Chapter Five.
When Faith came in a few moments later, she found her father pacing up and down the room. His anger and vexation were still burning hot; he was still in his heart wishing that Roy were an older child, so that he might punish him more severely. It was a great relief to see Faith’s pale, anxious little face. Yes, without any doubt Faith was the real culprit. On Faith then should the full vials of his wrath fall.
“See what you have done,” he said; “come here, right over here, and see what you have done.”
Faith, her face growing a shade whiter, approached and saw the scattered pieces of the prize essay still lying on the floor.
“Wot h’ever is that, father?” she ventured to say.
“What ever is that? ’tis my essay, my prize essay, that your brother tore all into bits. How dare you, how dare you, I say, disobey me and leave the child alone? You have done mischief that can never be put right, and I’ll never forgive you.”
“Oh! father,” said Faith piteously. She went on her knees and took some of the tiny torn fragments into her hand.
“There! don’t touch them; ’tis jest enough to madden a man, but you shall suffer. If you can’t take care of the child, some one else shall. Yes, you shan’t hear the last of this. Now, tell me where you have been this hour and more.”
“I went to Sunday-school, father. I don’t know why I disobeyed you; indeed I never did it before, but I ’ad a kind of hankering to go jest once. I left Roy asleep, and I never guessed as he ’ud wake; I thought I’d be back long afore, and I never guessed as you’d come home; I never, never guessed it. Oh! Indeed I’m dreadful, bitter sorry, indeed I am.”
“You have need to be; you can’t even guess how angry God Almighty is with you; you’re a very, very wicked girl. There, get out of my sight go into the bedroom, you shan’t have no tea to-night.”
Faith went slowly towards the bedroom door, she opened it and shut it behind her; she cared nothing for the punishment of going without her supper, she was glad to be away from her father, glad to be alone with the dreadful, dreadful weight which rested on her heart. Her father had said that she was a very, very wicked girl, that no one could even guess how angry God was with her. Yes, she believed her father; she had done wrong. It was most certainly wrong to disobey, she had disobeyed her father’s strictest command. Tears burned in her eyes, but lay too heavy there to roll down her cheeks; she sat on the floor, a little bent-up bundle of misery, and forgot Roy and every one else in the anguish of being under God’s displeasure. And she had been having such a happy time. How sweet that Sunday-school was! how kind the teacher, who had welcomed the timid child standing at the door! then how gentle and good were her words—all, all about Jesus and His love—all about the tender care the great Heavenly Father takes of His little ones. Faith listened, and when all was over, with her heart quite full of her great question, she lingered behind the other scholars.
“You will come again to my class next Sunday?” said the Sunday teacher, smiling at her.
“I’m dreadful afeared as I can’t,” answered Faith. “I’d like to beyont any words, but I’m feared as I can’t come no more; I only come to-day ’cause I do want to know how to bring Roy to Jesus.”
“Who is Roy?” asked the teacher.
“Please, lady dear, he’s my little, little brother; he’s quite a baby boy; I do want to bring him to Jesus.”
“The Bible tells us how to bring little children to the dear Saviour Jesus,” answered the teacher in her sweet, low voice. “But I think you need to have it explained to you, Faith. If you can manage to come even once again to Sunday-school, and if you will be here just five minutes before the school opens, why I will come too, and tell you all about it. I am sorry I must run away now.”
She nodded and smiled at Faith, and Faith went away with a great and wonderful joy in her heart. But oh! how changed was everything now! God, who was spoken of as very loving, very forgiving, very kind at Sunday-school, was dreadfully angry with her. Her father had said he never would forgive her, and Faith felt that she deserved some punishment, for in disobeying her father she certainly had done wrong.
Oh! what a lonely, lonely little girl she was; were it not for Roy, how without love and interest would her life be! but yes, she still had her darling, precious baby boy. At the remembrance of him she raised her face, and then got up slowly from her crouching position. It was full time to give him his supper and put him to bed. She reproached herself afresh for having forgotten him so long. Was it possible that he was still asleep on the sofa in the sitting-room! no, this could scarcely be the case, for her father had said that he had done the incalculable mischief of tearing up his prize essay. Poor, poor little Roy, how innocently he had committed this great crime! how often had she kept him quiet by giving him an old newspaper to tear! Yes, she, and she alone, was the only one to blame for the mischief done that night; but whoever was the guilty party, Roy must have his supper and go to bed; it was far too late already for a little child only two years old to be up. Faith must brave her father’s anger and fetch Roy from the sitting-room. She trembled a little as she approached the door, and thought of her stern father’s voice and manner; but though far too timid to raise even a finger to help herself, Faith was one of those who would gladly take her very life in her hand to save or aid one whom she loved. She opened the door softly and looked in. Her father was seated by the table, the gas flaring high over his head; he was trying laboriously to put some of his torn essay together; he heard the movement at the door, but without looking up called out harshly—“Go away; I can’t be disturbed.”
“Please, father, ’tis only me fur Roy. I want Roy to give him his supper.”
“Roy ain’t here. Go away, I say.” Faith’s heart gave a great bound. No, Roy was certainly not in the room. Could she have overlooked him in the bedroom? There was no light, except from the gas outside, in the room. Had her father been very harsh and angry with little Roy, and had he crept in here and fallen asleep? She went back, struck a light with a trembling hand, and looked around her.
No, he was not in the big bed. He was not in his own little cot. He was nowhere, either under the bed or on the floor.
“Roy, Roy, little darling Roy,” she called, but no sweet, gay voice answered to hers. Oh! where was little Roy? She went into the tiny dressing-room where her father slept. No, Roy was not there.
A horrible dread came over Faith. Where was Roy? Her father had said that as she could not take proper care of him, some one else should. Had he really taken Roy away, and given him into the care of some stranger, some dreadful, dreadful stranger who would not love him, or care for him as he ought to be loved and tended? The agony of this idea took all fear away from Faith. Without a particle of hesitation now, she went back to her father. He was so busy he did not even hear her swift step, and started when her voice sounded at his elbow.
“Please, father, I must know where you ha’ tuk Roy. It ’ull kill me unless I know that much at once.”
The agony and consternation in her tone caused Warden to raise his head in surprise.
“I don’t know what you mean, Faith. I only took Roy into the bedroom. There! go, and put him to bed, and don’t act more foolishly than you can help.”
“You only tuk him inter the bedroom?” repeated Faith. She did not stay another second with her father, she rushed away from him and back to the inner room. A fear even more terrible than her first fear had come to her. She remembered that the door leading into the passage was open. Was it possible, possible that little Roy, her little sweet baby Roy, had gone out through that open door, had slipped down-stairs, and into the street? Oh! no, it never could be possible. However angry God was with her, He could never allow such an awful punishment as this to overtake her. She rushed wildly up-stairs and down-stairs, looking into every room, calling everywhere for Roy. No one had seen him, no one had heard the baby steps as they stole away. The whole house was searched in vain for little Roy. He was not to be found. In five minutes, Faith came back to her father. She came up to him, her breath a little gone, her words coming in gasps. She laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, father,” she said, “you wor quite, quite right. God h’Almighty’s werry angry wid me. I don’t know how I’ll h’ever bear it. Little Roy ain’t in the house, father. When you put him in the bedroom he runned out by the other door, he ran inter the street. We ha’ searched h’all the house over, and he ain’t there. My little Roy is quite, quite lost.”
“Lost!” echoed Warden. He sprang to his feet. “Roy not in the house! Roy lost!” Back over his memory came the picture of the lovely sleeping boy, of the real love and pride with which he had kissed him. His prize essay became as nothing to him. But swift through his hard, cold heart passed an arrow of intolerable pain. “Roy, lost?” he repeated. “God help me! and I wor werry rough to the little chap.”
They were the humblest words that had ever passed his lips. He rushed from the room, for he must find his son.