For a considerable time the Bible-seller plied Sam with every argument he could think of in order to induce him to return home, and he was still in the middle of his effort when the door opened, and two young men of gentlemanly appearance walked in, bearing a portable harmonium between them.
They were followed by one of the ladies of the Beehive, who devote all their time—and, may we not add, all their hearts—to the rescue of the perishing. Along with her came a tall, sweet-faced girl. She was our friend Hetty Frog, who, after spending her days at steady work, spent some of her night hours in labours of love. Hetty was passionately fond of music, and had taught herself to play the harmonium sufficiently to accompany simple hymns.
After her came the missionary, whose kind face was familiar to most of the homeless ones there. They greeted him with good-natured familiarity, but some of their faces assumed a somewhat vinegar aspect when the tall form of Sir Richard Brandon followed Seaward.
“A bloated haristocrat!” growled one of the men.
“Got a smart little darter, anyhow,” remarked another, as Di, holding tight to her father’s hand, glanced from side to side with looks of mingled pity and alarm.
For poor little Di had a not uncommon habit of investing everything in couleur de rose, and the stern reality which met her had not the slightest tinge of that colour. Di had pictured to herself clean rags and picturesque poverty. The reality was dirty rags and disgusting poverty. She had imagined sorrowful faces. Had she noted them when the missionary passed, she might indeed have seen kindly looks; but when her father passed there were only scowling faces, nearly all of which were unshaven and dirty. Di had not thought at all of stubbly beards or dirt! Neither had she thought of smells, or of stifling heat that it was not easy to bear. Altogether poor little Di was taken down from a height on that occasion to which she never again attained, because it was a false height. In after years she reached one of the true heights—which was out of sight higher than the false one!
There was something very businesslike in these missionaries, for there was nothing of the simply amateur in their work—like the visit of Di and her father. They were familiar with the East-end mines; knew where splendid gems and rich gold were to be found, and went about digging with the steady persistence of the labourer, coupled, however, with the fire of the enthusiast.
They carried the harmonium promptly to the most conspicuous part of the room, planted it there, opened it, placed a stool in front of it, and one of the brightest diamonds from that mine—in the person of Hetty Frog—sat down before it. Simply, and in sweet silvery tones, she sang—“Come to the Saviour.”
The others joined—even Sir Richard Brandon made an attempt to sing—as he had done on a previous occasion, but without much success, musically speaking. Meanwhile, John Seaward turned up the passage from which he had prepared to speak that evening. And so eloquent with nature’s simplicity was the missionary, that the party soon forgot all about the Twitters while the comforting Gospel was being urged upon the unhappy creatures around.
But we must not forget the Twitters. They are our text and sermon just now!