CHAPTER XV.

THE WOLF AT THE DOOR.

AN aged minister of Christ told the writer that he always prayed, before leaving home, to be guided in the right way.

"We can never tell," said he, "how much may depend upon whether we turn to the right hand, or to the left."

Thus it was with Mr. Heighington on the day of which we write. Instead of taking the usual road upon leaving his office, he turned aside into a less frequented street in the immediate neighbourhood, and suddenly found himself face to face with Kate Donaldson. Although they had met but once, they recognised one another directly.

"Why, Kate!" exclaimed he. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

"Oh, sir, I am so glad to have met you!"

"How is poor Reardon? No better, I fear, by his not having been at the office."

"He'll never be any better, sir. I have been hoping every day that you would come and see him as you promised."

"And so I would have done, but, unfortunately, I lost the card, and could not find out his address. You may have heard that Mr. Marshall has gone home at last, Kate."

"Yes, sir; his servant told me."

"Why did you not ask her where I lived?"

"I did, sir, but she would not let me know. She would not believe a word that I said. But I don't blame her. I have deserved not to be trusted."

"He trusted you, Kate, and spoke kindly of you at the last. But I must tell you about it another time. By-the-bye, I have a present for you, from him, at the office, which you may as well get at once."

"For me!" exclaimed Kate. "And did he really think of me? I can wait for the present, sir, thank you. But the Reardons were friends of his—if you could help them, sir. They've sold all there is to sell, and the poor little children are pinched for want of food."

Mr. Heighington happened to have a particular engagement that day. But he told Kate that he would go at once, and endeavour to put it off; and that she was to wait for him at the office, and afterwards accompany him to the Reardons, and show him where they lived.

"You won't be long, sir?" asked the girl, anxiously.

"Not a moment longer than I can help," was the reply.

Nor was he; for by the time that Kate had admired and put on the warm woollen shawl which Peter Marshall, with his usual thoughtful kindness, had desired might be given her, together with a neat bonnet, the present of the good housekeeper, Mr. Heighington had returned.

Let us precede them, and glance for a moment into that cheerless and dismantled home. All that there was to sell, as Kate said, had been sold, save the bed on which the sick man lay, for whose death the landlord only waited to turn the poor widow and her helpless little ones adrift in the world.

The ravens brought nothing now, save an occasional loaf of bread, or a little milk for the children. The few sticks had been gathered, and the last meal dressed, so that it only remained to eat it together and die. The barrel of meal had wasted, and the cruse of oil failed, while the faith of the poor weary wife and mother waxed dim and feeble.

The little children had grown pale, and thin, and hollow-eyed, but they never complained.

"The wolf has got in at last, Bess!" said the dying man, as she stood by the bedside.

Among the many troubles which had come to them of late, the poor child had well-nigh forgotten their old enemy. But, now, being weak from want of food, a sudden fear fell upon her, and she trembled as she glanced round the large empty room.

"I don't think he's in yet," said Bessie, in a whisper, "or we should see him. Oh, mother, what can we do to keep him out?"

"I've tried all ways," replied Mrs. Reardon, scarcely knowing what she said; "I don't know what to do!"

"Let us pray, mother," said Bessie, "and ask God to save us as He did David, out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear!"

Mrs. Reardon knelt down, but no words came. She had forgotten how to pray, and felt sick and confused like one in a dream. Polly, too, was silent, wanting courage to say what was in her heart. There was a few moments' pause, and then Bessie folded her little hands and said:

"Dear Lord Jesus, be pleased to take care of us, and keep the wolf from the door. Don't let him come near to hurt or destroy us. And, oh, dear Lord Jesus, make father better—and give us this day our daily bread."

Little Bessie had scarcely finished speaking, when a knock was heard at the door, which, low as it was, made them all start—although they must have known, of course, that a wolf would never think of knocking at the door—end Mr. Heighington entered the room, followed by Kate carrying a large basket of provisions, which she would have left and gone away again had not Mr. Heighington requested her to remain and assist Mrs. Reardon, who was evidently worn-out from fatigue, and want of nourishing food.

Before evening came, the room had assumed quite a different appearance; while Matthew, as he lay still and followed every movement of the young girl with his large hollow eyes, and heard how she had been the means, under God, of bringing help and deliverance in the hour of need, was very sorry for all the hard things that he had ever said of her.

He had been very hard, too, in his judgment of Mr. Heighington. He recollected the old clerk telling him of it at the time. And now, when he might justly have expected that God would be hard with him, he experienced instead nothing but tender mercy and loving-kindness, and a free pardon of all his sins for Jesus Christ's sake.

Mr. Heighington had already thought of a plan by which Mrs. Reardon would be able, with a little assistance, just at first, to provide for herself and the children, so that Matthew, as he said, had not a single earthly care. For the rest, he had cast down his burden at the foot of the cross, and so found peace with God—peace in believing—peace in Christ.

That night, or rather just as the night was waning into the chill time that comes before the early morning, a messenger arrived from the Celestial City, and he and Matthew went away together, leaving his wife and children to follow after.

We are glad to be able to add, that, when her husband was gone over the river, and she could hear of him no more, Mrs. Reardon began to have "thoughts working in her mind," which gave her no rest day or night, so that she cried out even in her sleep, "Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner."

And the little children heard her, and then she and they earnestly began a pilgrim's life.

At Mrs. Reardon's request, Kate remained with them until an answer arrived to a touching appeal written by Mr. Heighington in the poor girl's behalf to a distant relative, a kind-hearted, motherly woman, who came up to town at once, and not only forgave the past, but gladly took Kate back with her to her humble but comfortable home.

There is little more to add to our story, and that little will be bright.

Of course Mrs. Reardon mourned long and deeply for her great loss; and the two little girls often talked to one another, when no one else was by, of their father who had always been patient with them, however much he was troubled by his failing health and his dread of "the wolf." But though these quiet talks made them sad for the time, they always cheered up when they thought of the Celestial City, with its golden gates, through which they felt so sure their father had entered. "And there are no wolves at that door," said they to one another. They used to cheer their mother too, with these encouraging words.

After a time, Polly and Bessie learned and understood that what people really meant when they spoke of "the wolf at the door," was poverty and want.

"It was God who kept the wolf from our door," said Bessie one day; "for if He had not put it into the hearts of good Mr. Marshall first of all, and then into poor Kate's, and then into kind Mr. Heighington's, we could not have kept him out, could we, mother? And it was He who put it into my heart to pray for His help. And I will love Him as long as I live; and so will you, Polly, and you, mother dear."

And so she did; and so did they all, as we have just been reading.

"The wolf" never went to their door again—not at all near it. Mrs. Reardon had to work hard, no doubt, and so did the little girls when they were older. But they did this very cheerfully; and as they had always a kind friend in Mr. Heighington, who took care to find them profitable employment, they got on very nicely indeed.

Polly's work was to be sunshine in her home, and to assist her mother in the delicate needlework to which she had long been accustomed. After a time, she was sunshine in another pleasant home; but this was years afterwards, when her mother ceased to need her help.

Bessie's work was to teach other little girls what she had learned, first from her Sunday school teacher, and afterwards from other teachers to whom both she and her sister were sent by the good friend whom God had sent to them in their need.

Bessie was a very apt scholar, as you may judge from what you have already been told; and afterwards, she was such a kind teacher, that all her little pupils loved her very dearly indeed. And you would have loved her too, if you had known her.

It is at a pleasant home in the country where we shall last see Mrs. Reardon and her two daughters. It is a neat cottage with a porch in front, over which roses and honeysuckles are twining; for it is a June day, and the roses are in full bloom—so are the honeysuckles. Mrs. Reardon is rather infirm now; but she has a pleasant, thoughtful face, which it does one good to see. She is watering her flower-garden in front, when she hears voices at a little distance which gives her quite a start. So she puts down her watering-pot and goes to the gate, which she opens just in time to be caught in the arms of her own Polly, now quite a motherly woman herself, while another person, by Polly's side, says laughing:

"There, mother; I am as good as my word, you see; I have brought Sunshine to you again."

"And Bessie is just behind, mother," says Mrs.—, Polly, I mean. "We were not coming without her."

"And between us all," says the gentleman, who is very much like Mr. Marshall grown young again, and is indeed his nephew, "we shall manage, I hope, for to-day at any rate, to keep the wolf from the door."

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES & SONS, LIMITED.