CHAPTER XVII.
THE LAST PUDDING.
gnes and her brothers and sisters ran down the steps of their London home, one frosty morning towards the end of the holidays, and turned their steps toward Regent's Park. While the roar of omnibuses was for ever in their ears there could be little talking, but when they began to find quieter streets they gathered close to Agnes, begging for "a story." This was a usual custom with them, and Agnes quickly responded by beginning cheerfully:
"Oh, yes, you have never had the account of our other visit on Christmas-eve; so I must begin where I left off last time.
"When Minnie and I reached home, with the bells ringing the refrain of peace and contentment, we just came in to warm our fingers, and then started forth again on our last errand. This time our parcel was even heavier than before, and we were very glad when we reached the house to which our steps were bound.
"House it was not, being just a large room over a stable, where, as you know, Martha, our former housemaid, lives, since she married Jim, the cabman.
"We picked our way as well as we could over the stones, slippery and wet with mud, and at last came to the door leading to the staircase which runs up by the side of the coach-house. We found it ajar, and as the bell was broken we made our way up in the darkness. All was pitchy black, but a baby wailing above told us there must be somebody within. We found the door of the room at the top, and knocked. A voice, sharp and quick, which I should hardly have known for Martha's soft one, answered, 'What do you want?' and on this invitation we entered.
"No light was in the room, but the gas-lamp of the yard shed flickering and uncertain gleams through the window into the barest and untidiest of chambers.
"We could see, as our eyes became used to the dim light, that Martha was seated near the empty grate, holding the baby in her lap, while three little mites were huddled up against her knees on the floor.
"Desolate indeed everything seemed.
"'Why, Martha,' said I, 'are you all in the dark? Shall I find a light for you?'
"'Is it you, Miss Agnes?' said Martha, in somewhat of her old tone of respect. 'I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm that harassed with all my troubles, that I don't rightly know what I'm doing.'
"'What is it?' asked I, advancing. 'What has come to you?'
"'Everything bad,' she moaned, in the saddest of tones. 'You know I would marry Jim, though Mrs. Headley told me he was not a steady man, and too soon I've found her words true; we've been going on from bad to worse, till one by one all my nice clothes went, then our bits of furniture, and now we haven't a morsel to eat, nor a scrap of fire, nor an end of candle!'
"Too utterly miserable to hide her woe under her usual mask of reserve, and encouraged by the darkness, she continued in a voice husky and dry with suppressed grief:
"'And it's all through drink! He used to be kind to me; but that's long past. Then, when he missed the things in the house, he used to ask angrily for them, and when I told him we couldn't starve, and if he spent the money on drink we couldn't have food, then he'd up and beat me.'
"'Oh, hush!' I whispered, 'don't let the little ones hear you say so.'
"'I don't care,' she answered, 'they've seen it often enough, and nothing matters now; here's my baby, my only boy, dying of hunger!'
"I had sat hitherto spell-bound by her words, but now I started to my feet. 'Dying!' I said, 'What can I get quickest?'
"'Nought'll save him now,' she said, without a shade of hope in her voice; 'but if you can get him a drop of milk, it would ease me to think he hadn't died hungry.'
"There was a sob now in her tearless voice; but not stopping to say a word, I hastily found the door, and descended the steps.
"You may be sure it was not long before I had got a little milk in a can from a neighbouring shop, and a bit of candle which the woman lent me at my earnest request, and I ran back with them as fast as my feet could carry me.
"Happily a match was forthcoming, and the milk was soon put to the baby's lips. He was about eight months old, but was shrunken up to skin and bone. He took with great difficulty a little of the milk, and then nestled again against his mother.
"'Why didn't you tell us?' I asked, forced to say the words.
"'I couldn't; there, I couldn't, miss. I've never begged yet, and I can't begin. I can die, and they can die, but I can't beg.'
"'Oh dear, Martha!' I said, my voice choked with tears, 'if we'd only known!'
"She wept now, hanging her head over the baby with despairing sobs.
"'But aren't you all hungry?' I said suddenly.
"She nodded her head.
"Again I flew out, leaving poor little scared Minnie sitting there; and hurrying off to a baker's, bought a stale loaf, and hastened back, ordering on my way a little coal and wood.
"In a few minutes Minnie and I had drawn the shivering little mites from their mother's knees, and had set them near the fireplace, in which I hoped there would soon be a blaze, and had given them some slices of bread, while I handed a piece to poor broken-hearted Martha.
"Then the coals came lumbering up the stairs, and, thanks to mother's teaching, Minnie and I quickly built up a warm little fire, and we had time to look round. Then our eyes fell on the parcel. We opened it with all speed, and arrayed the little cold mortals in the old clothes we had brought, and when the pudding was laid aside for another time, I drew out our third text, that it too might carry its message to these sad hearts: 'Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"'Rich!' said Martha, with a hoarse laugh, reading the words in spite of herself with her dim eyes, as I pinned them up, 'it's little riches I shall ever see!'
"'But what about the baby? If he should die now, will he be poor then, do you think?' I asked softly.
"She moaned as she hugged him tighter. 'I love him more than anything in this world, or out of it,' she exclaimed.
"'And perhaps—oh, Martha, I don't know—but perhaps God loved you too well to let you. You would rather be rich with him there, some day, for ever, than just keep him a little while here?'
"She shook her head; but while she rocked him in her arms, her eyes were fastened on the paper before her, and her pale lips repeated, 'He became poor, He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"We stopped a little while longer, till we had seen the poor little dears cuddled together asleep under their mother's only remaining shawl, and with a promise of sending round the first thing in the morning, and that I thought I knew of some work which I might get for her, Minnie and I came away, too sad at heart to say a word to each other.
"But when I laid down that night in our warm snug bed, Minnie, who was awake, whispered to me softly, 'It was kind of Him to become poor for us, Agnes, wasn't it? For what comfort could we give her if He hadn't?'
"And I thought so too, and could not but thank Him over again before I slept for His love in taking our flesh and bearing our sorrows, that we might some day share His glory."
