CHAPTER V

The Collection

STEPHEN had now quite settled upon the grave which he was to make his especial care, but he promised not to begin his work until Audrey had chosen hers. She was very undecided for a long time, but at length she chose one, sacred to the memory of another John.

"It will be nice for us each to have a John," she said.

"'BENEATH IS DEPOSITED ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF JOHN HUTTON, WHO DIED THE 12TH OF APRIL, 1793, AGED 47.'"

"'Go home, dear wife, and shed no tear, I must ly here till Christ appear; And at His coming hope to have A joyful rising from the grave.'"

"How do you spell lie, Granny Robin?" said Audrey, when she had finished reading it to her.

"L-i-e," said the old woman.

"Well, it's l-y here," said the child.

"That's the old-fashioned way," said Granny Robin.

"Well, now, we'll set to work," said Audrey; "we must wash them first, Stephen. Do you think your father would give us some water in a basin? I daren't ask Aunt Cordelia; she would say I should dirty my pinafore."

"If Stephen's father will give him a basin, I will give you one, Audrey," said Granny Robin.

"And I'll get you both an old sponge," said Mr. Robin, who was smoking his pipe in the window.

What a scrubbing went on after that! Stephen's father, who was always pleased to do anything his poor little boy asked him, brought out soap and two scrubbing brushes, and the children worked away diligently for more than an hour.

At the end of it, they were far from satisfied with their work.

"The two grandchildren who died young won't come clean, Granny Robin," said little Stephen mournfully.

"They're quite as nice as my John is," said Audrey. "Anyhow," she added more hopefully, "they're a deal cleaner than they were before. Now what's the next thing to be done?"

"We must cut the long grass behind them," said Stephen, "and then we must dig up the grave in front of the stone. I'll get father's big scissors and my little spade."

Father's big scissors cut the grass down very successfully, but Stephen's little spade refused to go into the hard ground. It had been trodden underfoot for many years, and it lay hard and dry and stony over the heads of the two grandchildren who died young.

But at this point old Mr. Robin came to the rescue. He brought a large spade out of his house and dug the grave over for little Stephen, and then, after he had rested a little, he did the same for Audrey's John, as she called him.

[Illustration: AT THIS POINT OLD MR. ROBIN CAME TO THE RESCUE.]

"Wouldn't the wife be pleased if she saw we were doing it?" she said.

"What wife?" asked Stephen.

"This wife it says about in the hymn—"

"'Go home, dear wife, and shed no tear.'"

"I wonder if she did shed any," said Stephen.

"I expect she did," said Audrey; "I wonder what has become of her. Do you think she will ever come to see how nice we have made her John's grave, Granny Robin?"

"When did John die?" asked the old woman.

"In 1793," said Audrey.

"1793—a hundred years ago!" said Granny Robin. "Why, Audrey, the wife must have been dead long since!"

"And she never sheds any more tears now," said Stephen, "because she's in heaven."

"I hope so," said Granny Robin.

"Does everybody go to heaven when they die?" asked the child.

"No, my dear boy, not every one."

"Shall I go there when I die, Granny Robin? I do hope I shall," said little Stephen.

"I hope so too, my little man. The Lord wants to have you there," she said.

"What is it like, Granny Robin?" asked Stephen.

"We know very little about it, Stephen," said the old woman, "but we can't help thinking about it, and dreaming about it; and I always think of it as a beautiful garden, where the King walks with His friends. I may be wrong, Stephie, but that's what I always see in my mind when I think of it."

"The two grandchildren who died young will like being in the garden," said Stephen. "Do you think they're glad they died young, Granny Robin?"

"I think they are, Stephie," she said; "they did not have to tread far on life's rough ways; their little feet reached the garden long, long years ago."

"And there will be soft grass for them to walk on there," said Stephen, "Maybe I'll see them when I get there. Do you think I'll know them, Granny Robin?"

"I think you will, Stephie; I feel almost sure you will," she said.

"If I see any very dear little children playing under the trees of the garden," said little Stephen, "I might ask them, 'Are you the two grandchildren who died young?' And then they could tell me, couldn't they?"

"God bless you, my dear little lad!" was all the answer Granny Robin gave him.

The next day was Saturday, which was market-day in the old city. It was Audrey's holiday, and the happiest day in the week to Stephen and to herself. Aunt Cordelia was always busy cleaning from morning till night, and sent Audrey into the churchyard, that she might be out of the way of her sweeping-brush and dust-pan.

On this particular Saturday, Audrey and Stephen were whispering together under the lilac tree for a very long time; and about ten minutes afterwards, Mr. Robin, who was smoking his pipe in the window, saw a sight which made him laugh so much, that for a long time he could not tell Granny Robin at what he was laughing.

As he looked across the churchyard, he saw Audrey and Stephen coming towards the window arm in arm. Stephen was dressed in the tall hat which his father wore when he went to chapel on Sunday night, and in an old greatcoat, which was fastened round his neck, and dragged like a long tail behind him, whilst the sleeves were turned up so far that there was far more lining than cloth to be seen. Audrey had a red shawl thrown over her head, and her pinafore was tied round her waist like an apron. Each child carried a tin, on which old Mr. Robin distinctly read the words "Colman's Mustard."

As soon as they came up to the window both children made a low bow, but neither of them spoke.

"Well, what do you want?" said Mr. Robin, as gravely as he could. "Are you going round begging this fine spring morning?"

"Please, sir, we're making a collection," said Audrey.

"Yes, it's a collection," echoed little Stephen.

"What's it for, my little dears?" said Granny Robin, as she laid down her knitting, and began to put her hand into her pocket.

"Mine's for the TWO GRANDCHILDREN WHO DIED YOUNG," said little Stephen.

"And mine's for ALL THAT WAS MORTAL OF JOHN HUTTON," said Audrey.

"Oh, I see," said the old woman; "you want to go and get some roots in the market for your graves—is that it?"

That is it, and Granny Robin's hand must go in the pocket again. It goes in empty, but it comes out well filled. Three pennies for the grandchildren go into Stephen's tin, and three more for John Hutton go rattling to the bottom of Audrey's.

Now it is Mr. Robin's turn, and his pocket seems to be full of pennies too; and the tins make such a noise when they are shaken that Granny Robin pretends to stop her ears, that she may not hear the din.

Then the two children go on to the next window, where Stephen's father sits busy with his work. But the boot is laid down, that the collection may have due attention, and it is silver this time which goes into the tins, two quiet silver threepences, which make no noise, but which the two children admire greatly as they slip in amongst the copper.

"Now for Aunt Cordelia," says Audrey. "You must go first, Stephen; she won't say 'No' to you."

Aunt Cordelia makes a dive at Audrey's pinafore, the bottom of which she declares is collecting all the dust in the churchyard, but she is not angry when she hears why they have come. And when Stephen pleads for something for his two grandchildren, she goes to her till and brings out several pence for each tin, and willingly gives Audrey leave to go that afternoon to the market with Mr. Robin to make her purchases.