The Wide, Wide World

"How came you to be talking about Mr. Cowper?"

"I was reading about his hares, and about John Gilpin; and then Alice told me about Mr. Cowper and his friends."

"Well, I don't know after all that you have had a pleasanter evening than I have had," said her questioner, "though I have been riding hard with the cold wind in my face, and the driving snow doing all it could to discomfort me. I have had this very bright fireside before me all the way."

He fell into a fit of grave musing, which lasted till Alice came in. Then suddenly fell a fumbling in his pocket.

"Here's a note for you," said he, throwing it into her lap.

"A note! – Sophia Marshman! – where did you get it?"

"From her own hand. Passing there to-day, I thought I must stop a moment to speak to them, and had no notion of doing more; but Mrs. Marshman was very kind, and Miss Sophia in despair, so the end of it was I dismounted and went in to await the preparing of that billet, while my poor nag was led off to the stables and a fresh horse supplied me. I fancy that tells you on what conditions."

"Charming!" said Alice, "to spend Christmas – I am very glad; I should like to very much – with you, dear. If I can only get papa – but I think he will; it will do him a great deal of good. To-morrow, she says, we must come; but I doubt the weather will not let us; we shall see."

"I rode Prince Charlie down. He is a good traveller, and the sleighing will be fine if the snow be not too deep. The old sleigh is in being yet, I suppose?"

"Oh yes! in good order. Ellen, what are you looking so grave about? you are going too."

"I!" said Ellen, a great spot of crimson coming in each cheek.

"To be sure; do you think I am going to leave you behind."

"But – "

"But what?"

"There won't be room."

"Room in the sleigh? Then we'll put John on Prince Charlie, and let him ride there postillion-fashion."

"But – Mr. Humphreys?"

"He always goes on horseback; he will ride Sharp or old John."

In great delight Ellen gave Alice an earnest kiss; and then they all gathered round the table to take their chocolate, or rather to see John take his, which his sister would not let him wait for any longer. The storm had ceased, and through the broken clouds the moon and stars were looking out, so they were no more uneasy for Mr. Humphreys, and expected him every moment. Still the supper was begun and ended without him, and they had drawn round the fire again before his welcome step was at last heard.

There was new joy then; new embracing, and questioning and answering; the little circle opened to let him in; and Alice brought the corner of the table to his side, and poured him out a cup of hot chocolate. But after drinking half of it, and neglecting the eatables beside him, he sat with one hand in the other, his arm leaning on his knee, with a kind of softened gravity upon his countenance.

"Is your chocolate right, papa?" said Alice at length.

"Very good, my daughter!"

He finished the cup, but then went back to his old attitude and look. Gradually they ceased their conversation, and waited with respectful affection and some curiosity for him to speak; something of more than common interest seemed to be in his thoughts. He sat looking earnestly in the fire, sometimes with almost a smile on his face, and gently striking one hand in the palm of the other. And sitting so, without moving or stirring his eyes, he said at last, as though the words had been forced from him, "Thanks be unto God for His unspeakable gift!"

As he added no more, Alice said gently, "What have you seen to-night, papa?"

He roused himself and pushed the empty cup towards her.

"A little more, my daughter; I have seen the fairest sight, almost, a man can see in this world. I have seen a little ransomed spirit go home to its rest. Oh, that 'unspeakable gift!'"

He pressed his lips thoughtfully together while he stirred his chocolate; but having drunk it he pushed the table from him, and drew up his chair.

"You had a long way to go, papa," observed Alice again.

"Yes, a long way there; I don't know what it was coming home; I never thought of it. How independent the spirit can be of externals! I scarcely felt the storm to-night."

"Nor I," said his son.

"I had a long way to go," said Mr. Humphreys; "that poor woman – that Mrs. Dolan – she lives in the woods behind the Cat's Back, a mile beyond Carra-carra, or more, it seemed a long mile to-night; and a more miserable place I never saw yet. A little rickety shanty, the storm was hardly kept out of it, and no appearance of comfort or nicety anywhere or in anything. There were several men gathered round the fire, and in a corner, on a miserable kind of bed, I saw the sick child. His eye met mine the moment I went in, and I thought I had seen him before, but couldn't at first make out where. Do you remember, Alice, a little ragged boy, with a remarkably bright, pleasant face, who has planted himself regularly every Sunday morning for some time past in the south aisle of the church, and stood there all service time?"

Alice said No.

"I have noticed him often, and noticed him as paying a most fixed and steady attention. I have repeatedly tried to catch him on his way out of church, to speak to him, but always failed. I asked him to-night, when I first went in, if he knew me. 'I do, sir,' he said. I asked him where he had seen me. He said, 'In the church beyant.' 'So,' said I, 'you are the little boy I have seen there so regularly; what did you come there for?'

"'To hear yer honour spake the good words.'

"'What good words?' said I; 'about what?'

"He said, 'About Him that was slain, and washed us from our sins in His own blood.'

"'And do you think He has washed away yours?' I said.

"He smiled at me very expressively. I suppose it was somewhat difficult for him to speak; and to tell the truth so it was for me, for I was taken by surprise; but the people in the hut had gathered round, and I wished to hear him say more, for their sake as well as my own. I asked him why he thought his sins were washed away. He gave me for answer part of the verse, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me,' but did not finish it. 'Do you think you are very sick, John?' I asked.

"'I am, sir,' he said. 'I'll not be long here.'

"'And where do you think you are going, then?' said I.

"He lifted one little thin bony arm from under his coverlid, and through all the dirt and pallor of his face the smile of heaven I am sure was on it, as he looked and pointed upward and answered, 'Jesus!'

"I asked him presently, as soon as I could, what he had wished to see me for. I don't know whether he heard me or not; he lay with his eyes half closed, breathing with difficulty. I doubted whether he would speak again, and indeed, for myself, I had heard and seen enough to satisfy me entirely; for the sake of the group around the bed I could have desired something further. They kept perfect stillness; awed, I think, by a profession of faith such as they had never heard before. They and I stood watching him, and at the end of a few minutes, not more than ten or fifteen, he opened his eyes, and with sudden life and strength rose up half way in bed, exclaiming, 'Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift!' – and then fell back – just dead."

The old gentleman's voice was husky as he finished, for Alice and Ellen were both weeping, and John Humphreys had covered his face with his hands.

"I have felt," said the old gentleman presently, "as if I could have shouted out his words – his dying words – all the way as I came home. My little girl," said he, drawing Ellen to him, "do you know the meaning of those sweet things of which little John Dolan's mind was so full?"

Ellen did not speak.

"Do you know what it is to be a sinner? and what it is to be a forgiven child of God?"

"I believe I do, sir," Ellen said.

He kissed her forehead and blessed her; and then said, "Let us pray."

It was late; the servants had gone to bed, and they were alone. Oh, what a thanksgiving Mr. Humphreys poured forth for that "unspeakable gift;" that they, every one there, had been made to know and rejoice in it; for the poor little boy, rich in faith, who had just gone home in the same rejoicing; for their own loved one who was there already; and for the hope of joining them soon in safety and joy, to sing with them the "new song" for ever and ever.

There were no dry eyes in the room. And when they arose, Mr. Humphreys, after giving his daughter the usual kiss for good-night, gave one to Ellen too, which he had never done before, and then going to his son and laying both hands on his shoulders, kissed his cheek also; then silently took his candle and went.