Patricia St John Series

by Patricia St John

  “What story?” I asked, really interested.

  “Oh, a story about some people who were unkind and selfish, and Jesus said to them, ‘I was hungry, and you wouldn’t give Me anything to eat, and I was once a stranger, and you wouldn’t share and play with Me.’ And when they said they’d never seen Jesus before, Jesus said, ‘It was when you wouldn’t share and play with My little ones.’ I’ll show it to you in the morning. It’s in Matthew 25. Daddy said it was like us, and you were the stranger.”

  Her voice broke, and she sniffed. I crept closer to her.

  “It’s not true,” I whispered. “You often tried, but I was so cross, and sometimes I didn’t want to be friends. And I know it was very wicked of me to take that shell and say I’d found it on the beach, but I just wanted you to like me.”

  “But we do like you,” cried Janet, raising her hot little face, “and we think it was very brave of you to tell, and we really want to be friends.”

  “And I’m not going to be cross anymore,” I whispered, “because of what happened this afternoon, you see. I expect I will get nicer.”

  “I know,” said Janet eagerly. “I’m ever so glad about that part because I belong to Jesus, and so does Pete, and lots of times we’ve wanted to tell you, but we thought you’d think us silly.”

  “Could I read the Bible with you in the mornings?” I asked anxiously. “You see, I don’t know it like you do, and you could show me.”

  “That would be great,” said Janet, who was feeling much happier. We lay talking until Janet fell asleep, but I lay awake, thinking back over that strange, stormy, terrifying, wonderful day. Yet here I was at the end of it, lying at peace with all the world, unafraid and forgiven. Jesus had come and lifted me up, like a shepherd carrying a lost lamb. He would stay with me forever, and in His presence was comfort and peace and fullness of joy.

  Easter Sunday Morning

  It certainly did seem as though life had started again. When I woke up the next morning, I knew that I had left my dark secret behind me forever and I was never going to be alone again. I belonged to Jesus, and I would have “fullness of joy” if I kept close to Him. That was what Mr. Owen had said to me, and now everything seemed brighter and more beautiful.

  Peter was sorry for making me unhappy but couldn’t show it. He was very excited about trying to catch the burglar and was very envious when I had to go to the police station to describe the man I’d seen.

  My great joy those holidays was the morning time with Janet when we read the Bible together and chose a special verse for the day. It was fun, and I realized how important it was to spend time with Jesus.

  The first Sunday after that never-to-be-forgotten day, Mr. Owen called me into his study just before church and gave me a parcel. I unwrapped it with excitement and found a beautiful navy blue leather Bible with gold-edged pages and pictures. Inside, on the front page, was written:

  ELAINE NELSON

  “You will show me the path of life.

  In Your presence is fullness of joy.”

  I loved my Bible more than anything else I possessed, although I didn’t know much about it yet. But at church we read little books that explained the passages, and Janet helped too. Some mornings we ran out into the garden and sat under the apple trees or went out in the meadows, but on Easter Sunday we awoke very early and set off to the bluebell wood. There was a carpet of blue all around us, and the air was heavy with the scent of bluebells.

  “I don’t remember coming here before,” said Janet, stopping suddenly and looking around her wonderingly. “I don’t think anyone comes here. Oh, look! There’s a place with the sun shining through. Come quick, Elaine! Let’s go there!”

  We stood in the middle of the clearing, looking about us. Birds were singing at the tops of their voices.

  “Of course!” said Janet. “It’s Easter morning! And this is our church! Let’s read here, Elaine. Let’s read that bit Daddy once read about white robes. It was somewhere in Revelation.”

  We searched eagerly, and Janet found it fairly quickly and read the verses. I didn’t know what they meant, but I loved the sound of them.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “I think it means you have to be very clean inside to walk with Jesus,” replied Janet. “I think it means we shouldn’t join in when people get together on the playground at school and talk about horrible things and whisper and giggle. Pete says the boys are worse than the girls.”

  I knew what she meant, for I had often been keen to listen myself.

  “I think the part about ‘keeping your clothes clean’ means refusing to listen and going away when they start,” said Janet firmly. “I did it once, and they laughed and said I was stupid, and after that I was afraid not to join in. But from now on, Elaine, let’s show them that we don’t like it, because actually I think quite a lot of the girls don’t. If we started, they might copy us, and in any case, we’d have each other. Let’s write down that verse for today, ‘They shall walk with Me in white, for they are worthy.’”

  We copied the verse very carefully into our little notebooks, our heads bent low, feeling the warm sunshine on our hair. Then we got up to go, feeling sad to leave our little chapel. Suddenly, we heard a cuckoo.

  “First one I’ve heard,” said Janet, “and she’s early too. Come on; we’d better run. I ought to be helping Mummy.”

  She sped away through the woods and jumped over the gate out into the open meadow, and I followed not far behind, for I was a much better runner than I used to be. The sun was quite high, and in the meadows all the buttercups and daisies had opened their faces to the sun. Just at that moment, it seemed almost impossible that there could be anything ugly and unclean in such a bright world.

  We got home to find the family in the midst of the usual Sunday commotion of getting into their best Sunday clothes. Robin was coming to church, too, as a treat, because it was Easter Sunday. He was under the table very quietly dressing Jumbo in his best clothes.

  Breakfast was great fun since the Easter rabbit had hidden hard-boiled eggs all over the garden. It took a long time to find them, and when we came in, our shoes were wet with dew and our hair windswept and untidy.

  After breakfast we all set off across the meadows with Blodwen, for Mrs. Owen was staying at home with baby Lucy. The church was overflowing with people and full of Easter flowers—daffodils, tulips, and white blossoms, and the choir and congregation rose to their feet and sang victoriously:

  “Jesus Christ is risen today,

  Alleluia!”

  I glanced along our pew. Robin had managed to smuggle Jumbo into church, and he was beating time with his trunk. Mr. Owen told the story of the Resurrection and how an angel of the Lord in clothes as white as snow came down and opened the tomb, and I thought of Jesus coming out in shining robes to match the angel. To walk close to Him in the path of life, sharing His fullness of joy, you would need to be very clean too. Janet was right—nothing dirty or bad could stay near that pure light.

  We got up again to sing the second hymn. Peter, who was in the choir, had a solo part in this one, and his voice, clear and unbroken, seemed to soar right to the roof.

  Mr. Owen glanced at Robin, and a strange look came over his face. Robin, seeing his dad, had scrambled up on the seat behind Blodwen. Holding Jumbo high above the heads of the congregation, he wiggled the elephant’s little gray trunk joyfully at his father.

  Philippa Comes Home

  Next morning the mail arrived during breakfast, and there was a letter from Mrs. Thomas, Philippa’s mother, saying they were coming home again on Wednesday and asking Mrs. Owen to find help to get the house ready. This caused a great deal of excitement among the children, for Philippa was a friend of theirs and had done everything with them before her illness.

  I knew all about Philippa too. She lived in the house belonging to my garden and had caught polio just a year ago. She had been very ill indeed, and, although she was much better, her legs remained partly
paralyzed. Her father was in the navy and was usually away, and Philippa had been in a special hospital learning to walk again while her mother stayed nearby.

  “Can Philippa walk again?” asked Janet eagerly.

  “Only a very little, with crutches,” answered Mrs. Owen sadly, “but of course she may still go on getting better. Poor Philippa! We must do all we can to give her a big welcome, and you must show her that you still want to play with her.”

  Everyone around the table was happy and excited except me, for I was feeling very uncomfortable. Johnny and Francie planned to fill the room with flowers, and Janet said she was going to make some sweets. Peter wanted to make Philippa a little bedside table, if his father would find him some wood. Mr. Owen thought this was a very good idea, and they went off together to see what could be done about it.

  Robin decided to lend her Jumbo for a while, which was a real sacrifice. Peter suddenly hurled himself into the room, breathless with excitement, with Janet behind him.

  “My rabbits, Mum!” he cried. “They’ve had babies! She’s pulled all the fur off her tummy and made a nest in the closed half of the hutch. Do come and see—no, not you, Elaine and Robin—one at a time. The father eats them if too many people look at them.”

  “You’ll have to take the father away and put him by himself, Peter,” said Mr. Owen, coming in. “They often kill their babies if you leave them in the hutch. Just let Mummy and Elaine have a peep, and then give the mother a good feed of bran and dandelions and leave her alone.”

  I seized Mrs. Owen’s hand and we tiptoed to the hutch, Robin hiding behind us. Very carefully Peter opened the door just a crack, and we saw a mass of white fur. In the middle was a pink mass of squirming, squeaking baby rabbits.

  “How many?” I whispered.

  “Don’t know,” answered Peter softly. “They all seem stuck together, and I don’t like to touch them to count. We’ll leave them alone for a day or two till she gets used to them. Dad, instead of a bedside table, could I make a new rabbit hutch? Then Philippa could have two baby rabbits; she could have them by the bed, and they’d be good company.”

  “I don’t know what Mrs. Thomas would think about the smell,” answered Mr. Owen, “but she could have them just outside the window, I suppose. I expect they’ll make her a bedroom on the ground floor. That’s a very good idea, Pete. You carry on!”

  Mr. Owen went back to his study, and I ran after him and poked my worried little face around the door. To my surprise and relief, he seemed to have guessed my thoughts.

  “Come in, Elaine,” he said. “You’re thinking about that shell, aren’t you, and wondering where it is? I took it out of the museum that same night, and it’s here safe in my desk. Would you like to go with Auntie when she goes up this morning to get ready, and slip it back into its proper place? And one other thing I thought of—you started to make a pretty good job of the garden, and you’ve got two days left in which to work hard. How about finishing off that little rockery you started and tidying it up a bit?”

  I was thrilled. Somehow, I hadn’t wanted to go back to the garden since I had taken the shell, but I had missed it and had wondered what my seeds were doing and whether the eggs had hatched. Now I would return, not hiding any longer. Of course it was only for two days, but it was better than nothing.

  I was all ready to start, clasping the shell in one hand and a trowel in the other, when Mrs. Owen appeared. I did not look at the garden till I had put the shell safely back in the cabinet, then I ran out and explored it from end to end.

  It was amazing what the April sun and rain had done. Under the weeds I could see opening buds. Tulips held up flaming cups, and forget-me-nots massed the borders. I found sweet-smelling clusters of lily of the valley among the weeds, longing for the light. Last of all, I tiptoed to the lilac bush, already in bud, and peeped at my nest. There was a rustling and a cheeping, and five yellow beaks were opened wide. I laughed softly and drew down the leafy curtain.

  “They thought I was their mother, bringing a worm,” I whispered to myself. “I wonder where she’s gone.”

  The mother bird kept darting past as I knelt at my weeding, and both she and I worked hard all that day and the next. I cleared the rockery completely, and the children were quite surprised at what I’d done. I could hardly tear myself away for meals and worked till the last light faded. I was happy and sad both at once—happy because I was setting free the garden, sad because it was mine no longer. Soon it would all belong to Philippa.

  On the last morning, everyone came up with Mrs. Owen to bring and inspect and arrange their gifts. Peter had worked as hard as I had, and the bright green hutch was set proudly in the middle of the lawn at the side of the house to wait for the baby rabbits. Janet arranged plates of homemade fudge in every nook and cranny, and the house was decked with spring flowers. Philippa’s couch was brought up to the window, complete with Jumbo, overlooking the rockery. Everything was ready except for the garden. I still hadn’t weeded around the roots of the lilac tree.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Owen, looking around, “I think we’d better go home to dinner. Someone’s bringing them by car at about four o’clock, so we’ll come up then and have tea ready.”

  I tugged at her sleeve. “Please,” I whispered, “can I miss dinner and stay to finish the weeding?”

  “All right,” she answered with a smile. “I’ll send Johnny up with a little picnic.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Johnny was very fond of his food and would certainly not want to stay. I really wanted to be alone with my garden this last afternoon.

  Johnny came and went in a great hurry, but I was too busy to bother about food just then. I was clearing around the roots of the lilac tree when I suddenly heard the squeak of brakes outside, the opening of doors, and the sound of voices. Then I heard the latch click and realized the family had come home earlier than expected.

  I dived around the side of the house like a frightened rabbit and pressed myself against the wall. I was terrified of being caught in the garden and only hoped I could escape without being seen. But I was just in time, for the next moment I heard the delighted voice of a child cry out.

  “Oh, Mummy, Mummy, the garden’s alive, and we thought it would be all choked! And oh, look, Mummy, the lilies of the valley are out—and oh, look, Mummy, someone’s made a little rockery!”

  “Why,” replied a woman’s voice, “someone’s been hard at work. How beautiful it looks! And look, there are—”

  But she was interrupted by a yell from the child.

  “Oh, Mummy, Mummy, there’s a rabbit hutch on the lawn around the side of the house. Come quick, and see if there’s a rabbit inside!”

  I knew I was caught, and stood there looking as guilty as though I had committed a robbery. The next moment Philippa’s head came around the wall.

  She was small and thin, leaning on crutches, her legs supported by iron frames. But I thought she was beautiful, for her fair braids hung below her waist, and her eyes were the blue of forget-me-nots. They seemed to fill up most of her pale little face, and she stood staring at me in frightened astonishment.

  “Mummy,” she called sharply, “come quick! There’s someone hiding behind the wall!”

  Mrs. Thomas, immediately thinking of burglars, came rushing around the corner with a little cry of alarm. But when she saw how small I was, she stopped short.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked sternly.

  “Nothing,” I stammered guiltily. “I was gardening. Mrs. Owen said I could. I live with the Owens. We all came to get ready for Philippa.”

  Mrs. Thomas burst out laughing. “Why,” she said, “you must be Elaine, the little girl who saw our burglar! Mrs. Owen wrote and told us all about it. So it’s you who has worked in our garden! Well, Philippa and I think it’s simply beautiful, and you must come and welcome us inside the house. Come along, Phil; you’ve been standing long enough.”

  She took a key from her pocket, picked up Philippa as lig
htly as though she was a baby, and carried her into the house. She laid her on the couch where Jumbo lay waiting for her, dressed in flowery trousers and a hat.

  “Oh, Mummy, the flowers!” cried Philippa. “Look at the rockery, just underneath the window where I can see it all day. Do you know, Elaine, all the time I’ve been in hospital, I’ve lain in bed and looked at a brick window and a laundry chimney. Now, sit down and tell me who made the fudge and who put this elephant here. And was there a rabbit in that hutch?”

  Forgetting my shyness, I poured out all the news, while Mrs. Thomas bustled around the kitchen. At one point, she put her head around the door.

  “Have you had dinner, Elaine?” she asked.

  I suddenly remembered my picnic and dashed off to get it. I sat and ate my sandwiches while Philippa ate her omelette, and then we all had a cup of tea with cookies.

  Mrs. Thomas got up firmly. “If the family is coming to welcome us this afternoon,” she said, “Philippa must have a rest. Elaine, we’ll see you again later, and we are just thrilled with the garden.”

  I said good-bye to Philippa and skipped all the way home in the sunshine. The garden was mine no longer, but I felt happier about it than I’d ever felt before.

  It’s a funny thing, I thought, but it’s much more fun doing things for other people than just doing them for myself. And I jumped for joy as I thought of Philippa lying on the couch, her small white face turned to the rockery.

  A Difficult Visit

  The Easter holidays raced by, and I found myself busier and happier than I had ever been. For one thing, I was getting stronger and tougher and could climb easy trees and puff along behind the others quite well. And instead of thinking that their games were silly, I was beginning to enjoy them. The beauty of the spring countryside was becoming really interesting to me, and with Janet and Peter’s help, I was on the way to becoming quite a naturalist.