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CHAPTER XIII
POPPY'S FATHER COMES HOME
The doctor was not wrong. In less than a week the Lord took Poppy's mother to His beautiful home, where there is no more sickness nor pain. And grandmother, and Poppy, and little Enoch and Elijah were left behind. But, as the grandmother and the child stood beside the grave where her body was laid to rest, they knew that she was far away, safe in His keeping to whom she had trusted her soul. They knew that she was well, and happy, and full of joy, and they tried to be glad for her sake.
Grandmother was anxious to get home, and, as soon as all could be arranged, she set off with Poppy and the twins. The neighbours were very kind, and did all they could to help them, and Jack rubbed away something with his sleeve, which was very like a tear, as he saw their train steam out of the station.
It was a new life for Poppy. Grandmother lived in a lovely valley, full of beautiful trees and running brooks, and quiet, peaceful glades, where in the daytime the squirrels played and the birds sang, where in the dim evening hours the rabbits came to nibble the grass, and where, at night, when Poppy and her little brothers were asleep, the solemn old owls sat in the trees, and called to each other in harsh and ugly voices.
Through the middle of the valley ran a white smooth road, winding in and out amongst the trees, and on this road came the carriages, driving quickly along, with the postillions in scarlet coats riding on the horses in front, and the ladies and gentlemen, who had come to see the beautiful valley, leaning back in the carriages behind.
It was Poppy's delight to open the gate for these carriages, and in this way she was able to save her grandmother a good deal of running about. She used to climb up the hillside, and watch until they were in sight, and then run down as fast as she could, that she might have the gate open in time for them to pass through. That was Poppy's work out of school hours, for grandmother sent her regularly to the pretty little country school, and would let nothing keep her away from it.
Dear old grandmother! how hard she worked for Poppy and for the babies! she thought nothing a trouble that she could do for them, and Poppy loved her more and more every day.
As the months went by, little Enoch and Elijah grew fat and strong; the fresh country air and the new milk made a wonderful change in them, and, when the next summer came, they were able to run about, and could climb on the hillside with Poppy, and gather the wild roses, and the harebells, and the honeysuckle, and would sit on the bank, near the cottage, watching the carriages, and trying to catch the pence which the people threw them as they drove by.
One Saturday afternoon, at the end of the summer, as Poppy was playing with them outside the lodge, she caught sight of a man coming quickly down the road. She ran to open the gate for him, but as she did so she gave a sudden cry of joy. It was her father, her long-lost father, come home again!
'Why, Poppy,' he said, 'my own dear little woman, what are you doing here? Come and kiss your poor father, Poppy. And who are these two bonny little lads?' he asked, as Enoch and Elijah came running up to him.
'They're our babies,' said Poppy. 'God sent them after you went away, father; they both came on one day.'
'Dear me, dear me; and to think I never knew,' said her father. 'Poor Polly! And so you've all come to see grandmother. I never thought I should find you here; I was going home to-morrow. I must run in and see mother. Is she with grandmother, Poppy?'
See mother! Then he did not know. And Poppy could not tell him. She followed him with a very grave and sorrowful face, holding little Enoch and Elijah by the hand.
Grandmother came to the door at the sound of his voice.
'Why, if it isn't my John Henry!' she cried.
'Yes, mother, it's your John Henry, ashamed of himself at last. And so you've got poor Polly and the bairns here. Where is Polly? I wonder if she'll ever forgive me?'
'Then you haven't been home yet, John Henry!' was all grandmother could say.
'No, mother; I only got to Liverpool this morning, and I took you on my way; I was going home to-morrow.'
'Where's Polly?' he said, pushing past her, and looking first into the parlour and then into the kitchen. 'Is she upstairs, mother? Polly! Polly! Polly!'
'John Henry,' said grandmother in a trembling voice, 'Polly has gone home.'
'Gone home, and left the children behind her!' he exclaimed.
'Ay, my dear,' said his mother, bursting into tears; 'the Lord sent for her.'
'You don't mean to say she's dead, mother!' he moaned.
'Nay, my dear, she is living with the Lord,' said the old woman.
'Oh, mother, mother,' he sobbed, 'to think I left her like that, and she never knew how sorry I was!'
It was a long, long time before he could speak, or could tell them his story. He had been in America in dreadful straits and in many dangers. At length he fell ill with fever, and lay for many weeks at the point of death, in a log cabin, with only a boy of ten, the son of a poor emigrant, to do anything for him. But this trouble had shown him his sin, and he had come to the Lord Jesus for forgiveness, and ever since then God had blessed him. He had not become a rich man, but he had earned enough to bring him home, and he had saved a little besides, and with this he hoped to start life afresh.
'But you'll never rob me of my bairns, John Henry,' said the old woman, in alarm; 'you'll never take them away, when we've all been so happy together!'
And the bare possibility of losing the children seemed quite to damp poor old grandmother's joy in getting her beloved John Henry home again.
'Well, mother, we must see,' he said; 'we must ask God to order for us.'
And God did order most graciously, both for mother and son.
The old woman told her trouble to 'my lady,' the next time that she drove through the lodge-gates in her pony-carriage, and she was very sympathising, and most anxious that the children should not have to leave their happy country home. She mentioned it to the squire, and he very kindly offered Poppy's father a situation on his estate as gamekeeper. His life in America had made him far more fit for that kind of work than for carrying on his old trade, and he was most thankful not to have to take his children back to the city. So they all lived on together in the pretty lodge in the lovely valley, a happy little family, all loving the same Lord, and walking on the road to the same Home.
But Poppy never forgot her mother. And as Enoch and Elijah grew older, she would sit with them on the hillside and talk to them about her, and pointing to the blue sky she would tell them that their mother was waiting for them there, and would be very much disappointed if they did not come.
And often, as they sat outside the lodge in the quiet summer evenings, they and their father would sing together, 'Mother's favourite hymn,' and dear old grandmother would come to the door, and join in a quavering voice in the beautiful words:
'Jesus, I will trust Thee, trust Thee with my soul!
Guilty, lost, and helpless, Thou canst make me whole.
There is none in heaven or on earth like Thee;
Thou hast died for sinners—therefore, Lord, for me.'
Jesus, I do trust Thee, trust without a doubt,
Whosoever cometh Thou wilt not cast out:
Faithful is Thy promise, precious isThy blood—
These my soul's salvation, Thou my Saviour God!'
