“The message is this, straight from God Himself—‘Certainly I will be with thee.’ Do you know what that means, my child?”
“I can part guess, ma’am.”
“Ay, I dare say you can part guess, but you may as well know the whole sweet meaning of it. ’Tis this, Flo Darrell—wherever you be, God will be with you. Back in your cellar, dark as it is, He’ll come and keep you company. If you stay with me, why He’s here too. When you go to sleep His arm is under your head; when you walk abroad, He’s by your side—He’s with you now, and He’ll be with you for ever. When you come to die He’ll be with you. You need never fear for nothing, for God will be always with you. He says ‘Certainly,’ and His certainly, is as big, and wide, and strong as eternity, Flo Darrell.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Flo very softly, and then Mrs Jenks went and lay down on her mattress, and was presently sleeping the sweet and heavy sleep of the hard worker.
But Flo could not sleep—she lay awake, feeling the soft white sheets with her fingers, looking with her brown eyes all round the pretty room. How bright, and pure, and fresh it all looked, with the firelight flickering over the furniture, to the beauty-loving child.
She was taking farewell of it then—she must go away to-morrow; back again to their cellar the dog and she must go—away from the sunlight of this bright little home, into the homeless darkness of their Duncan Street life.
She had not expected it quite so soon, she had thought that God would give her a little more notice, a little longer time to prepare, before he asked her to return that comfortable bed to Mrs Jenks. Well, the time had come for her to do it, and she must do it with a good grace, she must not show dear Mrs Jenks even half how sorry she was.
That little woman had done so much for her, had changed and brightened her whole existence, had been specially chosen by God Himself to do all this for her, to save her life.
Not for worlds would she look as though she expected more from Mrs Jenks. She must go away to-morrow, very, very thankful, and not too sad, otherwise the little woman would feel uncomfortable about her. She resolved that in the morning she would wear quite a cheerful face, and talk brightly of all people had made by translating. She would walk away when the time came, as briskly as her lame foot would permit, Scamp wagging his tail, and supposing he was only going for an ordinary walk, by her side.
Then they would reach the cellar, and Janey’s mother, who kept the key, would open it for them, and, perhaps Janey herself would come down and listen to all Flo’s wonderful stories.