CHAPTER XIV

"MY DAD IS GOING TO DIE"

"WHICH must I do?"

It was a big question to Christina.

Old Mr. Bolland had left a note asking her to go to lunch the next afternoon with him and his wife. Her father was willing that she should do so, for he had discovered that the old Bollands were friends of a friend of his; but Mrs. Maclahan could only spare the afternoon to take them to the Zoo. She was going to take them to lunch there, and stay a couple of hours with them afterwards.

And the Zoo had great attractions to Christina: greater than an afternoon in the stuffy, dark little house with two old people. Dawn's audacious statements of all he meant to do with the animals stimulated her curiosity. She knew it would be a terrible disappointment if the two boys went without her. Yet in Mr. Bolland's note he had said: "My poor old wife wants cheering up, and is longing to have a little visit from you. Will you do her this kindness, and give us both the pleasure of your company?"

Miss Bertha's teaching came to her mind. She had often said to her:

"Other people's pleasure first, Childie; your own last!"

"I know which I want to do, and which I ought to do," Christina said to herself; "it's such a pity they don't match!"

But she made up her mind at last, and trotted off to the Bollands under the guardianship of Blanche.

"I wouldn't be in the mistress' place for a good deal!" Blanche informed her as they walked along the street. "I wouldn't take those two imps of mischief to the Zoo for any money that might be given me!"

"Oh," said Christina, "I would like to be with them."

"Then it's a lucky thing for you that you're out of it. Master Dawn had a pocket pistol in his hand; if he frights the lions or elephants, there 'll be a regular row. I remember a boy who teased an elephant, and he was tossed up to the roof by the furious animal, and stamped to death and out of recognition, before his own mother's eyes!"

Christina shuddered.

"Don't frighten me about Dawn," she said. "I don't think he would tease the lions, because he's very fond of animals."

She was received very warmly by Mrs. Bolland, and quite enjoyed her lunch. Mr. Bolland told her funny stories, and after it was over showed her a sketchbook of his, with an amusing account of a tour he had once taken abroad: Then Christina sat down on a stool at Mrs. Bolland's feet, and in her soft childish way talked to her about the boys and Miss Bertha and her home. And she soon touched upon the subject that was never out of her thoughts—the fear that she might disgrace her family by proving herself a coward.

"I've only just missed it so often," she said sadly. "And I would like so much to be able to lay my hand on my heart as Dawn does, and say, 'Fear dwells not here!'"

"What are you afraid of most?" asked the old lady sympathetically.

Christina considered.

"I have a pony at home and I'm a little afraid when I'm on him, and I'm afraid of strange places and people, and of doing difficult things like crossing water on a plank, and of—of the dark, only I know being afraid of the dark is wicked."

"Why?"

"Because God is taking care of me just the same."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland. "We don't all believe that as we ought to do. When dark clouds come, and trouble and disappointment, we don't trust in God then."

"Miss Bertha gave me a text to say to myself," said Christina.

"'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'

"I say it every time I'm frightened."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a long sigh. Then in a different tone she said almost in a whisper: "Is Mr. Bolland there, dearie?"

"No, he has just gone out of the room."

"Ah!" sighed the old lady again. "I must remember your text.

"'What time I am afraid—What time I am afraid—'"

"But grown-up people are never frightened," said Christina. "That is one thing that makes me want to grow up quickly; I shall never be frightened then."

"Grown-up people have different fears, little one; but they have them, and I have mine. I have the dark river to pass, and it seems to be coming very near. I shall have to go first and leave my husband, and I'm afraid for him, when he is left lonely and sorrowful. It is good to have a text like that to dwell on. I used to read my Bible when I could see, and oh, how I wish I had learnt more of it by heart! No one reads to me out of it. I seem to have lost touch with it; and my heart is sore afraid at times. Say it once again, dear, in your soft confident voice, and I will repeat it to myself again and again till it sinks into my heart and stays there. You have been God's little messenger to a poor blind woman this afternoon!"

Christina's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. Was it possible, she thought, that she could be called one of God's messengers? She said her verse again, and Mrs. Bolland repeated it after her.

And then the door opened and Mr. Bolland appeared with the doctor, who was an old friend of theirs, and who was attending the old lady.

He sat down and chatted with them. Christina kept as still as a mouse. She did not heed the conversation until she suddenly caught the words:

"These people don't deserve to have children. One of those hawking pedlars—a regular drunkard—was brought into my surgery this morning. His small girl is a mass of bruises: she confessed that her father had had one of his drinking bouts, and was knocked down by a wagon as he crossed the road; but from my inquiries I should think she had been going about with him in terror of her life. The man is not likely to live, and I said as much to her, but instead of being comforted by that fact, she dissolved into floods of tears, and assured me he was going to be a very good man, that already he was trying hard, and that she had promised her mother to look after him and love him. Some of these wives and daughters are incomprehensible!"

Christina started to her feet.

"That is Susy," she said with conviction. "Is she here in London? Oh, do tell me; and is her father very ill?"

The doctor looked at her kindly. "I can't tell you if her name is Susy, but her father's name is Jack Winter."

"Yes, yes," cried Christina excitedly, "that is his name, and Susy is one of my greatest friends. She told me they were on their way to London when they stopped in our village; and I knew I should meet her again one day. Please tell me where they live."

"I'm sure I don't know. The father is in hospital at present, and is so injured that he will never come out, I am afraid. If you want to see your little friend, you must got some one to take you to the hospital to-morrow. It is visiting day, and the child seems to live outside the hospital gates. They have turned her away twice already to-day."

"Oh, I must see her! Poor Susy! She has no home, she only lives in a cart."

"I fancy that is an impossibility in London," said the doctor with a smile; "and their cart came to grief when they ran into the wagon. Has the child any friends? She will want them before a week is out, or she will have to go to the workhouse."

Christina was in a great state of excitement. She told all she knew about Susy, and begged the doctor to see her that very night, and tell her that her "greatest friend" was in London.

"And I'll ask father if I can go to the hospital very early to-morrow morning and see Susy. We're going home in the afternoon. Oh, I wish I had known about Susy before!"

"Where are you staying?" the doctor asked, looking at her with kindly interest.

Christina told him, adding anxiously:

"I don't know what Susy will do if her father is very ill. Who will look after her?"

The doctor shook his head, and Christina's eyes began to fill with tears.

"Is there no one in London to look after her?" she asked piteously.

"Come, we must have no tears," said old Mr. Bolland, taking Christina on his knee. "I am an idle old man with nothing to do, so I will look her up, and see if I can find some friends for her; and I'll do it for the sake of a little maid who came here to cheer up a lonely old couple."

Smiles took the place of tears.

"I know you'll like Susy, everybody does, and Miss Bertha said she'd always be her friend; so if Susy wants a home, she must come back to our village, but I know she won't leave her father."

Conversation was interrupted here, by the arrival of Blanche to take Christina home.

She bade her friends good-bye with rather a troubled face, but the doctor assured her that he would see Susy if he could that evening, and take her her message, and Christina walked home as if in a dream.

The boys were waiting in the hall to tell her their experiences at the Zoo.

"Master Dawn got caught out," said Puggy triumphantly. "He had taken a pistol which he was going to fire off in the elephant's ear when we rode upon him, but Ena took it away from him before we got to the Zoo. Ena is awfully sharp sometimes."

"But that would have frightened the poor elephant dreadfully," said Christina, looking at Dawn with reproach in her eyes.

"It would have made him trot out," said Dawn, unabashed. "I wanted to have a good gallop on him. But we did have fun with the monkeys, didn't we?"

"Yes," said Puggy. "Ena stayed outside, she couldn't stand the smell of them. Dawn took a toy rattlesnake and gave it to a big monkey. He was awfully frightened of it at first, and then chattered with rage, and then began to examine it—and—"

"Susy's in London!"

Christina could keep her news no longer. Elephants and monkeys were nothing to her compared with Susy.

"I'm so glad I went to see Mrs. Bolland instead of coming with you," she added breathlessly; "for I should never have heard about Susy, and the doctor said unless she had friends, she'd have to go to the workhouse!"

"Well, she ought to go there," said Puggy indifferently; "she is just the kind for the workhouse."

Christina's eyes blazed. She flew at him in fury.

"She's my friend, and you're a hateful boy to say such things! I wish you were in the workhouse yourself!"

"Quite right," cried Dawn delightedly; "give it to him, Tina; let's have a free fight. I'll side with you against him."

"You're a couple of long-haired babies!" retorted Puggy, with heat. "Do you think I care for both of you rolled into one! Come on, and I'll knock your noses flat for you."

"Children, what is this? The United Kingdom quarrelling! That's all quite wrong! And Tina angry too! I'm sure it must be something very serious."

It was Mrs. Maclahan, who had come upon them unexpectedly. She knew it was not very often that Christina was roused, and she turned to her for an explanation.

"England has been insulting Scotland, and I'll avenge her!" cried Dawn, fun, not anger, sparkling in his eyes. He sprang on Puggy, and in a moment both boys were rolling on the ground together.

Mrs. Maclahan left them, but took Christina upstairs, and soon heard from her all about Susy.

"This child seems to haunt your steps," she said. "I hoped we had seen the last of her. But we are going back to-morrow, so you must forget her!"

"I never can!" sobbed Christina. "I love her; and Miss Bertha told me the rich were made to help the poor. She'll starve in London if no one looks after her."

"My dear Tina, those kind of children always find friends. Don't waste your tears on her. I hope to goodness she won't turn up here!"

But that was exactly what she did. At half-past eight the next morning, Christina was told by a chambermaid that a little girl named Susy wanted to see her, and Mrs. Maclahan, with a shrug of her shoulders, told her she could speak to her in the hall for ten minutes only.

"Tell her we are leaving London to-day. And you must make her understand that we cannot help her in any way."

Christina ran downstairs with all the speed she could muster, and embraced Susy fervently; who was looking as clean and neat as she usually did, but very woe-begone.

"Oh, Miss Tina, my dad's going to die; what shall I do?"

She began to cry.

"The nice doctor who saw dad first, and had him taken to hospital, told me that you was here, and I come along the first thing. Dad was gettin' so quiet and sober; and then he met an old pal and they went off drinkin', and he wouldn't let me drive, and we smashed into a wagon, and poor old Tom has had to be killed, and dad was run right over by them great wagon wheels, and our cart be smashed and lots o' crockery. Oh, it's bin a terrible thing for us!"

"Oh dear, oh dear! What will you do? Where are you living, Susy?"

"These 'ere London perleece are such busybodies," sighed Susy. "If I hadn't kep' my head on my shoulders, they'd 'ave lodged me at the station all night; but I knowed we 'ad savin's in the bottom o' my box, and I runs into a small fruiterer's shop close by, and I asks the woman if she'd give me a bed for the night, and I'd pay her for it; and she were a good soul and took me in right away and all the tins and crockery that I had left, and I'm agoin' to sell them to-day to a lady further down the street, who has a shop for such things. I shan't want for money for a bit, Miss Tina, but 'tis dad, poor dad; he were callin' for me all night. I heard he were from a kind nurse who saw me for a minit this mornin'. She's goin' to let me see 'im this arternoon."

"Oh, poor Susy! I wish I was going to stay in London."

"If dad dies," said Susy, struggling with her tears, "I shan't have no one to live for at all."

"But we'll ask God to make him well again."

"Yes," said Susy doubtfully; "but perhaps God don't want to. I'm afraid dad will be a terrible trial to God, for he'll want so much lookin' after, 'specially in London. If I gets him past four or five publics, there's more comin' on, the streets seem crammed wi' 'em. And God were makin' dad good, He really were. He giv' up the drink for a whole week and never thrashed me once. He cried one night and said he did want to be like mother, an' he knelt down and prayed along wi' me! I'm afraid God be awful disappinted wi' 'im. But it warn't his fault, that pal o' his took him right off and made him worse than ever. I do wish you were goin' to stay here, Miss Tina!"

"But you'll have friends, Susy. Such a nice old gentleman is coming to see you; he told me he would. You won't be left alone."

Susy nodded.

"I be all right, 'tis dad that I keeps thinkin' of. Since you learned me about prayin' to God, it don't seem half so lonesome, as I tells Him everythink, and I feels He'll manage things fur me!"

The ten minutes came to an end too soon.

Christina pressed into Susy's hand a story book, two oranges and a piece of cake.

"I have no money to give you, because I spent all I had on Miss Bertha's present; but you won't starve, Susy, will you?"

"'Tisn't money troubles me," said Susy wistfully; "'tis poor dad. I does want 'im to get well and be a good man. And I've got my box with all my bits to make a 'ouse nice, and we shan't never have a 'ouse if dad don't get no better!"

The children parted, and Christina was now anxious to get home to tell Miss Bertha all about her little friend.

Dawn appeared at the station to see them off.

"We're coming down at Easter, and then we'll have a ripping time!" he informed them. "You ought to have come to London before; we haven't had time to do half what we could have done!"

"I wonder that child is allowed to go about alone so," said Mrs. Maclahan to her husband, as the train moved off, and Dawn stood on the platform waving his cap and looking the picture of health and beauty. "I hold with boys being independent, but he seems to go everywhere, and do exactly as he likes!"

"Yes," said Puggy; "his father is an awfully sensible chap. And Dawn says he can't stand not being free, he would die right off, and I believe he would!"

"Boys aren't so easily killed," his sister said with a laugh. "Dawn has a thorough Irish upbringing. I'm not sure that it isn't better in the long end!"

"Dawn's father says that Ireland makes happy people, England makes plucky people and Scotland sanctimonious people! And Dawn is always happy, and I am always plucky, and Tina is always sanctimonious!"

"Mr. O'Flagherty didn't say that!" objected Christina.

"No, I say it," said Puggy.

Their elders were not listening to them. For the rest of the journey Christina and Puggy carried on an animated discussion upon the characteristics of the United Kingdom, but Christina was worsted, as she always was, and she subsided into silence after a parting shot:

"Anyhow you're not plucky when you beg me not to tell people what mischief you've been doing. If you were really plucky, you would tell yourself!"