Mother Meg Part 23

The suffering man moved uneasily and groaned.

"Father, I'm so sorry as you're hurt. Don't you know your little Cherry?"

"d.i.c.kie, d.i.c.kie!" said the man despairingly.

"Do you want d.i.c.kie?" asked Cherry, trembling.

"No, no, no; only I wish he hadn't been hurt. d.i.c.kie, d.i.c.kie!"

"Father," said Cherry, gathering courage from Jem's eyes, "father, you know as I and d.i.c.kie pray to the Lord Jesus?"

The miserable man seemed to be listening.

"Well, father, we asked Him to find some one to take care of d.i.c.kie, and--"

"They'll have him again," broke in the man. "I said as I'd give 'im over to 'em, and they'll hold to 'im. It ain't a bit o' use. Oh, I can't talk to yer. Oh, my dreadful pain! To think d.i.c.kie should ever suffer like this; and I took no heed of it when I might."

"But, father," said Cherry, restraining her tears by a violent effort, "there's stronger than them as has d.i.c.kie in hand. Don't ye see that Jesus is stronger than them?"

The man only groaned afresh.

"And Jesus has heard me and d.i.c.kie askin' Him, and He's found us such a nice home. Father, 'ull you be willin' to give us to those as is so good to us?"

"Who?" asked the man, for the first time opening his eyes.

"To me," said Jem, coming close. "I've taken 'em from old Sairy, and they shan't ever go back, if you'll say as you will let me and Meg be their guardians."

The poor dying eyes were eagerly scanning Jem's face; they returned to Cherry's as if satisfied.

"Their mother was a good woman," he said.

"So Cherry tells me. We'll do our best to teach them to be good too."

The man turned his head away as if he had done with the subject, and indeed with all earthly things. Then, just as Cherry and Jem were looking at each other in dismay, he roused himself once more.

"You may 'ave 'em," he said.

Jem signed to the nurse to draw near.

"Tom Seymour," he said solemnly, "do you make my wife and me guardians of your two children, Cherry and d.i.c.kie?"

"Yes," said the man distinctly; "and G.o.d grant as you may keep the charge better'n I've done."

"G.o.d will help us," said Jem, taking the hand which lay outside the counterpane; "and, my friend, G.o.d will help _you_. If you turn to him now He will receive you."

The man drew away his hand with impatient pain.

"That's past for me," he said between his teeth.

"No, it isn't, father," exclaimed Cherry. "If Jesus 'as been so good to you as to take d.i.c.kie away from old Sairy, don't ye think as He can be kind enough as to take you from Satan?"

"I'm too bad, Cherry; it ain't no use talkin'. You've tried, my girl, a score o' times. And so did yer mother; it ain't a bit o' good. Leave me to die now. If d.i.c.kie's all right, I can't 'elp the rest."

Cherry's eyes looked despairingly at Jem, but he encouraged her to try again, himself only praying silently that some word, winged by the power of the Mighty Spirit, might enter that hard heart.

"Ain't you goin' to _thank_ Jesus, then?" asked poor little Cherry.

"He's been awful kind to d.i.c.kie, father."

The man was silent; but Cherry thought he heard her nevertheless.

"You did love d.i.c.kie, father?"

"And I _do_," flashed the man angrily; "howsoever cruel I've been, I do love the little 'un."

"And d.i.c.kie loves Jesus," pursued Cherry, soothingly; "and if you was to ask d.i.c.kie which he'd rather you'd love, he'd say as he'd like you to love _Jesus_. I know he would."

"It ain't no good now," said her father hopelessly.

"Why ain't it, dear father?"

"'Cause I've sinned till--it ain't no good now."

"But Jesus is sorry, and He'll forgive if you'll ask Him. Father--I _know_ He will. He says somethin' about 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.'"

"Ah! that's them as can be washed."

And then Jem said earnestly--

"'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.'"

"It's because Jesus died instead of us, father," added Cherry, weeping.

"Oh, father, why don't ye come to Him?"

The man did not answer her. Wearied out with pain and emotion, he lay exhausted; nor would the nurse allow any more talking.

"You can come again this evening," she said, looking into Cherry's woe-begone face. "He may live till then."

With this they were forced to be satisfied, and Cherry turned away with a sad heart.

Slowly they made their way home again, while Cherry's halting steps seemed to drag more wearily than they had done while hope beat in her bosom. Tear after tear coursed down her cheeks, and it was with difficulty that she could guide herself in the crowded thoroughfare.

At last Jem, seeing this, took her hand again, and sought for words of comfort.

"You mustn't doubt G.o.d, child," he said kindly; "we're all apt to think as He can't do nothin' without us. But 'tis oftentimes when we have done all as is in our power, and yet have failed, that He can work best. Me and Meg was readin' yesterday--why, it was only yesterday!" he exclaimed, stopping to interrupt himself,--"we was readin' afore I went to my work some such words as these: 'Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, saith the Lord.' And, Cherry, it seems to me as it ain't when we can do most, but when we'll let _Him_ do most, as He can work best."

Cherry listened and took courage, and though she did not say a word, she thanked Jem from the bottom of her little heart.