Bessie and Her Friends

  V.

  _LIGHT THROUGH THE CLOUDS._

  Christmas with all its pleasures had come and gone, enjoyed perhapsas much by the policeman's children as it was by the little Bradfordsin their wealthier home. For though the former had not the means ofthe latter with which to make merry, they had contented spirits andgrateful hearts, and these go far to make people happy. Their tallChristmas-tree and beautiful greens were not more splendid in the eyesof Maggie and Bessie than were the scanty wreath and two foot highcedar branch, which a good-natured market-woman had given Mrs. Granby,were in those of little Jennie Richards. To be sure, the apology for atree was not dressed with glittering balls, rich bonbons, or rows oftapers; its branches bore no expensive toys, rare books, or lovelypictures; but the owner and the little ones for whose delight shedressed it, were quite satisfied, and only pitied those who had no treeat all. Had not good Mrs. Granby made the most extraordinary flowersof red flannel and gilt paper,--flowers whose likeness never grew ingardens or greenhouses of any known land; had she not baked sugarcakes which were intended to represent men and women, pigs, horses,and cows? Were not the branches looped with gay ribbons? Did they notbear rosy-cheeked apples, an orange for each child, some cheap but muchprized toys, and, better than all, several useful and greatly neededarticles, which had been the gift of Mrs. Bradford? What did it matterif one could scarcely tell the pigs from the men?

  Perhaps you may like to know how Mrs. Bradford became interested in thepoliceman's family.

  One morning, a day or two before Christmas, Maggie and Bessie wereplaying baby-house in their own little room, when they heard a knockat mamma's door. Maggie ran to open it. There stood a woman who lookedrather poor, but neat and respectable. Maggie was a little startledby the unexpected sight of a strange face, and stood holding the doorwithout speaking.

  "Your ma sent me up here," said the woman. "She is busy below, and shetold me to come up and wait for her here."

  So Maggie allowed the stranger to pass her, and she took a chair whichstood near the door. Maggie saw that she looked very cold, but had notthe courage to ask her to come nearer the fire. After a moment, thewoman smiled pleasantly. Maggie did not return the smile, though shelooked as if she had half a mind to do so; but she did not like to seethe woman looking so uncomfortable, and pushing a chair close to thefire, she said, "There."

  The woman did not move; perhaps she, too, felt a little shy in astrange place. Maggie was rather vexed that she did not understand herwithout more words, but summing up all her courage, she said,--

  "I think if you took this seat by the fire, you'd be warmer." The womanthanked her, and took the chair, looking quite pleased.

  "Are you the little lady who was lost a couple of months ago?" sheasked.

  "No," said Maggie, at once interested, "that was our Bessie; but wefound her again."

  "Oh, yes, I know that. I heard all about her from Policeman Richards,who looked after her when she was up to the station."

  "Bessie, Bessie!" called Maggie, "here's a woman that knows yourstation policeman. Come and look at her."

  At this, Bessie came running from the inner room.

  "Well," said the woman, laughing heartily, "it is nice to be looked atfor the sake of one's friends when one is not much to look at for one'sself."

  "I think you're pretty much to look at," said Bessie. "I think you havea nice, pleasant face. How is my policeman?"

  "He's well," said the stranger. "And so you call him your policeman; doyou? Well, I shall just tell him that; I've a notion it will tickle hima bit."

  "He's one of my policemen," said Bessie. "I have three,--one who helpsus over the crossing; the one who found me when I came lost; and theone who was so good to me in his station-house."

  "And that is my friend, Sergeant Richards. Well, he's a mighty nicefellow."

  "Yes, he is," said Bessie, "and I'd like to see him again. Are you hiswife, ma'am?"

  "Bless you, no!" said the woman; "I am nothing but Mrs. Granby, wholives in his house. Your grandmother, Mrs. Stanton, sent me to yourma, who, she said, had work to give me. His poor wife, she can scarcecreep about the room, let alone walking this far. Not but that she'sbetter than she was a spell back, and she'd be spryer yet, I think,but for the trouble that's weighin' on her all the time, and hindersher getting well."

  "Does she have a great deal of trouble?" asked Maggie, who by this timefelt quite sociable.

  "Doesn't she though!" answered Mrs. Granby. "Trouble enough; and she'sawful bad herself with the rheumatics, and a sickly baby, and a blindboy, and debts to pay, and that scandal of a doctor, and no way oflaying up much; for the children must be fed and warmed, bless theirhearts! and a police-sergeant's pay ain't no great; yes, yes, honey,lots of trouble and no help for it as I see. Not that I tell them so; Ijust try to keep up their hearts."

  "Why don't they tell Jesus about their troubles, and ask him to helpthem?" asked Bessie, gently.

  "So they do," answered Mrs. Granby; "but he hasn't seen best to sendthem help yet. I suppose he'll just take his own time and his own wayto do it; at least, that's what Sergeant Richards says. He'll trustthe Lord, and wait on him, he says; but it's sore waiting sometimes.Maybe all this trouble is sent to try his faith, and I can say it don'tfail him, so far as I can see. But, honey, I guess you sometimes prayyourself; so to-night, when you go to bed, do you say a bit of a prayerfor your friend, Sergeant Richards. I believe a heap in the prayers ofthe young and innocent; and you just ask the Lord to help him out ofthis trouble. Maybe he'll hear you; anyway, it won't do no harm; prayernever hurt nobody."

  "Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Bessie, as her mother just then entered theroom, "what do you think? This very nice woman lives with my stationpoliceman, who was so kind to me, and his name is Yichards, and he hasa lame baby and a sick wife and a blind boy, and no doctor to pay, andthe children must be fed, and a great deal of trouble, and she don'tget well because of it, and he does have trust in the Lord, but hehasn't helped him yet--"

  "And my Bessie's tongue has run away with her ideas," said mamma,laughing. "What is all this about, little one?"

  "About Bessie's policeman," said Maggie, almost as eager as her sister."Let this woman tell you. She knows him very well."

  "I beg pardon, ma'am," said Mrs. Granby. "I don't know but it wasmy tongue ran away with me, and I can't say it's not apt to do so;but when your little daughter was lost, it was my friend, SergeantRichards, that saw to her when she was up to the station, and he'stalked a deal about her, for he was mighty taken with her."

  "Bessie told me how kind he was to her," said Mrs. Bradford.

  "Yes, ma'am; there isn't a living thing that he wouldn't be kind to,and it does pass me to know what folks like him are so afflicted for.However, it's the Lord's work, and I've no call to question his doings.But the little ladies were just asking me about Sergeant Richards,ma'am, and so I came to tell them what a peck of troubles he was in."

  "What are they, if you are at liberty to speak of them?" asked Mrs.Bradford. "Any one who has been kind to my children has a special claimon me."

  So Mrs. Granby told the story, not at all with the idea of asking aidfor her friends,--that she knew the good policeman and his wife wouldnot like,--but, as she afterwards told them, because she could nothelp it. "The dear lady looked so sweet, and spoke so sweet, now andthen asking a question, not prying like, but as if she took a realinterest, not listening as if it were a duty or because she was ashamedto interrupt. And she wasn't of the kind to tell you there was othersworse off than you, or that your troubles might be greater than theywere. If there's a thing that aggravates me, it's that," continued Mrs.Granby. "I know I ought to be thankful, and so I mostly am, that I andmy friends ain't no worse off than we are, and I know it's no goodto be frettin' and worryin' about your trials, and settin' yourselfagainst the Lord's will; but I do say if I fall down and break my arm,there ain't a grain of comfort in hearin' that my next-door neighborhas broken both his. Quite contrary; I think mine pains worse fort
hinkin' how his must hurt him. And now that I can't do the fine workI used to, it don't make it no easier for me to get my livin' to haveit said, as a lady did to me this morning, that it would be far worseif I was blind. So it would, I don't gainsay that, but it don't help myseeing, to have it thrown up to me by people that has the full use oftheir eyes. Mrs. Bradford aint none of that sort, though, not she; andthe children, bless their hearts, stood listenin' with all their ears,and I'd scarce done when the little one broke out with,--

  "'Oh, do help them! Mamma, couldn't you help them?'

  "But I could see the mother was a bit backward about offerin' help,thinkin', I s'pose, that you and Mary wasn't used to charity, and notknowin' how you'd take it; so she puts it on the plea of its bein'Christmas time."

  And here Mrs. Granby paused, having at last talked herself out ofbreath.

  All this was true. Mrs. Bradford had felt rather delicate aboutoffering assistance to the policeman's family, not knowing but that itmight give offence. But when she had arranged with Mrs. Granby aboutthe work, she said,--

  "Since your friends are so pressed just now, I suppose they have notbeen able to make much preparation for Christmas."

  "Precious little, ma'am," answered Mrs. Granby; "for Sergeant Richardsdon't think it right to spend a penny he can help when he's owin'others. But we couldn't let the children quite forget it was Christmas,so I'm just goin' to make them a few cakes, and get up some smalltrifles that will please them. I'd have done more, only this lastweek, when I hadn't much work, I was fixin' up some of the children'sclothes, for Mrs. Richards, poor soul, can't set a stitch with hercramped fingers, and there was a good deal of lettin' out and patchin'to be done."

  "And how are the children off for clothes?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

  "Pretty tolerable, the boys, ma'am, for I've just made Willie a suitout of an old uniform of his father's, and the little ones' clothesget handed down from one to another, though they don't look too fineneither. But Jennie, poor child, has taken a start to grow these lastfew months, and I couldn't fix a thing for her she wore last winter. Soshe's wearin' her summer calicoes yet, and even them are very short asto the skirts, and squeezed as to the waists, which ain't good for agrowin' child."

  "No," said Mrs. Bradford, smiling. "I have here a couple of merinodresses of Maggie's, and a warm sack, which she has outgrown. They aretoo good to give to any one who would not take care of them, and I laidthem aside until I should find some one to whom they would be of use.Do you think Mrs. Richards would be hurt if I offered them to her? Theywill at least save some stitches."

  "Indeed, ma'am," said Mrs. Granby, her eyes dancing, "you needn't beafraid; she'll be only too glad and thankful, and it was only thismornin' she was frettin' about Jennie's dress. She ain't quite ascheery as her husband, poor soul; 'taint to be expected she should be,and she always had a pride in Jennie's looks, but there didn't seem noway to get a new thing for one of the children this winter."

  "And here is a cap of Franky's, and some little flannel shirts, which Iwill roll up in the bundle," said Mrs. Bradford. "They may, also, be ofuse."

  Away rushed Maggie when she heard this to her own room, coming backwith a china dog and a small doll, which she thrust into Mrs. Granby'shands, begging her to take them to Jennie, but to be sure not to givethem to her before Christmas morning.

  "What shall we do for the blind boy?" asked Bessie. "We want to makehim happy."

  "Perhaps he would like a book," said mamma.

  "But he couldn't see to read it, mamma."

  "Oh, I dare say some one would read it to him," said Mrs. Bradford."Does he not like that?" she asked of Mrs. Granby.

  "Yes, ma'am. His mother reads to him mostly all the time when thebaby is quiet. It's about all she can do, and it's his greatestpleasure, dear boy, to have her read out the books he and Jennie get atSunday-school every Sunday."

  "Can he go to Sunday-school when he's blind?" asked Maggie.

  "Why, yes, honey. Every Sunday mornin' there's a big boy that goes tothe same school stops for Willie and Jennie, and totes them with him;and if their father or me can't go to church, he just totes them backafter service. And when Willie comes in with his libr'y book and his'Child's Paper' and Scripture text, he's as rich as a king, and a heapmore contented, I guess."

  While Mrs. Granby was talking, Mrs. Bradford was looking over a parcelwhich contained some new books, and now she gave her one for blindWillie's Christmas gift, saying she hoped things would be ordered sothat before another Christmas he would be able to see.

  There is no need to tell Mrs. Granby's delight, or the thanks which shepoured out. If Mrs. Bradford had given her a most magnificent presentfor herself, it would not have pleased her half so much as did thesetrifles for the policeman's children.

  That evening, after the little ones were all in bed, Mrs. Granby toldMr. Richards and his wife of all that had happened at Mrs. Bradford's.

  Mrs. Richards was by no means too proud to accept the lady's kindness;so pleased was she to think that she should see Jennie warm and neatonce more that she had no room in her heart for anything but gratitude.

  Mrs. Granby was just putting away the treasures she had been showing,when there came a rap from the old-fashioned knocker on the front-door.

  "Sit you still, Sergeant Richards," she said. "I'm on my feet, and I'lljust open the door." Which she did, and saw a tall gentleman standingthere, who asked if Mr. Richards was in. "He is, sir," she answered,and then saying to herself, "I hope he's got special business for himthat he'll pay him well for," threw open the door of the sitting-room,and asked the gentleman in.

  But the police-sergeant had already done the "special business," forwhich the gentleman came to make return. Mr. Richards knew him bysight, though he had never spoken to him.

  "Mr. Bradford, I believe, sir?" he said, coming forward.

  "You know me then?" said the gentleman.

  "Yes, sir," answered Richards, placing a chair for his visitor. "Yousee I know many as don't know me. Can I be of any service to you, sir?"

  "I came to have a talk with you, if you are at leisure," said Mr.Bradford. "Perhaps you may think I am taking a liberty, but my wifeheard to-day, through your friend, that you were in some troublewith a doctor who has attended your family, and that you have beendisappointed in obtaining the services of Mr. Ray, who has gone toEurope. I am a lawyer, you know, and if you do not object to considerme as a friend in his place, perhaps you will let me know what yourdifficulties are, and I may be able to help you."

  The policeman looked gratefully into the frank, noble face before him."Thank you, sir," he said; "you are very good, and this is not thefirst time that I have heard of your kindness to those in trouble. It'srather a long story, that of our difficulties, but if it won't tireyou, I'll be thankful to tell it."

  He began far back, telling how they had done well, and been verycomfortable, having even a little laid by, until about a year since,when Mrs. Richards' father and mother, who lived with them, had diedwithin a month of each other.

  "And I couldn't bear, sir," he said, "that the old folks shouldn't havea decent burying. So that used up what we had put by for a rainy day.Maybe I was foolish, but you see they were Mary's people, and we hadfeeling about it. But sure enough, no sooner was the money gone thanthe rainy day came, and stormy enough it has been ever since."

  He went on, telling how sickness had come, one thing following another;how Dr. Schwitz had promised that his charges should be small, buthow he never would give in his bill, the policeman and his wifethinking all the while that it was kindness which kept him fromdoing so; how it had taken every cent of his salary to pay the otherexpenses of illness, and keep the family barely warmed and fed; ofthe disappointment of their hopes for Willie for, at least, some timeto come; and finally of the terrible bill which Dr. Schwitz had sentthrough revenge, the police-sergeant thought, and upon the promptpayment of which he was now insisting.

  "He's hard on me, sir, after all his fair promises," said Ri
chards, ashe handed Mr. Bradford the bill; "and you see he has me, for I made noagreement with him, and I don't know as I can rightly say that the lawwould not allow it to him; so, for that reason, I don't dare to disputeit. But I thought Mr. Ray might be able to make some arrangement withhim, and I _can't_ pay it all at once, nor this long time yet, that'ssettled. If he would wait, I might clear it off in a year or twothough how then we are to get bread to put into the children's mouthsI don't see. And there is the rent to pay, you know. We have tuckedthe children and Mrs. Granby all into one room, and let out the othertwo up-stairs; so that's a little help. And Mary was talking of sellingthat mahogany table and bookcase that are as dear to her as if theywere gold, for they were her mother's; but they won't fetch nothingworth speaking of. The English colonel that came after your littledaughter, when she was up at the station that day, was so good as tohand me a ten dollar bill, and we laid that by for a beginning; butthink what a drop in the bucket that is, and it's precious little thatwe've added to it. I don't see my way out of this; that's just a fact,sir, and my only hope is that the Lord knows all."

  "You say Dr. Schwitz tried to bribe you by saying he would send in nobill, if you allowed his nephew to escape?" said Mr. Bradford.

  "Yes, sir, and I suppose I might use that for a handle against him; butI don't like to, for I can't say but that the man was real kind to meand mine before that. If he presses me too hard, I may have to; but Ican't bear to do it."

  "Will you put the matter in my hands, and let me see this Dr. Schwitz?"asked Mr. Bradford.

  Richards was only too thankful, and after asking a little more aboutblind Willie, the gentleman took his leave.

  There is no need to tell what he said to Dr. Schwitz, but a few daysafter he saw the police-sergeant again, and gave him a new bill, whichwas just half as much as the former one, with the promise that thedoctor would wait and allow Richards to pay it by degrees, on conditionthat it was done within the year. This, by great pinching and saving,the policeman thought he would be able to do. The good gentleman didnot tell that it was only by paying part of the sum himself that he hadbeen able to make this arrangement.

  "I don't know what claim I have upon you for such kindness, sir," saidRichards, "but if you knew what a load you have taken from me, I amsure you would feel repaid."

  "I am repaid, more than repaid," said Mr. Bradford, with a smile; "forI feel that I am only paying a debt."

  The policeman looked surprised.

  "You were very kind to my little girl when she was in trouble," saidthe gentleman.

  "Oh, that, sir? Who could help it? And that was a very tiny seed tobring forth such a harvest as this."

  "It was 'bread cast upon the waters,'" said Mr. Bradford, "and to thosewho give in the Lord's name, he gives again 'good measure, presseddown, shaken together, and running over.'"

  But the policeman had not even yet gathered in the whole of hisharvest.

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