Quietly the old barge drifted down the canal. Little Ivy was standing gazing at the pretty meadows all bespangled with daisies and buttercups; a sweet smile overspread the delicate, flowerlike face which looked too fragile for the rough life on a barge.
“Mummy, do come here,” she called in to the dark, stuffy, little cabin that formed their living room. “It’s such a lovely place; I do wish we could always stay here, and then I could pick the pretty flowers and make chains of them like the other little girls.” Ivy was eagerly watching some rosy-cheeked country children engaged in their favorite pursuit of “hare and tortoise” with mother’s clothes baskets. Ivy’s life was an unnatural one for a child; in all her nine years she had not spent one day at school — the barge never stopped long enough in any one place for this to be possible. The poor child was very ignorant; neither she nor her mother could read or write.
Sixteen months later the barge was again passing through that same village, but this time no childish form was to be seen on board. Poor little Ivy was lying on a meagre bed in the close living room. For some time her health, always fragile, had been declining, and now the hectic flush of consumption glowed on her cheeks. For business reasons the barge was to stay a week near the village. The mother, taking advantage of this opportunity of doing a little shopping, was one morning in the village buying a little fruit for the sick child at the grocer.
As she put the pears into her basket she said to the woman who sold them, “My little girl is dreadfully bad; we shan’t keep her long, seems to me.”
There was a lady also in the shop, who, hearing these words, turned to the mother and in a sweet voice asked, “Would you like me to come and see your little girl? I believe you are living in the barge now on the canal. It is quite close to our garden, and if you think your poor, little, sick child would care to see me I should be pleased to come.”
The woman at first stared in astonishment, and then she said, “Come if you like; ‘taint a nice place for a lady like you, but Ivy would like to see you, if only to look at your pretty dress.”
So that afternoon Mrs. Howard might have been seen on the barge sitting beside the little invalid. The child was propped up in bed, and her eyes were sparkling with delight over the treasure the lady had brought — a doll! Ivy had never had one in all her life, and such a beauty! It was dressed in pink muslin, with a lovely rose-colored red sash! After a little talk, Mrs. Howard asked, “Can you read, dear?”
“No,” answered the child: and then on questioning her she found out how ignorant she was. She had never heard of the Lord Jesus, and almost all she knew of God was that He would punish her if she were naughty.
Mrs. Howard felt appalled at such ignorance. Taking the child’s feverish hand in hers she began to talk to her of Jesus the Friend of little children. Ivy drank it in; it was all so new to her to think that some One loved her enough to die for her. Her little heart responded to such wonderful love. She had had so little shown her in her short life.
Mrs. Howard visited the barge every day; Ivy eagerly welcomed her — there was always some little delicacy brought to tempt her failing appetite. And then there were quiet talks about the loving Saviour, and the Home to which Ivy was soon going. There was no fear in the child’s heart, for the “children’s Friend” was her Friend now, and when she left the old barge it would be to go and live in the beautiful Home where Jesus lived. At the end of the week the last visit was paid, for the barge was to move on, and as Mrs. Howard stooped over the little one and kissed her fair forehead, she knew that she should see her no more down here. But they would meet to part no more in the Glory Land.
ML 05/12/1959