Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
"OH, ROBIN, HOW COULD YOU BE SO WICKED?" SHE CRIED.
CORRIE
BY
RUTH LYNN
AUTHOR OF
"CITY SPARROWS," "THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET,"
ETC.
LONDON:
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, E.C.4
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
CHAP.
[III. A RAINBOW IN THE NURSERY]
CORRIE
[CHAPTER I]
WHY THE BELLS SANG
TIRRA-ling-a-ting-ding-dong!—Sang the bells, and the stars sparkled in the sky. The silver moonlight shone down softly on the streets of the city, making the weathercock on the blackened steeple glitter like gold, and throwing a tender radiance on the resting-places of the dead beneath. Silently the light stole along the street like the touch of an angel's wing, while the footsteps that sounded sharply on the smooth pavement told that rest comes late to many of earth's toiling ones in the busy town.
The bright patches on walls and roof still crept on, till the light shone straight down into one of the windows, as if moon and stars had an especial errand in there. And so they had; for there was no candle, and the small fire, though burning clear and red, did not flame, so the moonbeams came in and did duty for both.
They lighted up Corrie's bright curls as she lay quietly hugged in Robin's arms, and showed him the smiles on her pretty pale face as he talked to her in a low tone.
"Hark! Corrie! Do you hear the bells?"
"Pretty bells," whispered Corrie; "why do they ring to-night?"
"Because Christmas is coming, Corrie, and the ringers want to practise so that the bells may sing prettily on Christmas morning."
"Do they sing words, Robin?"
"Yes, I think so, Corrie, but it is not everybody that hears them; they are telling about Jesus Christ and the angels. You might think they would get tired of saying it over and over again; but you know, every year there are more little babies born who have never heard about it before; and so they will always sing."
"What is the story, Robin?"
"Why, it begins about when the dear Lord Jesus lived up in heaven with His Father and the angels. Look! Corrie! At the twinkling stars, how they shine! That is only a little peep of the glory and beauty of the happy home above the bright blue sky."
"Shall we go to that home some day, Robin? You and I and mother?"
"Yes, darling little sister, we shall, for Jesus has promised to take us there; and He always does what He says."
As the boy whispered this, a rush of hot tears came into his eyes, for he could not help thinking that the time might not be so very far off for Corrie, his poor little ailing sister, who had never known how to use her small feet: they did not seem to belong to her at all. For, alas! both legs were quite paralysed and helpless. All day long she had to sit motionless in her chair, or make feeble efforts to creep about on the floor. Robin knew he could never see her playing with other children of her own age among the daisied meadows out beyond the smoky town.
When she was a baby-child, he used to carry her out of doors for long distances, to let her breathe the pure country air. But at last the weight became too much for even his patient loving strength. And now, although she was four years old, there was no improvement in the state of her health. The doctor had told mother yesterday she would be a cripple all her life. This was why the boy's tears fell on Corrie's silky hair to-night; but he brushed them away, and went on with the story as the child nestled closer in his embrace—
"The holy angels live up there," he continued, "and we shall see them all some day; and you will never cry any more, Corrie, when you get there, because Jesus is going to take away everybody's pain."
Corrie gave a sigh of relief.
"Please go on," she pleaded.
"I heard a great deal about it from teacher last Sunday," continued Robin; "she said she was going to tell us a Christmas story, that we might think about it on Christmas Eve; so I listened to every word, that I might be able to tell you."
A transient smile flitted across the face made wan and small through suffering, and one white thin hand was raised to stroke Robin's cheek.
He kissed it, and went on—
"She told us first about the shepherds. They were the men who took care of the sheep and lambs, you know. And in that far country where they lived, there were wild beasts—wolves and foxes—who used to prowl about at night round the fold; so the shepherds lighted fires to frighten them away. No harm could happen while they kept guard. Who is the Good Shepherd, who always takes care of us?"
"Jesus," murmured the child.
"Yes, Corrie; and He is the best of all, because He never sleeps, but is always looking at the little ones who love Him and try to please Him. Well, these good men sat talking together that Christmas time so long ago, when all of a sudden a very bright light shone round them—a light brighter than the brightest sunshine; they could not look at it, it was so dazzling. It was a peep at glory—glory, Corrie, that you sing about in the hymn."
"What did the shepherds say, Robin?" asked Corrie, with an earnest look in her dark eyes.
"They did not say anything, for they were dreadfully frightened; but while they were wondering where the beautiful light came from, a holy angel began speaking to them; and what do you think he said?"
"What?" said Corrie, with parted eager lips.
"Teacher gave us the words to learn; so I can tell you exactly without looking in the Bible. The angel said, 'Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour which is Christ the Lord.' That night, little sister, while they had been watching the sheep, a baby had been born in a stable where the cows were feeding. The grand people would not let them come into the inn; there was no room there; so the King of Glory was laid in a common stable, with the oxen feeding round Him."
"Did they go to find Him, Robin?"
"Yes, they went at once; and when they saw the baby, they knew they were looking at the promised Saviour, whom they had read about and expected. He had come into the world to save poor sinners by washing them white in His precious blood; and they longed to tell everybody the good news. That is why we may be glad too, because we love Him as the shepherds did; and we know He loves us. We can sing—
"'I am so glad that Jesus loves me.'"
"Yes, I do love Him," said Corrie, stretching out her arms. "I do, very very much. I wish He would take me home to live in heaven now; I want to see His face."
"So you will some day, darling," answered Robin, clasping her tighter. "But you know we can be His servants here on earth; He has got work for each of us to do."
"Work for me, Robin! Oh, what is it? What can I do for the dear Lord Jesus?"
"You can try to bear your bad pain patiently, dear little sister, for His sake, and not be cross and fretful, to worry poor mother when she is busy. The best work of all is, I think, to see how happy you can be, because then you make everybody else happy. Oh, this will be the brightest Christmas we have ever had! We have got so many things to make us glad, Corrie."
Yet, looking into that dismal room with its scanty furniture, how few would have said that! True, everything was clean, from the boarded floor to the cracked cups and saucers neatly arranged on a shelf. But poor Robin knew well there was only just enough to make both ends meet, as his mother said. And it was indeed a hard struggle to the poor widow, ever toiling, never resting from Monday morning to Saturday night. But the peace of God was in that dwelling; and where that light shines, it can never be all dark.
"There is mother!" cried Robin, rising gently, to lay Corrie in the sort of sofa he had made for her by tying two old chairs together and placing cushions on them.
"Oh, mother! Why did you carry that heavy basket? I could have fetched it in the truck."
The poor woman set down her load on the floor with a sigh of relief, and sank down on the nearest chair. Yet her white face had a smile for her two children, as the boy, having lighted a candle, put his arm round her neck.
"I shall be better presently, after a cup of tea. Good Robin, to have the kettle boiling! I am so tired! You will have to go out to Oaklands, my son, the first thing to-morrow morning. The family has returned, and Jonathan spoke for me, and got the washing promised; so that will be a good bit for us this winter, as there are some children."
"All right, mother; I'll be off as early as you please. Why, it will be Christmas Eve! What shall we do to keep Christmas this year?"
"I don't know, my boy. We must be content with such things as we have, and make the best of them. The Lord never forgets us."
"Mother, the grand rich people do something on Christmas Eve to keep it, don't they?"
"Oh yes; when I lived at Oaklands long ago, as nurse, we had fine doings there. There was always a Christmas tree, and all sorts of games and fun; but that is only for rich people, Robin."
"Yes, I suppose so, mother; but how I wish Corrie could see something like that; I should like her to have a Christmas tree of her own. And why not?" he added, at seeing his mother shake her head.
He ran off to do a household errand in an adjoining street. "I must think of something to make this Christmas a very happy one for poor little Corrie, because she has so few things to make her glad!"
And Robin gave sundry leaps in the air as scheme after scheme presented itself, for he felt quite sure he could manage something for her.
Corrie! It was always Corrie in Robin's heart; and if he could only succeed now and then in letting bright glints of sunshine into that little shaded life, there was not a happier boy in the town. Ah! Yes, because he possessed the secret of true happiness, which consists in finding no time to think about self. Only those know this secret who, by the Holy Spirit, have been led to give their hearts to Jesus. He then teaches them to be like Him, when He walked about as the tender gentle Healer and Helper on this sorrow-laden earth. Robin prayed to Him every day to teach him to do His will; and Jesus will help you too, my readers, if you ask Him.
[CHAPTER II]
A WALK IN THE WOOD
CORRIE was breathing softly in a sound sleep long before Robin followed her into dreamland. He had so much to think about: first, it was mother sitting there so patiently beside the dimly-burning candle, stitching on another patch to the jacket he had just taken off. Dear mother! What a sad patient look sat on her peaceful face! That look had never gone away since the night strange feet were heard on the threshold, and husky voices told the tale, the mournful tale, of the hungry sea: "All hands gone down—a total wreck!"
"'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble,'" was heard above the agony of that night of weeping. "'Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved! God shall help her, and that right early.'" (Ps. xlvi.).
Robin always called it father's psalm after that, and often used to repeat part of it to himself and Corrie; for mother had told him there was "no more sea" now for father! He had sailed away to the river of life—"the river that makes glad the city of God, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb," where neither storm nor tempest can ever come.
Robin was thinking about the golden city to-night; and its brightness seemed to come down to him as he lay planning his happy schemes. "The angels sang about 'goodwill towards men,'" thought he; "so I know Jesus means us to be very glad." And his thoughts drifted on till he dreamed a happy dream.
His one sound sleep came to an end earlier than usual, for he had gone to bed with the determination to be up and stirring betimes. Robin, like other busy happy people, found there was nothing like the prospect of having plenty to do, to arouse the desire for a long day and put sloth and idleness to shame.
The boy rose softly so as not to disturb mother and Corrie in the next room, and peeped out in the cold dim dawn of that December day.
"I must be sharp," he said, hastily dressing himself, "or I shall not catch old Jonathan. Oh, dear! I forgot to bring in the sticks last night to dry, and they're ever so wet in the yard. Mother must find a good fire this cold morning."
Robin did not forget to kneel down and speak to God, to ask His help and guidance before beginning his duties for the day. If he had not done this, he would not have got on at all, for the provoking sticks hissed and refused to light until his patience had been sorely tried for a very long time. However, all was at length finished, and the newly-filled kettle set on the stove. Then Robin fetched his truck from the outhouse, and, having placed the large empty flasket upon it, started off.
He had two miles to go beyond the town before he could reach the large old-fashioned house called Oaklands, that stood within its high shrubberies and well-kept grounds. The sun's face was rosy red, as if he was quite ashamed of getting up so late; but as the clouds and mists dispersed, bright golden rays came shooting down between the bare branches that stood up straight and tall above the hedges, making the more lowly leaves and grasses glitter with a bright diamond tracery.
Robin enjoyed the crackling noise his feet made as he stepped into one iced pool after another, or trod on the firmly-edged ruts of that roughly-kept country road. When the robins sang, he whistled, and the blackbirds and thrushes did not mind hopping quite close to him as he trudged along so cheerily to the rattle of his one-wheeled barrow. Through the belt of firs that skirted the grounds of Oaklands, Robin could see blue smoke rising from the gardener's cottage.
"I'll leave my truck here, inside the gate," thought he, "and run across the short way to the kitchen garden; he's safe to be there." And Robin, with freed hands, at a single bound cleared the little stream that fed the large pond, and in a few minutes entered the high-walled garden by a low door.
Yes, there was old Jonathan at his work, as he expected. Now, old Jonathan was a well-known character for many miles round. There was not a child in the hamlet hard by that would not look up in his face with a smile as he patted its head, or took the little one on his knee. Those mysterious pockets of his seemed to have a never-ending supply of halfpennies and farthings, sweeties and nuts, or maybe a ripe apple now and then. Age had lined his face with many a wrinkle, and his back was a trifle bent; but he could still handle a spade with a vigorous will, and knew what it was to do a hard day's work as well as a younger man.
You had only to look into his honest eyes to know he could be a good friend, a friend for cloud as well as for sunshine, as many a one could testify who had felt the comforting grip of his horny hand in a time of trouble. The old gardener had seen several changes at Oaklands since the death of his old master and friend sixteen years ago; but he still held on to the place, the successors being only too glad to secure the services of such a trustworthy servant.
Robin's mother had lived in the house in former days as nurse to the children, who now had grown up and gone out into life. She was therefore an old friend of Jonathan, and her son could reckon upon the kind old man now as always, for he was in the habit of helping him in various ways, and was his beloved friend and counsellor in every emergency.
"Good-morning, Mr. Jonathan," said Robin, running quickly across the garden to where the gardener was pulling up something from one of the beds.
Jonathan did not hear him at first, for he was a little deaf, so the salutation was repeated, when the stooping figure raised itself, and the kind hearty face met Robin's eager look with a friendly smile.
"Well, you are early enough, youngster, anyway," said he. "What sort of a worm are you up to catch this fine morning? A bit of horse-radish is about all I've got to give you to-day, and I hope you'll have a good piece of beef to need the flavour. How is your mother?"
"Not very well, thank you; she feels the cold on her chest most days; but she wanted me to thank you for speaking about the washing up at the house. I've got the basket here now to fetch the clothes."
"All right, my boy, and welcome, though 'tis nothing to thank about. I would always do your mother a good turn if I could. Before you go up with the flasket, just lend me a hand, will you? I want to dig up one of those trees in the copse yonder."
Robin gave a hearty assent, and as they stepped together across the crisp ground and out to the open field beyond the garden wall, he ventured to ask—
"Mr. Jonathan, what are you going to do with the tree?"
"Why, 'tis for the young ones at the house; there are children there, you know, and they are preparing for some grand doings to-night: a Christmas tree to hang the pretty things upon, and neighbours coming from all round with their little ones to see it."
"Oh," said Robin, "that is what mother told us about; they used to have it long ago when she was in service there; it must be grand, Mr. Jonathan. I wish our little Corrie could see it; but she can never never come so far, even to peep in at the window. The doctor says she will never walk."
"Poor little lass!" answered Jonathan sadly. "But do not fret about it, my boy; the Lord will make it up to her somehow; if not in this life, when He takes her above. I must try to get her a pretty Christmas posy. She always smiles when she sees flowers. Never fear, she shall have a happy Christmas, if old Jonathan can do his part towards it."
"I knew you would help me if you could," cried Robin gleefully, as his companion pointed to a well-grown young fir tree, and proceeded to dig about its roots.
"There! Steady, my boy! We shall have it up as clean and clear as sixpence. Stay! Before we carry it up to the house, I must chop off one or two of the lower branches; that will make it a better shape."
"Mr. Jonathan," asked Robin wistfully, "may I have this one?" And taking up one of the freshly-cut fir boughs, he held it out to view. "If I may have this," he continued, "and you will give me a pot and some earth to stick it into, I will take it home to Corrie and make a Christmas tree for her."
"Have it, my boy, and welcome; and what should you say to a pen'orth of sweets to hang on it, if I can find a copper? Now run and fetch your barrow and the flasket; we'll go up to the house together. Fine-grown trees," he added, pausing to point proudly to the wood, whose boundaries he and Robin were skirting. "Different sorts there, and many a lesson to be learned from them."
"Lessons from the trees, Mr. Jonathan?"
"Yes, my boy; they are always teaching something new to me, and explaining God's Holy Word in a wonderful way. We must live and grow like those trees if we want to be worth anything. Our good minister told us last Sunday that the man who is not in Christ is like the grass that grows up to be cut down at last with the scythe. It is only those who are planted in Christ that can grow up into trees of righteousness, and bear fruit to the praise and glory of His name."
"I never thought of that before," said Robin.
"Maybe not, child; you are young, and have much to learn. A lifetime is not long enough to find out the wonders of His grace. But mind you, my boy, we must have the root of the matter in us before we can be right for God's garden. Some people are like plants put into the ground with their heads downwards; their lives are all wrong and topsy-turvy, and nothing can be done with them until they are turned right round, which is what is meant by being converted. When you ran up to me just now, I was thinking over the Apostle Paul's wonderful prayer; I had been reading it in my Bible before I set out for my day's work; I was saying ft over and over again for fear I should forget it:
"'That He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might by His Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth and length and depth and height; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God.' (Eph. iii. 16-19).
"Ah, Robin, my boy, God grant you that blessing, and then you will grow up a rare plant and noble tree,—'the tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season, and whose leaf shall not wither.'
"Yet, however far down our roots may strike, we shall never reach the bottom of Christ's love. But we can grow in it. 'It is the Spirit that quickeneth;' and He can give us all in and through our Lord Jesus Christ. Now run away, my lad, and fetch your barrow. I will wait for you at the turn of the shrubbery nigh the house."
[CHAPTER III]
A RAINBOW IN THE NURSERY
THE kitchen at Oaklands was a warm and cheery place to turn into on that frosty morning; at least so thought Robin, as, standing beside his friend Jonathan in the doorway, he watched the cook pour steaming bread and milk into the basins that were going up into the nursery. The scent of fragrant coffee, mingled with the savoury smell from the rashers of bacon sputtering and browning in the great frying-pan, made a most inviting combination.
"This is Widow Campbell's son," said the gardener, pushing Robin forward a little; "he has come to fetch the clothes for his mother."
"Then he must wait a while, if you please," said the housekeeper, who entered at that moment. "We are very busy this morning, and I am behindhand with several things. Cook, give the lad a cup of coffee and something to eat with it. It may be an hour before I can send him home again."
Robin, nothing loth, sat himself down as directed at a side table in the midst of this stirring scene, and the sharp morning air having given him a fine appetite, he lost no time in commencing an attack upon the plentifully heaped plate set before him. It was seldom indeed the poor boy got a chance of fried bacon and potatoes at home for breakfast. Before he had quite finished, he heard the sound of happy voices in the garden mingled with shouts of laughter; and presently two boys with their merry-looking sister chased each other past the kitchen window.
"Have you seen the Christmas tree?" shouted one.
"No; where is it?"
"Here! Old Jonathan has got it round by the kitchen door."
"Oh, what a beauty! Where is mamma? She must come and see It. Won't it look lovely with all the things hung upon it to-night? I wish they would make haste and finish breakfast in the dining room."
"Where did you get such a grand one, Jonathan? And what are you going to do with that branch stuck in a pot?" cried Clarice, laughing.
"That is a Christmas tree for a poor sick child, my little missie. She will never run about as you do, for her legs are no use whatever to her, and the doctor says she cannot get better."
"Oh, I am so sorry for her, Jonathan!"
"She has a kind brother, though," continued Jonathan, "who wants her to have as happy a Christmas as she can, so he has begged this bough from me, and I have found an old pot to put it in. Maybe, miss, among your things in the nursery you can find a broken toy or so and a bit or two of coloured ribbon, if I might make so bold. It will deck it up gay-like for the poor little creature."
"Oh yes, Jonathan, that I will! We have heaps of things that nurse calls rubbish in our toy drawers. I will ask mamma about it. But how shall we send them? You have not told me her name. Where does she live?"
"They call her Corrie, miss, though I believe her right name is Coralie. Widow Campbell named her after the youngest little girl she used to have charge of when she lived in this house as nurse many years ago. Corrie's brother is in the kitchen now, miss, if you would like to see him."
"Ask him to wait until we speak to mamma. She has sent us to get ivy for her now to decorate the rooms with, but we will be back very soon."
And away scampered the children.
Millicent, a little lady five years old, stood at the nursery window watching her brothers and sister as they ran races across the frosty lawn, trying who should be first to reach the wood. But the blinding shower of tears falling from her blue eyes soon hid them from view.
"They are very unkind indeed," she cried, stamping her foot, "when they know I cannot go with them. Papa and mamma are very cross not to let me. I want to go and get ivy too."
From low sobs, the crying swelled into a passionate roar, which reached even Robin's ears as he sat below in the kitchen.
"Miss Milly! Hush! Stop crying, dear," said nurse. "You will make your cough so bad. Look! Baby is quite frightened at the noise you are making."
"I don't care, nurse! Everybody is very unkind. I want to go out now and pick the ivy!" And the child's slight delicate frame trembled with the passion she was giving way to.
"Milly!"
It was her father's voice; and in one instant the screaming ceased.
"Milly!" he repeated, in a grave sorrowful tone. "Nurse, please take baby into the next room. I must talk to my little girl alone."
Gently he drew the naughty child into his arms, and placed her on his knee, beside the fire.
"Milly has made papa's heart very sore to-day; she has quite forgotten Sunday night."
"No, I haven't, papa."
"I see dark heavy clouds and streaming rain on my little girl's face, but no smiling sunshine. I hope it will come soon."
"I wanted to go out," she began; but a bad fit of coughing prevented the end of the sentence.
"Do you want to be in bed again, Milly, and have more biting mustard on your chest? Remember, the doctor said if you were not a great deal better, you could not go downstairs to see the Christmas tree to-night. I think I must tell nurse to undress you and put you to bed again."
"No, no, please not, papa!" pleaded the little invalid, with her arms clinging about his neck. "I have been very naughty; but I am good again now. I don't like being ill at all."
"Do you like being miserable, Milly?"
"No!"
"Oh, I thought you did. When people want to be very unhappy all day long, they have only to do one thing, and they will be sure to succeed. Can you tell me what that is?"
Milly's face was now quite hidden on her father's shoulder, but no answer came.
"They have only to think about themselves from morning to night, and cry me, me, for everything. That is a very ugly picture, is it not? Suppose we look at another: How to be happy all day long instead?"
"How?" whispered the little penitent, with a tighter clasp.
"Why, never to think about self at all, but try and see how many other people can be made happy. If everybody did that in the world, there would be much less sorrow. Suppose we try, Milly, you and I? I wonder who will succeed best? What does mamma say? Here she comes, and Clarice too; they look as if they had something to tell us."
Mamma smiled, while Clarice knelt down to whisper something in her sister's ear.
"But I want to hear too," said papa.
"Oh, very well, we will say it out loud!
"Papa, Robin Campbell, the washerwoman's son is here, and Jonathan has been telling me all about his poor little sister Corrie. She is quite lame, and never never can walk; and they are very poor. He wants to make a Christmas tree for her with a fir branch Jonathan has put into a pot and given to him. Mamma says Milly and I may have it up here in the nursery and dress it, and then Robin can come again to fetch it in the afternoon. Won't it be nice, Milly?"
Such a bright smile came over Milly's face on hearing this, that papa said, "Ah! There is the rainbow! I thought it would come; and here is nurse with the fir bough to be decked for Corrie. You will have a happy morning now, my little girls!" he added as he left the room.
And it was a happy morning, for its hours sped so swiftly away that neither of the children could believe it was over when dinner-time came. First there was a golden star to be cut out of some gilt paper that had adorned a cracker. This was fastened to the top of the bough.
"There are more dolls than we want in our dolls' house family," cried Clarice. "Let us take two of those, and put fresh sashes on them; and here is an old tin soldier, to keep them in order. Oh, I forgot this bag of sweeties! This will tie on here, and just fill up the bare space. What next, Milly?"
"My little sugar lamb, I think, Clarice. I do love my little lamb, and I have kept him so carefully. No; I really cannot let him go. But yes, yes I will. It will make poor little Corrie so happy. There! I have tied it on; and here is a pink rose to go next to it, and all these red and yellow crackers mamma sent up just now."
And so the miniature tree grew gay by degrees up in the nursery, while papa and mamma worked away at the big one in the dining room with locked doors.
Not even one peep could Alfred and Arthur obtain, though they hovered outside the windows all the morning!
[CHAPTER IV]
FATHER CHRISTMAS
CORRIE sat with clasped hands before her Christmas tree, her large eyes fixed upon it in speechless admiration. Robin stood beside her, waiting anxiously for the first word; he had persuaded her to shut her eyes as he carried her in from the adjoining room and placed her in her chair before the gaily-decked fir bough. It seemed as though some fairy vision had enthralled the child's senses as each green tip was gazed at in wondering awe.
Presently one small hand was raised gently to touch the sugar lamb, as if to make quite sure of its reality, and a deep sigh of satisfaction preceded the smile that broke over her features as she whispered, "Oh, Robin!"
As her arms stole round his neck, he saw there were tears in her eyes.
"Robin, did God send me my Christmas tree?"
"Yes, dear little sister. He put it into the hearts of those kind young ladies at Oaklands to get it ready for you; and they are all so glad to think you are having a happy Christmas. They are coming some day to see you, Corrie; and they have promised to bring you pretty flowers from the garden. Oh, mother, it made me so glad to bring home the tree yesterday, and the basket of meat and plum-pudding! Miss Clarice came down into the kitchen to watch her mamma and the housekeeper pack the things that were to be given away; and everybody was so kind and merry, that I wished I could run the whole way home to tell you about it."
"God bless them all!" murmured the widow. "I think they would be rewarded if they could see our darling now."
"Is the pretty wood you told me about like this, Robin?" said Corrie as she touched the spiky green.
"Yes, something like that, little sister, only ever so much taller. You look up and up, right through the green branches to the sky; and the trees stand all thick together, so snug and warm that the cold winds cannot hurt them. I wonder how the fir tree liked being dug up yesterday by Mr. Jonathan, and carried away from its companions? It could tell a pretty story after seeing all the grand things last night."
As Robin said this, a secret longing stole over him to have been there himself, to take one peep at the lighted rooms.
If he had, he would have seen a happy little girl carried in at the door, wrapped in a warm shawl; and Milly's smiling face would have revealed some of the gladness resting in her heart that forgetfulness of self and thought for others had awakened.
That castaway and seemingly useless fir branch had been as God's messenger, doing its work faithfully in both homes. It was like the olive branch of peace plucked off by the gentle dove that made Noah's heart glad, because it held the promise of a bright and living hope.
Milly joined in the general shout of admiration as children of every size and age trooped in from the hall.
"Father Christmas cut fruit from his wonderful tree for everybody that night; young and old, rich and poor, alike were remembered. To 'send portions unto them for whom nothing is prepared' is his special prerogative, as year after year he distributes his bounties, filling up the overflowing measure with plenty of hearty goodwill and Christmas cheer.
"I am so happy!" whispered Milly into her father's ear. "I should like to kiss Corrie for making me so glad. I forgot all about myself when I was doing things for her."
"Ah! You have found out the secret, my pet. Papa's darling must never forget it all her life. She will then always be able to find the rainbow among darkest clouds."
Robin had made his round rosy face shine with the soap he had scrubbed it with on Christmas morning. And now, in his neatly patched Sunday best, he left mother and sister to the enjoyment of a quiet morning at home, and followed the sound of the melodious bells up the street to the old grey church, whose porch invited all to enter and hear the sweet message of God's goodwill towards men. The holly leaves glistened bright among the woodwork, and blessed words were written in evergreen letters on the walls. Robin spelt them out reverently from his free seat:
"'Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government shall be upon His shoulder: and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.'" (Isa. ix. 6).
The minister knew what wondrous tidings he had to tell the people, and his eye beamed with joy as he read the story of Bethlehem. He begged each one of his hearers not to be content with merely looking at the holy Babe in His humble manger cradle, and going away to their work in the world to forget all about Him. Christ must be born in each heart by the Holy Spirit of God, and then the life will be a Christ-life, because Jesus will be dwelling there.
The Lord Christ now, as then, stoops from the throne of His glory to knock at the door of every heart. Oh, do not let us say, "There is no room for Him in the inn;" rather let us open the door and invite Him to enter, to dwell with us as Lord of our whole life and being; so shall we walk with God.
"I hope He will come into my heart," thought poor Robin, "and never never leave it." And he prayed, "O Lord Jesus, I want to love Thee. Bless me now, and mother, and Corrie. Amen."
It was a long winter that year, and many a heart yearned wistfully for the genial spring sunshine, especially in homes where coals were scarce and garments thin and scanty, and the money which procured them hardly earned.
Milly thought it was bad enough to be a constant prisoner in her warm and comfortable nursery, and was at times sorely tempted to give way to peevish complainings and fretful temper. But the precious plant of love, which blooms brightly in the soil of unselfishness, began to take root in her young heart, to bear now and in after years much fruit to the glory and praise of God. Will those who read this story try each one to plant a slip of it in their life's garden? It is the true heartsease, for where it blossoms, there is always a contented happy spirit, rejoicing in the sunshine of God's love.
At last the snowy border of Nature's ermine robe began to fold away, and flowers were decking her green kirtle. The bulbs had lain so many weeks under their white covering that they had almost forgotten how long they had been asleep. But at last, the pale snowdrop and gleaming crocus peeped shyly up to nod to each other in the sunshine which had called them from their hiding-places.
One day, Milly's papa brought in a poor little motherless lamb from the field, nearly dead with cold and hunger.
To the great delight of the invalid child, it was wrapped in flannel and laid in a basket before the nursery fire, to be fed and warmed by her loving hands. What joy when the stiffened limbs began to move and the eyes to open!
"May I have it for my own?" cried Milly in ecstasy. "Oh, you darling!" she whispered. "You are much better than the sugar lamb I gave away at Christmas. I shall call you Daisy, because you are white and your eyes shine so brightly."
So Daisy grew and flourished, until he was too big to visit Millicent in the nursery any more. Fan, the black retriever, having been bereaved of her puppies, had taken kindly to the motherless stranger, and given it a warm welcome. The two would lie curled up in the straw together, in a snug corner of the stable; and on warm days, Daisy was tethered on the lawn in sight of the nursery window.
This new object of interest, and many indoor pleasures, planned by the thoughtful love of her parents, reconciled Milly to a necessary imprisonment of months; and she no longer looked with envy at Clarice and her sturdy brothers, equipped for walking or riding. They paid many a visit to the widow's humble dwelling, to take little delicacies to Corrie, and such cheer and brightness as would make the small pale face light up with a glow of pleasure whenever she heard the patter of their footsteps.
And all this joy had its beginning in Corrie's happy Christmas!
At the close of March, after a week of mild damp weather, there dawned a day of such rare sunshine and blue sky that the nursery windows at Oaklands were thrown open, and nurse looked in vain for the captive bird. For while she was engaged elsewhere, and mamma had baby in the drawing room, papa had been upstairs and stolen his white dove, as he called his delicate child. What fun to get out hat and jacket surreptitiously from the wardrobe, and the warm shawl to wrap over all, and the little boots that had not been on for so long! Milly laughed a merry laugh as she ran up and down on the smooth gravel path, holding her father's hand, while mamma smiled approvingly through the window with baby on her knee.
"You will carry me down to the wood, won't you, papa, when they are in sight? What will Corrie say when she sees the primroses?"
"Why, there are the boys, Milly; come along, little woman, we shall be in plenty of time." And papa's long legs went quickly over fields and ditches by a cross-cut to the meeting-point.
"Hurrah!" shouted Alfred and Arthur. "Look at Milly and papa! Make haste, Robin!"
But Robin at this moment had eyes only for the occupant of the neat and pretty basket perambulator he was steering carefully as Clarice walked by the side talking to Corrie. The use of this small carriage for the first time was to the children as important an event as the launching of a lifeboat; for had they not all combined since that happy Christmas-tide to obtain it for the poor sick child, who was shut away from all the country sights and sounds that would so delight her?
The money-box in mamma's room had grown heavier and heavier as pennies and threepenny-bits, and a bright shilling now and then, found their way through the small slit in the lid. These children were permitted to earn money in various ways, and all vied with each other in their interest and self-denial in this good cause. Papa and mamma finally completed the required sum by a handsome donation, after a prolonged trial of their children's labour and patience.
And to-day all these hopes and good wishes were realised; and the happy workers felt the reward fully recompensed the sacrifice. It had required no small amount of perseverance and self-denial in many ways, which children alone can understand. Yet they were far happier than the petted spoilt autocrats of some nurseries, whose wants are so abundantly supplied. There is nothing left to wish for; no channels open to them for the flowing out of a free God-like charity, the possession of which has power to make the desert places of any heart "rejoice and blossom as the rose."
When Robin heard of the prospect of a carriage for his little sister, his heart seemed almost too full for words. Was it a dream? Would Corrie actually see the flowers growing he had so often brought home to her in handfuls? He could picture in anticipation her eager hands reaching out after the countless treasures which he had not been able to carry her to look at since she was quite a baby-child.
No wonder, then, that his little sister's face was a study to him now as he heard her cry of delight when the woodlands appeared in view. A flush of gladness overspread her features, giving for the time an appearance of health. What the ecstasy of joy was to the poor sickly child only Robin knew fully. To be taken out of that dark street past budding hedges into the pure fresh country had long been a beautiful vision, which neither he nor Corrie had ever expected could be so soon realised. She had tried to content herself with seeing the glory and the beauty of rural haunts with Robin's eyes as he faithfully recounted each ramble; now she beheld them for herself, and rejoiced as a butterfly does who has found its wings.
Corrie was a little shy of the pretty ladies, as she called Clarice and Milly, who ran about close to her on the greensward, filling her basket with tufts of moss and flowers. Suddenly, as they passed round a clump of trees, a glade opened to view, the ground of which was studded thick with primroses. There was a universal scream of delight as Corrie's carriage halted on the soft flower-strewn carpet.
"Oh, the pretty golden stars!" she cried. "Robin, let me pick them myself. Oh, Robin, take me in your arms!"
The boy did so, after spreading mother's big shawl carefully beside a bright clump of primroses, that Corrie might gather for herself.
Ah! how quickly the little hands were filled as each slight stem yielded to the pull of eager fingers! All too soon the happy hour passed away, and it was time to go back to mother, hard at work, yet all the while thinking of God's goodness to herself and her crippled child in raising up such kind friends.
[CHAPTER V]
THE GARDENER'S LESSON
OLD Jonathan's home was a picture worth studying. It consisted of two small rooms, one over the other, in the little round house which stood at the entrance to Oaklands. Its name, "The Lodge," seemed given in irony. Passers-by often wondered why such a crazy old tenement should be allowed to remain on the boundary of so fine an estate; for it was more like a battered old pepper-pot than anything else, with its rounded roof and sides, and its cracked slates, which often, parting company in a high gale, left holes for the wind and rain to enter, thus making the resemblance more painfully exact.
Yet the old man loved his dilapidated cottage, and could never have felt at home in a new lodge, though faultless it might be within and without. How tenderly he would twine the tendrils of the vine still higher each year, and encourage the merciful ivy to creep up and up, to cover all defects, and shield the cracked walls from rude blasts, which sometimes threatened to shake them down!
"Let us crumble away together," was old Jonathan's speech to the proprietor of Oaklands whenever there was any talk of a new house. "It would break my heart, dear master, to have a stone of her touched. Let be, let be. Don't ye touch a stone till I am gone. One of the many mansions in glory will be my new home. I don't want any other till I go there."
And so Jonathan always had his own way, for his kind-hearted employer could not resist such pathetic pleading.
The aged pilgrim and his house were indeed a match for each other; and as he went in and out through the rustic porch day after day, the tender green tints of vine and Virginian creeper deepened and crimsoned, and grew golden with happy autumn tints, until they fluttered away on the wings of a wintry wind.
Robin often crossed the threshold, and the ideas of order and neatness which he found so useful in after life were chiefly gained from his observations in the old man's home. For here was a place for everything, and everything in its place. All was neatly arranged and scrupulously clean; and on the round table in the window was the great Bible that had belonged to Jonathan's mother, with the silver-rimmed spectacles beside it.
There was a small lean-to room behind, which was full of gardening pots and tools; also boxes with divisions, to keep the bulb roots and flower seeds separate. Knots of bass and twine hung from the wall, for tying up stray branches, and a great pair of scissors sat astride on a nail above. There were also bunches of dried and sweet-smelling herbs, of which Jonathan well knew the properties. His practical knowledge of simple remedies he was often called upon to use on behalf of his humble neighbours, who all looked up to him as an authority on most matters.
The villagers wondered how he could live there all alone from year to year, doing everything for himself. Only a few of the oldest inhabitants remembered the sad story he brought with him of the fever-stricken town he had fled from, a widower and childless. His Maggie would never grow old. She had gone away to the better land with her two little ones, just at the beginning of the life-journey which both husband and wife had thought would be such a long one together. Not many knew why he brushed away the tear that was ready to fall on the golden-haired child he would take upon his knee, as the little ones crowded round the porch of his house on their way home from school. There were three locks of hair in the old Bible, and sprigs of rosemary and lavender beside them. They were laid upon the page that told of a happy spring-time: "My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." (Cant. ii. 10-13).
Those withered tokens were the old man's only "in memoriam." But they kept his heart tender and child-loving as now and then he touched them reverently, and thought how long it was since his loved ones had gone to dwell in the presence of the King.
It was in spring-time his great life-sorrow had touched him; yet he always seemed to love that season best. Keenly alive to the beauties of Nature, he would study her ways minutely in trees and flowers, birds and insects. The fruit trees in spring were as a poem to the aged man in their lovely blossoming.
One day Robin found him looking lovingly at some pale almond flowers flushed with faint pink. He was reading a lesson from their delicate petals.
"Isn't it beautiful?" said Jonathan as he bent the blossom-laden branch towards Robin. "Aaron's rod must have looked like that, my boy, when it brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms. What a wonderful lesson for the Christian heart!"
"I don't remember about that, Mr. Jonathan. Is it in the Bible?"
"Ay, that it is; and you may read it for yourself, my lad, when you get home. Find out the 17th chapter of Numbers, and there you will get the whole account. There were twelve rods laid before the Lord, but only one was chosen—the one that belonged to the priest. Christ is our Priest, and He is the Ark of Safety, where we, as lost and guilty sinners, may hide ourselves and be safe in Him; then He decks us in His robe of righteousness, which is far more beautiful than these lovely perishing flowers, and we not only blossom, but bear fruit."
"But what is meant by 'bearing fruit,' Mr. Jonathan?"
"Well, my boy, I think kind words and looks, and struggles against sin, are fruits that God likes to see in us. When we give up doing what we like, and try to please God and everybody around us, I think He smiles and says, 'There is fruit, pleasant fruit on that tree.' But we must keep the branch inside the Ark; there the east wind of sin can never blight its fair promise. Out of that shelter, the blossoms must fall and perish, and there will be no fruit. 'Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine, no more can ye, except ye abide in Me.'
"'They who in appointed duty
Live most secretly with God,
Shall come forth in fullest beauty,
Blossoming like Aaron's rod.
Plants can flourish in the dark,
If within the Golden Ark.'"
Robin never forgot that lesson, learned among the fragrant trees. The old man was delighted to have so interested a listener beside him, as day after day he sought to open Nature's book before the boy in the light of God's revelation. The fig tree and the vine each had their instructive story as the work of cutting and pruning or dressing went on.
"Even the thorny bramble in the wood puts us to shame," said Robin's kind teacher, one September day; "for, look! How glad it makes the children as it offers its ripe blackberries to them as they pass. Can we do as much as that poor prickly thing? Or is it only thorns we have to offer?"
Jonathan's teaching was all given by parable and allegory, and Robin was only one of the many who benefited by it. The children of his beloved master shared in its happy influence as they played beside him or worked in their garden plots. Every opportunity was turned into a golden one, and much seed sown that for the time seemed trampled down, but which was destined hereafter to spring up and have its blossoming and fruitage in hearts that would bless the friend who had sown and watered with such loving careful patience.
The good man connected everything around him in some way with God's truth; and this it was that made his lessons so real and living. The children of Oaklands could never read about the wearied Saviour and the woman of Samaria without recalling the moss-grown well in the corner of the garden, with its rusty chain and buckets, where Jonathan had told that sweet story of old as he filled his water-cans.
The water of life, that in its freshness slakes all thirst for ever, had its earthly illustration in the dark depths of their own spring-fed well, and it was a life-long association.
But my readers will like to hear how it happened that Robin was able to be with his kind friend and teacher so constantly. After that sunny day of primrose gathering in the wood, the master of Oaklands had a long conversation with Jonathan about Robin.
The under gardener had been suddenly dismissed the previous week, and as the place was now vacant, there was an opportunity for saying a good word for the widow's son.
"I would like to find someone trustworthy, who would grow up under my eye and take my place when I am gone," the old man had said. "I am not so young as I once was, and the rheumatics, especially in winter, tell me the old tree must come down some day. But as in the forest I never mark a tree for felling without first planting a sapling beside it, so I would now like to find one of a good stock who will grow up faithful to your service, sir, when these hands can no longer work for you and yours."
Jonathan's advice was taken, and Robin duly installed in his new post. What a big man he felt the first time he put his week's wages into his mother's hand! He was to be the bread-winner of the family now, and mother could afford to pay a smaller boy to fetch and carry the clothes from the various houses. At church the following Sunday, who felt happier or more elated than Robin, dressed in the new suit given him by his master? Ah! how many good things grew out of Corrie's happy Christmas! It had certainly turned a bright page in the history of Robin's life.
Jonathan's words awakened many new thoughts in the boy's heart as day by day he listened to them in the garden at Oaklands. But Robin's youthful inexperience made some of the things uttered by his wise teacher hard to be understood, and roused doubts and questions which had not existed before.
One day he had been hearing much about the inborn corruption of the human heart, described in Scripture as "deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." Robin remembered more than once having paused on the threshold of the lodge on hearing the prayer of faith being poured forth within; and he thought it strange that such agonising pleadings against sin should have such a prominent place in his friend's petition.
Jonathan seemed perfect in the boy's eyes; good, kind, generous, and a never-failing friend. There might be wicked people in the world; but it would be easy to keep separate from them. Could not Robin look with complacent satisfaction on his own life? Was he not a good son and loving brother, taking home his earnings on Saturday night with a punctuality that never failed? The public-house, with its crowd of idlers going in and out, had no attraction for him, thanks to the earnest and careful training of his good mother. He knew that not a more sober industrious lad could be found in the whole parish than he was.
But he had yet to learn that he carried the world in his heart, and that it was on this battlefield that he must war against its trinity of evil, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life." Robin began to think old Jonathan was over-conscientious in the discharge of duty, and over-strict about little faults.
Why had he spoken so sharply to him that very day about the watering of a few plants? "I did not mean to forget them," ought to have been a sufficient plea to justify him. Was forgetting a sin? A slip in the memory was surely to be excused. Why should Jonathan say the narrow path was thickly hedged with thorns, ready to prick on the right hand and on the left? It seemed such an easy thing to be a Christian!
What did old Jonathan mean by the east wind of sin coming to nip the early buds? Robin found the answer to his questions in a bitter and most painful experience.
[CHAPTER VI]
A TEMPTING BAIT
ONE morning, Robin entered the kitchen at Oaklands, carrying a basket of freshly-cut vegetables, which the cook stepped forward to take from his hand.
"Good-morning, Robin," quoth she; "you are a good boy, and never keep me waiting; your mother will find there are not many young men in the world like you."
The lad crimsoned to the roots of his hair, while a secret swell of pride inflated his heart, and echoed back the flattering words, as he thought over them with delight. Cook had called him a young man; no one had ever done this before! He felt several inches higher as he looked up and gave a bright smile by way of answer.
"Oh yes," added the cook, "you are just the sort of fellow that will always be a favourite. No one can deny that for a moment! I think there is a nice piece of cold apple-tart in the larder that will just suit you." And she disappeared to fetch it.
Now Robin was extremely fond of nice things, all the more so because he rarely got them. His good mother had always been too poor to provide many luxuries for her children. It was only by hard shift and toil that the wholesome loaf was placed before them. The baked joint, so temptingly surrounded by potatoes, which Robin fetched from the bakehouse every week, exciting often the envy of thoughtless neighbours, had to be eked out by dint of many a painful saving effort on the mother's part; and Robin could often have eaten a great deal more it there had been plenty on the table.
It is not to be wondered at that, under these circumstances, when a tempting bit of apple-tart was offered to him, a greedy pleasure filled his heart as he accepted the proffered dainty. There was no question in his mind whether it was right or wrong to take it, for Robin knew it was the recognised custom of the house to give away scraps in this way. The housekeeper had often desired cook to give him something to eat as he stood and waited.
The boy had yet to learn that the evil of the matter lay in the good things being offered him as a bribe to do wrong. But at the present time he was wholly unaware of such a motive, and only thought, as he munched away outside the door, that cook was very kind. He often wondered why Jonathan had so little to say in the kitchen. Robin had even seen him look severely at the woman sometimes as he gave her his short answers.
"She must be too full of fun," he thought, "for the sober old man;" for her loud laugh was constantly heard.
The boy had made his observations quietly, and, though he had never been told it, knew instinctively that cook detested the head gardener.
She had indeed reason to fear him, for Jonathan was only waiting till something should happen which would prove his surmises correct to speak plainly his opinion of her character.
Robin now began to think his dear old friend was too particular, and hoped he would not appear round the corner before he had finished his bit of tart. Both Jonathan and Robin's mother had warned the boy not to be more in the kitchen than was absolutely necessary, as they knew it was through a quarrel with the cook that his predecessor had lost his place.
But there was surely no need to be too strict! Alas! Poor Robin! How warily and subtly does the tempter take possession of the heart! When Robin had finished, he heard cook calling to him again, and went in to obey the summons.
"Here," said she, with a coaxing smile, "you will not mind doing an errand for me when you go home to the town by and by, will you?"
"Certainly not," replied the boy. "I shall be very glad to do it. What is it?"
"Well," said the woman, producing a good-sized covered basket, "I want you to be kind enough to take this to No. 15 Andover Street. There is a note inside for my mother, about something very particular. You can just hand it in, and call for the basket again on your way here to work to-morrow morning. But," she added, "don't let Mr. Jonathan see it or know anything about it. It is just a little errand for me, that need not concern anybody else."
Robin looked perplexed and uncomfortable. He had not been accustomed to do underhand things; his mother had always brought him up to be quite open; he had never concealed anything from her in his life. Why should he now? Yet, if he refused, cook would never give him anything nice again, and he should not be able to let Corrie have a share of the dainty morsels. That would not be kind, and yet—
A faint remonstrance rose to his lips; but cook did not hear it, as she said, "I will put the basket behind the knife-house door; you can fetch it from there when you leave work; and mind! not a word to anybody."
She was gone, and so was Robin's opportunity of fighting the good fight. He turned away, with a guilty feeling at his heart, to join old Jonathan in the kitchen garden. There was so much digging and planting to be done that day, that Robin's abstracted manner did not attract attention; and the boy set himself to work with double diligence, by way of relieving his conscience, which would awake again and again to trouble him with her stings.
"I have done nothing wrong," persisted Robin's heart; "why should I be unhappy?"
How strange it was that old Jonathan's talk to-day should be of the allurements of sin! "'My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.' 'Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed according to Thy word.'"
"The wise man's eyes are in his head," quoth the gardener, with a frank and sunny smile at Robin. "When you are going on a strange road, you do not walk along staring at the sky. No; your eyes are straight ahead, to see which way you are going. By this means, if there are any pitfalls, you can avoid them; and the finger-posts at the cross-turnings prevent any mistake as to the direction. So with the Christian. The Word of Life is his lamp and guide-book in one, and if he looks into it earnestly enough, he will never go wrong. That is what is meant by 'taking heed according to Thy word.' 'For the commandment is a lamp, and the law is light, and reproofs of instruction are the way of life.' The Holy Spirit feeds the flame in the lamp; and when it shines on the directions in the Word the path is as straight as an arrow."
"Yes," answered Robin, but so absently that his companion stuck his spade into the ground and looked at him.
"Is the little sister more ailing than usual to-day?"
"Oh no, Mr. Jonathan; but I want to get back to her as soon as I can this evening."
"Well, my boy, and so you shall; we have only got to finish this border, shut the glass-houses, and do a bit of watering; then I will walk down with you to my house on your way home. I asked master to-day if I might send a rose plant to Corrie in a pot, and he said, 'Yes; let her have one with plenty of buds on it.' Master is always good and kind. So it is all ready for you to take home to-night; that will be better than the fir branch."
But the gleeful sparkle that usually came into Robin's eyes when any pleasure was in store for Corrie was lacking now; and his old friend noticed it, wondering what was wrong, as the boy answered hurriedly—
"Oh, thank you! How glad she will be Master is very good."
How he wished old Jonathan would not walk down with him to the lodge. What excuse could he possibly find to go back and fetch the basket? There was none; and it seemed to get more and more hopeless as they walked down the avenue.
"There! Take care of the buds, my boy. Carry it steadily; the little lass will love to see them opening every day. Good-night, and God bless you!"
Robin carried the pot down the road a little way, until out of sight of the lodge; then, setting it down dose to the hedge, where it would be hidden by a tree, he climbed a fence, and by a short cut across fields and meadows soon found himself on the back premises of Oaklands. Like a thief, he went stealthily to the outhouse named by cook, snatched up the basket, and ran off again. He had to cross part of the avenue, and while doing so observed his master coming up on horseback, with Miss Clarice on her little white pony cantering by his side.
A dive! A leap! And he was crouching down behind a tree, where he remained in hiding until the riders had passed. He had never before felt ashamed to be found anywhere on the premises of Oaklands. Well, it would only be for this once! Cook would probably never want him to do it again; then it would be all right.
Robin felt greatly relieved when he had rid himself of the basket in Andover Street; but to go there he had to deviate considerably from his homeward route, so that he was later than usual.
"What has kept you, my son? You are a good hour behind time."
"There was some extra work to do, mother; we did not leave work punctually this evening."
Now this excuse was true to a certain extent, though the working hours had not been exceeded beyond ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. Yet Robin felt he had told a lie. Why should his mother have asked that question to-night? She so seldom seemed to notice the hour he got in. But further questioning was cut short by Corrie's exclamations of delight over her rose tree, and in gladness of heart for her poor sick child, Mrs. Campbell forgot all else.
So Robin's remark about the extra work was met by no comment. But when the boy knelt down as usual to pray that night, how strange it was that no words would come! That covered basket was the only object that danced before his eyes! He had not looked into it, and knew no more than Corrie what it contained. Yet he felt it was not all right. He could think of nothing else. He rose from his knees and opened his Bible; but the texts seemed just black print, and nothing more. He did not even remember what he had read a moment after the book was closed. Hastening into bed, he went off to sleep as fast as possible, and awoke next morning feeling as if something dreadful had happened.
It was later than usual, and he must hurry off without lighting the fire or filling the kettle for mother, because he had to go round by Andover Street for the basket. It was a great relief on reaching Oaklands to see old Jonathan afar off at work in the garden, so that Robin could skirt along by the avenue without being noticed.
Cook received the basket with a nod and a smile, saying—
"Come in after breakfast."
The old gardener stopped for a moment in his work as Robin ran up the path to join him.
"You are late, Robin," he said quietly; "this must not happen again. Remember, we rob our master if we do not give him the full time that he pays us for."
"I could not help it," murmured the boy as he met those kind eyes looking sadly at him.
"There is something the matter," muttered his quick-sighted old friend. "Out with it, Robin! What is troubling you, my lad?"
Ah! how often and often did the boy wish afterwards that he had responded to this loving appeal; but his heart seemed growing as hard as a stone, as, making some trivial excuse about Corrie, he continued his work, and even tried to assume a careless cheerful manner, talking and whistling by turns.
But Jonathan was not deceived, though he made no further comment.
"I must go in presently and ask cook what vegetables are wanted to-day," said the elder man, after working away for some time in silence.
"Oh, let me go!" answered Robin with alacrity; and, almost before his companion could look up, the boy was off at full speed towards the kitchen door.
Cook met him with a smile of approbation. "It is all right," she said. "Mother was so glad I was able to send her that note. I can trust you again to do errands for me. See! here is a good hunch of plum-cake, which you can put in your pocket; and if it is too much for you now, save a bit for your poor little sister. Another day you will go again to mother's house for me, won't you? I cannot get out very often; there is so much to be done in this family."
Robin was thankful she did not ask him to go again to Andover Street that day. It would be time enough to refuse the next time she asked him to do it; he would not make her angry to-day. Thus he silenced the inward monitor once more.
"Has mother been out long, Corrie?" was his first question that evening on returning home, to find the little sister playing alone on the floor with her toys.
"No, Robin, only a few minutes; she said you would be coming directly, and she was obliged to go and get the money from some of the houses. Oh! what is that?" she added, looking with unfeigned satisfaction at the piece of cake.
"Nice cake for Corrie," replied Robin; "you like plum-cake, don't you?"
"Yes, very very much; may I eat it now? We must keep some for mother."
"No," said Robin, as the uneasy thought struck him that it was the price of sin. "You may eat it all; I will bring mother some more another day. Make haste, Corrie, and then I will tell you a story."
"A pretty Bible story?" queried Corrie with a wistful smile.