Say and Seal, Volume II

"None that are good for much." And looking at his watch, Mr. Linden laid the child—who had fallen asleep again—out of his arms among the pillows, arranging them softly and dextrously as if he were used to the business.

"Reuben Taylor will stay with him for the present," he said as he turned to Dr. Harrison.

"I'll come again by and by," the doctor said. "Meanwhile all that can be done is to let him have this, as I told you."

The directions were given to Reuben, the doctor drove off, and Mr. Linden set out on his quick walk home; after the confinement of the night, the cold morning air and exercise were rather resting than otherwise. It was a very thoughtful half hour—very sorrowful at first; but before he reached home, thought, and almost feeling, had got beyond "the narrow bounds of time," and were resting peacefully—even joyfully—"where bright celestial ages roll."

He entered the house with a light step, and went first upstairs to change his dress; but when he came down and entered the sitting-room, there was the tone of the whole walk upon his face still. Faith put her question softly, as if she expected no glad answer. And yet it was partly that, though given in very gentle, grave tones.

"There is more to fear than to hope, dear Faith,—and there is everything to hope, and nothing to fear!"

She turned away to the breakfast-table; and said little more till the meal was over. Then she rose when he did.

"I am going now, Endy!"—The tone was of very earnest determination, that yet waited for sanction.

"Yes," he answered—"Dr. Harrison says the fever is not contagious, I waited to know that. If I can I shall get free before midday, so I may meet you there. And can you prepare and take with you two or three things?"—he told her what.

Faith set about them; and when they were done, Mr. Skip had finished his breakfast and got Jerry ready. Some other preparations Faith had made beforehand; and with no delay now she was on her swift way to little Johnny's bedside. She came in like a vision of comfort upon the sick room, with all sorts of freshness about her; grasped Reuben's hand, and throwing back her hood, stooped her lips to Johnny's cheek. And Johnny gave her his usual little fair smile—and then his eyes went off to the doorway, as if he half expected to see some one else behind her. But it was from no want of love to her, as she knew from the way the eyes came back to her face and rested there, and took a sort of pleased survey of her hood and, her fur and her dress.

"Dear Johnny!—Can you speak to me?" said Faith tenderly touching her cheek again to his.

"Oh yes, ma'am," he said, in a quiet voice and with the same bit of a smile. That was what Faith wanted. Then she looked up.

"Are you going to school now, Reuben?"

"I didn't expect to this morning, Miss Faith," Reuben said with a sober glance at his little comrade.

"Then you can wait here a bit for me."

Leaving Reuben once more in charge, Faith went on a rummaging expedition over the house to find some woman inmate. Not too easily or speedily she was found at last, the housekeeper and all-work woman deep in all work as she really seemed, and in an outer kitchen of remote business, whither Faith had traced her by an exercise of determinate patience and skill. Having got so fur, Faith was not balked in the rest; and obtaining from her some of Johnny's clean linen which she persuaded her to go in search of, she returned to the room where she had left Reuben; and set about making the sick child as comfortable as in his sickness he could be.

It was a day or two already since Johnny had lain there and had had little effectual attention from anybody, till Mr. Linden came last night. The child might well look at his new nurse, for her neat dress and gentle face and soft movements were alone a balm for any sick place. And in her quiet way, Faith set about changing the look of this one. There was plenty of wood, and she made a glorious fire. Then tenderly and dextrously she managed to get a fresh nightgown on Johnny without disturbing him more than pleasantly with her soft manipulations; and wrapping him in a nice little old doublegown which she had brought with her and which had been a friend of her own childish days, Faith gave him to Reuben to hold while she made up the bed and changed the clothes, the means for which she had also won from the housekeeper. Then having let down the chintz curtains to shield off the intense glare of the sunny snow, Faith assumed Johnny into her own arms. She had brought vinegar from home, and with it bathed the little boy's face and hands and brushed his hair, till the refreshed little head lay upon her breast in soothed rest and comfort.

"There, Johnny!"—she whispered as her lips touched his brow,—"Mr.Linden may come as soon as he pleases—we are ready for him!"

The child half unclosed his eyes at the words, and then sunk again into one of his fits of feverish sleep, the colour rising in his cheeks a little, the breath coming quick. Reuben knelt down at Faith's side and watched him.

"I used to wonder, Miss Faith," he said softly, "what would become of him if Mr. Linden ever went away"—and the quiet pause told what provision Reuben thought was fast coming for any such contingency.

"You can't think what Mr. Linden's been to Johnny, Miss Faith," he went on in the same low voice,—"and to all of us," he added lower still. "But he's taken such care of him, in school and out. It was only last week Johnny told me he liked coming to school in the winter, because then Mr. Linden always went home with him. And whenever he could get in Mr. Linden's lap he was perfectly happy. And Mr. Linden would let him, sometimes, even in school, because Johnny was so little and not very strong,—and he'd let him sit in his lap and go to sleep for a little while when he got tired, and then Johnny would go back to his lessons as bright as a bee. That was the way he did the very first day school was opened, for Johnny was frightened at first, and a mind to cry—he'd never had anybody to take much care of him. And Mr. Linden just called him and took him up and spoke to him—and Johnny laid his head right down and went to sleep; and he's loved Mr. Linden with all his heart ever since. I know we all laughed—and he smiled himself, but it made all the rest of us love him too."

Reuben had gone on talking, softly, as if he felt sure of sympathy in all he might say on the subject. But that "first day school was opened!"—how Faith's thoughts sprang back there,—with what strange, mixed memories the vision of it came up before her! That day and time when so many new threads were introduced into her life, which were now shewing their colours and working out their various patterns. It was only a spring there and back again, however, that her thoughts took; or rather the vision was a sort of background to Reuben's delineations, and her eye was upon these; with what kind of sympathy she did not care to let him see. Her cheek was bent down to the sick child's head and Faith's face was half hidden. Until a moment later, when the door opened and Johnny's father came in to see what was become of him; and then Mr. Fax had no clue to the lustrous softness of the eyes that looked up at him. He could make nothing of it.

"What!" said he. "Why who's Johnny got to look after him now?"

"I am his teacher, sir."

"His teacher, be you? Seems to me he's a lot of 'em. One teacher stayed with him last night. How many has he got, among you?"

"Only two—" said Faith, rejoicing that she was one. "I am his Sunday school teacher."

"Well what's your name, now?"

"Faith Derrick."

"That's who you be!" said Mr. Fax in surprise. "Don't say! Well Johnny's got into good hands, aint he? How's he gettin' along?"

Faith's eye went down to the little boy, and her hand passed slowly and tenderly over his hair; she was at a loss how to answer, and Reuben spoke for her.

"He's been sleeping a good deal this morning."

The father stooped towards the child, but his look went from him toFaith, with a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness as he spoke.

"Sleepin', is he?—Then I guess he's gettin' along first-rate—aint he?"

Again Faith's look astonished the man, both because of its intent soft beauty and the trembling set of her lip. But how to answer him she did not know. Her head sunk over the child's brow as she exclaimed,

"His dear Master knows what to do with him!"

Jonathan Fax stood up straight and looked at Reuben.

"What does she mean!"

"She means that he is in God's hands, and that we don't know yet whatHe will do," Reuben answered with clear simplicity.

Yet it was a strange view of the subject to Mr. Fax; and he stood stiff and angular and square, looking down at Faith and her charge, feeling startled and strange. Her face was bent so that he could not see that quiver of her lip now; but he did see one or two drops fall from the lowered eyelids on Johnny's hair. Perhaps he would have asked more questions, but he did not; something kept them back. He stood fixed, with gathering soberness growing over his features. Little he guessed that those tears had been half wrung from Faith's eyes by the contrast between his happy little child and him. It was with something like a groan at last that he turned away, merely bidding Reuben Taylor to call for anything that was wanted.

The morning wore on softly, for Johnny still slept. Reuben went quietly about, giving attention where it was needed; to the fire, or to the curtains—drawn back now as the sun got round—or bringing Faith a footstool, or trying some other little thing for her comfort; and when he was not wanted remaining in absolute stillness. As it neared midday, however, he took his stand by the window, and after a short watch there suddenly turned and left the room. And a moment after Mr. Linden came in.

Faith met him with a look of grave, sweet quiet; in which was mingled a certain joy at being where she was. She waited for him to speak. But something in her face, or her office, moved him,—the gravity of his own look deepened as he came forward—his words were not ready. He sat down by her, resting his arm on the back of her chair and giving her and Johnny the same salutation—the last too softly to rouse him.

"Has the doctor been here?" he said first.

"No."

He was silent again for a minute, but then Johnny suddenly started up—waking perhaps out of some fever dream; for he seemed frightened and bewildered, and almost ready to cry; turning his head uneasily away from everything and everybody as it seemed, until his eyes were fairly open, and then giving almost a spring out of Faith's arms into those of Mr. Linden; holding him round the neck and breathing little sobbing breaths on his shoulder, till the resting-place had done its work,—till Mr. Linden's soft whispered words had given him comfort. But it was a little wearily then that he said, "Sing."

Was it wearily that the song was given? Faith could not tell,—she could not name those different notes in the voice, she could only feel that the octave reached from earth to heaven.

   "'How kind is Jesus, Lord of all!To hear my little feeble call.How kind is Jesus, thus to bePhysician, Saviour, all to me!   'How much he loves me he doth shew;How much he loves I cannot know.I'm glad my life is his to keep,Then he will watch and I may sleep.   'Jesus on earth, while here I lie;Jesus in heaven, if I die:I'm safe and happy in his care,His love will keep me, here or there.   'An angel he may send for me,And then an angel I shall be.Lord Jesus, through thy love divine,Thy little child is ever thine.'"

Faith had drawn her chair a little back and with her head leaning on the back of Mr. Linden's chair, listened—in a spirit not very different from Johnny's own. She looked up then when it was done, with almost as childlike a brow. It had quieted him, as with a charm, and the little smile he gave Faith was almost wondering why she looked grave.

"You've been here a good while," he said, as if the mere announcement of the fact spoke his thanks.

"Has she?" Mr. Linden said. "What has Miss Faith done with you, Johnny, if she has been here a good while?"

"All sorts of things," Johnny answered, with another comprehensive expression of gratitude.

"I thought so!" said Mr. Linden. "I shouldn't wonder a bit if she had dressed you up in something she used to wear herself."

"She wasn't ever so little," the child said softly.

Faith had been preparing for him a cup of some light nourishment which he was to take from time to time, and now coming to Mr. Linden's side kneeled down there before Johnny to give it to him. The child took the delicate spoonfuls as she gave them, turning his fair eyes from her to Mr. Linden as if he felt in a very sweet atmosphere of love and care; and when she went away with the cup he said in his slow fashion,

"I love her very much."

And Faith heard the answer—

"And so do I."

Coming up behind Mr. Linden she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Endecott—where are you going to take dinner and rest to-day?"

"O I will take rest by the way," he answered lightly, and with a smile at her. "There is dinner enough in my supper basket—I have not much time for it, neither."

"School again this afternoon?"

"Yes I must be there for awhile."

Faith moved away, remarking in a different tone, "Your supper basket is at home, sir!"—and busied her energies about serving him as she had just served Johnny. With something more substantial however. Faith had brought a lunch basket, and in five minutes had made Mr. Linden a cup of home tea.

"Now how shall we manage?" she said;—"for Johnny must have you every minute while you are here—and there is no such thing as a little table. I shall have to be table and dumb waiter for you—if you won't mind."

And so Faith pulled up her chair again and sat down, with the basket open on her lap and Mr. Linden's cup in her hand.

"I only hope," she said, "that Dr. Harrison will not choose this particular minute to come in! If he does, catch the cup of tea, Endecott!—for I won't answer for anything."

"I don't know whether I should be most sorry or proud, in case of such event," said Mr. Linden,—"however, I do not wish the doctor anything so disagreeable. But I will promise to catch the cup of tea—and everything else, down to his displeasure. Only you must not be a dumb waiter; for that will not suit me at all."

It was one of those pretty bits of sunshine that sometimes shew themselves in the midst of a very unpromising day, the time when they sat there with the lunch basket between them. The refreshment of talk and of lunch (for lunch is refreshing when it is needed) brightened both faces and voices; and Mr. Linden's little charge, in one of his turns of happy rest and ease, watched them—amused and interested—till he fell asleep. By that time Mr. Linden's spare minutes were about over. As he was laying Johnny gently down on the bed, Faith seized her chance.

"You'll let me stay here to-night—won't you, Endecott?"

"It would not be good for you, dear child,—if you stay until night it will be quite as much as you ought to do. But I will see you again by that time."

"I am strong, Endecott."

"Yes, you are strong, little Sunbeam," he said, turning now to her and taking both her hands,—"and yet it is a sort of strength I must guard. Even sunbeams must not be always on duty. But we'll see about it when I come back."

Mr. Linden went off to his other sphere of action, and soon after Reuben came softly in, just to let Faith know that he was at hand if she wanted anything, and to offer to take her place.

"Reuben!" said Faith suddenly, "have you had any dinner?"

"O yes, ma'am—enough," Reuben said with a smile. "I brought something with me this morning."

Faith put her lunch basket into his hand, but her words were cut short; for she saw Dr. Harrison just coming to the house. She moved away and stood gravely by the fire.

The doctor came in pulling off his glove. He gave his hand to Faith with evident pleasure, but with a frank free pleasure, that had nothing embarrassing about the manner of it; except the indication of its depth. After a few words given with as easy an intonation as if the thermometer were not just a few degrees above zero outside where he had come from, the doctor's eye went over to the other person in the room; and then the doctor himself crossed over and offered his hand.

"I shall never see you, Reuben,"—said he with a very pleasant recollective play of eye and lip,—"without thinking of a friend."

The doctor had a more full view of Reuben's eyes, thereupon, than he had ever before been favoured with,—for one moment their clear, true, earnest expression met his. But whatever the boy read—or tried to read—or did not read, he answered simply, as he looked away again,

"You have been that to me, sir."

"I don't know—" said the doctor lightly. "I am afraid not according to your friend. Mr. Linden's definition. But reckon me such a one as I can be, will you?"—He turned away without waiting for the answer and went back to Faith.

"Do you know," he said, "I expected to find you here?"

"Very naturally," said Faith quietly.

"Yes—it is according to my experience. Now how is this child?"—

He turned to see, and so did Faith. He looked at the child, while Faith's eye went from Johnny to him. Both faces were grave, but Faith's grew more grave as she looked.

"How is this child?" she repeated.

"He is not worse," said the doctor; "except that not to be better is to be worse. Are you particularly interested in him?"

Faith looked down at the sweet pure little face, and for a minute or two was very still. She did not even think of answering the doctor, nor dare speak words at all. Her first movement was to push away softly a lock of hair from Johnny's forehead.

"What can I do for him, Dr. Harrison?"

"Not much just now—go on as you have been doing. I will be here to-night again, and then perhaps I shall know more."

He gave her a new medicine for him however; and having said all that was needful on that score, came back with her to the fire and stood a little while talking—just so long as it would do for him to stay with any chance of its being acceptable; talking in a tone that did not jar with the place or the time, gravely and pleasantly, of some matters of interest; and then he went. And Faith sat down by the bedside, and forgot Dr. Harrison; and thought of the Sunday school in the woods that evening in October, and the hymn, "I want to be an angel"; and looked at Johnny with a very full heart.

Not a very long time had passed, when Faith heard sleigh bells again, and a person very different from the doctor came softly in; even Mrs. Derrick. She smiled at Reuben and Faith, and going close up to the bed folded her hands quietly together and stood looking at the sick child; the smile vanishing from her face, her lips taking a tender, pitiful set—her eyes in their experience gravely reading the signs. She looked for a few minutes in silence, then with a little sorrowful sigh she turned to Faith.

"Pretty child," she said, "can't you take a little rest? I'll sit by him now."

"O mother I'm not tired—much. I have not been very busy."

Mrs. Derrick however took the matter into her own hands, and did notcontent herself till she had Faith on a low seat at her side, andFaith's head on her lap; which was a rest, to mind and body both.Reuben replenished the fire and went out, and the two sat alone.

"Faith," her mother said softly, "don't you think he'd be content with me to-night? I can't bear to have Mr. Linden sit up."

"I want to stay myself, mother, if he would let me."

"I don't believe he'll do that, Faith—and I guess he's right But you must make him go home to tea, child, and he might rest a little then; and I'll stay till he comes back, at least."

There was not much more to be said then, for Johnny woke up and wanted to be taken on Faith's lap, and talked to, and petted; answering all her efforts with a sort of grateful little smile and way; but moving himself about in her arms as if he felt restless and uneasy. It went to her heart. Presently, in the low tones which were music of themselves, she carried his thoughts off to the time when Jesus was a little child; and began to give him, in the simplicity of very graphic detail, part of the story of Christ's life upon earth. It was a name that Johnny loved to hear; and Faith went from point to point of his words, and wonders, and healing power and comforting love. Not dwelling too long, but telling Johnny very much as if she had seen it, each gentle story of the sick and the weary and the troubled, who came in their various ways to ask pity of Jesus, and found it; and reporting to Johnny as if she had heard them the words of promise and love that a little child could understand. Mrs. Derrick listened; she had never heard just such a talk in her life. The peculiarity of it was in the vivid faith and love which took hold of the things as if Faith had had them by eyesight and hearing, and in the simplicity of representation with which she gave them, as a child to a child. And all the while she let Johnny constantly be changing his position, as restlessness prompted; from sitting to kneeling and lying in her arms; sometimes brushing his hair, which once in a while he had a fancy for, and sometimes combing it off from his forehead with her own fingers dipped in the vinegar and water which he liked to smell. Nothing could be more winning—nothing more skilful, in its way, than Faith's talk to the sick child that half hour or more. And Johnny told its effect, in the way he would bid her "talk," if she paused for a minute. So by degrees the restless fit passed off for the time, and he lay still in her arms, with drooping heavy eyelids now.

Everything was subsiding;—the sun sank down softly behind the wavy horizon line, the clouds floated silently away to some other harbour, and the blasts of wind came fainter and fainter, like the music of a retreating army. Swiftly the daylight ebbed away, and still Faith rocked softly back and forth, and her mother watched her. Once in a while Reuben came silently in to bring wood or fresh water,—otherwise they had no interruption. Then Mr. Linden came, and sitting down by Faith as he had done before, asked about the child and about the doctor.

"He came very soon after you went away," said Faith. "He said that he was no better, and that to be no better was to be worse." It was plain that she thought more than she said. Faith had little experience, but there is an intuitive skill in some eyes to know what they have never known before.

Mr. Linden bent down over the child, laying cheek to cheek softly and silently, until Johnny rousing up a little held up his lips to be kissed,—and he did not raise his head then.

"Have you been asleep, Johnny?" he said.

"I don't know," the child said dreamily.

"Has Miss Faith taken care of you ever since I went?"

"Yes," Johnny said, with a little faint smile—"and we've had talk."

"I wish I had been here to hear it," said Mr. Linden. "What was it about?—all sorts of sweet things?"

"Yes," Johnny said again, his face brightening—"out of the Bible."

"Well they are the sweetest things I know of," said Mr. Linden. "Now if you will come on my lap, I am sure Miss Faith will get you something to eat—she can do it a great deal better than I can."

Faith had soon done that, and brought the cup to Johnny, of something that he liked, and fed him as she had done at noon. It seemed to refresh him, for he fell into a quieter sleep than he had had for some time, and was oftly laid on the bed.

"Now dear Faith," Mr. Linden said coming back to her, "it is time for you to go home and rest."

"Do you mean to send me?" she said wistfully.

"Or take you—" he said, with a soft touch of his fingers on her hair."I don't know but I could be spared long enough for that."

It was arranged so, Mrs. Derrick undertaking to supply all deficiencies so far as she could, until Mr. Linden should get back again. The fast drive home through the still cold air was refreshing to both parties; it was a still drive too. Then leaving Mr. Linden to get a little rest on the sofa, Faith prepared tea. But Mr. Linden would not stay long after that, for rest or anything.

"I am coming very early to-morrow, Endecott," Faith said then.