CHAPTER III
ADELAIDE ROW.
HE house of the Heedmans was the end cottage of a long row, built for and occupied by the miners employed at the colliery that you might see in the distance. There were several rows of these cottages, but Adelaide Row, in which the Heedmans lived, was certainly the best in appearance. It was farthest from the mines, and was sheltered from the coal dust by its less fortunate neighbours. The houses looked cleaner and brighter altogether, and the little gardens flourished better.
John Heedman's garden was the pride of his heart, and the admiration and envy of the rest of "the Row." It certainly did look very gay and pretty. There were bright China-asters, sweet-scented stocks, French marigolds, rose bushes laden with blossoms, little clusters of candytuft, Virginia-stock, mignonette, and many other flowers, contrasting well in colour, and grouped in such good taste.
If John Heedman took a pride in his garden, Mrs. Heedman certainly took a pride in her house. Not that their furniture was more expensive than that of many of their neighbours, but it was in good order and neatly arranged. Nice white curtains were up at the windows; a few sweet-smelling flowers stood in a glass; and in a corner were some bookshelves, made and painted by John Heedman himself, after work-hours, and very well stocked with good books; altogether there was an air of cleanliness, comfort, and refinement over all that made you wish to know the owners.
Mrs. Heedman often said in answer to her neighbours' remarks "that she must spend a deal of money over her house."—"It costs me nothing but a little thought and extra work. The poorest of us may indulge in order and cleanliness indeed, when you come to think of it, dirt and disorder cost the most, because your furniture gets soiled, and knocked about, and destroyed."
After Mrs. Heedman left Charlie, she began to prepare her husband's tea in the next room; and nicely she looked, as she moved lightly about in her clean light-print dress and white collar, her dark hair smoothly and plainly arranged, and a smile on her face. It was a face that made you look twice. Her eyes were so calm, so full of peace, you felt instinctively it was that peace which God alone can give. Some people do not believe that Christianity can make them happy; that is, because they have never felt it in their hearts. It is a peace which passeth all understanding. She was thinking of Charlie; how he would learn to love her, and please God; what a scholar he would be, and how carefully she would train him. She was trying to picture what he would be like if he lived to grow up, when John Heedman opened the door.
"Tea will be ready in a minute, John," she said, looking up; "I've been sitting with that dear child, and the afternoon has flown I scarcely know how. He got a turn for the better about one o'clock, and woke up quite conscious and sensible;" and stepping softly to the door, she beckoned him to follow. They both stood looking at Charlie as he slept. He was very pale, traces of tears were still on his face, and one little thin white hand hung listlessly over the side of the bed. John Heedman stooped and touched it gently with his own rough, strong hand. "Poor little one!" he murmured.