CHAPTER XIII.
The Tide Turns.
Be what thou seemest; live thy creed,
Hold up to earth the torch divine;
Be what thou prayest to be made;
Let the great Master's steps be thine.
ow Benny lived through the next few weeks he never knew. It seemed to him as if the world had become suddenly dark. The one little being who had been the sunshine of his life was buried in the damp cold grave, and now there seemed nothing to live for, nothing to work for, nothing even to hope for; for what was all the world to him now his little Nell was gone?
He missed her everywhere, and was continually fancying he saw her running to meet him as he drew near the church where they had regularly met for so long a time; and sometimes he would turn round with a sudden starts and with the word "Nelly" on his lips, as he fancied he heard the pattering of her little feet behind him.
He grew despondent, too. While Nelly lived there was some one to work for, some one to bear rebuffs and insults for; but now what did it matter whether he sold his matches or not? He could go hungry; he did not mind. In fact, he did not seem to care what became of him. There seemed to him nothing to fight the world for—nothing.
But for Joe he would have moped his life away in some dark comer where no one could see him. But Joe taught him to believe that his little sister was not lost, only gone before, and that perhaps she looked down upon him from heaven, and that it might grieve her to see him fretting so.
So he tried to sell his matches or earn a penny in some other way in a listless, hopeless manner. But it was very hard work. And when evening came he would drag himself wearily to his little corner under granny's stairs, and generally sob himself to sleep. He missed his little companion in the evenings almost more than at any time, and wished that he had died with her. Sometimes he went out to the cemetery to see her grave; and no one knew what the little fellow suffered as he knelt there with clasped hands, dropping scalding tears upon the cold earth that hid his little sister from his sight.
He seemed to take no comfort in anything, not even in the story-books that granny had hunted up for him, and which he was beginning to read so nicely. He was proud of his learning while Nelly lived; but all that was changed now.
And so the weeks wore away, and winter came in dark and cold. But people generally did not seem to mind the darkness nor the cold, for Christmas was drawing near, and they were anticipating a time of mirth and merrymakings of friendly greetings and family gatherings.
The trains began to be crowded again with home-comers for their holidays; shopkeepers began to vie with each other as to which could present in their windows the grandest display; the streets were crowded with well-dressed people who were getting in a stock of Christmas cheer; and everywhere people seemed bent on enjoying themselves to the utmost of their ability.
All this, however, only seemed to make Benny sadder than ever. He remembered how the Christmas before Nelly was with him, and he was as happy and light-hearted as he well could be. Yet now the very happiness of the people seemed to mock his sorrow, and he wished that Christmas was gone again.
One bitterly cold afternoon he was at his old place, waiting for the railway boat to come up to the stage, in the hope that some one of its many passengers would permit him to carry his or her bag, when he noticed a gentleman standing against the side of the boat with a portmanteau in his right hand, and holding the hand of a little girl with his left.
The boat was a long time coming to, for a heavy sea was running at the time, and the gentleman seemed to get terribly impatient at the delay. But Benny was rather glad of it, for he had abundant opportunity of looking at the little girl, whose pleasant, smiling face reminded him more of his little dead sister than any face he had ever seen.
"Golly, ain't she purty!" said Benny to himself; "and don't that woolly stuff look hot round her jacket! And what long hair she have!—a'most as long as little Nell's," and he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes. "An' she looks good an' kind, too. I specks the gent is her par."
And Benny regarded the gentleman more attentively than he had hitherto done.
"Well, now, ain't that cur'us!" he muttered. "If that ain't the very gent whose portmantle I carried the night faather wolloped me so. I'll try my luck agin, for he's a good fare, an' not to be sneezed at."
By this time the gangway had been let down, and the gentleman and his little girl were among the first to hurry on to the stage. In a moment Benny had stepped forward, and touching his cap very respectfully, said—
"Carry yer bag, sir?"
The gentleman did not heed his tears or his pleading voice.
"Oh, please, sir, do!" said Benny, his eyes filling with tears. "I's had no luck to-day."
But the gentleman did not heed his tears or his pleading voice. He had been annoyed at the delay of the boat, and he was in no mood to brook further delay. So he said sternly—
"Be off with you this moment!"
Benny turned away with a great sob, for since Nelly died rebuffs had become doubly hard to bear. He did not try to get another fare, but stood looking out on the storm-tossed river, trying to gulp down the great lumps that rose continually in his throat.
"I specks I'll have to starve," he thought bitterly, "for I can't get a copper to-day nohow."
Just then he felt a touch on his arm, and turning his brimming eyes, he saw the little girl he had noticed on the boat.
"What's the matter, little boy?" she said, in a voice that sounded like music to the sad-hearted child.
They were the first kind words that had been spoken to him for the day, and they completely broke him down.
At length he stammered out between his sobs—
"Oh, I's so hungry an' cold, an' little Nelly's dead; an' all the world is agin me."
"Have you no father?" she said.
"No: I's no father, nor mother, nor sister, nor nobody. Nelly was all I had in the world, an' now she's dead."
"Poor boy!" said the kindly little voice. "And how do you get your living?"
"Oh, I sells matches or carries gents' portmantles when they'll let me, or anything honest as turns up."
"Well don't think papa is unkind because he spoke cross to you, but he had been annoyed. And here is a shilling he gave me to-day; you need it more than I do, so I will give it to you. Are you here every day?"
"Ay, I's mostly here every day,*' said Benny, closing his fingers around the bright shilling as one in a dream. The next moment he was alone. He looked everywhere for the little girl, but she was nowhere visible.
"Golly!" said Benny, rubbing his eyes, "I wonder now if she wur a hangel. Nelly said as 'ow the Lord 'ud provide. An' mebbe He sent her with that bob. I wish I had looked more particler to see if she had wings, 'cause Nelly said as how hangels had wings."
More than twenty times that afternoon Benny looked at the bright new shilling that had been given him; the very sight of it seemed to do him good. It seemed to turn the tide, too, in his favour, for before dark he had earned another shilling; and that evening he trudged to his home with a lighter heart than he had known for many a week.
The weather on Christmas Eve was anything but orthodox. There was neither frost nor snow; but on the contrary, it was close and sultry, Benny had been out in the neighbourhood of Edge Hill with a big bundle for a woman, who dismissed him with three halfpence, and the remark that young vagabonds like he always ucharged twice as much as they expected to get. So Benny was trudging home in a not very happy frame of mind. He had been tolerably fortunate, however, daring the early part of the day, and that compensated him to some extent for his bad afternoon's work.
As he was passing along a street in the neighbourhood of Falkner Square he was arrested by the sound of music and singing. Now, as we have hinted before, Benny was very sensitive to the influence of music, and, in fact, anything beautiful had a peculiar charm for him. The window of the house before which he stopped stood slightly open, so that he was not only able to hear the music, but also to distinguish the words that were being sung.
It was a pure childish voice that was singing to a simple accompaniment on the piano,—
"There is beauty all around,
When there's love at home;
There is joy in every sound,
When there's love at home.
Peace and plenty here abide,
Smiling sweet on every side;
Time doth softly, sweetly glide,
When there's love at home."
Benny waited, as if rooted to the ground, until the song ended; waited a minute longer in the hope that the singer would begin again. And in that minute the little singer came to the window and looked out and saw our hero; and Benny, looking up at the same moment, saw the face of his angel, and hurried away out of sights as if he had been guilty of some wrong.
The litile singer was Eva Lawrence, the daughter of a well-to-do man of business in the town. She was not ten years of age by several months, but she was unusually thoughtful for her age, and was as kind-hearted as she was thoughtful.
As soon as Mr. Lawrence had finished his tea that evening, and had betaken himself to his easy chair, little Eva clambered upon his knee, and, putting her arms about his neck, said—
"Papa, what do you think?"
"Oh, I think ever so many things," he replied, laughing.
"Now, you naughty man, you're going to tease again. But I've begun wrong way about, as usual. I want to ask a favour."
"I expected as much, Eva," said her father, smiling. "But how many more Christmas presents will you want?"
"But this is not a present exactly."
"Oh, indeed," he said, pretending to look serious.
"Now, don't be a tease," she said, pulling his whiskers, "for I'm quite serious. Now listen."
"I'm all attention, my dear."
"You want a little boy to run errands and sweep out the office, and do little odd jobs, don't you?"
"Well, who has been telling you that?"
"Nobody, papa; I only wanted to know, you see. So you do, don't you?"
"Well, I shall the beginning of the year, for the boy I have is leaving. But what has that to do with my little girl?"
"Well, papa, our teacher is always telling us that we ought to be little missionaries, and lend a helping hand to the needy whenever possible, and do all the good we can."
"I want to ask a favour," said Eva.
"Quite right, my dear; but I can't see what my little girl is driving at."
"Well, she was telling us only last Sunday that lots of people would be better if they had better surroundings; and that if something could be done to get those little street Arabs more out of the reach of temptation, they night grow up to be good and honest men and women."
"Well, Eva?"
"Well, papa, I should like for you to give one of those little street boys a chance."
"Who do you mean?"
"That poor boy I gave the shilling to on the landing-stage the other day, don't you remember—when you called me a silly girl?"
"And were you not silly, Eva?"
"No, papa, I don't think I was; for I am sure the boy is not bad, he has such honest eyes. And he said he had no father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister, and he seemed in such trouble."
"Well, my child?"
"You know now what I mean, papa. I confess I had quite forgotten the poor boy till this afternoon I saw him standing in front of the house. I had been singing 'Love at Home,' and he had been listening, I think; and I fancy it had made him sad, for his eyes were full of tears, but when he saw he was noticed he hurried away as quickly as possible."
"And suppose I should decide to employ this boy, Eva, where should I find him?"
" Oh, he said he was nearly always on the landing-stage. He sold matches there, except when he was running errands."
" Well, I will think about it, Eva."
"Oh, promise, papa, there's a good man."
"I don't believe in making rash promises, Eva," said Mr. Lawrence kindly; "and, besides, I have very little faith in those street boys. They are taught to be dishonest from their infancy, and it is a difficult matter for them to be anything else; but I'll think about it."
And Mr. Lawrence was as good as his word; he did think about it, and, what is more, he decided to give the little boy a trial.
Benny was on the landing-stage on New Year's Day when Mr. Lawrence was returning from Chester. He had scarcely left the railway boat when several lads crowded around him with "Carry yer bag, sir?" Benny among the number.
He quickly recognized our hero from the description Eva gave, and placed his bag in Benny's hand, giving him the address of his office. Arrived there, much to Benny's bewilderment, he was invited inside, and Mr, Lawrence began to ply him with questions, all of which he answered in a straightforward manner, for there was little in his life that he cared to hide.
Mr. Lawrence was so much impressed in the boy's favour that he engaged him at once, promising him two shillings a week more than he had intended to give.
When Benny at length comprehended his good fortune—for it was some time before he did—he sobbed outright.
Looking up at length with streaming eyes, he blurted out, "I can't tell 'e how 'bliged I is," and ran out of the office and hurried home to tell granny the news, not quite certain in his own mind whether he was awake or dreaming.
Granny was upstairs when Benny burst into the room, and when she came down the first thing she saw was Benny standing on his head.
"Oh, granny," he shouted, "I's made my fortin! I's a gent at last!"
Granny was a considerable time before she could really discover from Benny what had happened; but when she did discover, she seemed as pleased as the child. And a bigger fire was made up, and a more sumptuous supper was got ready in honour of the occasion.