CHAPTER XIII.

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF.

MRS. REARDON had followed Dr. Harding's advice, and given her husband plenty of "kitchen physic." It was wonderful what nice strengthening broth, together with other nourishing things, she contrived to make out of an old mahogany press which had been in her possession ever since she could remember, having formerly belonged to her mother. It was not much used of late in consequence of there being so little to put in it, and when sold was scarcely missed, save that it made the large room look still more large and dreary—the more especially as it was soon found necessary to turn one or two other articles of their scanty furniture into money for the same purpose. But the worst of it was that it did not appear to have made him any stronger.

Being greatly occupied in this manner, Mrs. Reardon had had no time to finish Mrs. Browne's work, and was consequently unaware of the heavy trial that awaited her when she should discover that their sole means of support was about to be taken from them. Truly has it been said "that it is a righteous as well as a tender hand which keeps the next day's page carefully folded down."

Weary as she was, a ray of hope stole into Mrs. Reardon's heart as she sat at needlework, with the nice savoury broth simmering away on the hob, and the voice of her husband, who sometimes rallied wonderfully towards evening, sounding quite cheerful as he and the little ones conversed together.

"Who knows," thought the poor loving wife, "but what he may be spared to me after all? I don't mind how hard I work, or how poor we are, or what we are obliged to part with, so that we can keep him, and nurse and make him well again."

The children were talking of "the wonderful book," as Bessie called it.

"You never told me," said Matthew, "how it was that Christian got rid of his burden."

"That's just about the most beautiful part, father," said Bessie. "I can't remember it quite as well as it is in the book, only that it was very heavy for him to carry, and all up-hill till he got to the cross."

"I can readily believe," said Matthew, "that it must have been up-hill work getting to the cross with such a load of sins weighing a man down, especially for any one who did not rightly know the way."

"I don't think that Christian knew it very well," said Polly, "for he lost his way a good many times. But he got there safe at last."

"Yes," interrupted Bessie eagerly. "I recollect it all now. No sooner had Christian come up to the cross than the bundle fell off his back and was never seen any more. 'Then was he glad and lightsome, and said, with a merry heart, He has given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his death.' And then he stood awhile to look and wonder until the springs that were in his head sent the water down his cheeks—which means, teacher says, that he began to cry—why, father, you are crying too."

Mrs. Reardon hastily laid down her work.

"You are tired, Matthew," said she. "I was afraid that the children would be too much for you."

"No, it is not that; I like to hear them. It does not hurt me. I am better to-night."

"You really feel better, Matthew? I am so glad. I do believe that this nice beef-tea is doing you good."

"It ought," replied her husband, with a sigh, "considering what it has cost."

"Never you mind about that," said Mrs. Reardon, "all you have to do is to try and get well as fast as you can. But you are sure the children do not tire you?"

"No; I like it, I tell you. Where were we, Bess?"

"At the foot of the cross, father."

"We could not be in a better place, I'm thinking."

"So Christian thought," continued Bessie. "And while he stood there crying for joy, behold three shining ones came to him—"

"Angels," interrupted Polly. "There's a picture of them in the book, with wings on their shoulders."

"I wish you would not put me out, Polly. I forget now how it goes on. But I know they begin by saying, 'Peace be unto you.' And then one said, 'Thy sins be forgiven thee.' And another took away his rags and gave him a change of something—I can't recollect the name—to put on."

"Was it a wedding garment?" asked her father, eagerly. "I remember poor Mr. Marshall saying that we could not get in without a wedding garment."

"It says, 'change of raiment,' father, in the book," replied the child. "But I dare say it's all the same; anyhow, Christian was finely pleased; and after giving three leaps for joy, he went away singing."

"It was enough to make a man sing to be quit of such a burden," said Matthew. "Those were sweet words, Bess, 'Thy sins be forgiven thee!'"

"They are in God's book, father. Jesus says them."

"Whereabouts in God's book?"

"I know," exclaimed Polly, as she ran to fetch her little Bible and began to read, although not without great difficulty and many pauses, the touching history of the poor man who was sick of the palsy, and who not being able to come near unto Jesus on account of the crowd, was let down by his faithful and persevering friends, who uncovered the roof of the house where the Saviour was for that purpose, and so brought him to Christ.

"And when the Lord saw their faith, He said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee. But some doubted and murmured, which, when Jesus perceived, He said unto them, Why reason ye these things in your hearts? Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (He saith to the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house. And immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went forth before them all; insomuch that they were all amazed, and glorified God, saying, We never saw it on this fashion." *

* Mark ii. 2-12.

Poor Mrs. Reardon bent down her head over her sewing, and wept to think that the age of miracles was past.

"Father," said Bessie, after a pause, "have you got the palsy like that poor man?"

"No, Bess; not quite so bad as that."

"But you are sick and ill. Could not God cure you as He did him?"

"I suppose He could," replied Matthew, thoughtfully. "But I don't think that I should care so much about being cured if I could only hear Him saying those sweet words, 'Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.'"

"Didn't Polly read it well, father?" asked Bessie.

"Yes, very well. But I want to hear more about Christian, and what he did when he got quit of his burden."

"I don't know what comes next," said Bessie. "We lost a great deal by staying away so often. I don't recollect any more till he comes to a terrible place called the Valley of the Shadow of Death—"

The child was prevented from saying any more by Mrs. Reardon insisting upon their going to bed at once.

"They'd like a little drop of broth first," pleaded Matthew.

The children shook their heads gravely, although it made their mouths water even to think of it, the more especially upon their attention being thus directed to the savoury smell before alluded to. But they knew, poor things, that it was intended to make their sick father well.

Mrs. Reardon smiled as she filled their little cups, but it might have been noticed that she took none herself.

"We'll have some more to-morrow," said she. "I've nearly finished my work, and hope to get the next lot done quicker."

By-and-bye, when the children had gone to bed, and Matthew and his wife were alone, the husband said:

"I've been thinking a great deal of late, wife; I've had nothing else to do you know. It may be that was what I was laid aside for: and I've been wishing that I could blot out all my past life, and begin it over again quite different."

"But you can't do that, Matthew. And we have had a good bit of trouble in our time; and many a hard struggle that one would not wish to pass through a second time."

"It might have been easier walking," said Matthew, "if we had remembered to lay down our burdens at the foot of the cross. You recollect what the children said about casting all our care upon God, and about his caring for us?"

"Oh, Matthew!" interrupted his wife. "Don't talk in that manner—please don't; it makes me feel as if I was going to lose you. You seemed to be so much better to-night."

"I am better, thank God. But we may as well have it out, wife, and have done with it. I can't help feeling that I have been a great sinner. I know the truth and let it slip away from me in the bustle of life. I forgot God, and it seemed as if God had forgotten me! Nothing that I did prospered. It was not to be expected that it would. It is quick work when once a man begins to go down-hill; but the worst of it was that I could not help dragging you and the children down with me. So things went on from bad to worse, until here I am, a burden instead of a help, and actually eating you out of house and home!"

Be paused a moment to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and went on in a low voice:

"If I get better, Mary—"

"Don't say if," interrupted his wife. "I can't bear it!"

"Well, then; when I get better, please God, I mean to turn over a new leaf, and—"

There was a sudden silence, for he was fainting. Mrs. Reardon, springing forward, caught him in her arms, and dragged, rather than carried, him to that bed which he never left again.

Poor Matthew! There was no new leaf left for him to turn. He had well-nigh come to the last page in life's volume. But the end was not yet. After a little while, he recovered, and tried to smile, in order to cheer his poor trembling wife; but she would not suffer him to speak; and presently he fell into a troubled sleep.

Mrs. Reardon sat by his bedside, hour after hour, that she might watch him and partly that she might finish the work in hand, for which she was already paid, hoping that Mrs. Browne would again advance her something on account of the new work which she should bring home with her.