CHAPTER VIII.

BABY.

BUT a greater trial than the loss of money was hanging over the homes in Myrtle Street. The summer had been an unhealthy one for children. At many a door the black crape tied with white ribbon (as was the custom of the place) announced that there were aching hearts within, and drew a sigh from many a mother who saw the token. Myrtle Street had thus far escaped better than most parts of the city; but its time was to come; and one morning in September it was told among the neighbours that the Wilbur children had the scarlet fever.

Letty had the greatest horror of this disorder. She had seen enough of its effects in the Trescott family to make her regard it as more to be dreaded than the plague. She kept Alick closely within the limits of her own premises, and watched him with a vigilant eye, that the malignant disease, if it appeared, might at least be taken in time; but as yet the little boy seemed as well as a mother could wish.

There were two or three deaths in the neighbourhood, and then the cloud seemed to pass away.

One cold, raw, damp day towards the end of October, Agnes came into Number Nine, bringing Madge, who was now considerably grown.

"I wish you would let Madge stay here while I go down-town," she said. "I don't know how it is, but she has been so fractious the last two or three days that there is no living with her. I know if I leave her with Mary there will be trouble all the time; but she is always good with you."

Letty made no objections, and Madge was soon playing on the floor with Alick. She was usually a merry child, and as active as a kitten; but to-day she seemed tired and languid, and when Alick was taking his usual noonday nap, she crept up and lay down beside him, and was soon asleep.

Letty glanced at the children two or three times as she went about her work, and thought what a pretty picture they would make.

After a long nap, Madge awoke, crying. Her hands were hot and dry, her lips parched, and her eyes bloodshot and heavy. Letty took her up without waking Alick, and, as she still complained of being thirsty, set her in the rocking-chair, while she went for some cool water. When she came back, Madge was dozing again. Presently Agnes came in, full of all she had seen.

"Do look at this child," said Letty. "Isn't her throat swollen?"

"Yes, I know," replied Agnes, warming her feet composedly. "It was so yesterday; but she did not seem to be sick,—only cross."

"Yesterday!" repeated Letty, in amazement. "You don't mean to say that her throat was so yesterday, when you had her out in the damp and cold half the afternoon? Why, you are crazy!"

"Nonsense!" said Agnes, lightly. "She is used to the open air, and as tough as a knot. I suppose it is the mumps."

"Well, I should think that was enough to call for more care; for if a child takes cold with them it goes very hard, I can tell you. I must say, Agnes, it was presumption to take Madge out under such circumstances. At any rate, you might have reflected before you exposed Alick to the disease. You would not be very well pleased if I had done so by you."

Agnes looked a little ashamed. "Well, Letty, to say the truth, I forgot all about it, I know she was out of sorts yesterday; but she seemed well enough this morning, only that she was fretful. They say children never are very sick when they are cross, you know."

"I believe that is a great mistake," said Letty. "A pleasant child like Madge seldom or never becomes cross and fretful without some good reason."

"Oh, I don't know. Children take all sorts of fits. Mrs. Van Horn wanted me to go down-town with her and see Rosenblatt's opening of fall fashions,—the loveliest bonnets you ever saw, only so very small: they hardly come on the head at all, and are perfectly covered with lace and flowers; you never saw any thing so pretty."

"Well, well, never mind the bonnets," said Letty, a little impatiently. "What are you going to do about Madge?"

"Dear me, Letty, you need not be so short! One would think I had made the child sick on purpose. I am sure I think as much of my children as you do of yours, if I don't make quite such a parade about it. What had I better do?"

"Take her home and send for your physician at once."

"Come, Madge; come with mother," said Agnes, rising,—"your naughty mother, who don't care any thing about her children."

But Madge would not come. She cried, and declared she could not walk; and Agnes was obliged to carry her. Towards evening she came over again, looking very much frightened.

"Madge is really sick. I wish you would come and look at her."

Alick was playing with Gatty; and Letty ran across the road with Agnes. Madge was crying and very restless; and the moment Letty looked at her, she felt as though she should drop.

"It is scarlet fever!" said Letty, in a trembling voice. "Oh, Agnes, how could you be so careless? And she was playing with Alick all this morning!"

"How could I tell?" said Agnes, the impulse to blame some one else being uppermost, as usual. "You ought to have known yourself. You had seen scarlet fever, and I never had. But you cannot think of a thing but yourself and your baby! So selfish!"

Letty could not trust her voice to answer.

"And what will Joe say?" pursued Agnes. "It will all be my fault, of course: every thing always is! And I dare say she will die, and the baby too. I am the most miserable woman on earth!" And Agnes burst into tears, thereby frightening Madge, whose sobs became shrieks.

"Listen to me, Agnes," said Letty, who by this time had regained in some measure her usual self-control. "Madge is very sick, and you must put by every thing else and take care of her: keep her quiet, and let Joe go for the doctor as soon as he comes home."

"But don't go, Letty!" sobbed Agnes. "Do stay all night. I am sure you ought to. I never can take care of Madge alone."

"You forget that I have Alick to attend to. He has been exposed just at the worst time to catch the disease; and I must be careful that he takes no cold, and does not eat any thing improper for him. If the fever cannot be kept off, at least it may be lightened by proper care."

"Yes; that is always the way," said Agnes. "Every one thinks of herself, and no one thinks or cares what becomes of me. I never saw such selfishness."

"Of whom did you think when you ran off with Mrs. Van Horn, looking after millinery, and left Madge to any one who chose to take care of her?" asked Letty, thoroughly exasperated. "Of whom did you think when you exposed my delicate little boy to the chance of mumps,—to say nothing of scarlet fever,—merely to gratify your own senseless curiosity about the fashions? You have always gone on, pleasing yourself and caring for nothing and nobody else, ever since you were born; and now you reap the consequences. It will be well if your self-pleasing does not cost the lives of two innocent children; for, to say nothing of this morning, it was nothing short of murder to expose Madge as you did yesterday."

Never, since Letty was a passionate little girl, had Agnes seen her so roused.

"I will do what I can for you," continued Letty, speaking more calmly; "but you must not expect me to leave my own boy to attend upon you. You had better send for your mother to come and stay with you."

"I know she won't come; and it won't do any good if she does," said Agnes, recovering herself. "I know she will die, and the baby, too; and Joe will say it is all my fault."

But Letty was beyond the reach of her voice; and she found herself compelled to attend to Madge.

When Joe came home, there was the usual scene of recrimination,—which, however, was cut shorter than common by his going after the doctor and Mrs. Train.

Madge was very ill from the first; and Dr. Woodman looked very grave when he saw her. In a few days the baby sickened. He had always been a sturdy little fellow; and every one hoped he might have the disease lightly; but the hope was destined to disappointment. The fever ran its course in a wonderfully short time; and in four days the little boy was in his coffin. On the same day with the baby, Alick came down, and was pronounced very ill.

For once, Letty had neither thought nor feeling for another's trouble. She would not leave Alick for a moment,—not even when Agnes's baby died. Indeed, it was not easy for her to do so; for he cried after her the moment she left the room, and would hardly take food or medicine from any one else. She went about her duties outwardly calm, but with a heavy burden on her heart and with one thought in her mind:

"I can never forgive Agnes!—Never! Never!"

She could not think. She could not pray. She could not rest in any of those divine promises which had heretofore been her stay in times of trouble. She walked in darkness and saw no light. She felt that the whole universe was cruel to her,—even God himself. For once she was self-willed. Mrs. De Witt would have persuaded her to lie down and take some rest while the child slept; but she would, not go,—not even for John's entreaty. She had naturally a strong, passionate nature; and its whole force rose in rebellion against the threatened stroke. She could not and would not submit.

Of course this could not go on. Little Alick died after some days' illness,—died on Thanksgiving-day, which seemed to make the trial harder to endure. Letty went through the funeral service with the same outward composure which had alarmed her friends from the beginning; but on returning from the grave, she fainted away several times, and the next day was too ill to sit up.

In this emergency, Mrs. De Witt came out in all her strength. If ever a woman contrived to be in several places all at once, she was that woman. Her own house was as orderly as ever, and her husband's meals always ready and comfortable: yet she contrived to find time for the care of Letty and her house. She was nurse, housekeeper and mistress to both families at once; and she did it all well.

She had an efficient help in Gatty, who had been trained in ways of usefulness from her cradle. Mrs. De Witt had thought at one time of sending her into the country, to be out of harm's way; but she changed her mind, and contented herself with keeping the child away from Alick during his illness. The reasons she gave for her course were characteristic:—

"You see, it a'n't as if she hadn't been exposed already. She has; and she may come down any time. If she is here, I can keep watch of her; and I know what's what. I sha'n't think she has got the fever every time she sneezes, and I sha'n't send her out in the cold for a walk because her head aches with the rash coming out. Garrett's wife is like enough to do either, or both. Besides, if she is here, she can see to the dinner and wait upon her father, while I am taking care of Alick and helping Mrs. Caswell."

At the end of a week Letty was able to sit up and come down-stairs; but when she tried to take up her household work again, she found it out of her power. She could not work. She had overtaxed her strength, and was now paying the penalty. She struggled in vain against her weakness.

Her strength was becoming less every day; and she could do little but lie on the sofa and think. The doctor came to see her, and prescribed tonics; but nothing seemed to do any good; and every one began to fear that she would soon follow her child.

One day Dr. Woodman came in and found her alone, weeping. A Testament was lying by her, but she was not reading. After a few inquiries, the doctor went to the door, sent away his horse, and then came back and sat down by Letty's side. After a few minutes' silence he took up the Testament.

"You have a good companion here," said he. "I hope you find comfort in it?"

Letty involuntarily shook her head, and the tears started afresh.

"My dear Letty," said the doctor, "it may appear like a strange remark to make to a woman who has just lost her only child, but it seems to me that you are suffering from something more than grief for your little one. Tell me: do you feel that God is with you in this sorrow?"

"No," replied Letty. "He is not. I am alone. God has forsaken me, and refuses to hear my prayers. I am all alone, and must be alone. There is no comfort for me anywhere, and I can never look forward to seeing my child again: I have no hope, and am without God in the world!" Her voice was lost in sobs.

"God can never forsake or forget us, though we forsake and forget Him," said the doctor. "Tell me: have you not given yourself to God to be entirely his?"

"I thought I did, once," said Letty.

"Never mind what you did once. Very likely you did; but you can no more live upon past religious experience than you can upon what you ate last year. Can you give yourself to him NOW?"

"What do you mean by giving myself to him, doctor?" asked Letty.

"I mean that you should put yourself, your hopes and fears, your troubles, sorrows and sins,—all, in short, that goes to make up yourself,—into God's hands. Submit yourself to his will. Lay yourself as it were on the altar before him, and trust that he will accept you. That is what I mean. Can you do that?"

"I have tried," said Letty, sorrowfully; "but—"

"But what?"

"It makes no difference. I cannot feel that I am accepted. I know that I am not."

"How do you know it? Excuse me if I ask very close questions," continued the doctor, as Letty did not answer. "We are old friends, and I want to help you if I can. Let me ask you if you are sure that no cherished sin is keeping you from God?"

"That is it," said Letty. "I know there is." She paused a moment, and then added, abruptly, "I cannot forgive Agnes! I feel as though she had murdered my Alick. I would not forgive her, at first. I would not even go to see her when her child died, though my conscience upbraided me and I felt that I ought to overcome that feeling. And now I cannot forgive her!—I cannot!"

"Do you wish to forgive her?" said the doctor, with one of his penetrating looks. "Would you do so if you could?"

"I don't know."

"But you do know," returned the doctor, in a kind but decided tone; "or you can know if you will. Don't try to deceive yourself. You know that God can give you the power to forgive Agnes. Observe, I don't say that you feel it or realize it; that is quite another matter. But you do know it, because you know that he can do all things."

"Yes," said Letty: "I know it, certainly."

"Well, now, are you willing he should do it? Are you willing to forgive Agnes if he gives you the power to do so?"

Letty was silent for a few minutes.

The doctor saw the struggle, and prayed, inwardly, that grace might conquer.

At last she spoke.

"Yes," said she: "I think I am willing."

"God be praised for that!" said the doctor. "Now think whether there is any thing else."

"I do not know that there is," replied Letty; "but still I do not feel that God will accept me."

"Do you believe that God speaks the truth?"

"Of course," said Letty,—surprised at the question.

"And that the Bible is his word?"

"Yes; certainly."

"Well, then, listen," said the doctor, with energy. "Here is just one brief, simple promise of his, which is all you want:—

"'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'

"That ought to be enough for you. But here is another:—

"'If two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it SHALL be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.'

"Those are God's own words. Cast yourself upon the veracity of God. Pray for yourself, and I will pray for you. There are two of us agreed. Come to God just as you are. Give yourself wholly to him, and then believe that he has accepted you. I must leave you now; but I will pray for you, and do you pray for yourself; and be sure that, as there is a God in heaven, so surely he will accept you and make you his own."

A day or two after, the doctor came again. He found his patient more comfortless than ever.

"No light yet?" said he.

Letty shook her head. "No," said she. "I have no light. I have tried to give myself up to him, as you say. I have done it. If I know myself at all, I have done it; but I have no evidence in myself that I am accepted of him."

"Are you not refusing to believe what God has spoken? God says in his word that he will receive you; and that should be enough to satisfy you that he has received you, whether you feel it or not. It is because the way is so easy that you miss it. Why, suppose I tell you that a certain medicine is good for you: you believe me,—don't you?—although you do not feel any immediate effect. Well, just believe God in the same way,—because he says so."

"I am afraid that I do not forgive Agnes, after all. I went over to see her last night."

"Good!" said the doctor. "That shows that you are in earnest; and it ought also to show you that God is with you. Well?"

"But, when I came back, I felt just as hardly towards her as ever. She did not appear glad to see me at all; and it really seemed that she was more distressed at my coming across the road in my 'coloured calico dress,' as she said, than at any thing else."

"Agnes is bound up in dress and fashions; and more's the pity. But you say you found you had all your work to do over again?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, do it over again; or, rather, be quiet, and let God do it for you. You can no more make yourself forgiving than you can make one hair white or black; but, if you are willing, God will do it for you. Only just believe,—that is all. The inward witness will come in God's own time, if you are content to take his simple word: never in any other way. Now, tell me, cannot you do this?"

Letty was silent.

"Yes," said Letty, with a tone and look of decision. "Yes; I can believe him. I am his. I am not alone or cast-off. Oh, yes; I do believe his word."

"Remember, from this time, that it is only the sense of God's presence that you lose,—not his real presence. God never forsakes his children. Have faith; and do not think of faith in God as some strange, mysterious thing. It is simply believing in God just as you believe in any one else. Take all his promises to yourself, just as if there were no other person in the world to whom they can apply. Don't be too anxious after inward evidence and consolation. Let God send that in his own time. It is a blessed thing when it comes; but it is not the ground of your assurance: that is found in God's word."