CHAPTER VI

Angels' Visits

WHAT an important little person Audrey was, as she set out to do her marketing that afternoon! Stephen was not able to go, for the crowd in the market-place was so great on Saturday afternoon, that his father was afraid he might get hurt. So Audrey and the old man were to do the business between them; Audrey carried the money, and Mr. Robin brought a basket for the flowers.

The market was an open one, and was held in a wide street in the centre of the city. There were stalls for all manner of articles in that market—toys, and kettles, and tins, and slippers, and caps, and all sorts of other things; but the flower-stalls were by far the prettiest, Audrey thought, and these were placed by themselves, all down one side of that long street. The little girl went from stall to stall, admiring all the flowers, and wondering which Stephen would like best.

It was well that Mr. Robin was there to help her to decide, or Stephen's patience would have been exhausted long before she reached home. He was sitting at the window looking out for them the whole time they were away. And oh, what excitement there was when the basket was unpacked, and the contents spread out on Granny Robin's round table!

Then, when all had been duly admired, they were divided into two heaps. One heap was for Stephen's grandchildren, as he called them, and the other was for Audrey's John. There were a yellow and a purple pansy, a red and a white daisy, a yellow musk, a sweet william, a primrose, a violet, a lily of the valley, and two or three beautiful roots of forget-me-nots in each heap.

Then the children went out in great glee to plant their flowers. But what was their surprise to find that, whilst Audrey had been in the market, Stephen's father had been very busy bringing bucketfuls of earth from the garden of a friend of his who lived not far away, and making the two graves as tidy and neat as the daintiest flower-garden. It was easy to plant the roots after this; and oh, how delighted the children were, as they saw the graves growing more and more pretty every moment!

And that evening there was a grand procession. Every one was invited to see and to admire their work. Mr. Robin walked first, with Granny Robin on his arm. The old woman had insisted on climbing out of her window to visit the graves. If she could not see them, she could feel them, she said, and she could smell the flowers.

As for Stephen's father, he had done very little shoe-mending all day, for every few minutes he had come hopping out of his window to see how they were getting on. Yet, although he had helped to choose the place of each plant, the little cobbler still came behind Mr. and Mrs. Robin in the procession which was about to visit the graves, and when he arrived there, he seemed as much surprised and interested as if he had never seen them before.

The difficulty was to get Aunt Cordelia there. Not that she was unwilling to come, for she was anxious to see Granny Robin, of whom the children talked so much; but the trouble was this, she could not make up her mind to climb out of the window. It took Audrey and Stephen nearly an hour to coax her to make the attempt. She even wanted to go down the street to the house of the deaf old woman, that she might get the key of the churchyard gate.

It was only when Audrey told her that if she did so, it would spoil everything—for the old woman would be sure to come with her, and would perhaps be angry with them for doing it without her leave—it was only then that Aunt Cordelia consented to try the undignified descent.

But it was a terribly serious business. A stool was placed outside the window, and Mr. Robin and the cobbler came forward to give her a hand, whilst she gathered her petticoats round her, and at length, slowly and gracefully, managed to alight on the churchyard grass. Then the procession began, and the children's work was duly admired by the whole party. They all had some remark to make about it, and these remarks were very different from each other.

Aunt Cordelia, who was in a very good temper, and who was much gratified by the politeness of Mr. and Mrs. Robin, said, "Well, I declare, it's a very pretty garden, and a deal better play than climbing all day long over those black, filthy old stones, Audrey. You won't dirty half as many pinafores!"

Stephen's father was full of his boy's delight. It would be a pleasure for Stephen every day, he said, and he would buy him a nice little red can with which to water the flowers.

Mr. Robin said it was a real treat to see a bit of flower-bed again; it reminded him of his garden in the country, and was like a bit of home to him.

But Granny Robin, as she knelt on the grass to smell the flowers, repeated softly to herself the words of a verse, which Audrey and Stephen thought very beautiful.

"'Saint after saint on earth Has lived, and loved, and died, And as they left us one by one, We laid them side by side; We laid them down to sleep, But not in hope forlorn; We laid them but to ripen there Till the last glorious morn. Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!'"

"Do you think they know what we've been doing?" said little Stephen.

"Who, my dear child?"

"The two grandchildren who died young."

"I don't know," said Granny Robin; "I can't say, Stephen."

"Perhaps the angels will tell them when they go back to-night," said Stephen. "They are sure to notice it when they come to look at the graves, and I think the little children will be glad when they hear."

And that night, long after Stephen's father thought he was fast asleep, the little boy stood at his bedroom window in the moonlight, looking for the angels. The calm, quiet light was streaming through the trees and down upon the desolate graves. It made even the saddest of them look beautiful, little Stephen thought, and he fancied that the moonbeams must be the reflection of the brightness of the angels' wings.

His own grave, as he loved to call it, was lying full in the pure, silvery light. He could see the flowers he had planted distinctly, and he could even distinguish some of the words on the old tombstone. He loved to fancy to himself that the angels were glad to see it looking so beautiful, that they were pleased with what he had done, and that they were lingering round it with bright and happy faces. Some of the other graves were lying in shadow, but the angels, so he thought, had gathered round the one upon which he had bestowed so much care, and were unwilling to leave it behind.

It was not until clouds came drifting across the sky, and one of them was driven over the face of the moon, and the whole churchyard was left in darkness again; it was not until every ray of moonlight had disappeared, that little Stephen crept back to bed. The angels were gone, he said, as he laid his head on the pillow; they had flown away to the King's Garden, and perhaps, even then, they were telling the two grandchildren who died young that the flowers were blooming on their grave, and that it was no longer forsaken and desolate.