Poppy's Presents

Then Poppy came in, bright and happy, with a bunch of white roses in her hands, which Jack's friend the greengrocer had given him, and which he had sent to Poppy's mother. She was very much distressed to see her grandmother crying.

'What is it, granny, dear?' she said, putting her arms round her neck, and kissing her; 'are you poorly?'

'You had best tell her, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother; 'it will come less sudden-like on her after.'

But grandmother could not speak. She tried once or twice, but something in her throat seemed to choke her, and at length she laid the sleeping babies on the bed, buried her face in her apron, and went downstairs.

'What is it, mother?' said Poppy; 'did the doctor say you were worse?'

'Poppy,' said her mother, 'shall I tell you what the doctor said, my darling?'

'Yes, please, mother,' said the child.

'He said that in a few days more I should be quite well, Poppy; well and strong, like you, my dear—no more pain—no more weakness—for ever.'

'Then why does granny cry?' said Poppy, with a puzzled face.

'Because, darling, grandmother wanted me to go to her home and get well there; but instead of that, God is going to take me to His home, Poppy, to be well for ever and ever. Will you try to be glad for me, darling?'

'Yes, mother,' said little Poppy with a sob,—'I'll try; but, oh mother, I wish He'd take me too!'

CHAPTER XI

THE STORY OF THE RING

Polly, my dear,' said grandmother, when she was sitting beside her the next day, 'aren't ye feared to die!'

'No, grandmother,' said the poor woman, 'I'm not afraid.'

'Well, I should be,' said grandmother, 'if I knew I was going away in a few days; why, my dear, I should be frightened out of my wits, I should indeed.

'And so should I have been, two years ago,' said Poppy's mother; 'but I'm not afraid now. I'll tell you how it was, granny, that I got not to be frightened to die. I used to go to a Mothers' Meeting of a Monday afternoon, before John Henry went away, and before I had to go out washing, and while we did our sewing a lady used to read to us.'

'Who was it, my dear?'

'Miss Lloyd; she's the clergyman's sister, granny. Well, one day (I remember it so well) she brought a beautiful ring to show us. Oh! it was a beauty, grandmother. There was a ring of lovely large diamonds all round it. She told us that some old lady had given it to her for a keepsake, just before she died, and that she would not lose it for a great deal. "Now," she said, "you are all my friends, and I want a bit of advice. I'm going to start to-morrow on a long journey; I am going to travel in foreign parts, and stop at all sorts of inns and lodging-places. Now do you think it would be safe for me to take my ring with me?"

'"Well, ma'am," said old Betty, who's always ready with her tongue, "I wouldn't advise you to do so. They're queer folk, them foreigners, and maybe you'd be washing your hands at some of them outlandish places, and take off your ring, and then go away and leave it behind, and never see it no more."

'"That's just what I've been thinking," said Miss Lloyd; "thank you for your advice, Betty. I'm sure my ring will not be safe, and I can't keep it safe myself; well then, what shall I do?"

'"Couldn't you trust it to somebody, to take care of for you, ma'am?" said another woman.

'"Thank you, that's a very good idea. I think it's the best thing I can do. Now let me think," said Miss Lloyd; "I must get some one who is able to take care of it, and who is willing too. Oh! I know," she said; "there's my brother—he is able. He has a strong box at the bank, where he keeps his papers; he can put it in there, and I feel sure he will be willing to do it for me. I hear his voice in the next room; I'll call him in, and ask him."'

'And did she ask him?' said grandmother.

'Yes, she brought him in, and she said: "Now, Arthur," she said, "these friends of mine advise me to trust my ring to you. I can't keep it safe myself, but I feel I can trust you. I know you are able to keep it for me whilst I am away; I commit it to your care." So up she got from her seat, and handed the ring in its little case to Mr. Lloyd, and he put it in his waistcoat pocket, saying, as he left the room, "All right, Emily, don't you trouble about it; I'll take care of it."'

'Well, my dear,' said grandmother, 'all that was very nice, I've no doubt; but how it makes you any happier to die, it beats me to see.'

'Oh, but you haven't heard the end of it, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother.

'No, nor I won't hear it till you've had a cup of tea, my dear. You're as white as a sheet. I oughtn't to have let you talk so long.'

But when she had had the tea, and an hour's quiet sleep, and when the babies were asleep, and grandmother and Poppy were sitting beside her in the twilight, the poor woman went on with her story.

'When Mr. Lloyd had gone, grandmother, his sister said, "I can't thank you all enough for your good advice. I feel quite happy about my ring. And now you won't mind my asking you what are you going to do with your treasure?"

'"Well, ma'am," said old Betty, "the only ring that I have is my wedding ring, and that's not worth sixpence to anybody but myself, so I don't suppose it stands much chance of being stolen."

'"Betty," said Miss Lloyd, turning to her, "you have a treasure worth far, far more than my ring. I mean your precious soul, which will live for ever and ever and ever somewhere; your undying self, Betty. Only your body will go in the grave; you yourself will be living for ever. Dear friends," she said, speaking to all of us, "I want each of you to ask this question: What about my soul? Is it safe?"

'Then she told us, grandmother, that we were travelling through an enemy's country; Satan and his evil spirits wanted to get our treasure. She told us we could not keep our soul safe ourselves; if we tried we should certainly lose it, as she would have lost her ring. "And oh, dear friends," she said, "what shall it profit you, if you gain the whole world, and lose your own soul?"'

'Well, she was right there, my dear,' said grandmother.

'"Now, then," she says, "I want you to do as you advised me to do. I want you to get some one to keep your treasure for you—some one who is able, some one who is willing; who shall it be?"

'"I suppose you mean the Lord, ma'am," said old Betty.

'"Yes," she said, "I mean the Lord Jesus. He is able, for He has all power; He is willing, for He died on purpose that He might do so. Won't you trust your treasure to Him?" she said. "Won't you go straight to Him, and say, Lord Jesus, here is my soul; I can't keep it myself; Satan wants to get it for his own. I trust it to Thee; I commit it to Thee to be saved."

'Well, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother, 'I didn't forget what she said, and that night, when John Henry had gone upstairs to bed, I knelt down in the kitchen, and trusted my soul to the Lord Jesus to be saved, because He had died for me; I put my soul in His hands, grandmother, and I know He will keep it safe.'

'Well, my dear,' said grandmother, 'it's to be hoped He will.'

'I know He will, grandmother; I don't doubt Him,' said Poppy's mother. 'Miss Lloyd taught us a verse about that: "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day." And she said if we were to begin doubting that our soul was safe when we had taken it to Jesus to be saved, it would be the same as saying we did not trust Him. "What would you think," she said, "if I were to be saying all the time I was away Oh, dear me, I'm afraid I shall never see my ring again; I'm afraid it isn't safe after all?"

'"Why, ma'am," said old Betty, "you'll excuse me saying so, but I should think you was very rude to Mr. Lloyd, and if I was there I should give you a bit of my mind; you mustn't be offended at me saying so," says Betty, "but I should indeed."

'"And what would you say, Betty?" says Miss Lloyd.

'"I should tell you, ma'am," says Betty "that if you had trusted your ring to Mr. Lloyd, it was as safe as safe could be, and it was an insult to him to doubt it."

'"Betty," says Miss Lloyd, "you're quite right; and that's just what I feel about the Lord Jesus. I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that soul which I have committed unto Him."'

'Well,' said grandmother, 'it seems all right when you put it like that, and I wish I was as happy as you are, my dear;—but I'm a good-for-nothing old woman, I am indeed, and somehow I'm afraid He wouldn't do it for me.'

'Poppy,' said her mother, 'do you think you could find me a Mission Hymn-book?'

'Yes, mother,' said Poppy; 'here's one on the table.' The poor woman turned over the leaves with trembling fingers, for she was very weak and tired.

'Poppy, dear,' she said, when she had found the place, 'read this hymn to grandmother.'

And Poppy read:

'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!'

'Oh, grandmother, and oh, Poppy,' she said, when the child had finished reading, 'trust your soul to Jesus to-night.'

'Well, my dear, I will,' said poor old grandmother, wiping her eyes.

'And you, my own little Poppy?'

'Yes, dear mother,' said the child; 'I won't forget.'

CHAPTER XII

THE WONDERFUL FIRE

Polly, my dear,' said grandmother the next day, as she was washing the babies, 'I didn't forget what you asked me to do last night; but I'm afraid, my dear, I'm very much afraid.'

'What are you afraid of, granny?' asked Poppy's mother.

'Why, I'm afraid of getting cold and hard again, my dear,' she said; 'it's all very well for Poppy, but I've been putting off so long, I'm afraid of slipping into all the bad, old ways again. Why, my dear, I've tried to pray and to read my Bible scores of times before, but my mind has soon gone a-wandering away to my chickens, or to my butter or to the bit of washing I do for the Hall, and all such like things. Now, my dear, how do I know it won't be like that again?'

'Ye can't get cold and hard, granny, if the fire burns bright; and the Lord will keep it alight. He will indeed.'

'What do you mean by the fire, my dear?'

'Why, granny, I saw it at the Mothers' Meeting, Miss Lloyd showed us it, such a pretty picture! I've often thought of it since.'

'Tell me about it, my lass, if it won't bring the cough on.'

'No, I feel so much easier to-day, granny, it doesn't hurt me to talk like it did last week. I'll stop if it tires me. Well, there was a fire in the picture, burning on the hearth, a bright, cheerful, little fire, like I used to make of an evening when John Henry came home. And in front of the fire, granny, was a man throwing buckets full of water on it to put it out; but the fire was blazing away, and did not seem a bit the worse for it.'

'That was a queer thing, my dear!' said granny.

'Yes, but Miss Lloyd showed us that, behind the fire, on the other side of the wall, another was standing; and this one was quietly pouring oil into the fire to keep it burning. And it never had a chance of going out, granny, for the oil did it a deal more good than the water did it harm.'

'Well, my dear,' said grandmother, 'of course it would be so: oil makes a deal of blaze when it falls on fire; but what has that got to do with me and my poor old heart?'

But Polly had a bad fit of coughing, and the good old woman would not let her answer her question till she had had two hours' quiet rest. Then she seemed brighter again, and was able to go on.

'Miss Lloyd explained it beautiful, granny. She told us the fire was the work of grace in our hearts. As soon as we trusted our souls to Jesus to be saved, she said that fire was lighted, the good work was begun. But then, she said, "Don't forget you've got an enemy. Satan will try to put the fire out. He'll send somebody to laugh at you, or to plague you about turning religious. That's one bucket of water! He'll send you a lot of work to do, to try and make you think you've no time to think about your soul. That's another bucket of water!" He'll have all sorts of pleasures, and cares, and difficulties ready, all of them buckets of water, granny.'

'Ay, my dear, I see that, and I'll be bound there's a bucket not far off coming on my poor little fire. But what about the oil, my dear?'

'I'm coming to the oil, granny. Satan has his buckets of water, but the dear Lord has His bottle of oil. It's the Holy Spirit, granny, who alone can make us good, or keep us good. And if the Lord puts His Holy Spirit in our hearts, it's of no use Satan trying to put the fire out; he'll have to give it up for a bad job. Reach me the Testament, granny, there's a verse I'll read to you.'

She turned over the leaves for some time, and at last she found the words she wanted, and she put a mark against them, that granny might find them for herself when she had gone away.

The words were these, 'He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.'

'Polly, my dear,' said granny, after a pause, 'do you think He'll do that for me?'

'Do what, granny?'

'Do you think He will give me His Holy Spirit?'

And then Polly's mother gave grandmother another text; but this time she did not find it, for she knew it by heart, 'If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?'

Grandmother sat by the side of the bed long after Enoch and Elijah had fallen asleep. She seemed to have no heart to bustle about that morning. She wanted to feel sure that her soul was safe.

And when she thought that Poppy's mother was fast asleep, with her babies lying beside her, granny knelt down and said aloud, 'O Lord, I'm a poor sinful old woman, but I want Thee to save me. O Lord Jesus, Thou hast died for me. I trust my soul to Thee. Here it is, I put it into Thy hands. Oh give me Thy Holy Spirit; keep the fire bright in my soul, please, Lord Jesus, do. Amen.'

But Poppy's mother was not asleep, she was only lying with her eyes closed. And as the old woman got up from her knees she smiled, and said softly,

'The soul that to Jesus has fled for repose,He will not, He will not desert to its foes;That soul, though all hell should endeavour to shake,He'll never, no never, no never forsake.'

'Amen,' said granny, 'Amen.'

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!'THE END