Little Miss Joy Part 20

Some people pa.s.sing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees.

At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands, said--

"Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to G.o.d to help me to find it.

He would hear _her_. Will He hear me, I wonder?"

Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on G.o.d, who saw everything, to show her where what she sought lay hid.

She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house, she dug another hole till she came to some bricks. She lifted them, and there was the little cash-box--empty now, but, oh! of what priceless value!

Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again along the sand by the sea-sh.o.r.e, now left hard by the retreating tide, on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road, then lately made, led towards Gorlestone. Breathless and panting she reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and celandines.

Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little Miss Joy.

Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and watching. She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old.

"Jack is come home. Jack!" gasped Bet. "They say he stole the cash-box, but--but--I've found it. Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home."

CHAPTER XIV.

_THE WAITING IS OVER._

Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old Uncle Bobo's ba.s.s, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and gasped for breath.

Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily asked--

"What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news."

"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he ran off, and they have locked him up."

"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last.

"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it."

"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the business."

George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner, with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder.

"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively; "there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What made you think of it?"

"Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was lost."

"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his mother. Bet, you come along."

"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not."

"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of Joe--I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect there is worse behind."

"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set out together.

The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience Harrison.

"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was!

and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea.

But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off.

As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said--

"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much."

"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you."

That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_ glad for you!"

"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker--bless her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her."

Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways; when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought, and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters.

Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others?

Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed, are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith encourage others to seek after a like precious gift.

Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then she would put in a little word of her own thoughts.

"There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! G.o.d seems to look at me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here, though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely.

She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter, dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs.

Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem shorter--that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be the first to tell us when they are coming."

It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan, with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for Miss Joy to stay in the porch.

"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan."

"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply.

Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes--

"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say, "There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers."

People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or reproof.

The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house, George Paterson said:

"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best."

Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with kisses.

"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!"