Poppy's Presents

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

Poppy's mother was very much worn and exhausted, and Enoch and Elijah did nothing but cry. Hour after hour they cried, not a loud, angry scream, such as strong babies might give, but a weak, weary wail, which went on, and on, and on, till Poppy felt as if she could bear it no longer.

She left them on the bed for a few minutes beside her mother, and ran downstairs to make a cup of tea and a piece of toast for mother's dinner. They lived on bread and tea now, for they had nothing but what they got from the parish, and if the neighbours had not been very kind, and brought them in little things from time to time, even the parish money would not have been enough to keep them from starving.

When Poppy went downstairs she had a little quiet cry. There was so much to do, and somehow that hot day it seemed impossible to do it. She knew that the house was untidy, and the babies needed washing, and there were dirty clothes waiting to be made clean, and cups and plates and basins standing ready to be washed up. And it seemed too hot and tiring to do anything.

Poppy went to the window for a minute, and putting her fingers in her ears that she might not hear the wail of the babies, she stood looking up at the strip of blue sky, which she could just see between the houses of the court. How pure and lovely it looked! And God lived somewhere up there Poppy knew. And God loved her—Poppy knew that, too. Her mother said He had sent His dear Son to die for her—the only Son He had—He had sent Him to die on the cross, that she might go to live with Him in heaven. God must love her very much to do that, Poppy said to herself. She thought she would ask God to help her that hot day,—if He loved her she was sure He would feel sorrow for her, now that she was so tired and had so much to do.

So, looking up at the blue sky, Poppy said aloud, 'O God, please help me, for I'm very tired, and I don't know how ever to get everything done, and please make me a good girl; for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.' Would God hear her prayer? Poppy asked herself, as she came away from the window; she wondered very much if he would. And, if He did hear her, how would the help come? It was not likely that He would send one of the neighbours in to help her, for they were all too busy with their washing to have much time to spare. There were the angels, they were God's servants, and Poppy had learnt at school that they came to help God's people; but she had never heard of an angel washing up cups and saucers, or cleaning a house, or nursing a baby, and that was the help Poppy wanted just then. Well, she had prayed to God, and mother said God always heard prayer; she would wait and see.

Poppy filled the kettle, and was trying to put a few things in order in the untidy kitchen when there came a knock at the door. Poppy started. Could some one be coming to help her? The neighbours never knocked—they opened the door and walked in—and Poppy thought the angels would not knock, for her teacher told her they could come in when the door was shut. Who could it be?

She went to the door and opened it, and there she found an old woman with a large market-basket on her arm, who wanted to know if Mrs. Fenwick lived there. Yes, that was her mother's name, Poppy said. Whereupon the old woman came in, put down her basket, and then seized Poppy and gave her a good hearty kiss on both her cheeks.

'Why, you're John Henry's bairn,' she said, 'and as like him as two pins is like each other.'

It was grandmother, dear old grandmother, who had come from her home far away in the country to see her son's wife and children, and to do all she could to help them. And grandmother had not been long in the house before Poppy felt sure that God had sent her, and that she was just the help the poor child so much needed.

Poor old grandmother! she was hot and tired and dusty, and she had been travelling in the heat for many hours on that hot summer's morning. She sat down on a chair by the door, fanning herself with her red cotton pocket handkerchief, and kissing Poppy again and again, as she called her 'my lad's bonny bairn,' and told her that she was the very picture of what her father was when he was her age, and how her John Henry was the best scholar in all Thurswalden School, and she felt sure his bairn must be a clever little girl too.