V HAPPY DAYS. IX MISS PATCH. XI TOO LATE. THE STORY OF JESSIE. CHAPTER I. "Lovely weather, Mr. Dawson. "You'm right," agreed the postman feelingly. At last, though, Harry has got a good job offered him in a
gentleman's racing stables. "Your broken-hearted but loving,
"Lizzie. Forgive me, dear father and mother, and be good to my
precious darling." "However am I going to break the news to mother,"
he groaned. "Oh, my! There is
trouble, I can see it. Tell me what it is, quick, for pity's sake. We shall have a child about the place again,
something to love and work for. "But, oh, I am so
thankful, so happy." Then, springing to her feet, "I am well now! CHAPTER II. "No. Men is only in the way," she said decidedly. "I wish you could," she called back, "and the front door, too, it'd
be the better for it. To a stranger, I dare say it'll look shabby." he called up the stairs, "mother! Patience rose briskly, with a look of relief on her face. she cried admiringly. Aloud, she said heartily, "Why, of course she would,
father. "No, I don't see how she can come to-day, but I'll step along to see
the train come in; it'll satisfy our minds. he asked eagerly, starting to his feet. "It is, sir. "No--o, oh no," said Thomas. He did not approve of this reserve
in Thomas, just after he had confided all that story to him too. "Well, I hardly know," said Thomas slowly. "I am, and I ain't." "I was going to tell 'ee about it, only the train
corned in. "No--o," said Thomas reluctantly. "No." Thomas hurried on more quickly. Is this of her, do you think?" Thomas looked at her, and his eyes grew misty. "Ye--es, that's of
her," he answered. The porter hastily disappeared from
the doorway, the station-master left the carriage too, but the guard
remained, and nodded and smiled at her reassuringly. "You remember me, don't you, little one! "I want mother," she said at last, with piteously trembling lips. "Oh, now, you ain't going to cry again, are you?" cried the guard,
pretending to be shocked. she asked eagerly, her eyes growing bright
and expectant. Your clothes, I mean, frocks and hats and boots
and suchlike." "Tickets, please," said the man at the gate. "It was mother's purse, but she lost a sixpence one day, and
then she gave it to me. The porter agreed. "Now, my dear, are 'ee ready? "We are nearly home now, 'tisn't so very much further. Are 'ee
tired, dear?" "No--o, not so very," she answered, but in rather a weary voice. she asked anxiously. Do you, granp?" "Mother said you didn't mind so much," she added brightly. "Oh, please, please," cried Jessie delightedly. Her face
flushed, tears suddenly brimmed over and down her cheeks. She longed
to run down the garden and take the little child in her arms and hold
her to her heart, but a sudden shyness came over her and held her
fast. "Oh, granp, smell the 'warriors'!" Oh, my!" I wish I knew
how to--" But her wish she only sighed, she did not put it into
words. Then he put her down on her feet, and led her over
the threshold. At last, though, the little tongue grew quiet, the dark curly head
fell back on granp's shoulder, and then the bright eyes closed. CHAPTER III. SHOPPING AND TEAING. asked
her granny. "Yes, please!" "Why, of course," said granny heartily. Jessie nodded. "I had one once, a whole one, but that was for my
dinner. He did not ask from curiosity, that was the last thing he would have
been guilty of; he only wanted to show an interest and to hear her
talk. Me and mother have one too, sometimes, then. Jessie looked up with
quick sympathy. "Have you hurted your toof, granp?" "No, my dear, granp's all right. You come up and
see too, will you?" "I think it is a very slow rose," she said, shaking her head sagely
as her granny was undressing her. Jessie looked up at him gratefully, and the tears changed to smiles. "I've been thinking I'd better go into Norton this afternoon, and do
some shopping," she remarked to granp, "for the child must have some
clothes, and as soon as possible, too; and I reckon I'd better take
her with me, though she really isn't fit, her boots and her hat are
so shabby; but it'll be better to have her there to be fitted,
especially the first time." he asked at
last. Jessie nodded. "There's such lots of room, and no peoples," she said
soberly, "and at home there was such lots of peoples and no room. Where are they all gone, granp?" "Gone to London, I reckon," answered granp, with a laugh. "You'll find it quiet, and you'll miss the shops, little maid." said granny indignantly; "we shall be in Norton in a little
while now, and there's shops enough there to satisfy any one, I
should hope." The world was so big and empty and silent, and her mother
so very, very far away. Not your
granddaughter, surely?" "Yes, it is. "Well, the country air will do her good. "What can I get for you
to-day, Mrs. she asked; "a bit of plain ribbon, I
should think." "I wish mother knew," she sighed presently, when the assistant had
gone off to get the boots for her to try on. he urged smilingly. "No, I don't," said granny. All I want now is a cup of tea, and I must go and get
it, and see about making our way home." Jessie looked up, speechless with delight. "Well, I never!" "I do want my tea badly, don't you?" said granny again. "I wish mother could see me now," she sighed at last. "And oh,
wouldn't it be nice if she was here, too. "Oh yes, granp too, of course." where would you have
been by this time, I wonder?" "Yes, thank you," answered Jessie gravely, putting her hand down and
feeling it in her pocket. CHAPTER IV. It was a very
small village, but those who lived in it thought it a very pretty
one. The doctor lived in one of these
houses, and the curate, Mr. Harburton, in another, and Miss Barley
and Miss Grace Barley in a third, and all the houses looked out on
the green and the road and across at each other, but all those who
dwelt in them were so neighbourly and friendly, this did not matter
at all. Amen." "It is time she was learning," she said anxiously, many a time. She can't walk there and back three times a
day, I am sure. "But there's her other schooling. It would be lovely there, and good for the
little maid too." "When are you going to begin, granp?" "Now. "No. Jessie looked awed and puzzled. "How did everybody all over the
world know about it, granp? But they will in
time," said the old man softly, as though speaking to himself. "He left word with His people that they were to teach each other, and
they did. Granny knows it, doesn't she?" "She knew it before she was your age,
child," he said gently. "Your mother knew it too before she was so old as you are." "She never said anything to me
about it, then." "Is He mother's 'our Father,' too, granp?" she asked at last. "Yes, child, mother's and father's." "Yes. "Go on, then. You take the lead." she asked anxiously. I know all of that." she murmured tenderly, "bless them both." Now don't you move, you sit there and rest, we will do
it all by ourselves." Such a tea it was, too, that she helped to bring out. cried Mrs. Dawson,
rising hurriedly to her feet. "Go and open the gate for her, father,
do. Sunday,
too, and all. It is very kind of her, I am sure." she asked, as she
saw her grandmother beginning to pick it up. Somehow, too, it
did not seem very kind to carry it all away from under their
visitor's very eyes. "You are Jessie, I know," she said kindly. "You can do both, miss, if you will," said Patience hospitably. she asked, laying her hand gently on
the little girl's shoulder. We shall have it out here when it
is fine, but when winter comes we shall go in by the fire." "What a lovely plan,"
she cried enthusiastically. "Whose idea was it, yours, Mr. and Thomas, blushing a little, told her all about it. At any rate, while she is a little
thing. Now, Jessie, what
do you say? "I must fly," cried Miss Grace. "Oh, Jessie!" she said, "you are just in time. I am going out to
gather some flowers, and you will be able to help me. "You are a very polite little girl, Jessie. "I think it ought to be called 'pretty Homer,'" said Jessie, smiling. "Won't it bite you, or sting?" she cried; "it could not if it wanted to,
and I am sure it does not want to. You are not afraid to stroke it, Jessie, are you? "Oh, how
lovely!" gasped Jessie, when she caught sight of them. "Oh, thank you!" exclaimed grandfather, with pleased surprise, "we shan't know
ourselves, we shall be so warm and comfortable. "Oh no," she said. "You see, I am very strong, and I like to have
lots to do." And "lots" she did do, in her staid, old-fashioned way. Jessie got up and dressed herself, and made her way down. "Oh, granp, what is it?" she cried. she cried, turning to her grandmother almost fiercely. she added, when she caught sight of her
grandmother's face. At the sight of their trouble Jessie's own tears fell fast. "She won't ever come to us; never,
never no more," he sighed heavily. "Why didn't she write, why didn't she tell us where she was?" Read it again, mother, read it to the child--I can't." "My dearest Father and Mother,
"This is to tell you I am very ill, dying. The doctor says that
if I want to let any one know, I must do so at once. It has been a cruel life, and I have often thanked God
on my knees that my darling was spared it. Don't let her forget me, dear
father and mother, and don't ever let her go from you. Good-bye, dear father and
mother, I can never forgive myself for all the misery I have
caused you; but I know you will forgive me, and believe I loved
you all the time. "Your loving daughter,"
"Lizzie." The letter, which had been placed in an envelope and directed by
Lizzie's own hand, came in a larger envelope, and with it a slip of
paper on which was written in a good firm hand, "Your poor daughter
died this morning. Yours truly, Mary Smith." The letter bore the Birmingham postmark, but no other clue. Dawson." Granp smiled, in spite of his anxiety. "No, child. "Yes, I would," said Jessie, "I am hungry." Why, there won't be anything left for me to do when I get up. Good-bye, granny." "Put on your hat and coat," granny called after her. "Oh, need I?" "I've been looking for you, this long while," he said roughly. "Now don't make a noise," as Jessie screamed "help." "Yes, to Norton." "Oh, do let me go, please! granny is ill, and
waiting for me to take her her dinner." In bed, is she?" "Yes," sobbed Jessie. "Yes," sobbed Jessie. "Oh, _please_ let me go. Jessie looked up in surprise, wondering how he knew her name. She had thought him a tramp only, though a particularly horrible one. I'm very
sorry, but I can't look after you too." Well, I can't be wasting any more time here. "Oh no, no!" "Shut up that noise," interrupted her father roughly. You are mine
by law, and I am going to stick to the law." Oh, granny, what shall I do! Be quiet, can't you, and be quick. She is ours." "She is mine, not
yours, and I've every right to her. "Prove it," he said tauntingly. Then suddenly remembering that time was flying, he changed his tone. "This way," he said, when he put her down in the road. THE JOURNEY AND THE ARRIVAL. he snapped crossly, "get up! she asked. "No," said Harry Lang curtly, "only a bit tired and upset at having
to leave the folks that brought her up. I'm hungry myself, so I dare say she is. Hungry, Jessie?" "I want to go home, I must--I must. "Where do you want to get to, to-night?" she asked, turning to Harry
Lang. "London." It is a long time for her to wait, and late for her to get home." She is lucky
not to have to walk all the way." "Wake up, can't you? On they went, and on and on, an endless distance it seemed to Jessie. At last, though, she summoned up courage. "Where are we going,
father?" "Home." "You'll know in time, so hold your noise." She "held her noise." At least she did not venture to speak again,
and "in time" she did know, but it was a long time first. "You'd better give the kid something to eat, and pack her off to bed
as soon as you can," he said. "She's pretty well fagged out, and so
am I," he added. Jessie looked round to see to whom he was speaking, and saw standing
in the doorway a little thin woman, with a sharp, cross face, and
dull, tired eyes, eyes which looked as though they never brightened,
or lost their look of weary hopelessness. roared her husband, "is that all? "I was speaking of
the child. he
snapped. "In the oven," and she took out a big covered basin and put before
him. Jessie looked with dismay at the collection of dirty-looking shawls
and coats her stepmother was piling on the sofa as "bedclothes," and
if she had not been so dead tired, she could never have brought
herself to lie down under them. "You'd better keep your
feelings to yourself," she said; "there's no time for any here. thought
Jessie, "or beetles." "Oh, I can't get out and kneel down," she thought. They came from her heart, and were real
petitions. THE NEW HOME. It was not yet daylight, of course, and the lighted lamp
stood on the table in the midst of the dirty dishes just as it had
the night before; her stepmother too--her hair and dress and whole
appearance were exactly as they had been the night before, the only
difference being that she seemed, if anything, less agreeable. "I want you to make
yourself useful, not to be giving me more trouble. She looked around her for a place where
she could wash. Cold water would help her to wake up, perhaps. "Please, where can I wash?" she asked at last. She was longing to feel the
freshness of cold water on her aching head and heavy eyes, and her
hot face, and she groped her way out to the scullery. Where was she to wash, and where was the dipper? She looked
around her hopelessly. she asked timidly, when she was ready. she asked. "Well, do that first. Jessie looked nonplussed. she asked at last,
picking up a bit of rag from a pile of things untidily heaped on a
chair. Jessie looked at the rag, and pondered. "I wonder what I had better do next," for Mrs. Lang had
not returned. Oh, I do want some breakfast!" she added, with a
sigh. "We're to be kept tidy, now, I s'pose," she muttered, with a laugh. "I wonder how long it'll last. It smelt very good, and Jessie was ravenously hungry. she
asked. cried Mrs. Lang, with a scornful laugh. "How does he live, then?" I do
the work, and he finds that more to his taste. "I will help you," she said, looking up at her with a smile. "I wonder how she is, and how granp is! "Yes, this is Jessie." He looked at Jessie and smiled, and she smiled back. "Bit tired, I expect?" "Yes, thank you, I am," said Jessie shyly. he asked comically, as
he glanced about him. Jessie asked, "and where is he? At the sight of her father all her old terror of him
rushed over her again, and she felt she could not face him. She did
not know how many landings she had passed, or where to go. She tried
to remember, but it was no good. She went on further and looked in. The room was empty and very
untidy, but there was a light burning in it. Mother, is that you?" "It is me--Jessie," she
called back. "Your mother sent me up to see you. "Yes, please." "I am _so_ sorry you are ill," she said
sympathetically. "I have been for a long time. exclaimed Jessie. "No. "Yes. I was very glad. I wanted mother." "I should," said Charlie decidedly. "I have to call your father
'father,' though I hate to. exclaimed Jessie, "you ought not to speak like that, I am sure. staring at
Jessie with wide, horrified eyes. "Don't cry," said Jessie soothingly. He won't work himself, either. "No," said Jessie. I've seen one
lodger, a young man. "Oh, Tom Salter! "I wish you'd call her 'mother,'" he said gently; "it would make us
seem more like brother and sister, and I would love to have a sister. Mother would like it, too. She isn't
really cross, you know. I do long to be
able to, and I can only give her extra trouble." "I have been, a little,
already. I had a garden
of my own, too. Oh, Jessie!" "I can't stay here," she cried, "I can't, I can't! "Jessie, don't--don't--don't cry like that. "I wish you would stay here. "I shan't mind so much by and by,
p'raps. Don't cry, Charlie. Turn round and listen, and I'll tell
you more stories. I am. she asked. CHAPTER IX. MISS PATCH. Now, steady! I am going to
move your bed out from the wall. One, two, three, and be off!" "Oh, that is nice!" "Oh, it is nice! The singing ceased for a moment, and Jessie gently knocked at the
door. "Come in," said the same voice brightly; "open the door, please, and
come in." "Please, Charlie wants to know if you will come down and see his
room. I have been tidying it a little, and I moved the bed, and he
is so delighted with it he wants you to see it." "I will ask you to let me lean on your shoulder a little, that is
all, dear. "Oh yes. "It is Jessie." "Oh, is it. She was
really, though, christened 'Jessica.'" I seem to see them and to smell them, even here! "Oh, you have a rose-bush, too!" she cried eagerly. "I had one at
granp's, and I loved it so." "You look tired out," she said kindly. "I feel so," said Mrs. Lang listlessly. "Oh do, mother, do, and have it up
here, and Miss Patch have one, too, and Jessie, and me." "Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Lang, quite taken aback. It did not last long, but half-an-hour, at the longest. Oh, do! "Very well, dear, I will," she agreed bravely, and it was really
brave of her, for to do so cost her a great effort. "Perhaps we
could choose a hymn we all know, and we could all join in. "I think it is all lovely," said Charlie; "don't you, Jessie?" "Oh, _lovely_," breathed Jessie softly. "No. I know it will, I am sure." she asked anxiously. "I think it is a beautiful idea," agreed Miss Patch warmly. "I think it is
perfectly lovely," she cried, "perfectly lovely! Oh, do, please! She wondered if they ever wept and wept, and longed for her as she
did for them. At any rate, she never beat her, as her
father did, or scolded and bullied her. Charlie, she was sure, was getting worse. He was growing thinner, and paler, and feebler, week by week. she asked anxiously, and Charlie
shook his head, but with tears in his eyes, tears of weakness and
disappointment. she asked presently,
longing to rouse and cheer him. he asked. "Will you read to me, or tell me about
Springbrook?" This, though, was not her only reason for going. He _must_ get better, he must, he must." "We will hope for the best, dear. It was Charlie himself, though, who saved her that pain. she cried, in sudden fear. "You--you--"
"Would you, mother?" he persisted. What's the
matter, dear? Oh, my dear, my dear, don't leave me." You will, won't you, mother?" "Sleep on, beloved, sleep and take thy rest. Then one by one they rose and,
bending over him, kissed him fondly. CHAPTER XI. TOO LATE. It was not a long
business, for her belongings were very few. But month after month went by, and still the same suspense continued. She would
far rather sit with Miss Patch, and talk or read to her, or be read
to. A man was standing on the step, evidently trying to
keep himself from making another assault on the door. "She's--gone--to
the cemetery," she gasped in explanation. The day was already waning, and the sun going down. She looked out
anxiously, longing to see her mother come into sight. I know
her and your--your father. "Is--is--" she gasped. Mary's." "You look after the house." She longed to do so much, yet was able
to do so little. "Poor soul, poor soul," sighed Miss Patch softly. "You did. My dear, you did. He is
dead, dead in all his sinfulness!" There was, instead, almost a sense of
relief, a feeling of peace. His young, almost
boyish face was very grave and thoughtful. Somehow, though, it did not. She was often absent, too, on business of which she did not
speak. CHAPTER XII. "I'm coming, mother, I'm coming," he called, and went indoors. They did not
talk much. She handed him the envelope, but she did not turn and go. "If it is good news, tell her quickly," she said anxiously. My dear, yes, good as good can be. She is coming back for good. Good-bye, granp
and granny. Please write soon. "I have my bicycle. "Your loving grandfather,"
"T. Dawson." "Yes, she'll understand." She was losing every one she cared for, not
finding them. she cried. "Oh, do, do, Miss Patch, do. "But it _can_ be," cried eager Jessie. gasped Miss Patch, looking dejected again. Jessie looked about her. "There isn't _very_ much of it," she said
thoughtfully. Oh, my! I am terribly given to being a coward, Jessie." How strange life was,
and how wonderful! She herself was changed, and--she looked at Miss Patch. Their eyes met in a happy, affectionate smile. "No, things were not
quite the same, they were better, if anything. She had more now,
more in every way." she asked eagerly. It has been a cruelly long parting for them, and it
has told on them," she added. "I will do my very, very best," said Jessie earnestly. "Only a few moments now, dear. This is Crossley, the next station to
ours. She recognized it all now, and
every yard made it more familiar. "Very well, dear, but"--laughingly--"I must leave all the parcels,
too. "Oh, no, we will bring those. Now," as the train drew up, "please
get out!" "Not asleep this time, granp!" she cried excitedly, "not asleep this
time! Oh, granp! He did not carry her
now, though he leaned on her instead, and seemed glad of the support. Run on to her, child! You must be her right arm now, Jessie." THE END.