lesson."
"So they do, Mrs Jenks; all His works read us a lesson--but come backto my waves, I want their breezes on my face, the day is stifling."
She led the way back into the first room, and seated herself on a lowchair.
"This is your little girl, and this the dog--Scamp, you call him. Whydid you give him so outlandish a name? he does not deserve it, he is agood faithful dog, there is nothing scampish about him, I see that inhis face."
"Yes, ma'am, he's as decent conducted and faithful a cretur as everwalked. Wot scamp he is, is only name deep, not natur deep."
"Well, that is right--What's in a name? Come here, Scamp, poor fellow,and you, little Flo, you come also; I have a great deal to say to youand your dog." The child and the dog went up and stood close to thekind face. Miss Mary put her arm round Flo, and laid one shapely whitehand on Scamp's forehead.
"So God has taken away your little bed," she said to the child, "and youdon't know where to sleep to-night."
"Oh! yes, mum, I does," said Flo in a cheerful voice, for she did notwish Mrs Jenks to think she missed her bed very much. "Scamp and me,we 'as a mattress in hour cellar."
Miss Mary smiled.
"Now, Flo," she said, "I really don't wish to disappoint you, but Igreatly fear you are mistaken. You may have a mattress, but you have nomattress in number 7, Duncan Street, for that cellar, as well as everyother cellar in the street, has been shut up by the police three weeksago. They are none of them fit places for human beings to live in."
If Miss Mary, sitting there in her summer muslin, surrounded by everycomfort, thought that Flo would rejoice in the fact that these places,unfit for any of God's creatures, were shut up, she was vastly mistaken.Dark and wretched hole of a place as number 7, Duncan Street, was, itwas there her mother had died, it was there she and Dick had played, andstruggled, and been honest, and happy. Poor miserable shred of a home,it was the only home she had ever possessed the only place she had aright to call her own.
Now that it was gone, the streets or the Adelphi arches stared her inthe face. Veritable tears came to her eyes, and in her excitement anddistress, she forgot her awe of the first lady who had ever spoken toher.
"Please, mum, ef the cellar is shut up, wot 'ave come of my little bitso' duds, my mattress, and table, and little cobbler's stool?--thatlittle stool wor worth sixpence any day, it stood so steady on its legs.Wot 'ave come o' them, mum, and wot's to come o' Scamp and me, mum?"
"Ah!" said the lady more kindly than ever, "that is the importantquestion, what is to become of you and Scamp? Well, my dear, God has anice little plan all ready for you both, and what you have to do is tosay yes to it."
"And I 'ave brought you here to learn all about it, Flo," said MrsJenks, nodding and smiling at her.
Then Miss Mary made the child seat herself on a low stool by her side,and unfolded to her a wonderful revelation. She, Flo, was no strangerto this lady. Mrs Jenks once a week worked as char-woman in thishouse, and had long ago told its mistress of her little charge; and MissMary was charmed and interested, and wanted to buy Scamp, only MrsJenks declared that that would break Flo's heart. So instead she hadcontributed something every week to the keep of the two.
Now she wished to do something more. Miss Mary Graham was not rich, andlong ago every penny of her spare money had been appropriated in variouscharitable ways, but about a fortnight ago a singular thing had happenedto her. She received through the post a cheque for a small sum withthese words inside the envelope--
"_To be spent on the first little homeless London child you care todevote it to_."
The gift, sent anonymously, seemed to point directly to Flo, and MissGraham resolved that she should reap the benefit.
Her plan for her was this,--she and Scamp were to live with Mrs Jenksfor at least a year, and during that time Mrs Jenks was to instruct Floin reading and writing, in fine sewing, and in all the mysteries ofhousehold work and cooking, and when Flo was old enough and strongenough, and if she turned out what they earnestly trusted she would turnout, she was to come to Miss Mary as her little servant, for Miss Maryexpected that in a year or two Annie would be married and have a home ofher own.
"Does this plan suit you, Flo? Are you willing when the time comes totry to be a faithful little servant to any master or mistress you may bewith?" Whatever Flo's feelings may have been, her answer was a softly,a very softly spoken--
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you know how you are to learn?"
"No, ma'am; but Mrs Jenks, she knows."
"Mrs Jenks knows certainly, and so may you. You must be God's littleservant first--you must begin by being God's little servant to-day, andthen when the time comes you will be a good and faithful servant towhoever you are with."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Flo, a look of reverence, of love, of wonder atthe care God was taking of her, stealing over her downcast face. MissMary saw the look, and rose from her seat well satisfied, she had foundthe child her Heavenly Father meant her to serve.
"But please, mum," said Flo, "does yer know about Dick?"
"Yes, my dear, I know all about your little brother. Mrs Jenks hastold me Dick's story as well as yours. And I know this much, whichperhaps you may not know; his stealing was a bad thing, but his beingtaken up and sent, not to prison, but to the good reformatory schoolwhere he now is, was the best thing that could happen to him. I havebeen over that school, Flo, and I know that the boys in it are treatedwell, and are happy. They are taught a trade, and are given a fairstart in life.
"Many a boy such as Dick owes his salvation to the school he now is in.
"By the way, did you notice Annie, my little servant?"
"Yes, ma'am," and a smile came to Flo's face at the remembrance of thebright, pleasant-looking handmaiden.
"She has given me leave to tell you something, Flo; something of her ownhistory.
"Once my dear, faithful Annie was a little London thief--a notoriouslittle London thief. She knew of no God, she knew of nothing good--shewas not even as fortunate as you and Dick were, for she had no mother tokeep her right. When not quite ten years old she was concerned in adaring city robbery--she was taken up--convicted--and at last sentenced,first for a month to Wandsworth House of Correction, afterwards for fouryears to the girls' reformatory school at that place.
"She has often told me what happened to her on the day she arrived atthis school. She went there hating every one, determined never tochange her ways, to remain for ever hardened and wicked.
"The matron called her aside and spoke to her thus:
"`I know what is said of you, but I do not believe half of it--_I amgoing to trust you_.
"`Here is a five-pound note; take this note to such a shop, and bring meback four sovereigns in gold, and one in silver.'
"That noble trust saved the girl. At that moment, as she herself said,all inclination for thieving utterly left her. [A fact.] From that dayto this she has never touched a farthing that is not strictly her own.You see what she is now in appearance; when you know her better, youwill see what she is in character--a true Christian--a noble woman. Allthe nobler for having met and conquered temptation."
Miss Mary paused, then added softly, "What she has become, Dick maybecome."
When Mrs Jenks, and Flo, and Scamp came home that morning, Flo, whoafter all that had happened felt sure that nothing ever _could_ surpriseher again, still could not help, when she entered the neat little room--her _real_ home now--starting back and folding her hands in muteastonishment. The rough-looking, untidy mattress was gone, and in itsplace stood a tiny, bright-looking iron bedstead, on which the smallestof snowy beds was made up.
Over the bedstead, pinned against the wall, was a card with these wordsprinted on it--
"GOD'S GIFT TO FLO."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
BRIGHT DAYS.
And now began a happy time in a hitherto very dark little life.
All her cares, her anxieties for Dick even, swept away, Flo had stept
into a state of existence that to her was one of luxury.
The effect on many a nature, after the first burst of thankfulness wasover, would have been a hardening one. The bright sunshine ofprosperity, without any of the rain of affliction, would have dried upthe fair soil, withered, and caused to die, the good seed.
But on Flo the effect was different; she never forgot one thing, andthis memory kept all else straight within her. In counting up hermercies, she never forgot that it was God who gave them to her; and inreturn she gave Him, not love as a duty, but love rising free andspontaneous out of a warm, strong heart.
And He whom she loved she longed to hear more of, and Mrs Jenks, whoselove for God and faith in God was as great as her own, loved to