B M IDM 5b2 DAY GIFT OF Harry East Miller '-^, vp-^^ /S? / A Night and A Day-. ALSO APPLE-TREE COURT, AND THE WORTH OF A BABY. BY HESBA STRETTON AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 150 NASSAU STREET NEW YORK. L I ^ 7 c. :/ -•. • « • • ft? 54^^ A Night and A Day, CHAPTER I. There is no part of England more unsightly or more marred and spoiled of its original beauty than the Black Country, the great coal-field of South Staffordshire, which stretches into the neighboring counties. Low beds of smouldering slag lie upon the ground where grass and primroses once grew, and make the air heavy with the fumes and stench of gas. The tall chimneys of the forges belch out clouds of thick smoke, mingled with tongues of flame, which hang overhead, slowly drifting with the wind, but never passing away to leave the blue sky clear. The soft round outlines of the land have been broken up by huge stiff mounds of slack and shale, for which no man can find a use, that are thrown up round the shaft of every pit. No ivi81820 4 A NIGHT AND A DAY. leafy trees can flourish in such a soil or such an at- mosphere ;■. but a few pale and stunted willows grow down '"by thV ^d;gq of the dark and noisome pools l)[i!Aff:ijt J;he.baj-rj2n yaUeys.of these desolate hillocks. '•High? ^6\h», nit: un'lrliQ 'ttfe gibbets of olden days, stretch across the dreary scene, and the chains they support groan and creak dolefully as they wind slowly up and down the dark pits. No' chirping and twittering of birds are to be heard, nor the merry cries of rosy children at play ; but instead of these you have the deep throbbing of many forge hammers, which beat like the feverish yet sluggish pulse of Mammon. But upon the outskirts of this despoiled country the riches that lie underground run into scattered veins of minerals, that pierce under the green mead- ows and golden cornfields still smiling undisturbed in the sunshine. Here there is less roughness and ugliness and more of nature. The pitmen, when they come up from their dingy work, can lift their eyes to the clear sky above, and to the hills not far away clothed with leafy trees. They can cultivate their own little gardens, and grow southernwood and sweetwilliam to wear in their buttonholes on Sundays. In some places there is only one shaft. A NIGHT AND A DAY. 5 or two perhaps, sunk a mile away from any others, running down into some small, separated fragment of the great coalfield. Here the trees grow up to the very edge of the worthless rubble flung about the pit's mouth ; and the lark sings its song within sound of the clanking engine. There is no more than a scar or two on the face of the country ; and, like a blemish in a face we love, it grows familiar and dear, as years go by, to those whose home is beside it. The miners in these little isolated places are very different from the rough and brutal colliers of the Black Country. These have few pleasures but pigeon-flying, and stealthy dog-fighting, and low revels in dirty taverns. The men are little better than rough bull-dogs, and the women are still not much in advance of savages. But among the coun- try colliers are families of quite a different stamp. Their grandfathers or great-grandfathers heard John Wesley preach words they neither forgot themselves nor allowed their children to forget. Their grandmothers labored to learn to read amid all the cares of a family and the hard struggle for life, though they had no other books to read than their Bibles and the hymn-book. The families 6 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. which sprang from them are altogether a different race from those of the rough and ignorant savages, dwelHng in dense masses, where the mines are thickest. In one of these separate coalfields, with a single old shaft, which had been at work longer than any one living could remember, there had dwelt for several generations one family of the name of Ha- zeldine. The same roof sheltered them that had sheltered their forefathers. All the men had work- ed in the pit, and some of them had died there. The old garden round the cottage budded and blos- somed year after year with the same flowers and fruit-trees planted by the first Hazeldine ; or so nearly the same that if he had come back to it he would have felt no shock of surprise or strangeness. The square hillock of shale alone had risen to such a height as to hide the pit's mouth ; and it was thinly overgrown with yellow coltsfoot since he had left the little house of his own building. At pres- ent the widow of one of his grandsons was inhabit- ing it, the mother of two sons who, like their fore- fathers, were busy all day long in the hidden gal- leries and foot-roads underground, which had form- ed a network, crossing and recrossing, and twisting A NIGHT AND A DAY. 7 in and out like a labyrinth wherever coal had been found. Judith Hazeldine spent long and silent days in her quiet cottage while her sons were be- low ; for it stood quite alone in the shadow of the great mound of rubbish which had gradually sepa- rated it from the neighboring dwellings. But when Reuben and Simeon came home the evening hours were too short for all that had to be said and done. The two sons had been named according to a custom of the Hazeldines, which ruo one had yet been bold enough to break through. It was half believed that some long-dead forefather had spoken a curse against the first to break it. This was to begin with the names of the sons of Israel, and fol- low them faithfully in order of their birth ; though it had never been known for any mother to reach the favorite name of Benjamin. Judith herself had not had more than two sons, but there had once been a child named Issachar, whose grave was in the village churchyard. There was another custom and an heirloom in the family which gave it a still higher distinction in the eyes of their neighbors. Old Judah Hazel- dine, who had been dead more than two hundred years, had left a favorite black-letter Bible of an- 8 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. tique binding, and with silver clasps and silver corner-pieces, which was for ever to become the possession of any one of his descendants who, at the age of fifteen, could open its pages at haphazard, and read off aloud the chapter that chanced to lie beneath his eyes, without making a single blunder. To each generation the difficulty had become great- er, for the black-letter fell more and more into dis- use. The later descendants of Judah Hazeldine, who might be able to read easily enough a chapter in an ordinary Bible, found themselves puzzled and baffled by the odd and crabbed letters they were bound to turn into ready speech. Reuben, Judith's eldest son, had tried it and failed, with tears of dis- appointment smarting under his cast-down eyelids. That was seven years ago ; and it would soon be Simeon's turn to prove his scholarship, for he would be fifteen in a week or two. Judith had set her heart upon her younger boy gaining the coveted heirloom. He was the head scholar in the Sunday-school, and had repeated the whole of a long chapter at the Sunday-school anni- versary, in the face of all the congregation, without missing a single word. Her heart had been swell- ing with pride and pleasure as he went triumphant- A NIGHT AND A DAY. 9 ly forward from verse to verse, though she would take no notice of Reuben nudging her elbow as if he were putting in the full stops which were being left out by Simeon. Why should not the lad win the old black-letter Bible ? He was a better scholar than Reuben, though Reuben was a good son, ay, the best of sons. She was a very happy woman for a widow, she said to herself. Reuben was the best of sons, but Simeon was the better scholar ; Simeon could not fail to win the Bible. There was the more reason why Simeon must not fail to win it, as the present owner was on the point of emigrating, and no one knew exactly how to act in this unforeseen emergency. It had not entered the head of old Judah Hazeldine, who had certainly never even heard of Australia, to dream of any of his descendants wandering so far away from the ancient home. He might otherwise have made some provision against the difficulty. If the Bible went to the other side of the world would it ever come back to England ? There had been a good deal of talk up and down the country, among the Hazeldines, as to what ought to be done ; but no one could see the way clearly. Levi Hazeldine was not willing to give it up unless the conditions 2 lo A NIGHT AND A DAY. were fulfilled. He had won it himself more than thirty years ago, and had held it ever since for lack of any successful competitor. The only concession he would make was to delay his voyage for a few weeks until Simeon should reach the stipulated age, and declare himself ready for the trial. "It's not as I set much store by the Bible," said Levi sarcastically. "Why, the Bible's just like a bone thrown among a pack o' curs. You Christians are always a-snarlin' over it, and pullin' it about, and snatchin' a morsel off it here and an- other morsel there. You can always get up a dog- fight over the Bible. It's likely a man of sense like me 'ud value it !" Levi had been a greater traveller than any other of the Hazeldines, and was looked up to as a man of more than ordinary knowledge. He could read many books which were difficult to be under- stood by the greater number of his neighbors. He had been a great scholar thirty years ago, when he won the black-letter Bible ; and he was believed to be a greater scholar now. So it made his simple- minded kith and kin very uneasy to hear his esti- mate of the Bible. " If you set so little store by it," said Judith, A NIGHT AND A DAY. ii who was a shrewd woman, " why jiot leave the old Bible behind you ? We 'd pay the value of the sil- ver, and welcome." " It 's not a Bible, it 's a heirloom," answered the wise Levi ; " there 's a charm with it. Those that have got it have good luck. If your lad can win it, it's his, and the luck '11 go to him ; but if he can't, it'll stay with me, and go with me out o' the country. It's a great deal that I '11 stay to give him a chance." You may be sure that Simeon was as eager as Judith herself that he should win the Bible. The lad had been sharp enough to get for him- self an alphabet of old English letters, and had copied verse after verse diligently in their char- acters. But he had no idea of what chapter he might have to read. The usage was, to blindfold the candidate and lay his hand on the closed vol- ume, which he then opened for himself. Some fa miliar psalm or well-known passage from the gos- pels might lie before him, on some long hard chap- ter in Chronicles, or the still more unaccustomed words of a minor prophet. He felt as if it would almost break his heart to let the old Bible quit the country. 12 A NIGHT AND A DAY. CHAPTER II. Judith Hazeldine had too deep a sense of the importance of the coming trial, not to signaHze it by making a solemn feast to all of the house of the Hazeldines, who were within reach of an invitation. There was a second event to be celebrated, but one of secondary consequence, as being common to all families and to all conditions of men. Reuben was to take advantage of the feast, and the family gathering, to marry Abby Upton, the sister of his favorite comrade. Abby had helped old Judith on baking and washing days ever since she was four- teen ; and it seemed hardly a change for her to be coming to live under the same roof, as Reuben's wife. Under the roof literally they were to live, in a large spare attic, with strong beams of old oak, black with age, forming sharp angles under the thatch, and with a lattice window deep set in the southern gable, looking out upon the garden, and the wood beyond, which climbed up a gentle slope, A NIGHT AND A DAY. 13 and traced its green branches clear against the sky. Reuben and Abby had both been as busy as the swallows under the eaves about this homely little nest of theirs. It was Reuben who had papered every small clear space in the irregular walls, with a paper that had a pattern of sweet peas and roses running all over it ; and it was he who had bought some pots of rare hothouse flowers for the broad low window sill. But it was Abby who had scrub- bed the floor white, and removed every speck and stain from the old-fashioned furniture. There had been a good share of deep though unspoken happi- ness in getting ready their future home. Reuben and Abby were quite conscious of the secondary place they were to take in the coming festival, and were quite content with it. Young men and girls can get married any day ; but to win the Hazeldine Bible was a rare event, and the pres- ent circumstances were absolutely without a paral- lel. The danger seemed great that the precious heirloom would be carried out of the kingdom, and carried out of it by an infidel. " Reuben," said Abby, with a look of awe on her rosy face, "folks do say as Levi Hazeldine does n't even believe as our Lord was born on 14 A ALIGHT AND A DAY. Christmas -day. I wonder how he can think! There 'd never be any merry Christmases if that weren't true." " Never mind, Levi," answered Reuben fondly ; "he hasn't got either chick or child, or wife nei- ther, to make him believe in such things. It's mainly folks as haven't any love in them, that don't believe there's a good God who loves us every one, and who'd be lonesone in his almighty power if he'd no creature to be fond of and caring after. Why ! is n't Jesus Christ gone to prepare a place for us, somewhere in his father's house, just like me making the attic fit for you, Abby, here in mother's house .•* I 've been thinking of it all along, and it seems somehow as if I could see him looking all about the grand room he 's getting ready, to see if there's anything we'd like, that has been forgotten. Levi can't understand, for he's never loved anybody enough." " Reuben," whispered Abby, with her hands clasped about his arm, " I shall always believe like you ; you are so good." The day before the double festival had come, and the sun shone on one of the pleasantest morn- ings of the pleasant springtime. Reuben stayed A NIGHT AND A DAY. 15 away from his underground toil to put some finish- ing touches to the attic, which was to become Ab- by's home to-morrow. Abby herself was busy over her simple wedding gown ; but that was away, in her old home, and she could not hinder him by peeping through the half-open door, to see. what he was about Judith was deep in her preparations for the great dinner, to which she had invited her guests ; and Reuben could hear the clatter of earth- enware, and the beating up of eggs, and the open- ing and shutting of the oven-door, in the large, old-fashioned kitchen below. They were pleasant sounds ; but sweeter sounds came to his listening ear through the open window. There was the cuckoo calling from the woods, with a note softened and mellowed by the distance ; and the throstles were piping, and the blackbirds whistling nearer to him, in the hawthorn hedgerow round the garden. The low southerly breeze that fluttered the leaves of the Bible and hymn-book on the window sill brought with it the scent of lilac and gillyflowers, growing in the borders. Reuben Hazeldine felt as if he had never really known what earthly happi- ness was before. It was past noonday, and he was still busy 1 6 A NIGHT AA^n A DAY. about his finishing touches, and humming little snatches of hymns in his low, deep voice, for he was a famous singer in his parish, when he sud- denly heard Abby's voice calling him afar off. He stopped, with his hand upholding a hammer, that was about to knock a nail into the wall, and listened eagerly. Yes ; that was Abby's voice, clearer and sweeter than the throstle's piping note. He smiled to himself, as he wondered how far off she might be ; and he neither answered nor went towards the open window, that he might hear her calling him again. Then there came a nearer and a shrill- er call, and his quick ear caught the ring of fear in it. He stretched himself half through the little casement in the gable, and saw her flying down the bank, which hid the pit mouth from him, as if she was in an agony of terror. But the moment she caught sight of him she stopped herself in her headlong flight, and stretched out her arms to him ; and he heard her crying mournfully through the still and sunny air. " Come, come quickly," she called ; " the water's broke out, and the pit's flooded." For a moment or two Reuben could not stir, but stood leaning through the casement, staring in A NIGHT AND A DAY. 17 bewilderment at Abby. Was it possible that she was making fun to frighten him ? But she had quickly turned away, and was climbing up the bank ; while his mother ran down the garden path, and was following her as swiftly as she could. Then he roused himself from his stupor, and hur- ried after them. If it was true the pit was flooded, how good God had been to him ! That was the thought his mind fastened on at first. God had saved him from peril, perhaps from death. If he had gone to work in the pit this morning, he might have been among those that were lost, if any were lost. When he reached the top of the bank he saw, in the sunny noonday light, the pit's mouth, with its black framework of chains and thick old timber, as he seemed never to have seen it before : so sharp, so distinct it stood out against the sky, and imprinted itself on his brain. A group of women and old men and children was already gathered about it; and the elder ones among the boys were peering into the shaft, down which the truck was being lowered as quickly as the little engine would work. A knot of swarthy men, who had just come up from underground, stood in the centre of the group, telling their story. 3 i8 A NIGHT AND A DAY. Reuben thrust his way in among them, and stood listening in awed silence. " It broke out on us in the Long Spinny foot- path," one of them was saying, "and we ran for our lives. Us six were first; and there's eight or nine more to come. But there's old Lijah, and Simeon, and Abner, they '11 be cut off by the flood. They kept together, and the water's out betwixt them and the shaft. There's no chance for ever a one of them." Reuben heard as if the tidings had nothing to do with him. " Old Lijah, and Simeon, and Ab- ner !" he repeated over and over again, half aloud ; but he was quite unconscious that he was uttering their names. He seemed to see them quite plain- ly ; his young brother, who had been of late so absorbed in preparing for the great contest for the Hazeldine Bible ; his chosen friend Abner, who was to him what Jonathan had been to David ; and the old man, who had been like a father to the fatherless boys. He counted them upon his fingers, mechanically : " Old Lijah ; Abner ; Simeon." His mother shrieked aloud, with a very wild and bitter cry ; and Abby threw herself down on the ground by the mouth of the shaft, calling, " Abner, brother A NIGHT AND A DA Y. 19 Abner !" A second cluster of pitmen, some cling- ing to the chain, without foothold, was ascending slowly to the light of day. Reuben's bewildered eye ran through the number, but none of these three was there. Then he shook himself, and as if he awoke suddenly from a dream, he seized the full meaning of the accident that had happened. The flood had separated them from their comrades, and had cut off all hope of escape from a terrible and lingering death. " How deep is it t'' he asked, in a hoarse harsh voice. " Not above the soles of our shoon," answered one of the men, " it came trickling by like a brook in the woods, but we felt scared like. There 's a heavy dip, thee knows, before you come to the Long Spinny .siding." "Not above ^the soles of our shoon!" repeated another of the men, " it was up to our knees. See thee, Reuben, look how deep I 've been ; and it came roaring in after us like a mill-dam. It '11 be a fathom high in the shaft to-night." A dead silence followed this last speech ; a silence which seemed to Reuben to continue for hours, so terribly significant it nvas. Yet there 20 A NIGHT AND A DAY. were many sounds smiting against his ear, and fill- ing his brain. The cry of the cuckoo seemed to shout loudly and mockingly at him, and the fitful creaking of the chain by which the truck hung over the dark mouth of the pit grated and jarred upon him. He had never felt like this before. Life had been so dear and sweet to him only ten minutes ago. Ten minutes since he had been singing at his happy work, and it had appeared only right and natural that the sun should shine so brightly and the birds sing so merrily as they were still doing. But now why could not the birds be still, and the sun withdraw its shining } A sudden darkness and calamity had fallen upon them all, and he shivered and trembled like a startled child. " I shall be bound to go," he said, looking round him with a gloomy and stupefied air. He was the first to break the silence ; and at the sound of his voice the women burst out into sobs and cries, and the men into eager speech. Abby and his mother clung to him, beseeching him not to risk his life. If Reuben had shrunk from the danger, they would have despised him in their hearts ; but now, as they read his resolution in his mournful face, and the few words he spoke so hoarsely, they could not A NIGHT AND A DAY. 21 let him go. Fresh numbers of eager, anxious men and women were flocking to the spot, from fields and woods and distant cottages, for a rumor of the calamity seemed to be carried by the soft southerly breeze. Levi Hazeldine was among them ; and Reuben saw his face more clearly than any other, a shrewd, sharp, sinister face, that had no true com- passion in it. Some of the women about them were calhng loudly to God to save those who were left behind in the flooded pit. Reuben freed him- self almost roughly and impatiently from Abby's clinging hands. " How can God save them if he has nobody to send ?" cried Reuben. " There is n't a man hving that knows the pit as I know it ; and there 's an- other road out of the Long Spinny siding, if they 'd anybody to guide them. Do n't you see that I must go, if there 's a bare chance of winning through to save them .'' How could I live in peace at home, and think of them starved to death down below, and lying there unburied } Abby, mother, can't you see how wicked I should be if I could leave them to perish, without doing all I could to save them r " But suppose I lose you both !" cried Judith, in a 22 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. shriU, quavering voice ; " suppose thee comes back no more ; never ! But, O Simeon, my little lad, that was only a baby a little while ago ! And I 'm so proud of thee ! Come back, Simeon ; come home to thy mother !" " I 'm bound to go," said Reuben, stepping on to the truck, which hung over the shaft, while one of the men ran to the engine-house to lower it. for a few seconds he stood there, looking round him on the pleasant, sunny day, and on his old friends and neighbors gathered about him. Abby had fallen on the ground, and was hiding her face from the light ; and his mother was on her knees, torn between the dread of letting him go and the hope that he might save Simeon. Old Lijah's wife was crying, and blessing him amid her sobs ; while his comrades were crowding eagerly round to shake hands with him, and bid him God speed. But it was all over in a few moments ; and as the chain grated and creaked over the windlass, he glanced about him for the last time. " Take care of them," he shouted, as he felt himself passing out of their sight ; and a faint, broken cheer answered him. For a little while he could still see a cluster of friendly, anxious faces look- A NIGHT AND A DA K 23 ing after him. " God bless you !" he called to them. He could hear them yet when he reached the bot- tom of the shaft, though the round opening above him was but as a very little ring of light in the midst of deep darkness. " All right ! I '11 be back in an hour, please God !" he shouted again, as he looked up to the small, bright spot overhead. Then he plunged into one of the yawning caverns that opened before him. 24 A NIGHT AND A DAY. CHAPTER III. The pit was more familiar to Reuben Hazel- dine than the woods and lanes of the country over ground. It was a very ancient one ; how long it had been worked nobody could tell, but for genera- tions back there had been a small though regular output of coal, which had been just worth digging for, along the winding and narrow veins of the mineral. There had been no more money spent upon it than the absolutely necessary outlay ; and most of the old disused footways had been allowed to sink in, making little dells and dimples in the woods overhead, where the earliest primroses and violets were blooming, as Reuben threaded his darksome way underground. He found himself really more at home in these black and winding galleries than in the green tangle of the brushwood above ground, for while he was still a mere child his father had often taken him down the pit, to ac- custom him to its darkness and its perils. He could recollect strolling about it, holding his fa- ther's hand and lighted by his lamp, while he A NIGHT AND A DAY, 25 learned every footway and siding, as if they had been the streets and thoroughfares of some town. He could remember, too, how his father had told him stories of men whose sense of comradeship had been so strong in them that they held their lives cheap in comparison with the shame of leav- ing their fellow-workmen or their kinsfolk in peril. One miserable man had been pointed out to him as having saved his own life at the sacrifice of an- other's ; and Reuben still felt the shuddering hor- ror and aversion with which he had regarded him when he was himself a boy. As he hurried along his rough dark road as swiftly as possible, the tones of his father's voice seemed to be sounding plainly in his ears, saying over and over again the familiar words : " He laid down His life for us ; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." Once Reuben paused for a single instant, and said half aloud, " Yes, father! I'll do it." Before many minutes had passed he reached that dip in the narrow roadway, which must be passed through before he could gain the Long Spinny siding. For the last hundred yards or so the water had been up to his knees, and at every step now he felt himself sinking into it more deep- 26 A NIGHT AND A DA V. \y ; but, whether because the flood was rising or the path sloping, he could hardly tell. Yet his safety, his return to light and life, depended almost utterly on this. In no part of his course had the current been so strong as to show that the breach through which it had broken was very large. He recollected only a few days ago listening to the sullen murmur and gurgle of imprisoned waters, which had never sparkled in the sunlight, beating against the thin wall of rock left between them and the spot where he was at work. A single blow of his pickaxe would have released them. The question was whether it had been some small darksome tank, that would be soon exhausted ; or some immense and hidden reservoir of a hundred subterranean springs, which must break down the frail barrier, and pour itself in resistless force along the winding level of the pit. He could not solve this question ; but there was not an instant to lose. The dipping footpath must be trodden ; even if he could lead his friends back to the shaft by that other and longer way of which he had spoken. His safety-lamp, which he had fastened securely in the front of his cap, cast a pale glimmer of light upon the slowly whirling water into which he A NIGHT AND A DA Y. 27 plunged ; and the tremulous gleam which qui veered before him, and upon the low roof above him, ap- peared almost more terrible than utter darkness would have been. As he moved on through the deepening stream, he could hear louder and louder the gloomy sound of a torrent surging through a narrow outlet, as if the sluices of some great water-course had been opened. It was an inexpres- sibly mournful and threatening sound. His heart failed him ; and he stood still for a few seconds thinking. The flood was swirling around him, and the pale sinister light of his lamp fell upon the eddying waters before him. The roof was low, and not far from where he stood the reflection of his light seemed to show that the flood already touched it, cutting off his access to his friends. The chance of saving them was so small, would it not be wiser, was it not his duty, to retrace his steps while there was yet time } There were Abby and his mother to think of. Behind him lay the daylight and his pleasant home, and Abby so unutterably precious to him ; while before him was deadly risk, and a mere chance of making his way to his comrades. Even if he should succeed in joining them, it might be only 28 A NIGHT AND A DAY. to share their fate and die slowly of hunger, should the flood cut them off from the shaft, and yet not reach their higher place of miserable and fatal ref- uge. Surely it was his duty to go back while going back was possible. He did not linger more than a few seconds. " He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren," came to him again, as if spoken by One who had a right to demand the sacrifice. With a deep drawn breath he marched forward into the gloomy black stream. A swift current of air, sweeping along the surface of the water, blew his hair into his eyes, and made the flame of his lamp quiver. If that went out he would be left in utter darkness. He felt a little bewildered too ; the long galleries and sidings, per- fectly familiar to him, seemed strange now that they were flooded and there was only a low archway of a foot or so visible above the water. He could scarcely tell whereabouts he was. The path was still tending downward, and the flood rising higher about him. Now it was breast high. A few steps farther on, and he could only keep his mouth above it by stretching himself as upright as possible. If his feet did not touch rising ground in half a dozen A NIGHT AND A DA K 29 paces, his lamp must be put out, even if he strug- gled through himself in safety. To go back now was difficult as to go forward. But there was no longer any question in his mind as to going back. He knew that the end was near at hand, and a few seconds only would decide it. They were a few seconds of intense anxiety; but his feet soon felt the ground rising beneath them, and he knew that the victory was his own. A rapture of joy, such as he had never felt before, rushed through him. In another five minutes he would reach the siding, where his lost comrades were waiting in despair for their inevitable fate. He fancied he could see their faces, lit up by the light of their safety-lamps, turning towards him as he drew near to save them from death. They were all very dear to him ; but they had never seemed so dear to him as at this moment. The peril he had come through was so great, and he had so fully conquered the temptation to leave them in their woe, that his own love for them had deepened a hundred fold. In another minute or two he would hear their voices, and feel their hands clasping his ; and he would lead them by a safe way to the day- light, and the safety, and the life above. 30 A NIGHT AND A DAY. He was hurrying on breathlessly, for there was even now no time to lose. But presently he hesi- tated, and looked around him with a gesture of be- wilderment and an air of anxious inspection. The water was still knee deep, and the rough walls of rock and the low roof which hemmed him in would have appeared to any other eyes exactly the same as all the other galleries and passages of the old mine. But the difference was plain to him ; he had, in his hurry and perplexity, missed his way. This was not the Long Spinny siding, where his young brother and his comrades had been at work, and from which a safe though circuitous route led to the foot of the shaft where his mother and Abby were waiting and praying for them. It was a blind cutting, long ago deserted, far away from the shaft, and with the flood already filling up and surging through the roadway by which alone he could have returned. He was lost, and he had saved no one ! A NIGHT AND A DAY. 31 CHAPTER IV. No one stirred from the mouth of the pit. Reuben had promised to be back in an hour's time ; and though many more spectators gathered to the spot, not a soul could leave it. The men and boys still clustered about the very edge, looking down anxiously into the darkness below, and ready to catch the faintest sound. Judith Hazeldine and old Lijah's wife sat together, sobbing and praying; while Abby crouched on the ground near them, hiding her face from the sight of all, and from the mocking, garish light of the sun. " God take care of my Reuben," were the only words she could think of. She had never been down into the pit, and the darkness there seemed terrible to her. There was very little talking going on around her ; and those who spoke at all whispered. But she would not have heard them if they had talked loudly. She did not hear the merry sounds of a spring evening which filled the air, the carolling of the birds calling to one another from the topmost 32 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. branches of the trees, and the bleating of the young lambs in the meadows, and the lowing of the cows as they trod slowly along the lanes towards their stalls. The heavy minutes dragged by, and Abby saw only a great darkness, and heard nothing save the cry of her own heart. But she was among the first that caught the sound of a shout, faint and smothered as it was that came up from the gloomy depths below. It was a little over an hour since Reuben had disap- peared from their sight. Yes ! Surely that was the shout of men saved from a terrible doom ! In an instant the spell that had kept the crowd silent was broken. The women cried and laughed in the same breath. The men shouted hurrah, and shook hands joyfully with those nearest to them. Abby sprang to her feet, a smile dawning through the look of terror and despair that still lingered on her face. Every eye watched the chain that slowly dragged up its load of rescued men. How slowly the old engine did its work ! and how noisily the chain creaked and grated ! But here they were in sight ; here they were in the blessed sunlight once more ! The truck stopped on a level with the shaft's A NIGHT AND A DA V. 33 mouth. But now it was evident that there were only three persons in it ; the three that had been at work when the flood broke out. Where then was Reuben Hazeldine, the one who had taken his life in his hand, and gone down to save these .'* Silence fell again upon the crowd, which lasted only for an instant, yet which seemed long and terrible, until old Judith cried out, " But where 's my lad, Reuben }" she asked. " Reuben !" they all cried, in one breath. "Ay!" answered old Lijah's wife, grasping her husband's arm with both hands, " Reuben went down to seek you. Hast seen naught of him .?" " Nay !" he said, " we fled for our lives, and did not tarry. We 'scaped with the skin of our teeth only. There was a road none knew of save me, and I guided the other twain along it. Wherefore did Reuben come ?" " He thought as nobody knew of that road save him," sobbed his wife, "and he's down in the pit seeking to save you." Once more the silence of awe and terror fell upon them all. Three were saved, but one was lost ; and he who had been chief and foremost in all their hearts for the last hour, excepting in the 5 34 A NIGHT AND A DA V. heart of the old woman who was clasping her hus- band's arm as if she could never let it go. " Who will go down after my lad Reuben ?" cried Judith, mournfully. " There's not a soul can live in the pit," answered old Lijah ; " it's too late now. The flood's rising, rising. Look here. It was halfway up to my knee at the foot of the shaft. If he 's not here in half an hour there 's no chance for him." " He must get out," exclaimed Simeon, so young yet that he could not believe in any harm coming to his brother Reuben. "God is bound to save him." "Hush, lad, hush!" said old Lijah. "God's not bound to bring him back; but let's pray to Him for Reuben." "Wouldn't it ha' been wiser-like of God Al- mighty if he'd kept Reuben from going on a fool's errand .'*" asked Levi Hazeldine with a sneer. He had been very silent while the crowd was waiting for the return of Reuben from his brave adventure ; but this was too good an occasion to be missed for impressing upon the simple folk their folly in be- lieving in God and trusting him. "Levi," answered old Lijah, "there's nobody A NIGHT AND A DAY. 35 here but thee that 'ud call it a fool's errand. There isn't a soul about that wont love Reuben Hazel- dine, ay, a hundred times more than if he'd saved himself and stayed skulking round the pit's mouth while there was a chance of saving his friends. I believe he's followed his Lord, and won a crown of honor by what he 's done, whether he comes out of the pit alive or no. It is n't every man has such a chance of showing how he's learned to be like the Lord Jesus Christ. God Almighty was too wise to look to thee to do such a deed as this." There was a faint, quickly dying laugh as Levi Hazeldine walked away with his head carried high, and with a contemptuous smile upon his face. He felt that the sympathy of the people was not with him, and that it would be useless to argue his point with them just then. He turned round for a last disdainful glance at the crowd before losing sight of the spot ; and clearly outlined against the eve- ning sky he could see them clustered about old Lijah, some kneeling and others standing, but all bareheaded ; while the old man, with face uptunred and uplifted hands, was evidently speaking in ear- nest prayer. " Poor fools !" sneered Levi ; " as if there was 36 A NIGHT AND A DA V. anybody as could hear them, or anybody as cared !" He fancied he was sorry for Reuben ; but it was of no use to be sorry, he said to himself. What could he do ? What difference would it make to him ? The sun would shine as brightly, and his food would be as savory, and his clothing would be as good, whether Reuben was alive or dead. It would not alter in the smallest degree his own ac- tual life. Why should he fret himself about fanci- ful things } about such a thing, for instance, as a man by his own folly and rashness throwing away his existence, and sacrificing all the sober reality of life for a mere fanatical idea of duty. If Reuben had only been persuaded of what he himself knew, that there was no God, no immortality, no life bet- ter than or beyond the present, then he would have valued his own precious existence too highly to treat it as a thing to be held cheap. Poor Reuben ! It was a dreary night in the little hamlet. The crowd about the pit's mouth did not separate until the long twilight had faded into night, and the birds had long ago ceased to sing from the topmost branches of the trees. They had lingered and lis- tened but no voice, however faint, had called up A NIGHT AND A DAY. 37 from the black depths of the pit. The long, sad minutes brought no new hope. Again and again the shaft had been sounded, and the water was steadily rising, slowly, but surely. Before the moon was to be seen in the clear cold gray of the eastern sky, they all knew for certain that Reuben Hazel- dine had met with death in the dark galleries be- low the green meadows and the wooded coppices upon which the pale and mournful light was lying. There was nothing more to be done but to go home and to mourn over the brave, unselfish. Christlike friend who had so lately lived among them, but whom they had not loved as they loved him now. Even Abby felt that she had not loved him as he deserved to be loved. She had been carried in a deathlike swoon to Judith Hazeldine's house, and laid upon the bed in the pleasant attic under the thatched roof which Reuben had been so fondly preparing for her. When she came to herself her eyes opened upon the almost finished work, which was still waiting, and must wait for ever now, for the last touches of his hand. There were the beau- tiful flowers he had bought for her on the window- sill, and the picture he was just about to hang upon the wall. Under the window was the garden where 38 A NIGHT AND A DAY. he worked in the long summer evenings after his sunless toil in the pit. His Bible and hymn-book, which they had read in and sung from together, were almost within her reach, and she stretched out her hand for them. All the night through she clasped them to her breast, or kept them under her cheek, while she was lying, tearless and speechless, on the bed, thinking of him down below, not dead yet perhaps, but hopelessly imprisoned and buried in a living grave. Why had she not known him better and loved him more while he was with her 1 She had been sharp with him and trifled with him, and made his heart ache with her foolish contrary ways. Perhaps God had thought him too good for her, and so had taken him away to a place where he would be happier than with her. Yet all the while she seemed to see him pacing the dark pas- sages underground in search of his lost comrades, for whom he had laid down his life. Simeon had cried himself to sleep and was still sobbing in his troubled dreams ; but old Judith had not even lain down on her bed to rest her weary limbs. Her heart was too heavy for sleep. She had been so much bound up in Simeon, her young- est born, that she had somewhat neglected Reuben, A NIGHT AND A DA K 39 At this very time her mind had been so fully en- gaged with the contest for the Hazeldine Bible, that she had been too ready to chide and thwart her elder son, and to fume at the changes he was making in the house for his young wife. She had even opposed peevish objections to his marriage, though Abby was a girl quite to her own liking. Life had not been as smooth and happy to Reuben as it might have been of late. Ever since he had lost his chance of winning the Hazeldine Bible he had been looked down upon as a poor scholar, chiefly fit for the harder and rougher work of the world ; while Simeon had been put forward and brought to the front on every occasion. But what a good son her firstborn had been to her ! She could not remember a harsh word or an unkind look from him, though he could not read the Bible aloud Hke a parson, as Simeon did. All his quiet, thoughtful, patient ways came back to her mind ; his hard work and his constant self-forgetfulness ; his tender care of her and his silence when she was blaming him. He was too good for them all, and God had taken him. Her thoughts brought her to the same point that Abby had reached. 40 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. CHAPTER V. The sun rose early, as brightly and cheerily as though there never had been death or sorrow on the face of the earth, which grew light and joyous under its beams. The first rays smote on Abby's face through the uncurtained window, and the call of the cuckoo seemed to shout loudly in her ear. But she neither saw nor heard ; she was at rest for a little while, gaining strength to bear fresh burdens of sorrow. It was a perfect day for a holiday — such a holi- day as it was to have been, when old Judith threw open the cottage-door and looked out on the green bank which hid the shaft of the pit from her sight ; then stretched across the narrow track, trodden through the broad leaves of the coltsfoot, which had been made by her sons' footsteps as they has- tened to and from their darksome labor. She could almost hear Reuben's voice singing, and see him striding along the little path. Through the long sombre hours of the night her trouble had A NIGHT AND A DA Y. 41 been too deep for tears ; but now that she saw the sun shining in a cloudless sky and the dew glisten- ing on every leaf, and felt the soft sweet rush of the fresh air wafting past her with the scent of flowers borne upon it, a flood of tears welled up to her sunken eyes. " Oh, my lad ! my lad !" she cried out aloud, as if some ear was listening to her in the morning stillness. Her heart w^as aching very bitterly; yet after a few minutes she went indoors again calmly, and crept cautiously and silently up the steep stairs to the attic where Abby was lying. She had often stolen up so to wake Reuben and call him to his work. The girl had fallen asleep at last and lay locked in a profound slumber, with her cheek resting on Reuben's hymn- book. "Young folks can sleep while old folks break their hearts," thought Judith. Simeon too had forgotten his sorrow during the night, and, like Abby, had been wrapped up and softly lifted away from his misery. But the old mother had not been released for one instant from the stern grip of grief. Early in the morning the neighbors came dropping in to offer what help and comfort they could give ; for the business of living goes on, 6 42 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. though the joy of life may have passed away. Some of them had been eager to stay all night with Judith, but she had chosen rather to be left to pass through the first hours of her anguish quite alone. The large, old-fashioned house-place, with its wide hearth and high mantel shelf over it, looked very dreary in the sunlight. The preparations for the expected festivity, so suddenly interrupted, were still strewn about though the large fire had gone out and the oven was cold ; but all Judith's plenti- ful provisions were there, and it needed only to kindle the fire and burn fresh fagots of wood in the big oven for the feast still to be ready at the appoint- ed time. Judith aroused herself. Some of the invited guests, who were coming from a distance and would have several miles to walk, must be already on their way no doubt, ignorant of the calamity that had befallen the household. Her old, lifelong habits of thrift, and her strong sense of the duty of hospitality to her kith and kin, conquer- ed her new grief. The Hazeldines flocking from different quarters would come in weary and hungry, and their wants must be provided for. There were friendly neighbors only too glad to help, and by-and- by the same pleasant sounds of cooking were to be A NIGHT AND A DA Y. /^2> heard in the house as those which had reached Reuben's ears at his happy work the day before. To Simeon and Abby, two young creatures still strange to sorrow, it seemed monstrous to think of feasting or preparing a feast now Reuben was lost, terribly lost, in the sunless windings of the pit. Simeon crawled languidly away, with the slow and weary step of a heavy heart, to the mouth of the shaft, where the pitmen were gathered to hear how the water was going on, whether rising or falling. The pump had been at work all night, and the flood was not gaining ground. At the same time there was no perceptible lowering of the water in the shaft. The most experienced among the miners did not expect the pit to be fit for working under a week, and they shook their heads when Simeon stammered out his question, "Is there any hope of finding him alive i*" The water had risen too high in the shaft to leave any cutting unflooded. The lad threw himself on the ground and stretched his head over the edge of the deep, dark pit, where, many fathoms below his wistful eyes, there might be seen a faint glimmer in the blackness, of the fitful quivering of light upon the waters beneath 44 A NIGHT AND A DAY. which his brother lay somewhere in his vast grave. He had perished in seeking to save him. It was almost noonday before he could make up his mind to go back home. When he reached its threshold at last, he found the large old house-place more closely filled with guests than he had ever seen it before. All the Hazeldines dwelling within ten miles had gathered together, dressed in their best and gayest Sunday clothing, many of them with Bibles carefully wrapped up in clean handker- chiefs, as though they had come to a religious solemnity; for were they not there to hear him read his trial chapter.^ His mother also had care- fully attired herself in her best black gown and whitest widow's cap, and sat in the chimney corner, sad though tearless, ready to bid each new-comer welcome, and to listen to their rough but well-meant words of consolation. Except to her, not a word was spoken above a whisper. The men were all lingering outside the house, in the trim garden, while the women talked together in low undertones. There was no mirth, no good-humored jesting, no hearty, loud-spoken greeting as old friends met one another, such as there would have been if it had been Reuben's wedding-day. Most of the women were A NIGHT AND A DAY. 45 weeping as they whispered together about Reuben and Abby, and not a few of the men furtively rub- bed their eyes with the back of their horny hands. All was hushed and solemn, as if the guests had been summoned to a funeral. Abby was not there ; only one woman after another mounted silently the steep staircase, and came down again with redder eyes and a still more sorrowful face than when she went up to see the broken-hearted girl. Almost the last guest to appear was Levi Hazeldine. He was seen coming over the pit-bank, carrying under his arm the treasured black-letter Bible, which Simeon must win to-day, or the Hazel - dines must see it borne away for ever from the land of its first famous owner. It was a point of honor to win that Bible. Every Hazeldine in the house looked to Simeon, who had shrunk away into the darkest corner to hide his tear-stained face and swollen eyes. In the midst of their grief for Reuben there was a thrill of excitement and dread at the mere thought of the boy failing. Judith herself forgot for the moment her firstborn, as the large, heavy old volume, with its thick binding and silver clasps, was laid aside on a small table, to be opened by Simeon blindfolded after the meal was 46 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. over. Every one felt that it would be well to have their feast, a funeral feast though it seemed, well over before the die was cast. Sorrowful men are hungry, however real their sorrow, especially when they have taken a walk of ten miles since breakfast ; and Judith's hospitable notions about a feast were well known among all her kinsfolk. There was a general feeling of relief when the signal was given to sit down to dinner. Judith did not sit down to the table, but Simeon was placed at the head of it, between old 'Lijah and Levi. It seemed to him as if that meal would never come to an end. He could not swallow a morsel, though all about him were urging him to try to taste one dainty after another. Levi Ha- zeldine distinguished himself above the others by the way in which he plied his knife and fork and consumed the delicacies set before him. He was too enhghtened and philosophical to feel very keen- ly any trouble that did not touch himself, and he felt persuaded of the folly of losing his appetite because all around were more or less sorrowful. His mind was quite at ease also about the Bible ; the weeping lad beside hirn would never pass through the trial, and he would carry the old heirloom away A NIGHT AND A DAY 47 with him. He would rather have had one of more value than a wornout, superstitious old book of fables ; but, such as it was, he still felt a pride in possessing it. A black-letter Bible, with silver clasps, would be quite a curiosity wherever he might go ; moreover, he might sell it some day for a tidy little sum, when he was clear away from the Hazel- dines and their troublesome claims upon it. Old 'Lijah ate and drank but little during the meal, and when it was over he rose up in his place and laid a trembling hand upon the table before him, as if he was about to make a speech. There was a dead silence in the house, for he had been like a father to the two fatherless boys ; and Judith sat down in her rocking-chair, and covered her face with her hands as she listened. "Friends," he said, "it's a sore heart I have, standin' here and thinkin' of him as died for us yes- terday. He was like my own son to me ; he was for sure. But I was comforted by a vision I had of him in the night, in the dreams of my head upon my bed ; and lo ! I beheld him wanderin' and wan- derin' about down there in the pit, seekin' for us in the darkness ; and there was One beside him as he could n't see, with a face so shinin' it dazzled me to 48 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. look upon him, only I knew that it was none other than the Lord Christ himself ; and when I looked back to Reuben's face I beheld it growin' brighter and brighter, though he could n't see who was walk- ing step by step beside him, until my eyes were dazzled to look upon him also. And I awoke just in the spring of the mornin', and a voice was sayin' softly in the chamber, as if angels were talkin' about it one with another, * Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' That's what Reuben did ; he laid down his life for us." " I call it throwing away his life like a fool," muttered Levi. "Ay, if hfe's naught but eatin' and drinkin' and toilin' and moilin'," said old 'Lijah ; ''but it seems to me as if life was love and friendship, and trustin' in God, and strivin' to be like the dear Lord him- self. I 'm a world happier than thee, Levi, all here bein' judges, when I sit and read quiet in my house a chapter about my God and heaven, than thee in the public house drinkin' thy money away and makin' thy head ache. Ay, and my wife's happier, and the house at home's happier for it. If they take God and the Bible away from poor folks, what's A NIGHT AND A DA V. 49 left for them save toilin' and moilin' ? Tell me, if thou can !" "But the Bible isn't true," answered Levi. " Look thee ! what a blunder it all was yesterday. The poor lad leaving everything to risk his life in the pit, and all for nothing, nothing at all. Why did God let it be ? You'd have been the same, and the world 'ud have been the same, if he'd done naught but smoke his pipe at the pit's mouth till you came up safe and sound." "No, no," said old 'Lijah, "we should never have known how he loved us ; nay, and the world 'ud never have known what love was, if God's dear Son had never left his home in heaven, if he'd never have * emptied himself of all but love,' as the hymn says, and laid down his life for us. I see it all plainer now. I tell thee, Levi, life 's not worth havin', for us poor folks anyhow, if there's no love in it. If God do n't love us, and we do n't love one another, there's naught but toilin' and moilin' for us till we die like dogs." " Well, well," replied Levi, " we wont argy. If dinner 's over, let the lad try his chance for the Hazeldine Bible ; a fair chance and no favor." There was a solemn silence, which lasted for a 7 50 A NIGHT AND A DAY. minute or two. Many of the women and some of the older men bent down their heads and closed their eyes as if they were praying ; you might have seen poor Judith's wrinkled hands trembling, and her gray head shaking. But there was a gloom be- fore Simeon's eyes, as if a sudden night had fallen ; he could hear, after the silence, that some one rose up from the table to reach the Bible, and there was a hum and murmur, as of indistinct though friendly words of encouragement, but he could neither hear nor see plainly ; his head was light and giddy, and his heart was beating fast. He could only think of Reuben's failure some years ago, and the disap- pointment of his mother and of all the Hazeldines at the Bible remaining in the hands of a professed infidel. There was no need to blindfold his eyes, for he was hardly conscious of what he was doing. As his trembling fingers groped for the book he heard old 'Lijah cry, " God bless the lad," but when he had opened the Bible, and the bandage was re- moved, his eyes fell upon a page of heavy black characters, of which he could not make out a single letter. His young face flushed and then grew deadly pale. Where was his brother, who should have been beside him upholding him by his sympa- A NIGHT AND A DAY. 51 thy and love ? Lost ! Reuben was lost ! What did it signify who had the Hazeldine Bible now ? With a sudden loud and very bitter cry, which rang in every ear, he turned away and fled through the open door, to hide his grief in the green solitude of the quiet woods where he had played so often with his brother. 52 A NIGHT AND A DAY CHAPTER VI. For some minutes after he had found out the terrible mistake he had made, Reuben Hazeldine felt utterly paralyzed, both in mind and body, by despair. He stood perfectly still, staring blankly be- fore him. He had lost his own life and saved no one. The feeble gleam of his miner's lamp showed him but too plainly that the cutting he had entered was not the Long Spinny siding, where his young brother and his comrades had been at work. The swirl and rush of the water had bewildered him. They could not be more than a few yards away from him ; but there was a barrier of solid rock between them, burying them apart in living graves. No cry of his could reach them ; no answering voice from them could ever pierce through the aw- ful silence of this great tomb which they shared unconsciously with him. They were so far happier than himself in not knowing that he too was per- ishing, that he had vainly sacrificed his life for them. On the other hand he would at least be A NIGHT AND A DA Y. 53 spared the anguish of watching his comrades' slow and lingering death. Probably Simeon would die first, and then old 'Lijah, while Abner, a strong, full-grown man, must see them faint and fail before his time came. But as for Reuben, he must per- ish by himself, quite alone. Why had God allowed him to be caught in this snare, like some wild creature taken in a trap } He could not blame himself. He had not acted meanly or selfishly. He had obeyed the call of duty, as he believed ; following the footsteps of his Lord and Master. There had come to him a cry for help, and he had sprung forward to be the helper. Those whom he had loved dearly had been brought into great peril, and there had been no arm to deliver except his own. Surely God had looked to him to do this deed. Why, then, had He left him to fail and perish t There was no answer. Reuben fancied he could see Levi's mocking face and hear his taunting voice ask, " Dost thou believe in a God now V He had always been troubled and confused when Levi had called upon him to prove that there was a God, for he was not a clever man ready with arguments ; being only a collier, toiling hard day by day, he was 54 A NIGHT AND A DAY. not a learned man. He had only felt sure in his own heart that there was a God who loved him as a Father, a Saviour who had died for him and rose again for him, and a blessed heaven of rest and sin- lessness lying beyond this world of toil and strife. But he did not know how to explain his belief to a man who had no more perception of such things than the deaf have of music or the blind of sun- light. At this moment Levi's sneers and unbelief troubled him more than they had ever done. He could have understood God's purpose if he had saved the others by the loss of his own life. But his sacrifice had been thrown away, altogether wasted. He could not bear to think of them im- prisoned as he was, so near to him, yet so utterly separated from him. As soon as his limbs recov- ered some strength, he strode back to the lower level of the cutting, until he stood neck high in the water and dare venture no farther, with a vain hope to gain the entrance to the Long Spinny siding. He turned again and sat down on the ground, burying his face in his hands. Oh for the sunlight overhead, and the shout of the cuckoo, and the scent of the flowers in the garden ! What would Abby do } his poor girl, who would never be his dear wife now. A NIGHT AND A DA Y, 55 And his mother, who would have two sons to mourn over ? How could they get through life, with no strong arm to work for them and no thoughtful heart to care for them ? For if there was no God, there was no one to help them and comfort them. They were watching and waiting and praying round the pit's mouth at this moment. How long would they stay there with their breaking hearts 1 Presently he heard his own lips whispering, al- most mechanically, as though it was a mere habit, as one speaks familiar words sometimes uncon- sciously. What had he been saying to himself in this grim silence and soHtude t " Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." Why ! he had said it a thousand times, from his boyhood upwards. What ! could he indeed trust in God even now, when He was slaying him .? Could he still believe there was a heavenly Father, who loved him, yet saw him in his great despair, and did not stretch out his mighty arm and save him by some miracle } Had God no angel he could send to burst through the rocky barriers that hemmed him in } A feeling of deep awe came over his spirit ; and he sank on his knees, covering his face with his hands, as though some marvellous thing was about to come 56 A NIGHT AND A DAY, to pass. He could hear the sullen splash of water running through the narrow channels of the pit ; but there was no other sound, all was profound stillness. Then, in his utmost heart, there seemed a still, small voice, whispering, "Did God work any miracle to save his own Son t Did he send to Christ one out of his legions of angels to take him down from the cross, though all the host of heaven would have gone gladly on that errand 1 Did Jesus ask the Father to do this thing t No ; when he cried to God, he said : * Oh, my Father ! if this cup may not pass away except I drink it, thy will be done.' And he had drunk the bitter cup to the dregs." A NIGHT AND A DA Y. 57 CHAPTER VII. Reuben's very soul hushed itself to catch these low whisperings ; and a strange sense of peace, which no words can tell, took possession of him. Yes ; he would put his trust in God, though He was calling him to die, perhaps by a slow and lingering death. He lifted himself up from the ground, and looked calmly about him. How long he might live he did not know ; but it was certain his lamp would not keep alight long. He would spend the little time left to him in leaving some record of his trust in God, if his dead body should ever be found. He had a strong knife in his pocket, and his pitman's axe in his hand, which he had snatched up almost unawares as he entered the main gangway of the pit. Now he must be quick, and find some spot on the rocky walls of his prison, where he could scratch a few words of farewell to Abby and his other dear ones before he was left in darkness. About ten yards from the place where he had been standing, the deserted cutting came to a 8 S8 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. sudden end, and his heart leaped with a new hope- It had been roughly filled up with rubble and loose stones ; and he could remember how his father had told him, long ago, that it had been so blocked up to prevent the lads at work in the pit from straying away and losing themselves in the old, abandoned tracks. Where they might lead he could not tell ; but here was, at least, something to be done, and he set about it in eager haste. In a short time he had made an outlet large enough to creep through, and found the passage beyond still tending upward, and increasing in height, as if it had once been one of the main cuttings of the mine. It seemed a long time to him, as he followed its windings wist- fully and anxiously; but at length he stood at the bottom of an old disused shaft, looking up to the small ring of daylight overhead, which shone down upon him through a screen of green leaves. How well he knew that spot above him, so far out of his reach ! All around it lay a tangle of brushwood, just now covered with yellow catkins and young leaf buds, half opened to fhe sun. Little dingles and dells of mossy turf, strewn with scented bluebells, and wind-flowers, and brown ferns, uncurling from their winter's sleep, were hidden A NIGHT AND A DAY. 59 amid the knotted bushes. How often he and Abby and Simeon had gone nutting in the coppice over- head ! He could even catch down there the even- song which the birds were carolling their loudest ; and he knew well how the young hares and rabbits, and the squirrels, were leaping and playing about the trees and grass. He stood, with upturned face, looking and listening till the twilight fell. His lamp had gone out, and he was left in darkness ; but his soul was delivered from the blackness and bitterness of despair. He drew back again under the roof of the old gangway, and sat down against the side to wait till morning. He could not be sure yet of deliverance. There was no path in the woods past the old shaft ; and it might be days before any one passed that way. But it was spring-time, when the children of the little hamlet would be sure to be hunting for blue- bells and primroses ; and some of them would perhaps be about the next morning, throwing pebbles down the shaft to hear them rattle on the stones at the bottom, as he and Simeon had done dozens of times, when he was a boy. How joy- fully would he catch the welcome sound ; and how terrified the little cowards would be, when they 6o A NIGHT AND A DA Y. heard a voice from the deep pit! Reuben's heart was no longer heavy ; and it did not seem difficult to trust in God. He was willing to perish, if that was God's will. But no miracle would be needed now for his deliverance ; no mighty angel need descend to break through the rock and set him free. A child at play in the woods might be his deliverer ; and would not God send a little child to his help, if it would be better for him to live than to die ? Reuben slept, hard as his bed was, and felt no fear on awaking. The night was long, but not dreary. Even the thought of Simeon and old 'Lijah and Abner was no longer so distressing to him. They, too, v\^ere all under the care of God, who could do whatsoever he would. When the morning came, and the light shone again far away overhead, he went back to the bottom of the shaft, and took up his post, listening. The long, long hours passed slowly by, and no merry sound of children at play fell upon his ear ; yet his heart did not fail. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," he cried, half aloud. Now and then Reuben caught in the hollow of his hand a few drops of water falling from the oozy A NIGHT AND A DAY, 6i walls of the shaft, and drank them ; but he scarcely felt hunger. There was a solemn gladness in his spirit, which he had never felt before. Whether he lived, he lived unto the Lord ; or whether he died, he died unto the Lord. Whatever befell him, life or death, was the will of God. What time it was, or how long the daylight had gleamed overhead, he did not know ; but at last his quickened ears caught the faint sound of sobs and cries, so faint that he almost doubted whether he was not mistaken. Yet it brought him fresh hope, and he stood out into the middle of the shaft and called and shouted up it loudly ; using a cry shrill and clear, which rang down the narrow tunnel be- hind him and awoke its echoes. He could hear no answer to them ; but he cried again as soon as the echoes were silent, and then the ring of light above him was broken by a small dark object, which he knew must be a head stretched over the shaft ; and he called as clearly as he could : " Do n't be afraid ; but run and tell some of the men that Reuben Ha- zeldine is here !" " Reuben 1" cried Simeon's voice. " Reuben ! is 't thee, my lad } Eh ! wait thee, and I '11 be back in a minute !" 62 A NIGHT AND A DAY. Simeon fled through the sunny woods, like one in terror pursued by some enemy ; and it was not many minutes before he rushed, breathless and speechless, into the midst of the departing guests, who were still lingering about Judith Hazeldine's sorrowful house. There had been a keen and uni- versal disappointment among them when he had turned away from his chance of winning the Hazel- dine Bible, and left it to be borne away to foreign lands. But now they all gathered about him, start- led and aroused by his sudden reappearance. Levi paused in his task of wrapping up the precious heirloom, which had been passing from hand to hand of the regretful family. Simeon, with his hair falling over his face, and uttering half-sobbed- out syllables which no one could understand, stood in the midst of them gesticulating and beckoning wildly, like one gone out of his mind. " Poor lad !" whispered two or three of the women, shrinking back into safe corners behind the men, " it 's crazed his brain !" " Reuben !" he gasped, " in the spinny ! There !" and he threw back his arm in the direction of the coppice. " Come ! Reuben ! mother ! Abby, come !" A NIGHT AND A DAY. 6^ If the lad was not mad, he must have met with Reuben's ghost. Yet it was still broad day, when no ghost roams abroad. What could the lad mean } But in a minute or two Simeon regained his breath, and could speak plainly, though he spoke with sobs and tears. " Reuben 's at the bottom of the old pit in the spinny," he cried. " Come quickly, and bring ropes and things. Abby, come and run to the old pit, where thee and me and Reuben used to play !" The boy did not wait another instant, but darted back again to hang over the low stone wall which guarded the mouth of the old shaft, and gaze down into the dark depths below, where he could not see his brother. He was half afraid he might have been deceived by his own fancy, but when he called again, Reuben quickly answered him. " Simeon, lad !" he said, " art thee saved } and Abner .^ and old 'Lijah } Are all of you saved .''" " Ay, all of us, Reuben i*" shouted Simeon, " and mother 's comin', and Abby ; I hear them comin' through the spinny." The tears rushed to Reuben's eyes, though he had not wept before. He knelt down at the bottom of the pit, to thank God. Every love and joy in life 64 A NIGHT AND A DA V. seemed to have gathered new strength ; even its toils and perils looked brighter than they had ever done. How sweet the sunlight was ! and how glad- some the singing of the birds ! His little attic at home was like a palace to him. And Abby and his mother and all his friends, how dear to him they were ! God had given them back to him, a hun- dred-fold more precious for the short sharp trial of his faith that he had passed through. There was no question now of God slaying him ; He was bring- ing him out of his living grave, and setting him to walk again on the earth, a better and a stronger man — more like Christ, who had also laid down his life, and who had come back from the grave, for a little while to comfort and bless those whom he had loved. But who could tell the joy of every heart there, when he was drawn up out of the* dark depths of the pit, and stood among them a living man ? They pressed round him, and whose hand was the first to grasp his it would be impossible to say. It was like a dream of great joy to most of them. All whom he loved were there. They marched home- ward with him, in a glad procession, through the sunny woods. The old home had never looked so A NIGHT AND A DA V. 65 beautiful, nor had the flowers in the garden ever been so sweet. " Friends," said Reuben, with a choking sensa- tion in his throat, " before I take sup or morsel in my mouth, let's kneel down and let 'Lijah thank God for us !" They knelt down about the men that had been saved, even Levi bending his knee for the first time for many years ; and old 'Lijah laid his trembling hands on the back of a chair, and swayed to and fro, with heavy sobs of joy and thankfulne'ss break- ing from him. But for these sobs there was a deep silence in the little crowd. " Dear Lord ! thank thee ! thank thee !" was all that old 'Lijah could say, though he was a prayer- leader at the meetings held in his own cottage. Levi Hazeldine caught himself saying "Thank thee !" though he knew there was no one to thank, and that all had happened by chance ; yet he al- most wished that what these simple, ignorant folks believed was really true. When the short thanks- giving was over, old 'Lijah stood up again at the end of the long oak table, and asked Judith to place the Hazeldine Bible once more upon it. " Levi," he said persuasively, " though thee and 9 66 A NIGHT AND A DAY. me do n't agree in most things, maybe thee '11 agree that Simeon hasn't had a fair chance of winnin' the old Bible. The lad had n't a heart for readin' while his brother was lost, and given up for dead. But now the Lord's brought back Reuben from the jaws of the grave, give him another try for it. The sun 's not gone down yet ; let him have his eyes blindfolded, and open the book again. And the Lord will bless thee, Levi ; ay ! though thou knows him not ; he will be with thee in yon far country, where thee art goin' to spend thy substance." " I 'm willing," answered Levi shortly. " Come, then, Simeon," said old 'Lijah, laying his hand on the boy's head, "and the Lord give thee seein' eyes and an understandin' heart, and good success in this matter. The Lord that has done great things for us, may he give thee this blessing also !" Faint and hungry as Reuben was, it was he who bound the handkerchief over the boy's eyes, and placed his hand on the closed Bible, whispering, " God bless thee, lad !" Judith and Abby stood behind them, their faces still pale with the past sorrow, though there was gladness in their eyes. There was no dread of failure in Simeon's heart i i| i i ii n iii ni r' i i | H |ii ii i i 'ii' , i — I ii in ii nn i — i|iiMlill|| ||l||l iC/' ^ / ' ^ ' I \/ \^ ^ ' A NIGHT AND A DA V. 67 now ; he stood for a minute looking at the black- letter page before him, and then he read out the chapter and verse of the book upon which he had opened. The Hazeldines about the table found the place in their Bibles, and followed his voice care- fully. But Reuben's face flushed, and his heart beat, as the closing verses fell upon his ear. They were these : " / went down to the botto7ns of the mountains ; the earth with her bars was about me for ever ; yet hast Thou brought up my life from corruptio7i, O Lord my God. " When my soul fainted within me, I remejnbered the Lord ; and my prayer came in unto Thee, into Thy holy temple. " They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy. " But I will sacrifice tmto Thee with the voice of thanksgiving ; I will pay that that I have vowed. Salvation is of the Lord." Simeon's voice ceased, for the page was ended. No word had been missed, nor even stammered over. He could hardly believe that it was true that he had won the Hazeldine Bible, until Levi gave it a little push towards him. 68 A NIGHT AND A DAY, "There, lad!" he said, "it's thine fairly. I didn't do better when I was thy age." " Levi !" said Reuben earnestly, " would God it spoke to you as it speaks to me ! Thou 'rt going far away from thy kith and kin, and thou 'rt without God in the world, and there's no Saviour for thee, thou thinkest ; and thee does n't know how glad- some it is to praise the Lord, nor how good it is to pray to him and call upon him, like young children calling to their fathers and mothers : but. Cousin Levi, will thee take a gift from all thy kinsfolk here, if we buy another Bible for thee to take away to thy far country } Maybe a day will come that thou 'It read it for our sakes, if not thine own." " Ay ! ay ! take a Bible from us, Levi !" cried out all the Hazeldines present. " As a sign and token that we wish thee well," added Reuben. "Ay! ay! God bless thee, Levi!" they cried out again. " I '11 take it and thank you kindly," said Levi, in a faltering voice. " Come again to-morrow, all of you," exclaimed Judith, speaking in a shrill, high-pitched tone of excitement, " it shall be bought by to-morrow ; and A NIGHT AND A DA V. 69 Reuben shall be married, and we'll have another feast-day, now my son's found again." The sun was setting by this time, and the guests departed, leaving the little household to feel in qui- etness their great joy. Old 'Lijah and his wife were the last who said Good-by, and the moon was rising over the green coppice behind the cottage, when they shook hands for the last time with Reu- ben at the garden-gate. " It 's been such a night and a day as I 've never worn through before !" said old 'Lijah's wife. " Last night it was all weepin' and mournin', and every- thing goin' wrong; and to-night it's all joy and gladness and singin' praises, and everything goin' right !" "Ay, lass!" answered old 'Lijah, "there's no true hurt or loss to them that trust in God ; I be- lieve it and Reuben believes it. Things are goin' all right, not wrong. Isn't it written, 'All things work together for good to them that love God ' ? and again, 'Neither death nor life, nor height nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able to sepa- rate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.' " HOW APPLE-TKEE COURJ W^S WON • 1 CHAPTER I. Lying behind a row of large warehouses, which front a somewhat busy thoroughfare in London, is Apple-tree Court. Why it was ever called Apple-tree Court no one could tell ; for long years ago, farther back than the memory of the oldest inhabitant, there had been no trace of a tree, nor even of a blade of grass, springing green in the heart of those smoky and blackened dwellings. The entry which leads to it is not more than three feet wide, but the length of it is the full depth of the warehouses between two of which it runs; a dark, low passage, where it is not pleasant to meet a person you do not know. The court contains about a dozen houses, but 72 A NIGHT AND A DA Y, as each house is large enough to lodge as many as four families, provided they are not so luxurious as to require more than one, or at the utmost, two rooms, the population is very nearly two hundred, and has at times exceeded even that number. •The inhabitants are, however, constantly chan- ging; old tenants leave and new ones come in at a day's notice, sometimes with no notice at all; for the rooms are let by the week, and it is not a rare circumstance for a family to make a moonlight flitting on the last night of their tenancy to escape paying the weekly rent, which would be peremp- torily claimed the next morning. The oldest inhabitant of Apple-tree Court was a meagre old woman who had lived in its most miserable garret for several dreary years. She was so yellow and withered that one might almost fancy that she had been dead and buried for some time, and come to life again to resume her poor task of rag-picking in the dust-heaps collected from the streets. The only name she was known by, and which clung to her amid all the change of neighbors, was Old Rags and Bones ; and truly her tattered clothing and bony skeleton of a frame could scarcely claim any other title. APPLE-TREE COURT. 73 The only other permanent dweller in the court was a spare, sallow man, with a square, hard face and a half-savage air which made all the children, and the older inhabitants also, quail a little before him, however bold and defiant they might be with other persons. The owner of the court had long since allowed him a room rent free, on consideration of his putting a stop to any moonlight flittings on the part of the other tenants ; and as this room was on the ground floor of the house nearest to the narrow entry, it was exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, to remove any more bulky furniture than that which could be borne in the arms or on the shoulders of the fugitives, who were obliged to steal barefoot past his door; for he seemed to sleep with his ears awake to every stealthy sound, like a watch-dog. Without doubt, this man was monarch of Apple- tree Court. "King Jeffery," some of his subjects called him. Upon the whole he was popular among them, in spite of his keen watchfulness on behalf of the landlord. There was no amount of drinking, quarrelling, and fighting that he would not wink at, and, if it suited his mood, encourage. The court lay so far out of sight behind the 10 74 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. warehouses that the police troubled themselves but seldom with the brawls going on there. In fact, when two quarrelsome folks, men or women, who were threatening to disturb the peace of the thoroughfare, turned into Apple-tree Court to settle their differences, the police felt relieved from all further duty. They neither cared nor dared to follow them, unless in a very strong force, down the dark entry leading to the court. Jeffery welcomed such visitors, and would cheer them on in their combat with hearty expressions of sympathy, while every window and doorway was crowded with faces, looking on with general delight. Apple-tree Court was the favorite fighting-ground of all that part of London. In a yard not very far away, a mission-house had been established for some years, under the active and persevering superintendence of a man who was of about the same age as Jeffery. He was spare and sallow, like him, and had a square, deter- mined-looking face, which would have borne a de- cided resemblance to Jeffery's, but for the grave smile and gentle manner that had become habitual to him. George Lancaster, the superintendent of the mission, was not a rich man ; on the contrary, APPLE-TREE COURT. 75 he had to work steadily for some hours a day to earn his own Hving and that of his son, a boy of about twelve. But every moment of his leisure time was devoted to the various works connected with his mission-house, especially to his ragged- school, to which boys and girls flocked from almost every slum and alley of the neighborhood, except Apple-tree Court. He had mothers' meetings, tem- perance meetings, sewing classes for boys as well as for girls, prayer-meetings, and a city missionary and Bible woman, all under his own personal su- perintendence. How he found time to organize them and keep them all in good order, was a mystery to less ener- getic and less skilful persons. But under his eye every agency had worked well ; and he had a power of attracting to himself a number of fellow-workers, who willingly placed themselves under his com- mand, and formed a little volunteer corps with him as their captain to wage war with the ignorance, misery, and sin that tyrannize over the inhabitants of our London courts and alleys. Apple-tree Court was a great grief and vexation of mind to George Lancaster and his fellow-work- ers. To pass the narrow archway and glance up its 76 A NIGHT AND A DAY. forbidden passage, was a daily pang, as he went to and fro to the mission-house. The name of Jeffery was often sounded in his ears by the dwellers from other courts, though no one now came from Apple- tree Court to learn to read and sew, or, better still, to sing and pray in his mission-house. He could not recollect the time when it had not been such a den of wickedness, and when its inhabitants had not been so wretched and degraded as they now were. But the hardest thing to bear was the fact that not a single child came to school, nor even to the chil- dren's dinner, which was given twice a week during the winter to the famishing little creatures. When- ever a. strange, pinched face presented itself, he never failed to ask where the child lived, but he never heard the answer, *' In Apple-tree Court, sir." It was impossible to leave this state of things alone. George Lancaster knew very well that the children of Apple-tree Court would be as willing and eager to come as any others, if they dared. He must get a footing in the court ; and a footing once got there, he must conquer it and reform it. But how to get in } That was the question. If all that he heard, or but half of it, were true, Jeffery would APPLE-TREE COURT. 77 prove a stronger foe than any he had ever had a tussle with yet. But he believed firmly that there must be some way of conquering even such a man as Jeffery. He called a special and private meeting of about half a dozen of his most confidential fellow- workers, most of whom were living in the neigh- borhood, and asked them to consider the case care- fully, and to treasure up any hint that might reach them as to the character and habits of the man. But George Lancaster could not wait for this slow and distant chance of information as to the enemy. As he passed by the court at least twice a day, he could not resist the urgent desire to pene- trate into its dark recesses, and run the risk of an encounter with Jeffery. Accordingly one evening, when he was on the way to the mission-house with his boy, he told him to go on, and ask whoever might happen to be there to open the night-school at the proper time, if he had not come in before them. "And, Alick, my boy," he added, "if I am not there in about half an hour, tell James and Andrew to come to the end of Apple-tree Court, and if they hear a row they had better come on and see what 78 A NIGHT AND A DA V. it is.' I 'm going to look about me. Say, * God bless you, father.' " " Let me come with you, father," said the boy eagerly. "No, no, my lad," he answered, "it's my turn now ; it will be yours when you are older. Your duty is to go on to the school." " God bless you, father," said Alick, running on quickly to the mission-house with the news that his father had ventured into Apple-tree Court. APPLE-TREE COURT. 79 CHAPTER II. Mr. Lancaster was just turning into the alley when a policeman touched him on the arm, and spoke in a tone of respectful remonstrance. *'Don't go there, sir," he said ; "you're as well known as the church-steeple' about here, and better by such like folks ; an' Jeffery 's an awful rough, he is indeed, sir. He '11 go stark mad if he catches sight of you on his ground." " His ground, is it ?" replied Mr. Lancaster ; " well, I promise you not to be seen to-night, if I can help it. I 'm merely going in to have a look round ; and I '11 be cautious. But I must get my foot in here, and mend the place, if possible. Why, it is a disgrace to us all, my man !" " Well, sir, so it is," agreed the policeman, " I 'm free to own it. But what can we do, when we dare n't go in in less force than four of us t There are nigh on two hundred folks of the rougher sort. I 'd leave it alone, if I was you." "Never!" answered Mr. Lancaster, turning 8o A NIGHT AND A DA Y. down the dark and narrow passage with a resolute step. At the farther end he stumbled over what, in the darkness, seemed to be a heap of rags ; but a low and frightened voice spoke out of the midst of them. " Who are you ?" he asked, stooping to look more closely at a withered and wrinkled face, only just visible in the gloom. " Nobody," was the answer ; "I'm doin' no harm. I'm only sitting here till I durst go past Jeffery. He's 'ragious to-night, and I'm scared to death at him. A lot of folks got away last night without wakin' of him, and he's fit to tear everybody to pieces, he is." " Come on," said George Lancaster, " and I '11 see you safely past him." " Oh, no, no !" cried the woman ; " I '11 sit here till he's asleep, if he goes to sleep at all to-night. If you took me safe, you could n't stop with me, I reckon. And you couldn't take me safe, as strong as you think yourself. He isn't always as bad as this, you know. It 's because he is so aggravated by the folks gettin' clear off. There's times when he's quite mild and kind like." "Well," he said, " you come to a place I know of APPLE-TREE COURT.' 8i for an hour or two, where you '11 be comfortable ; and I '11 treat you to a supper." " Hush !" she answered. " Speak soft and tread soft, or he'll be out on us. Ay! I'll come, and welcome. Let's steal away quiet like, and I'll see how he is when I 've had a bit of supper." George Lancaster retraced his steps to the street, closely followed by the woman ; but as soon as they reached the brighter light of the street lamps, and she could see his face, she. almost sob- bed with disappointment. "Oh," she cried, "I never thought as it was you ! I know you, and he knows you. He 's swore if any on us as belong to Apple-tree Court goes to your place, or 's seen speakin' to you, he '11 break every bone in our body." " But, my poor creature," said George Lancaster, " he dare not do it. There are the police to protect you. Come on, and do not be afraid." "I durst n't," she said, stealing back into the darkness of the alley, while he followed her in his turn ; " the police can't do nothin' for us, if they wanted. Oh, please go away ! He might come out upon us any instant. Oh, go away, and never try to come here again !" 11 82 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. " I am going away," he answered ; " but I shall come again soon. I'm not going to leave you and the rest of the people here under this cruel bond- age and dread. Here, take this sixpence, and buy yourself some supper when I am gone. Poor wom- an, I am very sorry for you." His grave and pitiful voice sounded in her ears strangely. It was so long since she had heard any one speak kindly to her, that she could hardly be- lieve she heard aright. But the sixpence, which she clutched in her bony hand, seemed real enough. " You have known something about God .-*" said Mr. Lancaster inquiringly. " Ay ! I knew something about God when I were a girl," the poor creature answered, sobbing; " I used to think there was one then ; but it 's so long ago ! I do n't feel as there can be any now, only to curse by ; naught else." " Poor woman," he said once more, in his pitiful voice, " there is a God, and he loves you. You will know it again soon, when we come to teach you about him, in Apple-tree Court, and when you can come to our place, and the children flock to our school, no one making them afraid, as they shall do, God helping us !" APPLE-TREE COURT. 83 " That '11 never be," said the poor rag-picker de- spairingly. " If that ever be, I shall be sure there is a God, like there was when I was young. But now there 's nothing in the world but fightin and cursin' and dyin'. Hark ! What 's that ?" It was no noise in the court, which lay behind them in darkness and silence. But the rag-picker trembled and shivered beside him for very fear, and he felt it to be of no use to talk longer with her. "Go and buy yourself food," he said gently; " but mind ! not one penny goes to the gin-palace." " No, no !" she answered ; " honor bright. I know who you are ; and I '11 not take your money to the gin-palace." As soon as she was out of sight, George Lan- caster advanced cautiously along the passage, and entered the court. All was still as a graveyard, except for a low suppressed hum of voices in a few houses. Jeffery's window was lit up, and George Lancaster could see him sitting by his fireside, with his bull-dog head slightly lowered, as if listening intently for the least noise. His mouth was firmly closed, and his eyes glowed under his shaggy eye- brows. It was plainly no time for arousing him, in any way. George Lancaster could do nothing that 84 A NIGHT AND A DA Y, night but let his eyes search carefully round the room for some hint of Jeffery's habits, by which he might be approached. But there was neither book nor newspaper ; no rude picture on the walls, and no plant growing on the window-sill. The only things to be seen were a pack of cards, thumb- marked and greasy, and a large cup from which he had been drinking. George Lancaster went back no wiser than he came in. Yet Apple-tree Court must be conquered and reformed. AFFLE-TREE COURT, 85 CHAPTER III. A SECOND council was held at the mission-house, and one thing was agreed upon, much against George Lancaster's will, though not against his judgment. As he was so well known by sight, and his appearance would instantly provoke Jeffery's wrath, some stranger must be chosen to lead the operations upon Apple-tree Court. There was no difficulty in meeting with a stranger to volunteer for the service, rough as it was likely to be. Two were fixed upon, who were not known at all in the neighborhood. They were workingmen, and were to go in their working clothes on Sunday afternoon, to open the campaign as wisely and discreetly as possible. If they could only find one family in the court who would receive them for a few minutes, and allow them to decorate their walls with a good effective picture, that would excite the curiosity and envy of their neighbors, it would be one step gained. The most attractive pictures were found, and the men were provided 86 A NIGHT AND A DAY. with a paste-pot and brush to paste them on the walls for the people, who, they had learned by ex- perience, would seldom take the trouble to do it for themselves, though they were glad enough to have it done for them. The two pioneers started off the next Sunday afternoon, while the few who were in the secret waited for their return in alternate hope and fear. It was no great distance to the court, and they were not kept long in suspense. Their leaders came back in half an hour's time, with their faces bruised and their coats torn, as though they had had to fight their way desperately out of the fray into which they had ventured with so much cour- age. Jeffery had stopped them at their very en- trance, to demand their business ; and after an an- gry altercation of a few minutes, he had set upon them with two or three more ruffians like himself. It was in vain to call for help in Apple-tree Court, which the police shunned, unless they were in good force, and it was with the utmost difficulty they had made their escape. One of them had seen, he said, a miserable scarecrow of an old woman crying at a garret window as she looked down helplessly on the battle. APPLE-TREE COURT, 87 " Well," said George Lancaster, " we did not ex- pect to take the place as Jericho was taken. But God is on our side, and we must conquer. We cannot give it up. Let those who are willing to give up Apple-tree Court, lift up their hands." But not one hand was lifted up. Even the men who were bruised and beaten did not raise theirs, though they knew better than any one how fierce was the opposition that must be overcome. It was agreed that no further effort should be made until the recollection of this fruitless one had faded a little from Jeffery's memory ; and in the meantime, if any child from the court could be persuaded by any means to come to the school, that would be one step gained. But it proved to be impossible to coax any of the children to attend the school. If they came once, they never came again ; but were seen to shirk away whenever they caught sight of Mr. Lancaster or his fellow-workers. This was only adding fuel to his indignation, and his resolve to set them free. To leave a number of young chil- dren subject to the tyranny of such a man as Jef- fery, was not to be thought of — to say nothing of the poor woman to whom he had promised to bring 88 A NIGHT AND A DA K help, and a proof that there was a God who loved her. The next movement was to be very different from the first. As the workingmen had been treat- ed so brutally, it was decided that this time two gentlemen, who came forward to offer their services, should enter the court and proceed boldly to Jef- fery's den, and make such overtures as should seem likely to suit him at the time. Like the other men, they were strangers in the neighborhood, and Mr. Lancaster did not offer to accompany them, to show them the way, lest he should be seen with them and tidings of it carried to Jeffery. The gentlemen, one of whom had been an offi- cer in the Crimean war, marched coolly up the passage and knocked sharply at Jeffery's door. It was opened as sharply ; but even Jeffery was a lit- tle thrown back by coming suddenly face to face with persons so different from his own people. They did not give him time to speak before they opened the conversation. " My good friend," began the officer. " No friend o' yours," interrupted Jeffery, recov- ering himself quickly, while a blacker scowl than usual settled upon his face. APPLE-TREE COURT. 89 "Well, I'm a friend of yours," continued the officer, " and I Ve brought you some good news, if you will let me tell them to you." " Folks like you aint got no good news for folks like me," answered Jeffery sullenly. " If the Parlia- ment 's took the tax off 'bacca and beer, that 'ud be good news for me; but I don't reckon on ever hearin' news like that." "No, no," said the officer, "we bring you no news like that ; but we have something to say to you worth your while to hear. Come, invite us into your house and let us have a little sensible chat with you." " Not a foot," answered Jeffery, placing a hand on each door-post to bar them from going in. " You think you're gentlemen, and can walk in and out as you choose ; but not in my house and not in my court. I know the whole lot of you, and you 're a set of hypercrites. You sha' n't come cantin' and whinin' here. You'd better be off quick if you don't want a beatin', like that other pair o' men got some Sundays ago. I tell you you sha' n't come here a-preachin' and a-prayin' without you bring the perlice with you to take care of your precious heads ; so be off now, the same way as you came in." 12 90 A NIGHT AND A DA V. " I shall call and see if your neighbors are in the same mind as yourself," said the officer, turning away with his comrade from Jeffery's door. "And I'll go with you," he said, laughing scorn- fully, " and we '11 see how many '11 give you a wel- come. You are only wasting your time, my fine swells." "Jeffery," continued the officer, with a good- tempered patience, "is there nothing we can give you, or do for you, only to get your permission to visit the tenants in this court } Just think a mo- ment. It will be to your own advantage." " No," replied Jeffery, with an oath ; " I 've kept this place clear of you all, and I mean to keep it clear. You like your own way, and I like my own way. So be off afore there's mischief. There 'd have been mischief afore now, but I do n't want to have the perlice on it ; and I know there '11 be some of 'em watching over such fine folks as you." It was of no use to stay and argue any longer. A knot of brutal-looking men had gathered round, only restrained from attacking them by the fear that some policemen had actually been placed at the entrance of the court, to come to the rescue in case of a fight. It was not prudent, or even possi- APPLE-TREE COURT. 91 ble, to force their way through them in the attempt to enter any of the other dwelUngs. Disappointed and defeated, they returned to the street and car- ried the news to George Lancaster, How great his disappointment was, no words can tell. He had counted upon the frank and pleasant manner of the officer and his handsome face having considerable influence over the wretch- ed inmates of Apple-tree Court. But now that had failed, he did not know what to try next. Several other efforts were made, but with no better success ; and with this result only, that they put Jeffery and his ruffian companions more sharply on their guard. 92 A NIGHT AND A DA Y, CHAPTER IV. Mr. Lancaster had only one son, at whose birth the mother had died. He was a fair-haired, sHght, delicate-looking boy of twelve — the very ap- ple of his father's eye. From the time he had been old enough to hold by his finger and trot along at his side, the child had gone with him day after day to the mission -house, and taken a part in all that went on there. He had heard all his father's long- ings and anxieties with regard to Apple-tree Court, and his own heart and thoughts had been busy about it. "Father," he said, "you are not going to give up Apple-tree Court T' " What more can be done T asked Mr. Lancas- ter despondently. " We have tried every means we can think of, and all have failed. What can we do ?>> " I cannot bear to give it up," cried Alick eager- ly. There was a flush on his face, which grew deeper every minute, and his eyes flashed with ex- citement. APPLE-TREE COURT. 93 " Father," he continued, after a pause, " every- body says I sing splendidly." It was quite true. He had a singularly sweet and clear voice, and could lead the singing at an}' of the meetings in the mission-house. It was, as his father had taught him, one of the talents in- trusted to him by God to be used in His service ; but Mr. Lancaster was surprised to hear him speak boastingly of it. " Alick .''" he said, questioningly. " I 'm glad I can sing splendidly," answered the boy, his eyes sparkling the more. " Suppose I go all by myself to Apple-tree Court, and just sing for them ! They are sure to like it ; and I '11 sing so that they can hear every word, and perhaps it will do them as much good as a sermon." " No, no !" exclaimed George Lancaster. " No, my boy. I dare not let you do that. I cannot give you permission to go there, and alone. No, no." "It's the only thing we haven't tried," said Alick gravely. The idea took fierce possession of Mr. Lancas- ter's mind, though he tried his utmost to dismiss it. Whenever he heard his son's voice rising clear and sweet amid the number of other voices in the sing- 94 A NIGHT AND A DAY. ing of the hymns, he could not help thinking of Apple-tree Court, and wondering how the people there would be affected by it. Surely no one could be so wicked or cruel as to hurt a boy like Alick, if he were simply singing in his young, fresh, ring- ing notes, sweeter than the notes of wild woodland birds. At last he took counsel again with his most trusty fellow-workers, some of whom lived in the neighborhood of Apple-tree Court ; and they de- clared with one voice that even Jeffery was not bad enough to hurt a boy like Alick. Yet it was a hard struggle with George Lancas- ter to make up his mind to send his son, the dear- est and most precious possession that he owned : how dear and how precious he had never felt as he felt it now. It seemed almost ridiculous to put Apple-tree Court and its wretched crew of sinners into a balance with his boy. What was the place to him } He owed nothing to it, and he had done all that could fairly be expected from him. There was no need to let Alick run any risk for the sake of it. No need ! Alas ! there was great need. There were the urgent wants of two hundred souls, who were fast bound in misery and sin, and groan- ing under an intolerable bondage. There were the APPLE-TREE COURT, 95 needs of little children, who were growing up like heathen and savages. There was the need of that wretched woman, who had said she would believe in God when she heard about Him in Apple-tree Court. " God spared not his own Son." Never had these words come home to his heart as they did now. Could he then withhold his boy .-* Could he forbid him from the loving mission he was set upon } Should he still keep him back from car- rying his message to the people of Apple-tree Court } It was a very hard and bitter trial for George Lancaster. "Alick," he said, one Sunday morning, in a trembling voice, "you may go and sing in Apple- tree Court this afternoon." "O father," he cried, "I'm so glad! They'll be so pleased, and they'll let me go again and again, till perhaps at last they will have you to preach there." " But if they should beat you, my son !" said his father ; " if they should hurt you and ill-treat you, what shall you do V V God will teach me what to do when the time comes," answered Alick confidently ; " but I '11 sing them my best hymns first." 96 A NIGHT AND A DA K CHAPTER V. It was a warm sunny afternoon when Alick showed his fair boyish face and slight small figure in Apple-tree Court. As it was the hour for church service, and the gin-palaces were shut, most of the men were at home, lounging about the court, and playing at pitch-and-toss and marbles on the un- even pavement. Half-naked children were crawl- ing about the doorsteps, and women were lolling idly against the walls or leaning through the broken windows. Alick's heart sank a little as he saw the dirt and misery and degradation of the place. He could see Jeffery busy at a game of cards with three other men in his own house, the door of which was open, so as to command a full view of the court and of all who went in and out. The boy stood for a few moments silent, with a strange swelling in his throat. But it was only for a moment or two ; for he recollected that his father was waiting for him in the street, and would hear him as soon as he began to sing. Suddenly his voice seemed to spring out gladly in a sweet sound of song. APPLE-TREE COURT. 97 It was so clear that it rang through the court and made every one hear, and so sweet that no one who heard could help listening. Alick had taken off his blue cap and stood bareheaded near to Jef- fery's door, his face all in a glow, and his eyes glis- tening partly with unshed tears. The men left off their games and the women their chatter, while the children came flocking towards him from all quar- ters. His heart grew lighter and braver as he sang. The fears he had felt when he tore his hand from his father's grasp and found himself alone in the dark alley had all vanished. Apple-tree Court was won. He had sung one song through ; and as soon as it was ended, without a pause, he began his last fa- vorite hymn, "Jesus loves me ; this I know." Every word of it could be heard distinctly ; and Jeffery, who had been listening before with a look of pleasure on his hard face, sprang up in a fury. " It 's another trick of those hypocrites," he cried ; " they 've invented a new way of cantin' and whinin' ; but I'll soon put a stop to this one." Alick had sung through the first verse and began the second, while the people attended in 13 98 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. silence, when a stone, hastily picked up by Jeffery, and hurled at him furiously, struck him on the fore- head. The fresh young voice stopped suddenly, and the fair-haired boy fell heavily on the pavement. For an instant or two there was a dead stillness ; and then a low cry of anger ran round the court, such as Jeffery had never heard before. As for Jeffery, he was himself struck with ter- ror. He had had no intention to hit so hard a blow, and it alarmed him to see the boy lying like one dead on the ground. Alick had not uttered a single scream or cry, but had fallen in a moment ; and it seemed as if his song were still ringing through the air. Could the boy be dead — killed } There were children in the court who bore ten times rougher usage than that. Surely he was only frightened, and lay still to escape another blow. " God forgive you, Jeffery !" cried a shrill, crack- ed voice from a garret window. It belonged to the poor old rag-picker, who had been hearkening to AUck's hymn, and thinking of the days when she was young and believed in God. Jeffery did not answer her with an oath, as was usual. He walked up to the prostrate boy and touched him carefully on the shoulder. APPLE-TREE COURT. 99 " Come, get up," he said, " and be off, and I *11 not hurt you again." But Alick did not stir. The crimson blood was streaming from his forehead, and his fair hair and face were stained with it Jeffery felt a strange sensation of terror and grief a^ he saw it. Once he had a boy of his own — the only creature that had ever loved him ; and it seemed to him as though Alick was his son come back again, and he had killed him ! He stooped and lifted him gently in his arms, carrying him out of the hot sunshine into his own room, while all the neighbors crowded round the door without daring to go in. "I didn't mean to do it," muttered Jeffery to himself, as he laid the boy down on the hard bed. " Poor little lad. S pose he 's dead !" Jeffery's heart sank and his hands trembled as he said these words. He was a coward, as most cruel people are ; and the thought of what must follow, if the boy was killed, filled him with dread. But apart from his dismay, there was a feeling of real sorrow and regret at work within him. More and more did Alick remind him of the day when he had looked for the last time on the white face and rigid form of his own dead boy, whom he had 100 A NIGHT AND A DAY. lost before he had sunk into such depths of wicked- ness. Oh, if the last ten minutes would but come back again ! If this boy were but standing again opposite his door ! He should sing now as long as he chose, and anything he chose, if he would but open his eyes once more and- look into his face. None of the neighbors had yet ventured over the door-sill ; but now the old rag-picker crept in, and sidled towards the bed with a broken pitcher of water in her hand. Jeffery took it from her and held it to Alick's lips, but not a drop was swallowed by him. Lower and lower sank his heart, and greater grew his terror. He could hear the crowd at the door murmuring that the boy was stone- dead. There was one frightful word. It seemed spoken in a whisper, but it rang in his ears. It was " murder." Just at this moment the crowd was cleft in two by George Lancaster, who thrust himself through it with a terrible pang of dread growing stronger every moment. He pushed Jeffery on one side and knelt down by his boy, remaining silent and still for a minute. " God help me !" Jeffery heard him say. Then he looked up with a face as white as Alick's. APPLE-TEEE COURT. loir " Send quickly," he said, " for a doctor, the nearest you can find." There were half a dozen messengers eager to run on this errand. Jeffery slunk away into a cor- ner and sat down with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands, looking on like one stupefied. But before any doctor came Alick began to speak in a low, bewildered tone, which could be heard plainly in the quiet room, where there were only his father, Jeffery, and the poor rag-picker. " Jesus loves me ; this I know," said the boy over and over again without ceasing, till Jeffery caught himself saying the words after him against his will. When the doctor came he shook his head grave- ly, as he examined the injury and Hstened to Alick's monotonous raving. As yet George Lancaster had asked no questions. He scarcely needed to do so ; for he could guess too well how it had all happened. The struggle within him was greater than before. Had he not done wrong in allowing his son to come alone among these ruffians } Ought he to have trusted them in any way.? Yet only one short hour before it had seemed both right and wise, when so many of his poor people had assured him 102 , A 'NIGHT AND A DA Y. that even Jeffery would never attack a child like Alick. He had prayed long and earnestly before he could bring himself to consent. Yet now, if he lost his boy, what was he to do ? Must he give Jeffery into custody to await the result ? The doc- tor was already inquiring how the injury had been caused. What was he to say and do } " It were me as did it," muttered Jeffery ; " but I never meant it to be that bad. If he's killed, let me go to jail for it. I 'm sore sorry about it. If you *11 let him be, we'll do all we can, and I'll keep the court as quiet as a hospital." " You had better keep him here for a few hours," said the doctor, looking round the comfortless room, " and give the fellow in charge at once, Mr. Lancaster. He deserves it." " No, not yet," answered George Lancaster ; " I must think about it. Is there any danger, doctor V " More danger than hope," replied the doctor ; "but I'll tell you more in six hours from now." He gave minute directions as to what must be done before going away. Jeffery, who had slipped off his heavy boots, trode softly to the side of the bed, and looked down on Alick, who was still say- ing, " Jesus loves me ; this I know." APPLE-TREE COURT, 103 " What 's the little lad sayin' that for agen and agen ?" he asked. " Because he knows it is true," answered Mr. Lancaster. " It is true for us all, Jeffery ; as true for you as for him and me." " Not true for me," replied Jeffery, turning away towards the door, while his lips repeated mechan- ically, "Jesus loves me; this I know." He went out into the court and closed the door behind him. The crowd made way, supposing he wanted to try to escape. But no such thought was in Jeffery's head. " Now," he said, in a loud whisper, " whosoever makes the least bit of a row in this place to-day, I'll break every bone in his body. If a baby squalls, I '11 be down upon it. So clear off, every one of you ; and keep indoors or out in the streets. But no noise here, I say." Jeffery waited till every one had disappeared, either into the streets or within their own homes, and then he returned to his room. He felt as if he could not run away, however wise it might be to make good his escape. George Lancaster was sitting by his boy and speaking to him now and then in a quiet, soothing tone ; but Alick had nei- 104 A NIGHT AND A DAY, ther recovered his consciousness nor fallen asleep. Not a word was spoken to Jeffery. He stole back to his corner again, and rested his chin upon his hands, staring at the white face upon his bed, and repeating after Alick, as often as he murmured the words, *' Jesus loves me ; this I know." It was a dreary night for both George Lancas- ter and Jeffery. Not a sound was to be heard in the court, except a stealthy footfall now and then. Neither of them slept. Jeffery's sharp ears were on the stretch all the time, catching every tone of Alick's voice ; and a throng of troubled thoughts tossed through his brain. Would they hang him if the boy died } And if he did not die, would Mr. Lancaster have him sent to jail 1 It had been one of his boasts that he had always got off from im- prisonment, however bad he had been. He would get three months for it, or perhaps more, as the boy had done nothing to provoke him. After all, would it not be better to break his word, and get off while he had the chance } But he lingered on and on until the gray light of morning dawned upon the comfortless room. Alick had been asleep for the last two or three hours, his hand lying in his father's, whose eyes APPLE-TREE COURT, 105 were never turned away from him. Jeffery himselt had ahiiost fallen into a doze, when suddenly he was aroused by Alick's low voice, so low that ears less quick could not have caught the whisper. " Father," he said, "you'll forgive poor Jeffery .?" " It's very hard," answered his father. " But he didn't know what he was going to do," said Alick. " We must forgive him, you know ; we must, we must." " Hush ! hush ! my boy," said Mr. Lancaster, "you must keep quiet and go to sleep again. Yes, I forgive him, as God forgives me." Jeffery could not feel drowsy again. The tears that had sprung to his eyes rolled slowly down his face, and others came, more and more quickly, until he buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly, as he had done when his own son died. The poor little lad's first thought had been to forgive him ! He could never get over that. If he would only get well again, he should come and sing as often as he liked in the court ; ay, and his father should come and preach there, and nobody should hinder him. He dared not ask God for anything for him- self ; but if he prayed to him that the little lad might get well, perhaps he would not be offended. 14 io6 A NIGHT AND A DA Y. So Jeffery knelt down and prayed in a whisper that Alick might recover. When he lifted up his head and was about to rise from his knees, he saw George Lancaster standing before him, with an outstretched hand and a smile upon his weary face. " Let me pray with you, Jeffery," said George Lancaster. " Thank God for this ! Let us be friends now, we have watched all night together beside my boy." " Can you forgive me ?" he asked anxiously. " Fully," he said, " fully and freely, as Christ has forgiven me ; and as he will forgive you if you only ask him." *' I 'm a very wicked man," said Jeffery. But at this moment the door was opened quietly and the doctor entered. He laid his hand upon Alick's pulse and looked carefully into his peaceful face. " All right," he said ; " keep him quiet till after- noon, and then we '11 take him home. He will be himself again in a few days' time." Jeffery stood outside his door all the morning, hushing everybody who went in or out of the court, quite as much by his own subdued and solemn manner as by the words and gestures he used to enforce silence. Alick slept calmly, awaking once APPLE-TREE COURT. 107 or twice with a full consciousness of where he was, and with a faint smile playing about his mouth as he looked into his father's face, who was sitting be- side him with a glad and thankful heart. " Is Apple-tree Court won yet ?" asked Alick, when he awoke first. Yes ; it was won. Jeffery's opposition was at an end. When the afternoon came he begged to carry Alick to the cab, which was waiting at the entrance of the court, and to ride beside the driver to Mr. Lancaster's house. After he had seen Alick laid in his own comforta- ble bed, he stood looking at him for a minute or two, with a dimness in his eyes and a stammer in his voice which made it difficult for him to speak. " You come again," he said at last, " and I '11 take care nobody harms you. Come and sing to us again. It's like as if I heard you singing all the while 'Jesus loves me; this I know.' You come again soon." It was not long before Alick visited Apple-tree Court again, and Jeffery stood at his side to protect him. In a few months the character of the place was altogether changed. The roughest and worst of the tenants gradually drifted away, leaving those who could reconcile themselves to Jeffery's new rule ; io8 A NIGHT AND A DA V. for Jeffery continued to be the king of the court. The old rag-picker became one of the most con- stant visitors at the mission-house, and believed there was a God still, as there had been when she was young. " It was the little lad as did it," said Jeffery one day to George Lancaster. " There he stood singin' like a little angel, and when I see him fall down dead, as I thought, it seemed all at once as if God himself could n't look over that. And I could n't have believed He would, if I had n't heard him say, all in a whisper, * Father, you '11 forgive poor Jeffery. He did n't know what he was going to do.' That made me think as maybe God could make up his mind to forgive me ; for He knew I did n't mean to do it." " Yes," answered Mr. Lancaster, " it was the same plea our Saviour urged upon the cross : * Fa- ther, forgive them ; for they know not what they do.'" THE WORJH op A B^BY. It was a bad day for the Ledburys when John Ledbury quarrelled with his master, Dr. Reed. Everybody in the country round knew Dr. Reed, with his compassionate, benevolent face, and his bald head, with its fringe of white hair. There was scarcely a house, perhaps not one, in a circuit of several miles, which he had not entered in some time of sickness and sorrow, and where he had not been made welcome as one who brought comfort and help. Rich and poor, mansion and cottage, were alike to him. He was as anxious, and as kind, and a trifle more sympathizing, at the bedside of a poor patient, as ever he was beside a rich one who could pay him a golden fee. " Good Doctor Reed," the country people called him, with one consent. no A NIGHT AND A DAY. Then how did it come to pass that John Led- bury quarrelled with such a master ? Dr. Reed lived in a house at the entrance of the village ; a small house, yet quite large enough for a man with neither wife nor children. But if the house was small the garden was unusually large, for Dr. Reed's hobby was a love of flowers ; and many a time he had worn an old hat or great-coat long after it was shabby, that he might spend the money upon some costly plant, or some improvement in his garden. John Ledbury filled the post of both groom and gardener to him, and as he had been under-garden- er at Lord Huntington's, of Huntington Hall, he nat- urally concluded that he knew a great deal more of the proper treatment of flowers than his master. He was a quietly obstinate man, with an unshaken con- fidence in his own cleverness and skill, and not at all inclined to yield his opinion to anybody's. Late one autumn he left out some rare plants, after Dr. Reed had ordered him to remove them to the greenhouse, and they had every one perished in a sudden frost. No doubt the doctor was more an- gry than he need have been, and spoke more sharp- ly than he should have done ; but John Ledbury did a very foolish thing when he threw up the sit- THE WORTH OF A BAB Y. in uation, with a vow never to speak to his old master again. That was a very hard winter for the Ledburys. John had no idea that he should remain long out of work, for he expected that a sober, clever man like himself would be snapped up immediately. But none of the gentry in the neighborhood wanted a gardener just then, and he did not wish to leave his own pretty cottage, which stood just at the oth- er end of the village from Dr. Reed's. His wife, Rachel, had had a baby only a few weeks before the quarrel, and Dr. Reed had been as attentive to her as if she had been Lord Huntington's lady. But she- had not got up her strength again, and now she fretted sorely over the matter, sometimes ta- king John's part and sometimes the good doctor's. It was very trying to her to have John hanging about the house all day, with nothing to do except to find fault with the way everything was done. But before long worse troubles than that came, for all their money had melted away like snow in sun- shine, and still nothing was to be heard of in the way of regular employment. Now and then Led- bury had a day's work in the gardens of the farm- ers about ; but they did not require much orna- 112 A NIGHT AND A DAY. mental gardening, and their own laborers were skilful enough for planting potatoes and beans. It came at last to John having to make many a dreary pilgrimage to the nearest town, where there was a pawnbroker's shop, carrying there in secret bundles everything that could be spared from home. Every day, and sometimes twice or thrice a day, Rachel Ledbury saw the good doctor ride past the cottage, with his face steadily turned away from it, instead of turned towards it with his kindly smile. Sometimes it made her feel angry, but oftener it made her heart ache and the tears start to her eyes, for she felt low and sad, and a word or two from him might have put her right again. As it was, John brought her some wonderful pills from the town, which were to make her quite well and strong again if she took plenty of them, but their effect was very slow indeed, and she seemed rather to grow worse than better. Not that there was much the matter with her, except care and anxiety and insufficient food, all resulting from John Led- bury's quarrel with his master. Six months out of work is a terrible trial, espe- cially through the winter, when fire and light cost so much, and warm clothes are needed, and good THE WORTH OF A BABY. 113 food is more necessary than in the summer. The baby had suffered least so far, for at any rate Ra- chel could keep it warm in her arms ; but Susie, who was nine years old, had to be kept from school because she had no shoes to put on, nor any decent frock to wear. She was not a child that fretted or complained much ; but she could not hide how the cold made her shiver, or how the frost brought chilblains on her feet. Ledbury could not shut his eyes upon all this ; but he had made a solemn vow never to speak to his old master again, and he would rather die than humble himself to ask to be taken on again. " Rachel/' he said one day in the spring, "you'd not mind about leaving the old place, would you?" She did shrink from it very much, for she had lived all her life in the village, and all her friends were there, only of late John's surly temper had driven them away from the house. Rachel was not altogether sorry for that, for she did not wish them to see how bare and empty it was getting ; and now perhaps it would be better to go away among stran- gers, than come down to beggary where everybody knew her, though a sob rose in her throat as she thought of it. 15 1 14 A NIGHT AND A DAY. " Could you get work somewhere else, John ?'* she asked. '' Oh, no fear of that," he said confidently, " if we get away from a place where nobody knows nothing about flowers. There are scores of places where they 'd be glad of a man like me." "We'd better go to them, then," answered Ra- chel sadly. "Well, I ought to go first," said John, "and choose a place that '11 suit us. I might be away a week or two before I 'm settled, for I 'm rather par- ticular. It's not often that a man like me has to seek for work." It was the beginning of April when Ledbury set out to seek for work, resolved to take none but in some nobleman's or gentleman's grounds. He had had enough of gardening for a master who would interfere and order about his plants, and he was determined not to enter such a situation again. He did not tell any of his neighbors where he was going, or upon what errand. He had to leave his wife and children with no more than two shillings to provide them with food and fuel till his return ; but his pride was strong enough to make him cer- tain that in two or three days at the farthest he THE WORTH OF A BABY. 115 would meet with a place that would be exactly fitted for him. The baby was nearly eight months old now, and had learned to crow and laugh at him, and nes- tle in his arms with contented, cooing sounds which he loved to hear. Somehow or other, the faces of his wife and Susie seemed a continual reproach to him, they were so sad and dull, with no cheerful smiles upon them ; but the baby's face never re- proached him. Besides, from being at home all day, he had nursed it and carried it about more than any of his other little ones, who had all died very young, except Susie. So the baby was dearer to him than any of the others had been, and it was a greater trouble to part with it when he left home. It would have been a sharp and bitter sorrow to John Ledbury if he could have looked in at his home six days after he left it. The baby had been taken ill the very day he went, and had scarcely been out of its mother's lap since. The soft, tiny limbs were wasted away almost to a skeleton, and the little face had never once brightened into a smile, such as had always greeted him when he came into the cottage. Rachel had not dared to send for Dr. Reed, but had tried to doctor it herself, trying first ii6 A NIGHT AND A DAY. one thing and then another recommended to her by the neighbors. But the baby was sinking rapidly, seldom opening its little eyelids, and turning away from any food she could give it. She began to think it must die like the other babies, whom even Dr. Reed could not save from death ; and she felt as if her heart would break. " Susie," she said, " have you ever dropped your courtesy to the doctor T' " He never looks at me, mother," answered Su- sie ; " he 's always looking at something else on the other side." Rachel's heart sank within her, but she could not give up any chance of her baby's life. " Susie," she said, after thinking it over a long time, " put on mother's shawl and boots, and run up to the doctor's, and tell him baby is dying, like all the rest. Perhaps he will come." Very quickly was Susie dressed and at Dr. Reed's house; but she was a good deal afraid of speaking to the doctor after all she had heard her father say against him. She lingered outside the surgery door, without courage to knock, until the clock of the village church chimed eight in the evening. Then she knocked one single timid THE WORTH OF A BABY. 117 knock, and Dr. Reed's pleasant voice called out " Come in." It took both Susie's hands to turn the large brass handle of the surgery door ; but as soon as she had opened it and entered with a beating heart, she saw the doctor s face smiling upon her from behind a counter, where his assistant was making up medicine under his directions. " Well, Susie," he said, in a kindly tone, which quite reassured the trembling child, " what are you come for to-night .?" " Oh, please, sir," she answered, "father's gone away to find some work, and mother says baby is dying, like all the rest, and perhaps you will come." " To be sure I '11 come," answered Dr. Reed ; " run home to your mother, and tell her I 'm coming in a minute." It was not many minutes before the doctor was standing by the chair where Rachel sat with her child on her lap, his kindly face looking down care- fully and pitifully at it. It lay quite still, stretched out stiffly, as if it were already dead, with its eye- lids closed, and its thin, wasted arms falling feebly by its side. Rachel took one of the tiny hands in hers, a hand that seemed almost ready to fall to ii8 A NIGHT AND A DAY. pieces, and she looked up mournfully into the doc- tor's face. " She moans all night, sir," she said, as the little creature uttered a weak, plaintive cry when she touched its hand. " How long has she been ill ?" asked the doctor. " Six days and five nights now, sir," said Rachel, her voice faltering, and her tears falling upon the baby's hand ; " I 've never slept for her moaning. It goes to my very heart ; and we not able to do anything for her !" "Why did you not send for me sooner.?" he asked with some displeasure. "I daren't, sir," she answered, "you and John have fallen out so, and you never looked this way when you went past the house, and I thought you would n't consent to come unless John humbled himself ; and I did n't like to send for any other doctor from the town." " I 'd sooner all the plants in my garden had died," said the doctor, " than that the child should have been kept in pain like this." He took it out of her lap, and carried it to the table, where a candle was burning. The thin little eyelids opened for a moment, and the baby looked THE WORTH OF A BABY. 119 up at him with a faint glimmer of a smile upon its face. Rachel was beginning to sob hysterically, and he went back to her, but did not give her the baby again. "You are quite wornout," he said, "and you must go to bed. One of the neighbors must sit up with the baby to-night. Where 's John gone to .^" ''I don't exactly know," she answered, between-^ her sobs; "he's looking for work, and he doesn't know baby 's ill. I 've been fretting so all the win- ter, and that's hurt her. She'd never moan in that way but for my fretting. It seems hard for a little thing to suffer like that for my fault. But I could not help fretting, sir, with all the best of the things going to the pawnshop, and Susie kept from school, and all of us cold and hungry. I can't sleep of nights for thinking of it." "Well you must go to bed to-night," he said, "or you'll be ill too." " I could n't leave the baby," she cried, feverish- ly ; " there isn't any of the neighbors I could trust. There 's no one like a mother, sir ; I could n't leave her." " Could you trust me, Rachel V asked Dr. Reed. She looked at him, holding the child so tenderly I20 A NIGHT AND A DA K and comfortably on his arm, with his face full of compassion and trouble for them both. She could scarcely believe she had understood him rightly, but as she did not answer, he went on speaking. " If you can trust me," he said, " I will sit up with it myself till morning, and I dare say I can find something to do it good. It is partly suffering from my fault, Rachel ; if I had looked at you as I used to do, you 'd have sent for me at once. Poor little lamb." " Oh, I 'd trust you with all my heart," cried Rachel, as he laid the baby again on her lap, and hurried home for the medicine that was needed. In an hour from that time everything was pre- pared for the doctor to sit up all night to nurse Ledbury's baby. A little bed had been made with a pillow on a chair near the fire, for the baby to lie upon, if it grew easy enough to be laid down. A tub had been placed ready for a bath, and the kettle was hung on a hook over the fire. Susie and Rachel were asleep in the room up stairs, where the moth- er could hear quickly if the doctor called her, through the rough boards that formed the floor. But before they went. Dr. Reed bade them kneel down with him, while he prayed aloud. THE WORTH OF A BABY. 121 " Lord Jesus," he said, " who hast gathered so many lambs into thy fold, and carried them in thy bosom, look down upon this little one, in thy great love and pity. We want it to live ; we should be sorely grieved if it were taken away from us. Spare it to us, good Lord, if it is thy will. The child is suffering for our sins. Oh, forgive the sins, and take away the suffering. "And, Lord, give us the same trust in thee, that this poor mother has in me. She is willing to confide her little child to me, and lie down, and sleep, feeling sure that I shall do all I can for it. Let us trust ourselves to thy love and care, know- ing that thou art doing all things well for us, and that there can be neither weariness, nor neglect, nor unkindness, nor want of wisdom in thee. Thou art watching over us, as I am about to watch over this helpless child. Thine arms are under us, and we are resting in them, as this moaning baby lies in mine. Ah ! Lord, we moan and suffer also, but thou art not wearied out with us. "And, Lord, give us the grace to forgive one another even as thou forgivest us. We have been nursing hard thoughts one against another in our hearts; hard and heavy thoughts, never thinking 16 122 A NIGHT AND A DAY, that this little lamb would have to bear part of the burden. " Remove the burden from the child, and help us to be more heedful, lest more sins of ours should be visited upon the innocent." An hour later everything was hushed in the cottage, except the low wail of the baby, which was still lying in the doctor's arms, as he trod soft- ly to and fro in the kitchen, his heart full of pity and anxiety for it. He had tried the medicine he had brought, but still it neither slept nor revived. What a frail, small thing it seemed, to be so full of suffering ! Its pitiful moaning was the only lan- guage it had to tell of its pain, and every sound of it smote upon the doctor's ear and heart. To and fro he walked, cradling it in his arms, and watching its pinched face to see the first change, either for death or life, that should come upon it. Overhead, Rachel was sleeping, for he no longer heard the creaking of the wooden bedstead, as she tossed restlessly upon it. No sound from without or with- in broke upon the stillness. There was nothing to listen to, except that low, plaintive, sobbing cry of the baby. The dawn was just stealing softly into the sky. THE WORTH OF A BABY. 123 when John Ledbury'turned into the village at the farthest end from his cottage. He was very miser- able, for he had been on the tramp all night, and he was footsore and tired. All his money was gone, and he had even had to ask assistance from some fellow-gardeners. He felt very bitter against his old master as he passed by the house, and looked up to the bedroom window, with its warm curtains and tight casement shutting out the east wind, which blew keenly through and through his old wornout coat. He had quite failed in finding work, though he had tried for it farther and farther from home, and offered himself on lower wages than he had ever taken before. There was little comfort in coming back with such news to Rachel and Susie, who would so well understand what his failure meant. But the baby would know nothing against him ; and after he had spent all his bitter feelings against Dr. Reed, his thoughts flew to the baby, as he trudged slowly and wearily along the village street, where every house was still closed, and only the farmyard cocks were beginning to crow and the birds to chirp under the eaves. He was not long in gaining his own cottage, and he stopped at the gate for a minute looking at 124 A NIGHT AND A DAY, it, and thinking it was not worth while to wake up Ruchel to hear what he had got to tell. But though the blind was drawn across the window down stairs, it was quite plain there was a light inside, and a column of gray smoke rose up lazily into the morn- ing air from the chimney. Rachel was up very early, he thought, and how surprised she would be to see him, for he had not written to her since he left. It was Sunday morning, and he had been away all the week — a long week of disappointment and mortification. But he was obliged to face her sooner or later, and he would get it over and go to bed to rest himself. He trod quietly up the garden- path, and lifted the latch very noiselessly. Then he stood still upon the threshold, thunderstruck and unable to believe his own eyes. There was a fire burning upon the hearth and a. candle lit upon the table ; and it was evident they had not just been kindled. But instead of Rachel busy about the house, there was his old master, whom he had supposed comfortably in bed, sitting on the rocking-chair with the baby in his arms and his white head bent tenderly over it. Dr. Reed was growing a little deaf, and he did not hear the click of the latch as Ledbury opened the door ; so THE WORTH OF A BABY, 125 he did not turn round and see him. John heard the baby moan, and saw the doctor hush it and rock it as patiently as Rachel herself. Was it possible that the baby could be ill, and Dr. Reed sitting up all night with it } He shut the door quickly, for the keen air was blowing in; and then the doctor turned his head and lifted up his hands to warn him to be as quiet as possible. John stole across the kitchen-floor noiselessly. " Master," he said, in a whisper, and forgetting his vow never to speak to him again, " what is it .^" " The baby has been ill, and is ill now," he an- swered, in the same low tone ; " but I am getting some hopes of it, John." *' O master !" he cried, falling on his knees before him and the child, with tears in his eyes, " master, can you ever forgive me V "John," said Dr. Reed, "I am to blame as well as you. I was too hasty. Neither of us ever thought how the worst of it would fall upon your wife and the children. Dear, dear ! To think I 've been a Christian man all these years and never learned that all our mistakes and follies and sins bring trouble to the little innocent creatures. Why, John ! the sins of the fathers cannot help bemg 126 A NIGHT AND A DAY. visited on the children, and every blunder we men make falls on them. I have been learning that les- son to-night. If God were to deal with us as we deal with one another, we should be in a miserable plight." *' Master, forgive me," said John ; " I wish I 'd put those plants into the greenhouse." " I 'd rather all the plants in my garden had perished," repeated the doctor, "than that one of these little ones should suffer as baby has done. * Ye are of more value than many sparrows,' the Lord said ; and this child is worth more than all my garden. Come, John, I forgive you with all my heart ; and I hope better times are coming for you." " I cannot find any regular work," owned John, though he was ashamed to say it. " I 'm afeared times will be bad for us yet awhile, master." "There's your old place, if you wish to come back," he answered ; " I have not got any one to suit me yet." John Ledbury could not speak, for the sobs in his throat, which he was trying to keep down. His face, which was leaning over the baby, was working with many mingled feelings ; and just at that mo- ment the little child lifted up its eyes and a smile THE WORTH OF A BABY. 127 came upon its face, as if it knew him, even in its pain. Ledbury's proud spirit was quite broken down. " Master," he said, with the tears rolHng down his cheeks, " I 've been an obstinate man ; but I '11 never speak another word against you, order how you choose in the garden. Will the child get over it, master .?" " I think so," answered the doctor, looking care- fully at the small face ; " thank God ! it has got the turn, I believe. I feel as if I 'd spent this night as the Lord Jesus Christ would have done in my place, and it is the most blessed feeling. Christianity means being like Christ, each one of us, in our own station. We must both try to remember that, John Ledbury." It was six o'clock when Dr. Reed walked home through the village, tired and sleepy, but happier than he had been since the quarrel ; while John Ledbury told his wife all that had taken place be- tween them. He no longer felt weary and care- worn, and inclined to hide himself from his neigh- bors ; but when the church-bells rang for morning service, he took Susie by the hand, and, in spite of her shabby clothes and his own threadbare coat, he 128 A NIGHT AND A DA V. went to the church to thank God for the change in himself and his circumstances. Dr. Reed was there, too, in his pew near the pulpit, but he looked down the aisle and smiled as John Ledbury and his little girl came in. Once again he caught his eye and smiled significantly. It was when the clergyman opened the Bible and read out his text : " Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and evil-speaking be put away from you, with all malice ; and be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." t— -170 ,g 02 §1 ^ TO URN m S ^ O ! C a m CIRCUL 202 Ma lO = 5 ION Libr a -g ■n > ^ -H m CO Z -H 1 <'.-S m818;^0 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY