. I imagine he must be
left in a very destitute condition; and I should be much obliged if
you could find him out and provide for him some comfortable home
with any respectable person who will act as a mother to him.
"I enclose a check which will pay his expenses for the present. I
should like him to go to school for a year or two and then I
intend, if the boy desires to serve Christ, to bring him up to work
as a Scripture-reader amongst the lowest class of the people in
your neighborhood.
"I think I could not perpetuate my dear wife's memory in any better
way than by carrying out what I know were her wishes with regard to
little Christie. No money or pains will I spare to do for him what
she herself would have done, had her life been spared.
"Kindly excuse me for troubling you with this matter; but I do not
wish to defer it until our return, lest I lose sight of the boy.
The dismal attic where Christie and his old master lived was the
last place my dear wife visited before her illness; and I feel that
the charge of this boy is a sacred duty which I must perform for
her dear sake, and also for the sake of Him who has said, 'Inasmuch
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye
have done it unto me.'
"Believe me, dear Mr. Wilton,
"Yours very sincerely,
"GERALD LINDESAY."
"Christie," said the clergyman, "the dear Lord has been very good to
you."
"Yes," said little Christie, "old Treffy was right; wasn't he, sir?"
"What did old Treffy say?" asked the clergyman.
"He said the Lord had some work for me to do for Him," said Christie,
"and I didn't think there was any thing I could do; but He's going to
let me, after all."
"Yes," said the clergyman, smiling; "shall we thank Him, Christie?"
So he knelt down by Christie's bed, and little Christie clasped his thin
hands and added his words of praise:--
"O Jesus, I thank Thee so much for letting me have some work to do for
Thee; and, please, I will stay outside the gates a little longer, to do
something to show Thee how I love Thee. Amen."
"Yes, Christie," said the clergyman, as he rose to go, "you must work
with a very loving heart. And when the work is over will come the
_rest_. After the long waiting will come 'Home, sweet Home.'"
"Yes," said Christie, brightly, "'there's no place like Home, no place
like Home.'"