Lost Gip

by Hesba Stretton

"Gip's goin' across the great sea to-morrow," muttered Gip, in a very sleepy tone, as she nestled down comfortably on Sandy's lap.

He knew well that he was not about to lose her again in such a way, but where was Johnny gone? What great sea had he crossed over? What strange country had he gone to, where none could follow him at his own choice and will? Sandy had learned by this time that the deep grave swallowed up no portion of the real life, and that it was nothing more than the poor shell of the body which was buried away out of sight. John Shafto himself had already entered into some new, unknown dwelling-place; and even whilst he was but stepping over the threshold of it, whilst he was lingering for a moment longer with his mother and Sandy, he had caught a glimpse of a face, and heard the first sound of a voice that he loved more than he loved theirs.

Then, in the gloom and dusk, there came before Sandy a kind of vision of what Johnny's friend must be—that Lord whom he had loved so deeply. The face seemed to him to be something like John's face, with the same tender, patient, even suffering look upon it, but with so divine a smile lighting it up, that the suffering itself seemed to be a gladness. He fancied, too, that he heard a very low and quiet voice, saying, but whether in his ear or in his heart he could not tell, "Sandy, I have taken care of little Gip for you, and given her back to you; now I will take care of him until you see him again. Only love Me."

And Sandy whispered back into the gloom, "Lord, I will love You! Only make me as good as Johnny."

Perhaps he was sleeping then, or he must have fallen asleep directly afterwards on the hearth before the fireless grate, with Gip slumbering soundly in his arms; for after a long while, he woke up suddenly, and saw Mrs. Shafto coming quietly down the narrow staircase, with a light in her hand. Her face was very white and sad, though there was no trace of tears in her eyes. Sandy could hear the loud, heavy groans of Mr. Shafto in the room overhead; but Johnny's mother did not sob: and but for the whiteness of her cheeks, and the set sorrowful line of her mouth, there was no sign to be seen of her grief. She came close to him, and looked down pitifully upon little Gip. Then she stooped, and lifted her gently into her arms.

"Poor little heart!" she said. "Poor dear little heart!" But there her voice failed her, and her silent tearlessness passed away. She sat down with Gip pressed closely to her, and rocked herself to and fro, and cried out, with a passion of tears, "Oh! Johnny! Johnny! Oh! my last child!"

Sandy did not know how to comfort her, or what to say to her. He stood beside her, and put his arm about her neck, as he had often seen John do, and drew her head to lean upon his shoulder. When her sobs grew quieter, after a long spell of weeping, he ventured to speak at last.

"Mother," he said, thinking to himself that John Shafto would like him to call her mother, "me and little Gip between us 'ill perhaps be as good as Johnny to you. I'm going to try to be like him, I am; and I'll teach little Gip everything as he's taught me. I promised him I'd work for you, and take care of you, when you are too old to work any longer. He used to say he were glad I were so strong; and not like him in that. But I'm going to do all I can to be like him in everything else."

It was as much as Sandy's trembling lips could do to say all this.

And Mrs. Shafto, after another burst of tears, drew his face down to hers, and kissed it silently. Then she undressed little Gip very tenderly, not to wake her from her sound sleep, and Sandy carried a light upstairs for her when she went to lay the child softly in her own bed.