SIX weeks have passed since the commencement of this story, and Rogers started out one dark night on his deed of wickedness. He had often stayed away from home for two or three days together, since he found the children in the wood-shed; and had come home late and slept late, so that they had stolen away without speaking to him. At other times he had come in to rest in the day, and stayed away at night. Going on in this way, he seldom saw Ben and Kit, and when he did, said little to them. Well, he started out that dark night, and all seemed to go well for some time. He entered the stables by a little window at the back, when, just as he was taking down the harness, he heard a slight noise. He listened; surely it was some one speaking from under the wall on the other side He dropped the harness, and crept to the window. Bill, his companion, stood ready to receive anything he might throw down.
” You'd better come back, Dick," he said in a whisper; "I believe we're found out. I fancy there's two men 'ull be round in a minute. Close the window, jump down, and run for it. The horse and cart's close by; we'd better be off.”
Dick Rogers climbed outside the window, and was closing it, when his foot slipped, and he fell to the ground. As he did so, he groaned with pain. "I'm done for, Bill," he said; "oh! my arm." Bill caught him up.
"We shall be done for, if you make that noise; for goodness' sake, stop," and he half carried, half dragged him to the spot where the horse and cart stood, for he was a great strong man, whereas Rogers was short and not over stout.
In another minute they were off, and Bill was lashing the horse on to his utmost speed; but it would not do long, for they attracted the notice of one or two policemen, who were quietly walking along the deserted streets. Rogers groaned incessantly, and declared his arm hurt him dreadfully, and was broken, so Bill decided to drive him home at once, and get a doctor to set the bone, grumbling dreadfully at their bad luck. It would not do to go to the hospital; it would look suspicious. So Ben and Kit were wakened from their sleep in a dreadful fright by the entrance of the two men. They swore and grumbled awfully; and Bill turned the children out of bed to make room for Rogers.
What to do they did not know, but as the night was mild, they retired once again to the woodshed, and lay there, covered with the shavings and a bit of carpet, till morning. The injured man was in too much pain to care whether they went or remained, and if ever a thought of them crossed his mind, he said to himself, "The woman upstairs sees after them, I suppose.”
After some delay, the doctor came and set the bone, and ordered him keep it in one position for some weeks. He was also shaken by the fall, and obliged to stay at home for three or four days.
Those days were very wet, and Ben was sorely tried to know what to do with Kit. He never tired of having her by him-she was such a cheerful, patient little child. If she knew there was no bread, she never worried him; if he looked tired and sad, she would coax his face and kiss him till he smiled, and do it in such a winning way; but he saw plainly that her strength was not so great as it used to be. These days, in the bustle and wear and tear of the city, did not suit her; and she had caught a little cold, and ought to be kept warm. He cried over it when he thought she did not see, but her eyes-so seldom off his face-found it out, and as they sat in the wood-shed, after having seen and spoken to Rogers, she said, "What 'oo cry for, dear?" in such a sweet little voice, that he began again. Then she grew frightened, it was such a strange thing to see Ben cry, and begged him so hard to tell her what was the matter, that he did so.
She saw it all at once. Anything to do with privation and hardship she could easily understand, though so young, and at last spoke again, "I not be fitened again. I stay wif father while it rains. He will be kind to me; he never beats me now, and we'll say ‘Blessed Jesus' first.”
So Ben was comforted, and they said their little morning prayer, and then it was decided that Kit should stay at home, and Ben should come back in the middle of the day to see her. They slipped into the room. The man was asleep, and Ben made Kit as easy a seat on the floor as he could, and brought her some shavings, some bits of wood, and one or two flower-pots, to amuse her whilst he was away. When Rogers woke and found her there, he seemed pleased; it amused him to watch her, as he had nothing better to do, and then he began to talk to her, and her little innocent prattle, as she grew accustomed to him, interested him. When she became tired, he called her to lie down outside the blanket, and asked her to tell him something, so she told him about the Sunday-school, and what she remembered of the texts and hymns. Once he said, "Not that," but she did not heed him, and went on telling him things, and asking him questions that he did not know how to answer. She would say, "Do 'oo know who God is, father?" and as he did not answer, she went on, "Do 'oo know who Jesus is, then? Why He lives up wif the stars, and He is so good; He loved me, and gave Himself for me, and He is going to take us to live wif Him, but 'oo mustn't go if 'oo don't love Him too.”
Dick choked. "Stop," he said. "Go to sleep, there's a good girl, and I'll give you some dinner along with me.”
"I mustn't go to sleep till I've sung my hymn," she said, and her faint, sweet little voice faltered out the words; but even as she finished, her eyelids drooped, and she was soon asleep.
Dick Rogers looked at her.
"She looks much as I fancy angels must look," he said. "She shames me, and makes me feel like a fool; for all ter dull, hard life, she's happier than me. I have acted like a brute to her and her father, but she shall be righted yet. Those words that she kept saying remind me of something I used to hear when I went with my mother to church-
“I am very weak and sinful,
Lost and ruined without Thee.
"Ah, didn't she try to get me there? But I only went a few times. It's a good thing she's dead, for it would break her heart to know I had grown so bad.
"Lost and ruined! That's true of me. I wish the child would wake and talk to me; it keeps my thoughts away.”
At this point Bill came in with some dinner for the man.
"I thought you couldn't have much done for you here, so my old woman has been frying us a bit of steak, and I've come to eat mine with you," said he, disclosing a basin with a good supply of beef, potatoes, and a piece of pudding. "We will square up accounts another time. What I have you got the child here?”
"Yes," said Dick, "she won't hinder us; you needn't mind talking afore her, she is such a young un.”
They ate their dinner together, and talked over the unfortunate affair of the night before.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Bill, I'm tired of this sort of life; when was a youngster, I was a pretty good sailor, and I seem to be turning that way again. I think I shall go to sea.”
"What's that for? Just 'cause we had a bit of ill luck last night, I 'spose, and you damaged your arm a bit. When that's righted, you'll be as lively as ever!”
Whilst Rogers was eating his dinner, Kit awoke. She was frightened at first to see a strange face, and crept to Dick. This seemed to please him. It was a new thing for a child to creep to him for protection; and he put his arm round her.
"Look here," said he, "you shall have some meat and pudding with me to-day," and he began to feed her.
How the little thing relished it. It was enough to touch his heart to see how she smacked her lips, and looked as if she had not tasted such things for many a day. Suddenly she stopped.
"Will 'oo leave a little bit for Ben?" she said; "him likes meat.”
"No," said Rogers, "he don't want any-eat it yourself;" but she clenched her teeth and pressed her lips
together, and would not eat a morsel more till a few mouthfuls were put aside for him. She had got her own way with Rogers for once, and she kept it. She was no longer afraid of him, and he grew very fond of her. The next day, and the day after, he kept her at home, and she was happy. She would sing to him and pat him to sleep, and play at getting dinners and teas for him, and amuse herself in a hundred ways; but as the time approached for Ben to come home, her little face wore a very contented look, and she would steal out to the front door and watch for him; and when she saw him would run down the street to meet him, and throw her arms round his neck with joy. Perhaps in those four or five days Ben suffered a little from jealousy. It was rather hard for him to feel that Kit liked some one else, and that his father seemed so fond of her; but he need not have been afraid. His was untiring, unceasing love, even though shown in a little child; and if any should not feel inclined to believe in it, I can only say that they must have had very little to do with these kind of children. He need not have been troubled. Rogers was but a selfish man, though he really liked the child; and no sooner was he able to get out and see after his own business a little, than he in a measure forgot Kit. True, he would ask for her whenever he came in, and play with her occasionally, and give her things; but the care of her fell to Ben's share, and he gladly took it again. But Rogers never to his dying day forgot the child's innocent talk, and some of the lines of her little hymns kept by him to the last; and when he was afterward tossed on the stormy sea, that little figure kneeling by the bedside would come across his vision, and he would say, "If ever I get to heaven, it will be through what that child taught me." He heard a good deal of the truth in these three or four days; for when Ben came in at night, Kit would ask him to tell, her the Bible stories they heard at school, and he would go over the tale of Jesus blessing little children, the storm at sea, and others; but when he spoke of Jesus' death on the cross, his voice would sink to a whisper, and tears would fill his eyes.