The Pearl of Love: or, Josey's Gift

CHAPTER VI.

THE BURNED BABY

The winter after Josey was eight years old, his parents received a visit from their dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Matthews and little Rose. Two infant brothers had died since they last met, and Rose was still their only daughter.

Emma was now in her fifth year, and Rose only a few weeks younger.

Many a time during the visit, did the mothers and Aunt Fanny talk over the mistake made by Mrs. Reed, at which no one was more sorry than Mrs. Reed herself. Many a time they laughed over the question of the cross driver:

"Why wont one do as well as t'other?"

The man had married afterward, and when a tiny babe was put into his arms, and he was told it was his own, he understood well why every father and mother love their own children best.

Aunt Fanny was soon going to leave the country. They had all been busy for months in getting her clothes ready for the voyage, and a missionary society in the village were making shirts, etc., for her friend, Mr. Barnard.

One afternoon, she walked to the village to give some directions that had been requested, and took the opportunity to make her last calls on some of her poor families.

The tea hour passed, and she did not return. Her brother did not know where she was gone, so they were obliged to wait patiently for her return, though Josey grew every moment more anxious.

At last it was within half an hour of his bedtime, – Emma and Rose had long before gone to their cribs, – when Aunt Fanny's welcome voice was heard.

She looked very pale, and all knew at once that something must have happened. She motioned Josey to her side, and laid her head on his shoulder as he stood by. Presently she exclaimed, —

"I have seen a dreadful sight! Oh, I never can get it out of my mind! The screams and shrieks, I hear them yet!"

"What is it? do tell us," urged her sister.

"You know little Juley Lane, what a passionate child she has always been. I told Mrs. Lane the last time I was there, it wasn't safe to leave her with the baby. She didn't seem to have any love for him. Now she's killed him."

Josey gave a start and sob of horror, while Mrs. Codman exclaimed, —

"Shocking! terrible! how did it happen?"

"I was making calls," added Fanny, with a groan, "and I met Mrs. Lane. She was hurrying with a basket of clean clothes, and told me she'd been obliged to leave Juley with her old mother and the baby. I told her I was going to call, which relieved her anxiety, and she said she'd be home in a short time.

"Long before I reached the house I heard awful groans, and on opening the door, what a sight was before me.

"Mrs. Lane, thinking the baby would be safer, had tied him into the high chair, and set him in front of the stove. Julia had one of her fits of anger and pushed him over. His poor hands and face fell upon the hot iron and burned to a crisp. When I went in, the old woman had crawled on her hands and feet, to the place, and was trying, with her poor deformed fingers, to release him. Juley stood by, frightened and crying, but not able to do anything.

"I flew to untie him from his chair, which was in a bright blaze, and then rushed to the door to send for a doctor. Then the mother came. Oh, dear! I wouldn't go through such a scene again for a kingdom. I don't believe the poor child was conscious; the doctor thought not; but such a sight! You wouldn't know him from a piece of burnt wood; and there he lay, only showing he was alive by a feeble groan.

"Mrs. Lane shrieked and tore her hair, and when Juley pulled her dress, I was afraid she'd kill her, too. So I got a neighbor to carry her off, screaming and fighting. The old woman hasn't been across the room before by herself for a year, and now lies speechless on the bed; I don't believe she'll live till morning."

Mr. Codman put on his hat directly and hurried away to the distressed family, while his wife took off Fanny's hat, and brought her a cup of tea, begging her to try and eat a piece of toast.

"You'll be sick, dear, if you don't," she urged. "The shock has been too much for you."

"I can't hold the cup;" sobbed Fanny, giving way at last; and then she held up her poor burned hands and arms.

"Oh! oh dear!" screamed her sister.

"My poor, poor girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Matthews; and then they and Josey and Nurse all cried together.

In less than half an hour Mr. Codman returned, and the doctor with him.

The old woman had breathed her last. Fanny had saved her from burning to death, by tearing off her blazing clothes at the risk of her own life. The neighbors all said Miss Fanny was an angel. If it had not been for her presence of mind, the house would have been burned, and the widow have lost everything.

The doctor bound up the poor, blistered hands and arms, talking cheerfully as he did so, but, his eyes grew moist as he told them afterward what she had done.

CHAPTER VII.

JOSEY'S SORROW

In the hurry and excitement, no one thought of little Josey. It was not till Aunt Fanny was sinking to sleep from the effects of the doctor's medicine that his mother found him sobbing by himself in the corner.

"What will become of Juley, mamma? will she have to be put into prison?"

"Don't think about Juley to-night, dear," she answered, soothingly. "You'll cry yourself sick. We must all thank God, who saved our dear Aunt Fanny's life. She was so good and thoughtful, and did not once stop on account of the pain in her hands, but threw water on the flames, and almost lifted the old woman into bed."

"Oh, mamma! I am glad about that; but I can't help thinking, if you hadn't taught me to love my sister, and not give way to temper, I might have – I mean, dear, darling Emma might have been burned to death. Do you think God has forgiven me, mamma, for striking her as I used to?"

"Yes, Josey, I am sure He has. You're a kind, affectionate brother now, teaching your sister to be patient and obliging."

She saw the shock had been too much for him. He trembled excessively as he tried to unbutton his jacket.

"I'll talk with you all about it to-morrow," she said; "try to say your prayers now, and go to sleep."

"But, mamma, are you sure Aunt Fanny will get well? She did groan so, when the doctor touched her arm."

"Oh, yes! I hope she'll be better in a few days. Burns are always very painful at first."

"Well, Aunt Fanny is a good missionary. Isn't she? She was kind one to another."

"Yes, indeed! she always is that; just like your father, you know."

Mr. Codman wrote Mr. Barnard the same evening, and he came the day but one after the poor baby was burned, just as Mr. and Mrs. Codman were starting to attend the funeral of the old lady and child.

Fanny was dressed and sitting in an easy chair, both arms bandaged to the elbows and laid out on a pillow. She looked very white, except where a fever spot burned on each cheek. Mrs. Matthews sat by, talking in a cheerful tone, while Rose and Emma played with their dolls in the corner of the chamber.

With a gentle knock Mrs. Codman peeped in, asking, in a mysterious voice, —

"Are you ready for visitors?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she beckoned the young missionary to come forward.

He flew to her side, and, not daring to trust his voice, instantly kissed her cheek.

"This is Mrs. Matthews," Mrs. Codman said. "She will be happy to tell you what a heroine your Fanny has been. I must run away, or I shall be late."

Mrs. Matthews repeated some of the particulars of the dreadful accident, and then, seeing how hard it was for the young man to control his feelings, rose, and calling the children, left the room with them.

"My own Fanny," he said, putting his hand softly on her head, "I wish I could bear this dreadful pain for you. How could you expose your precious life? What should I have done if you too" —

He stopped suddenly, and walked to the window, but soon returned at the sound of her voice, saying, —

"James, you are making quite too much of what I did. Any one would have done the same. I could never look you in the face if I had not tried to relieve such terrible suffering. But Oh, it was dreadful! I cannot forget it."

Tears filled her eyes, and he tenderly wiped them away.

"I cannot sleep," she went on, "except under the influence of anodynes. The shrieks and groans ring in my ears."

"Your nervous system has had a shock, and it will take time to recover. You know I have been studying a little medicine, and I shall take you for my first patient. I prescribe perfect rest, and that you see no one but me."

Fanny laughed. "Josey will have something to say to that," she began. "He has been the most unwearied little nurse, and his face has grown very sad."

"Dear little fellow! I shall love him better than ever."

Mr. Barnard staid two days, and then Fanny was obliged to insist that he should leave her, as there were not quite two months before they were to sail, and she knew that every moment of his time was filled with engagements.

Her burns were less painful, and it would still be weeks before she could help herself at all; but she was surrounded with friends who delighted in doing anything for her comfort.

She bade him good-bye, with a tear and a smile, not expecting to see him again till a day or two before their marriage.

He looked back to watch her sitting so white and patient, without one murmuring word, and thanked God that she was so soon to be his own loving, faithful wife.

Josey rejoiced that now he could return to his labor of love and feed his beloved aunt; for she insisted that he did it more skilfully than any of them.

Those were precious hours to the dear boy, when, with the tray before him and a spoon in his hand, he ministered to her wants, meantime telling her all the thoughts of his little heart. Years after he remembered the words she had said, and tried to improve by them.

He was now fully determined to be a missionary and go out to tell the heathen about Christ, as his aunt Fanny was going. He began at once to gather all the tracts and primers he could find, and packed them in an old valise.

His mother found them there some months later; and explained to him that the poor Hindoos could not read English.

CHAPTER VIII.

JOSEY'S GIFT

Aunt Fanny's burns were now nearly healed. For a week she had been without the bandages, though the wounds were still tender. Her trunks were mostly packed, and many tokens of love placed there by beloved friends.

When with her brother's family the young missionary always wore a cheerful smile; but there were hours when she wept at the thought of parting from those who were so dear. Yet not for one instant did she regret the choice of her life. She was going to tell the poor benighted heathen of the love of Jesus, – to try and persuade them to throw away their idols, and worship the living and true God.

As she thought of all this, and realized what a privilege it was to save souls from eternal death, her whole heart glowed with a desire to be among those for whom she was to labor.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews had been travelling for some weeks, but had now returned to be in season for the wedding.

On the Sabbath night previous, the family were seated in the library, when mamma noticed that Josey was not present. She could not account for this, because, when out of school, he was scarcely a moment away from his aunt's side. She went through several rooms in search of him, and at last found him in a closet by himself, sobbing as if his heart would break.

"Why must Aunt Fanny go?" he sobbed, "I can't bear it, – I can't bear not to see her any longer!"

"My darling," said mamma, taking his hand, and leading him to her own chamber, "do you know what Aunt Fanny is going for?"

"Yes, mamma, but couldn't somebody else do it?" She stopped a moment and then said, —

"Josey, there was a time, thousands of years ago, when man had sinned, and there was no hope nor joy for him in the world; there was only the certainty that his soul must be miserable forever. Then our blessed Saviour said, 'I pity these poor people and shall try to save them.' He left his glorious throne, by the side of his Father, and came here to give himself to death.

"The love and pity of God the Father was so great, that he sent his beloved Son, that whosoever believeth on him shall have everlasting life.

"The poor Hindoos know nothing of the true God. They have not the precious Bible, as we have, to tell them that they need not throw their babies to the crocodiles, – they need not tear and wound their own flesh, nor throw themselves under the wheels of the cruel Juggernaut. Your aunt Fanny and uncle James are going to tell them, they need do nothing of all this. They desire to say to those poor, ignorant men and women and children, that Christ's love for them is so great that if they will but come and accept of his salvation, it shall be freely theirs. She wants to tell the poor, weary pilgrims, who have been walking hundreds of miles with stones in their shoes, that the blessed Jesus will accept them without money, without price, without any of these painful journeys, – that they have only to lay their load of sin upon him, and he will carry it for them."

Josey's tears ceased to flow, and he listened with almost breathless interest.

"Do you want to keep Aunt Fanny from telling them this?" mamma asked. "Do you want them to go on worshipping those senseless idols, which can neither see, nor hear, nor understand?"

With a great sob Josey answered,

"No, mamma, I love her dearly, dearly; but I'll let Jesus have her. He'll know then how I love him."

With a gush of tears, she folded him to her heart. When they were more calm, she urged him to return to the parlor.

"Pretty soon I will," he said softly, "And oh, mamma, if you'll please let me sit up an hour later every night till she – I mean, till we're all alone. Now I'm going to write her a letter."

My little reader, would you like to read it, and see how our dear Josey showed his love to his Saviour? how he tried to obey the rule, "My little children let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth?" It was this:

"My dear, darling Aunt Fanny:

"I've been thinking a great deal about you, and once I said I couldn't let you go away; but I'm willing now. I know I shall miss you dreadfully. And it makes me cry to think how I shall want to hear you pray by my bed, every night; but I'll tell you why I'm willing. You know I'm trying to be a Christian child, and I do hope the dear Saviour has pardoned my sins; so I want to show Him that I really thank Him for it, and to-night, I said to myself, 'I have nothing to give Jesus, to show him my love, but my dear, dear aunty. I do hope it will show the heathen a little, that I love them, and want to be kind to them. When you get there, will you please tell them a little boy gave his aunt to the Saviour, so that they may learn the way to heaven.

"When I am a man, I hope I shall be a missionary, too; and perhaps then God will let me see you and Uncle James again.