CHAPTER IV.
“Jesus called a little child unto Him.”
WHEN school hours were over on week days, Susan Morley used often to visit the homes of her Sunday scholars; and one afternoon, about a year after the events recorded in the last chapter, she set out for this purpose, with the wish too of seeing one who had been absent from the class the day before. It was another poor child who had been brought into the school by the same little Jane, whose earnest efforts to say “Come” to others had led to the rescuing of Daisy’s “prayer-children.”
For some time the child had come regularly to the class; but when Jane called for her as usual one Sunday afternoon, she found her in tears, and on inquiring the cause, the child told her that her mother had said she should never go to the school again. Jane had tried to comfort her, by promising to ask her teacher to come and see her, and did not fail to lay the case before Susan as soon as school was over. Susan had already made some inquiries respecting the child’s home, and was much afraid, from what she had heard, that it would not be an easy matter to persuade the mother to send her. However, seeking help and guidance where none ever seek in vain, she set out the following afternoon to see what could be done, and to try if possible to soften the hard heart of poor little Bessie’s stepmother, and induce her to retract her threat.
Turning down some narrow streets, she made her way into the close, dingy-looking alley, in a court of which was Bessie’s home. Groups of dirty children were playing about in the gutters; and women with untidy hair, lounging at their doors, stared at her as she passed; but, quietly looking upwards, she made her way through the midst of them without annoyance, and at last reached the door of the miserable house, in a garret of which little Jane had told her Bessie would be found.
The staircase was narrow and steep, with scant glimmer of light; and the sound of rude voices in some of the rooms, as she made her way with difficulty up the broken stairs, did not tend to reassure her. At last she reached the top; but, to her surprise, whilst pausing for a moment before knocking at the door, she heard a little voice inside singing. It was the old familiar hymn, sung almost every Sunday at the school, “There is a happy land, far, far away;” and the little singer seemed so to enjoy the words, and to sing them with such heart, that Susan did not like to interrupt her, but waited till she had finished before knocking at the door for admittance.
When she did so, no one said, “Come in;” and she was obliged to repeat her knock, this time saying as she did so, “Bessie, dear, are you at home? I’ve come to see you.”
The door was not opened, but a voice from within answered, “Oh, please, teacher, I’m so sorry I can’t open the door; but mother’s locked me in, and taken the key, for fear I should run out and leave the babies. I’ve got to take care of them till she comes home.”
“Very well, dear, never mind about the door; but tell me why you did not come yesterday to school. I was so sorry not to have you in the class.”