II.
_THE POLICE-SERGEANT'S STORY._
Tea was over, the dishes neatly washed and put away by Mrs. Granby andJennie, the three little boys snugly tucked in their cribs up-stairs,the baby lying quiet in its cradle, and Mrs. Granby seated at thecorner of the table with her sewing. Jennie sat upon her father's knee,and Willie in his usual seat at his mother's side, and the policemanbegan his story.
"It might have been about two o'clock when, as I was at my desk, makingout a report, Policeman Neal came in with a lost child in his arms, aspretty a little thing as ever I saw, for all she did look as if shehad been having rather a hard time of it,--a gentleman's child and amother's darling, used to be well cared for, as was easy to be seenby her nice white frock with blue ribbons, and her dainty shoes andstockings. But I think her mother's heart would have ached if she hadseen her then. She had lost her hat, and the wind had tossed up hercurls, her cheeks were pale and streaked with tears, and her big browneyes had a pitiful look in them that would have softened a tiger, letalone a man that had half a dozen little ones of his own at home; whileevery now and then the great heavy sighs came struggling up, as if shehad almost cried her heart out.
"When Neal brought her in, she looked round as if she expected to seesome one, and so it seems she did; for he put her on thinking she'dfind some of her own folks waiting for her. And when she saw there wasno one there, such a disappointed look as came over her face, and herlip shook, and she clasped both little hands over her throat, as if tokeep back the sobs from breaking out again. A many lost children I'veseen, but never one who touched me like her.
"Well, Neal told where he'd found her, and a good way she'd wanderedfrom her home, as we found afterwards, and how she said her name wasBrightfort, which was as near as he'd come to it; for she had a crookedlittle tongue, though a sweet one. I looked in the directory, but noname like that could I find. Then Neal was going to put her down and goback to his beat, but she clung fast to him and began to cry again. Yousee, she'd kind of made friends with him, and she didn't fancy beingleft with strange faces again. So I just took her from him, and coaxedher up a bit, and told her I'd show her the telegraph sending off amessage how she was there. I put her on the desk, close to me, while Iset the wires to work; and as sure as you live, what did I hear thatminute but her saying a bit of a prayer. She didn't mean any one tohear but Him she was speaking to, but I caught every word; for you seemy head was bent over near to hers. And I'll never forget it, not if Ilive to be a hundred, no, nor the way it made me feel. 'Dear Father inheaven,' she said, 'please let my own home father come and find me verysoon, 'cause I'm so tired, and I want my own mamma; and don't let thosenaughty boys hurt my Flossy, but let papa find him too.' I hadn't feltso chirk as I might all day, and it just went to the soft place in myheart; and it gave me a lesson, too, that I sha'n't forget in a hurry."
Mr. Richards stopped and cleared his throat, and his wife took up thecorner of her shawl and wiped her eyes.
"Bless her!" said Mrs. Granby, winking hers very hard.
"Ay, bless her, I say, too," continued the policeman. "It was as prettya bit of faith and trust as ever I saw; and after it she seemed somecomforted, and sat quiet, watching the working of the wires, as if shewas quite sure the One she'd looked to would bring her help. Well, Icarried her round and showed her all there was to see, which wasn'tmuch, and then I set her to talking, to see if I could find out whereshe belonged. I saw she'd been confused and worried before Neal broughther in, and I thought like enough she'd forgotten. So, after somecoaxing and letting her tell her story in her own way,--how her dog ranaway and she ran after him, and so got lost, she suddenly rememberedthe name and number of the street where she lived. With that she brokedown again, and began to cry and sob out, she did want to go home somuch.
"I was just sending out to see if she was right, when up dashes acarriage to the door, and out gets a gentleman on crutches. The momentthe little one set eyes on him, she screams out as joyful as youplease, 'Oh, it's my soldier, it's my soldier!'
"Talk of an April day! You never saw anything like the way the sunlightbroke through the clouds on her face. The moment he was inside thedoor, she fairly flung herself out of my arms on to his neck; and itwas just the prettiest thing in the world to see her joy and love, andhow she kissed and hugged him. As for him, he dropped one crutch, andheld fast to her, as if for dear life. I knew who he was well enough,for I had seen him before, and found out about him, being in the wayof duty. He's an English colonel that lives at the ---- Hotel; and theytell wonderful stories about him,--how brave he is, and what a lotof battles he's fought, and how, with just a handful of soldiers, hedefended a hospital full of sick men against a great force of themmurdering Sepoys, and brought every man of them safe off. All sorts offine things are told about him; and I'm bound they're true; for you cantell by the look of him he's a hero of the right sort. I didn't thinkthe less of him, either, that I saw his eyes mighty shiny as he andthe baby held fast to each other. She wasn't his child, though, butMr. Bradford's up in ---- Street, whom I know all about; and if thatcrooked little tongue of hers could have said 'R,' which it couldn't, Imight have taken her home at once. Well, she was all right then, andhe carried her off; but first she walked round and made her mannersto every man there as polite as you please, looking the daintiestlittle lady that ever walked on two feet; and when I put her into thecarriage, didn't she thank me for letting her into the station, andbeing kind to her, as if it was a favor I'd been doing, and not myduty; and as if a man could help it that once looked at her. So she wasdriven away, and I was sorry to lose sight of her, for I don't know asI ever took so to a child that didn't belong to me."
"Is that all?" asked Jennie, as her father paused.
"That's all."
"How old was she, farher?"
"Five years old, she said, but she didn't look it. It seemed to me whenI first saw her as if she was about your size; but you're bigger thanshe, though you don't make much show for your six years."
"How funny she can't say 'R' when she's five years old!" said Jennie.
"Yes, almost as funny as that my girl of six can't say 'th,'" laughedthe sergeant.
Jennie smiled, colored, and hung her head.
"And you thought maybe your lost child was Mrs. Stanton'sgranddaughter; did you?" asked Mrs. Granby.
"Well, I thought it might be. Two children in that way of life ain'tlikely to be lost the same day in the same neighborhood; and we hadno notice of any other but my little friend. You don't know if Mrs.Stanton has any relations of the name of Bradford?"
"No; she's 'most a stranger to me, and the scared girl didn't mentionno names, only said little Bessie was missin'."
"That's her then. Little Bradford's name was Bessie; so putting two andtwo together, I think they're one and the same."
They talked a while longer of little Bessie and her pretty ways and herfriend, the colonel; and then Mrs. Granby carried Willie and Jennie offto bed.
"Now, Mary," said Richards, going to his wife's side the moment thechildren were out of hearing, "I know your poor heart has been achingall day to know what the eye-doctor said; but the boy sticks so closeto you, and his ears are so quick, that I couldn't do more than whisper'yes' when I came in, just to let you know it could be done. I wasbringing Willie home when I met Jarvis with a message that I was togo up to the Chief on special business, so, as I hadn't a minute tospare, I just had to hand the poor little man over to Jarvis, whopromised to see him safely in your care. Dr. Dawson says, Mary, thathe thinks Willie can be cured; but we must wait a while, and he thinksit best that he should not be told until the time comes. The operationcannot be performed till the boy is stronger; and it is best not toattempt it till the blindness is total,--till both eyes are quitedark. Meanwhile, he must be fed upon good nourishing food. If we cando this, he thinks in three months, or perhaps four, the child maybe able to bear the operation. After that he says we must still bevery careful of him, and see that his strength does not ru
n down; andwhen the spring opens, we must send him away from town, up among themountains. And that's what your doctor says of you, too, Mary; thatyou won't get well of this dreadful rheumatism till you have a changeof air; and that next summer I ought to send you where you will havemountain air. Dr. Dawson's charge," Richards went on more slowly, "willbe a hundred dollars,--he says to rich folks it would be three hundred,maybe more. But five thousand is easier come at by a good many peoplethan a hundred is by us. So now we know what the doctor can do, we mustmake out what we can do. I'm free to say I think Willie stands a betterchance with Dr. Dawson than he does elsewhere; but I don't see how weare to raise the money. I'd live on bread and water, or worse, lie onthe bare boards and work like a slave, to bring our boy's sight back;but I can't see you suffer; and we have the rest of the flock to thinkof as well as Willie. And I suppose it must bring a deal of expense onus, both before and after the operation; at least, if we follow out thedoctor's directions, and he says if we don't, the money and troublewill be worse than thrown away.
"The first thing I have to do is to see Dr. Schwitz, and find out howmuch we owe him for attending you and the children, off and on, thesesix months. I've asked him half a dozen times for his bill, but healways said 'no hurry' and he 'could wait;' and since he was so kind,and other things were so pressing, I've just let it go by."
When he had spoken of the doctor's hope of curing Willie, his wife'spale face had brightened; but as he went on to say what it would cost,her head drooped; and now as he spoke of the other doctor's bill, shecovered her face with her hands, and burst into tears and sobs.
"Why, Mary, what is it, dear?"
Bessie's Friends. p. 40]
"Oh, Tom! Tom!" she broke forth, "Dr. Schwitz sent his bill thismorning. A rough-looking man brought it, and he says the doctor musthave it the first of the year, and--and--" She could get no farther.The poor woman! it was no wonder; she was sick and weak, and thisunlooked-for trouble had quite broken her down.
"Now, don't, Mary, don't be so cast down," said her husband. "We'll seeour way out of this yet. The Lord hasn't forsaken us."
"I don't know," she answered between her sobs, "it 'most seems likeit;" and taking up a book which lay upon the table, she drew frombetween its leaves a folded paper and handed it to him. He was astrong, sturdy man, this police-sergeant, used to terrible sights, andnot easily startled or surprised, as he had told his little daughter;but when he opened the paper and looked at it, all the color left hisruddy cheeks, and he sat gazing at it as if he were stunned. There wasa moment's silence; then the baby set up its pitiful little cry. Mrs.Richards lifted it from the cradle.
"Oh, Tom," she said, "if it would please the Lord to take baby and me,it would be far better for you. I've been only a burden to you thesesix months past, and I'm likely to be no better for six months to come,for they say I can't get well till the warm weather comes again. You'dbe better without us dear, and it's me that's brought this on you."
Then the policeman roused himself.
"That's the hardest word you've spoken to me these ten years we'vebeen married, Mary, woman," he said. "No, I thank the Lord again andagain that that trouble hasn't come to me yet. What would I do withoutyou, Mary, dear? How could I bear it to come home and not find youhere,--never again to see you smile when I come in; never to hear yousay, 'I'm so glad you've come, Tom;' never to get the kiss that putsheart into me after a hard day's work? And the babies,--would you wishthem motherless? To be sure, you can't do for them what you once did,but that will all come right yet; and there's the mother's eye tooverlook and see that things don't go too far wrong; here's the mothervoice and the mother smile for them to turn to. No, no; don't you thinkyou're laid aside for useless yet, dear. As for this wee dolly,"--andthe father laid his great hand tenderly on the tiny bundle in itsmother's arms,--"why, I think I've come to love her all the more forthat she's so feeble and such a care. And what would our Jennie dowithout the little sister that she has such a pride in and lays so manyplans for? Why, it would break her heart to lose her. No, no, Mary, Ican bear all things short of that you've spoken of; and do you justpray the Lord that he'll not take you at your word, and never hurt meby saying a thing like that again."
Trying to cheer his wife, the brave-hearted fellow had almost talkedhimself into cheerfulness again; and Mrs. Richards looked up throughher tears. "And what are we to do, Tom?" she asked.
"I can't just rightly see my way clear yet," he answered, thoughtfully,rubbing his forehead with his finger; "but one thing is certain, we'vegot to look all our troubles straight in the face, and to see what wecan do. What we _can_ do for ourselves we _must_, then trust the Lordfor the rest. As I told you, that little soul that was brought up tothe station this afternoon gave me a lesson I don't mean to forget ina hurry. There she was, the innocent thing, in the worst trouble Isuppose that could come to such a baby,--far from her home and friends,feeling as if she'd lost all she had in the world,--all strange facesabout her, and in what was to her a terrible place, and not knowing howshe was to get out of it. Well, what does she do, the pretty creature,but just catch herself up in the midst of her grieving and say that bitof a prayer? and then she rested quiet and waited. It gave me a sharpprick, I can tell you, and one that I needed. Says I to myself, 'TomRichards, you haven't half the faith or the courage of this baby.'There had I been all day fretting myself and quarrelling with theLord's doings, because he had brought me into a place where I could notsee my way out. I had asked for help, too, or thought I had, and yetthere I was, faithless and unbelieving, not willing to wait his timeand way to bring it to me. But she, baby as she was, knew in whom shehad trusted, and could leave herself in his hands after she had oncedone all she knew how. It's not the first teaching I've had from alittle child, Mary, and I don't expect it will be the last; but nothingever brought me up as straight as that did. Thinks I, the Lord forgiveme, and grant me such a share of trust and patience as is given to thishis little one; and then I took heart, and I don't think I've lost itagain, if I have had a hard blow I did not look for. I own I was a bitstunned at first; but see you, Mary, I am sure this bill is not fair.Dr. Schwitz has overcharged us for certain; and I don't believe itwill stand in law."
"But we can't afford to go to law, Tom, any more than to pay this sum.Four hundred dollars!"
"I would not wonder if Mr. Ray would see me through this," saidRichards. "He's a good friend to me. I'll see him, anyhow. I neverthought Dr. Schwitz would serve me like this; it's just revenge."
"Have you offended him?" asked Mrs. Richards, in surprise.
"Yes," answered the policeman. "Yesterday I had to arrest a nephew ofhis for robbing his employer. Schwitz came to me and begged I'd lethim off and pretend he was not to be found, saying he would make itworthwhile to me. I took offence at his trying to bribe me, which wasbut natural, you will allow, Mary, and spoke up pretty sharp. He sworehe'd make me pay for it if I touched the lad; but I never thought hewould go this far. And to think I have had the handling of so manyrogues, and didn't know one when I saw him!"
"And Willie?" said the poor mother.
"Ah! that's the worst," answered Richards. "I'm afraid we sha'n't beable to have much done for Willie this next year; for even if Dr.Dawson will wait for his pay, there's all the expense that's to comebefore and after the operation; and I don't see how we are going tomanage it."
Long the good policeman and his wife sat and talked over theirtroubles; and when kind Mrs. Granby came back, she was told of them,and her advice asked; but three heads were no better than two in makingone dollar do the needful work of ten.
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Bessie and Her Friends Page 3
