Mother Meg Part 28

"No," said Cherry, "I never saw her in it afore, but I couldn't think it 'ud look so much better."

Meg smiled at their love and praise, and then Cherry made the tea.

Meanwhile Jem went to the corner and uncovered something which stood there, bringing it forward to d.i.c.kie, and telling him to look at what it was.

d.i.c.kie leaned forward, opened his eyes, gave a cry of pain, and then looked pitifully up in Meg's face.

"I can't see, mo'ver-Meg; where is it? It's all dark 'ere. Do light the lamp for me."

But no lamp could be of any avail, as Meg saw when he felt about with his tiny hands in the broad daylight to find his way to the secret.

"Here, darling," said Meg, struggling with her tears, and commanding her voice by a great effort, "here is the secret; put your little hands and feel it."

d.i.c.kie, believing that the lamp had not yet been lighted, and not guessing or being capable of understanding the calamity which had fallen upon him, let her guide his hands to the arms of a little chair, high enough to reach the table.

"For me?" asked d.i.c.kie; "a chair for my werry own?"

"Yes," answered Jem, taking him from Meg and placing him in it. "See, d.i.c.kie, you can play by the table or sit by the fire. I have made it for your very own."

"Kind fa'ver-Jem," said d.i.c.kie, contentedly. "Now Cherry, light the lamp, so as I can see it."

Meg looked at Jem as if seeking strength from his pitying eyes; then she bent and laid her cheek against d.i.c.kie's head as she said tenderly--

"It's because your eyes have been so bad, dear."

"Will they get better?" he asked.

"I am not sure, dear."

"I want to see my booful chair, and mo'ver-Meg!"

Jem took the child out of the chair and wrapped his arms round him, pacing up and down the room with him on his breast.

"Kind fa'ver-Jem," said d.i.c.kie, settling himself in those strong arms.

They went up and down for some minutes, while Meg and Cherry wept, and wiped away their tears in turn.

By-and-by they heard d.i.c.kie ask in a whisper--

"Shall I ever get better, and be able to see my mo'ver-Meg?" And Jem answered, in that low husky voice which betokened strong emotion--

"I can't say as you will for certain, d.i.c.kie, not here; but there's one thing as I do know on. In heaven we are promised, all of us who love Him, to see His face; and that'll be better than even mother-Meg's."

d.i.c.kie listened silently.

"That 'a be _nice_," he said at last with a little sob.

"Yes, d.i.c.kie," Jem went on, still walking to and fro with soft even tread, "there is no sorrow nor sufferin' there, no cryin', nor pains, nor achin'; but He says they shall see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads. Don't ye think, d.i.c.kie, as, if His holy name is in our foreheads, He'll take care of them as bears it?"

d.i.c.kie a.s.sented, but he was thinking of other things.

"Did ye say as my eyes 'ud be all right there, fa'ver-Jem?" he asked at length.

"Yes; all right there. 'They shall see His face,'" answered Jem.

d.i.c.kie was satisfied.

"Put me in my chair close to mo'ver-Meg, fa'ver-Jem, and she'll tell me all 'bout it. She allays does tell me such nice fings."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XVII.

CHERRY'S APOLOGY.

That night, when Cherry had gone up to bed in Mrs. Seymour's room, and d.i.c.kie was fast asleep, Meg and Jem found themselves alone by their own fireside.

"My girl," he said, when she turned her face towards him after a long look in the fire, "this is a funny change as has come across our life."

"I hope it isn't a disappointment to you, Jem," she said. "I mean about Cherry and d.i.c.kie."

"No, my dear, no," he answered heartily. "If I had the choice over again I'd do the same."

"So would I," said Meg, "a hundred times over. I did not know all the joy it would bring. I never thought of it at first as anything but a care, that we did for our Lord's sake. I never guessed it would turn into a blessing."

"That's how the Lord's way mostly is," said Jem, thoughtfully; "but this about poor little d.i.c.kie is a sad thing, Meg, and will make him a great care. Not that I grudge it--but as far as we can look ahead, it 'ull be more difficult nor if he could see."

Meg could not speak of it yet without tears, and she leant her head against Jem's shoulder in silence. Soon after this Mrs. Seymour came in, and Jem put her into her chair, saying--

"Mother, I was just thinking about you; for I want to ask your advice. I don't like to see this pale face. I want to send my Meg down to the country for a week or two."

Meg turned and was going to speak, but Jem put up his hand playfully, and went on--

"Mrs. MacDonald wants some more repairs done, and I'm to be sent there next week. Now what could be better'n Meg's goin' too?"

"Beautiful," said Mrs. Seymour. "Cherry will help me nicely, and we'll manage to take care of d.i.c.kie while she is away. Wouldn't you like it, my dear?"

"I was only going to say," said Meg, "that the doctor told me this afternoon that it would be the very best thing for d.i.c.kie. Jem, might I take him?"

Jem stroked her cheek, which had flushed with eagerness, and he said, turning to Mrs. Seymour and smiling a little sadly--

"Mother, she's like a hen with one chick; n.o.body can't take care of d.i.c.kie but her."