by Anonymous
CHAPTER XVII.
_THE LAST PUDDING._
Agnes and her brothers and sisters ran down the steps of their Londonhome, one frosty morning towards the end of the holidays, and turnedtheir steps toward Regent's Park. While the roar of omnibuses was forever in their ears there could be little talking, but when they began tofind quieter streets they gathered close to Agnes, begging for "astory." This was a usual custom with them, and Agnes quickly respondedby beginning cheerfully:
"Oh, yes, you have never had the account of our other visit onChristmas-eve; so I must begin where I left off last time."
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"When Minnie and I reached home, with the bells ringing the refrain ofpeace and contentment, we just came in to warm our fingers, and thenstarted forth again on our last errand. This time our parcel was evenheavier than before, and we were very glad when we reached the house towhich our steps were bound.
"House it was not, being just a large room over a stable, where, as youknow, Martha, our former housemaid, lives, since she married Jim, thecabman.
"We picked our way as well as we could over the stones, slippery and wetwith mud, and at last came to the door leading to the staircase whichruns up by the side of the coach-house. We found it ajar, and as thebell was broken we made our way up in the darkness. All was pitchyblack, but a baby wailing above told us there must be somebody within.We found the door of the room at the top, and knocked. A voice, sharpand quick, which I should hardly have known for Martha's soft one,answered, 'What do you want?' and on this invitation we entered.
"No light was in the room, but the gas-lamp of the yard shed flickeringand uncertain gleams through the window into the barest and untidiest ofchambers.
"We could see, as our eyes became used to the dim light, that Martha wasseated near the empty grate, holding the baby in her lap, while threelittle mites were huddled up against her knees on the floor.
"Desolate indeed everything seemed.
"'Why, Martha,' said I, 'are you all in the dark? Shall I find a lightfor you?'
"'Is it you, Miss Agnes?' said Martha, in somewhat of her old tone ofrespect. 'I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm that harassed with all mytroubles, that I don't rightly know what I'm doing.'
"'What is it?' asked I, advancing. 'What has come to you?'
"'Everything bad,' she moaned, in the saddest of tones. 'You know Iwould marry Jim, though Mrs. Headley told me he was not a steady man,and too soon I've found her words true; we've been going on from bad toworse, till one by one all my nice clothes went, then our bits offurniture, and now we haven't a morsel to eat, nor a scrap of fire, noran end of candle!'
"Too utterly miserable to hide her woe under her usual mask of reserve,and encouraged by the darkness, she continued in a voice husky and drywith suppressed grief:
"'And it's all through drink! He used to be kind to me; but that's longpast. Then, when he missed the things in the house, he used to askangrily for them, and when I told him we couldn't starve, and if hespent the money on drink we couldn't have food, then he'd up and beatme.'
"'Oh, hush!' I whispered, 'don't let the little ones hear you say so.'
"'I don't care,' she answered, 'they've seen it often enough, and nothingmatters now; here's my baby, my only boy, dying of hunger!'
"I had sat hitherto spell-bound by her words, but now I started to myfeet. 'Dying!' I said, 'What can I get quickest?'
"'Nought'll save him now,' she said, without a shade of hope in hervoice; 'but if you can get him a drop of milk, it would ease me to thinkhe hadn't died hungry.'
"There was a sob now in her tearless voice; but not stopping to say aword, I hastily found the door, and descended the steps.
"You may be sure it was not long before I had got a little milk in a canfrom a neighbouring shop, and a bit of candle which the woman lent me atmy earnest request, and I ran back with them as fast as my feet couldcarry me.
"Happily a match was forthcoming, and the milk was soon put to thebaby's lips. He was about eight months old, but was shrunken up to skinand bone. He took with great difficulty a little of the milk, and thennestled again against his mother.
"'Why didn't you tell us?' I asked, forced to say the words.
"'I couldn't; there, I couldn't, miss. I've never begged yet, and Ican't begin. I can die, and they can die, but I can't beg.'
"'Oh dear, Martha!' I said, my voice choked with tears, 'if we'd onlyknown!'
"She wept now, hanging her head over the baby with despairing sobs.
"'But aren't you all hungry?' I said suddenly.
"She nodded her head.
"Again I flew out, leaving poor little scared Minnie sitting there; andhurrying off to a baker's, bought a stale loaf, and hastened back,ordering on my way a little coal and wood.
"In a few minutes Minnie and I had drawn the shivering little mites fromtheir mother's knees, and had set them near the fireplace, in which Ihoped there would soon be a blaze, and had given them some slices ofbread, while I handed a piece to poor broken-hearted Martha.
"Then the coals came lumbering up the stairs, and, thanks to mother'steaching, Minnie and I quickly built up a warm little fire, and we hadtime to look round. Then our eyes fell on the parcel. We opened it withall speed, and arrayed the little cold mortals in the old clothes we hadbrought, and when the pudding was laid aside for another time, I drewout our third text, that it too might carry its message to these sadhearts: 'Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He wasrich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His povertymight be rich.'
"'Rich!' said Martha, with a hoarse laugh, reading the words in spite ofherself with her dim eyes, as I pinned them up, 'it's little riches Ishall ever see!'
"'But what about the baby? If he should die now, will he be poor then,do you think?' I asked softly.
"She moaned as she hugged him tighter. 'I love him more than anything inthis world, or out of it,' she exclaimed.
"'And perhaps--oh, Martha, I don't know--but perhaps God loved you toowell to let you. You would rather be rich with him there, some day, forever, than just keep him a little while here?'
"She shook her head; but while she rocked him in her arms, her eyes werefastened on the paper before her, and her pale lips repeated, 'He becamepoor, He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be rich.'
"We stopped a little while longer, till we had seen the poor littledears cuddled together asleep under their mother's only remaining shawl,and with a promise of sending round the first thing in the morning, andthat I thought I knew of some work which I might get for her, Minnie andI came away, too sad at heart to say a word to each other."
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"But when I laid down that night in our warm snug bed, Minnie, who wasawake, whispered to me softly, 'It was kind of Him to become poor forus, Agnes, wasn't it? For what comfort could we give her if He hadn't?'
"And I thought so too, and could not but thank Him over again before Islept for His love in taking our flesh and bearing our sorrows, that wemight some day share His glory."