Old Grumpy took some money out of the purse and hurried away to the shop. The woman of the shop was astonished when the old woman asked her for soap and soda, a sweeping brush, and a scrubbing-brush.
“Well, I never!” she could not help saying to her husband. “Whatever can she be going to do?”
Old Grumpy hurried back to her house and began her cleaning in earnest.
Joel, in the room below, could not imagine what was going on: such a knocking and thumping and scraping, such a brushing and rubbing and scrubbing overhead. He thought that the old woman had at last gone quite mad and that he ought to leave word at the asylum at once. But Old Grumpy worked on, all through the day; and the evening sunbeams, which came streaming in through her window, must have been astonished to see the change in her little room. The window was bright and clean, so that they had no difficulty in getting in; the dead flies, spiders, and cobwebs had disappeared; the ceiling was whitewashed, the walls were swept, the floor was clean, and the grate was brushed with black-lead; even the handle of the little closet by the fire had been polished till it shone like gold.
But the sunbeams were to see more changes still when they looked into Old Grumpy’s room the next day; for that night a paperhanger and painter, who lived in Ivy Court, came after working-hours and hung the walls with a bright, cheerful paper. The old woman thought this paper would help to amuse the child for it was covered with pictures of carriages and horses, and of grand ladies and gentlemen in bright blue dresses and scarlet coats. Then the man gave a coating of paint to the door and chimney-piece and closet, and the little room looked as clean and pretty as it could possibly be made to look.
Meanwhile, Old Grumpy had been very busy on the landing. She had washed the chintz on the bed, and her own clothes, and everything in the house that could be washed. The old church clock struck twelve when the old woman went to bed. She was more tired than she had been for many a day, but she did not mind how tired she was.
“Anything for that pretty bairn!” she said to herself, “anything for her!”
When Lily was brought home the next day by kind little Mrs. McKay, the old woman’s joy was complete; for the child did not cry but amused herself by running round the room, counting the horses on the walls, and choosing which of them she would like to ride if she were a lady.
Only at night, when she had eaten her bread-and-milk and was sitting by the fire in a little night-gown Mrs. McKay had given her, did the child begin to be sorrowful. She did not cry aloud, as she had done the day before, but the tears ran quietly down her face.
“My mammy’s never coming back no more Grum,” said the child. “Mrs. McKay said so.”
“Poor darling!” said the old woman, kissing her gently. “Poor little lamb!”
“Where’s heaven, Grum?” said the child, presently, as she put her toes on the fender to warm them.
“Well,” said the old woman, “I don’t know. Some folks say it’s in the stars; but I don’t know, they’re such little things, is the stars. Maybe it’s behind the blue sky, if only we could see there.”
“What’s my mammy doing there, Grum?” asked the child.
“Singing,” said the old woman decidedly.
Lily sat looking into the fire, watching the flames darting up the chimney, her large brown eyes wide open, and her thoughts far away with her lost mother.
“What’s she doing now, Grum?” she said after they had been silent some minutes.
“Singing, my bairn, singing,” repeated the old woman, for she thought she could not have heard her before.
“When will she stop singing?” asked the child.
“Never, no more,” said the old woman; “they do nothing but sing in heaven.”
“How tired she will get!” said the child wearily. “How tired! Doesn’t God never let them rest?”
“I don’t know,” said the old woman. “I don’t think so.”
“Will she sing all the time we are in bed?” asked the child.
“Yes, they say it’s never night there,” said Old Grumpy. “I’ve heard folks say so, lots of times; but I don’t know if it’s true!”
“Oh dear, she will be tired!” said the child.
Poor little loving heart! She had no one to tell her of the dear Lord’s home of joy, the bright, beautiful land where it is never night, but where they are never tired. She had no one to tell her of the glorious city where they sing because there is fullness of joy and pleasures that last for evermore.
She had no one to tell her, as yet, what the Bible says of heaven: “And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God, out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven, saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away . . . . And he [an angel] carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and showed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of Heaven from God, having the glory of God: and her light was like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal; and had a wall great and high, and had twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, and names written thereon, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel: on the east three gates; on the north three gates; on the south three gates; and on the west three gates. And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb. And he that talked with me had a golden reed to measure the city, and the gates thereof, and the wall thereof. And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length, and the breadth, and the height of it are equal . . . . And the building of the wall of it was of jasper; and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass. And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones . . . . And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass. And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof . . . . And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants shall serve Him: and they shall see His face; and His name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there: and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light . . . .”
So she let the old woman lay her in bed, and wondered what heaven was like, and whether her mother was happy there, till she fell asleep.
Grumpy sat for some time beside her, watching her pretty little face as lovingly and tenderly as her dead mother could have done. She was just thinking that she would get into bed herself when she thought she heard a step on the stairs. Yes, it was certainty someone coming up to her room.
Then came a rap at her door, and Old Grumpy opened it cautiously. To her surprise there was Mrs. Perkins waiting to be let in.
“Hush!” said Mrs. Perkins, motioning with her hand for her to be quiet. “Don’t say a word, and I’ll tell you what I’ve come for.”
Whereupon Mrs. Perkins unbuttoned her woolen overcoat, and took out from under it a small carpetbag.
“There,” she said mysteriously, “you keep that bag. It has a few of her clothes in it, and it’s yours by right now you’ve got her,” pointing, as she spoke, to the sleeping child. “How are you getting on? Dear me, what a nice, clean-looking place you’ve got!” she said looking admiringly round the room.
“We’re getting on all right,” said the old woman. “I’m as fond of her as if she was my own.”
“You couldn’t be much fonder,” said Mrs. Perkins. “Now then, just you remember about that bag. Nobody knows about it, you understand. If they was to get sight of it at the house, they would be wanting to take the child, and I might get into trouble, so I never told them. You understand? Well, good-bye,” and in a moment Mrs. Perkins was gone.
Old Grumpy stooped down by the fire, and in the dim light (for the fire was dying out), she unpacked the bag. It was nearly filled with little Lily’s clothes, pinafores, night gowns, Sunday frock, a tidy jacket and hood, several pairs of knitted socks, and a small pair of shoes.
But there was one other thing in the bag that greatly troubled Old Grumpy. She had taken out all the little clothes and was feeling with her hand at the bottom of the bag that she might be sure that she had found everything, when she discovered a pocket inside the lining at the side of the bag.
She put her hand into this pocket and brought out from thence a letter. It was fastened up, directed, and stamped, ready for the post. How much the old woman wished that she could read that she might know what name was written on the envelope! To whom was the letter addressed? Mrs. Perkins had evidently not found the pocket, nor seen the letter, or she would have mentioned it to her. And now, what ought she to do about it?