VIII
OLD JOE
R Station was not much of a place. There were only about half a dozen houses, as many barns, and one store, which was part of the little station-house. And there was no telegraph; but when our little girls and their protector left the train, another gentleman promised to send a message to their parents from the next stopping-place.
There was not much to entertain the children, even had they been in a mood to be amused; and the hours dragged very wearily. The kind gentleman would have taken them for a walk in the pleasant pine woods, but they were so fearful lest they should miss the up train, which was to carry them back to their mother and father, that they could not be induced to lose sight of the railroad track. Maggie and Belle could be persuaded to do nothing but sit on the low bank at the side of the road, and look up and down the long line of rail for the train, which was still so far away. Bessie, naturally more trusting and less timid than the others, had more confidence in their new friend and what he told her; but she would not leave her sister and Belle, and, moreover, was too tired to do more than wait with what patience she might. So the “bad hat” let them do as they would, furnishing them with some dinner, for which they had little appetite, and telling them droll stories, which could not draw forth more than faint smiles. But at last Bessie found something to interest her.
There was an old colored man working around the station, cutting wood, drawing water, and so forth, and he cast many a pitying glance toward the sorrowful little strangers. Nor did he content himself with looking; for, having finished his work for the time, he walked away into the woods, and soon came back with a large leaf full of wood-strawberries, and a bunch of scarlet cardinal flowers and yellow jasmine, which he offered to them.
Bessie took them, and, after thanking him prettily, divided them with Maggie and Belle; then, out of her own share, arranged a little bouquet for Mr. Travers; for that, the “bad hat man” had said was his name.
“How pale and tired you look, my little girl!” he said as she fastened it in his button-hole: “suppose you lie down and take a sleep? It would be well if the others would do it too.”
They all thought they could not possibly do such a thing, “the train might go by” while they were asleep; but when Mr. Travers proposed that he should spread his railway rug under the shade of the pine-trees, where they could not miss hearing the train, and said he would sit beside them and wake them the moment it was near, Bessie and Belle felt as if they should be glad to take advantage of his kindness. For it was true that they were all three quite worn out with fatigue and excitement. But Maggie was very decided in her refusal to take a nap, saying that she “never went to sleep except at night, when it was no use to stay awake, there was nothing to do.”
But when the rug was spread beneath the trees, she took her seat upon it with the others, leaning her back against a great pine, with Bessie’s head in her lap. Belle, too, cuddled close up to her; and Mr. Travers seated himself opposite, with his book.
“I wish I had a story-book for you, Maggie,” he said.
“It’s no matter, sir,” said Maggie, dolefully. “I’m not in good enough spirits to read. I’d rather think about going back.”
“Suppose you pass the time by composing that letter you are to send home, telling of this adventure?” said the gentleman. “Here are a pencil, and the back of a letter, if you’ll have them.”
Maggie brightened considerably at this suggestion, and gratefully accepted the kind offer.
Bessie lay with her head in Maggie’s lap, drowsily thinking how pleasant it would be to go to sleep in this nice place, if papa and mamma and baby were only here too. It was so cool and quiet. No one seemed to be stirring in the cottages or the small station; not a sound was heard but the gentle whisper of the breeze in the tree-tops, the chirp of the crickets, and the varied notes of a mocking-bird perched not far from them. Then the spicy smell of the pines was so delicious and balmy.
Not a human being was to be seen but their own party, and the old negro man, who now sat upon a wheelbarrow at a little distance, reading what looked like a leaf or two from a book. He seemed to read very slowly and with great pains, pointing his finger along from word to word, and forming the words with his mouth, as people do who cannot read very well; but he appeared to be very intent over it.
“I wonder what he is reading,” said Bessie to herself, as she sleepily watched him: “it looks like a piece out of an old torn book. Maybe it’s a newspaper, and they have such a very little one this is such a very little place, and there isn’t much to tell about. I shouldn’t think it was very interesting here.”
The last thing she saw before she went to sleep, was the old negro; and the first on which her eyes opened was the white-haired man, still sitting there, poring over his leaf, as if he had not moved from that spot; and yet she felt as if she had taken quite a long, refreshing nap.
She gently turned her head, and looked at her companions. Belle did not appear to have moved, lying fast asleep with her cheek on Maggie’s dress, and her hat over her eyes, just as she had lain down. Mr. Travers sat with his back against a tree, his arms folded, his eyes closed, and bareheaded. Bessie turned a little more, so that she could see Maggie.
Why! was it possible? Yes, surely: watchful Maggie was fast asleep too. The pine-tree against which she leaned did not shoot up with a straight, unbroken trunk, as they generally do, but was a kind of twin tree, parting into two a foot above the ground, and forming a crook or fork. In this fork was the “bad hat,” and on the “bad hat” lay Maggie’s head, as peacefully as though it were the pillow of her own pretty bed at home; and Maggie was as sound asleep as if it were that same familiar pillow. One dimpled hand loosely held Mr. Travers’ pencil, and the paper lay fluttering unheeded on the ground at her feet. Bessie picked it up lest the breeze should blow it away, and Maggie’s precious thoughts be lost. But it was evident that the letter had not made much progress, for Bessie found only these words written: —
“Oh, dear, darling Uncle Ruthven, – Such a horrible, dreadful adventure!”
She would not disturb any of the others, but sat quiet a moment watching them, then turned her eyes again towards the old negro.
“I think I’ll go speak to him,” she said to herself. “He is a great while reading his paper, and I s’pose he can’t make it out very well. Maybe I could help him, and he was very kind to us.”
She rose softly, and walked slowly towards the old man. He looked up and smiled, saying, —
“Little Miss want for any ting ole Joe can do for her?”
“No, thank you,” said Bessie, now feeling rather shy of asking him if she could help him; then after a moment’s pause she added, “You were reading when I went to sleep, and you are reading now.”
“Yes, little Miss,” he answered, “Joe read most all de time when no trains on hand and he work all done up.”
“Is it a little newspaper?” asked Bessie.
“A newspaper?” he answered, spreading the sheet on his knee, and laying his hand reverently upon it. “Yes, Missy, a newspaper what habs great news in it, de best news in de worl’, – de news how de Lord Jesus come down to save sinners, and old Joe among ’em. Do little Miss know dat news?”
“Oh, yes!” said Bessie, simply. “I always knew it. I’m glad you think it’s good news, Joe, then I know you love Him.”
“Sure, Missy,” said Joe, “how I gwine for help love Him when I knows He done such a ting for Joe?”
Feeling on the instant a bond of sympathy between herself and the old negro, Bessie slipped her soft little hand into his hard, black palm, as she said, —
“But some people who know it don’t love Him.”
Joe shook his head sorrowfully.
“Yes, an’ I bery sorry for dem folks; but I bery glad for Joe, and for little Miss too, for I ’spect she love Him by de way she speak, an’ I know de Lord love her.”
“Did you mean that was out of the Bible?” asked Bessie, looking at the printed sheet which she now saw was torn, scorched, and soiled.
“Yes,” answered Joe, triumphantly, “it out ob de Bible;” and he placed it in Bessie’s hand.
Yes, it was out of the Bible, two leaves: one containing the second chapter of Luke, with the account of the Saviour’s birth; the other, part of the fifteenth and the whole of the sixteenth of Mark, relating his death and resurrection.
“I hab de beginnin’ an’ de end,” said Joe, “an’ I hab some more too, some ob my Lord’s own bressed words what He preach to His people;” and he drew from his pocket a single leaf, containing most of the sixth chapter of Matthew.
“Is that all you have of the Bible?” asked Bessie.
“Dat’s all, Missy, but dey’s a deal ob preciousness in it: dey’s words what bears readin’ ober and ober. To be sure, dey’s times when I gets longin’ for more; but I jes says, ‘Come now, old Joe, don’t be so ongrateful. Ef de Lord had meant you to hab more He would ha’ sent it you;’ and I tank Him for not lettin’ dis be burn up an’ for lettin’ me fin’ it ’fore it was blowed away by de wind.”
“Where did you find it, and how did it come so burnt and torn?” asked Bessie.
“Foun’ it ober by Miss Sims’ house. ’Spect she use it for her bakin’, and when de bread done she trow it out, an’ de Lord He let old Joe fin’ it. Bress His holy name.”
“Do you mean she baked her bread on the leaves of the Bible?” asked Bessie, exceedingly shocked.
“’Pears like it, Missy. I ’spect she don’t know its wort’, poor woman!” said Joe, with a pitying thought for the owner of the pretty, comfortable cottage, who was so much poorer than himself.
Bessie stood looking at him with a multitude of feelings struggling for expression on her sweet, wistful, little face. Indignation at the treatment received by God’s Holy Word; pity, respect, and tender sympathy for the old negro, – were almost too much for her, and her color rose, and the tears came to her eyes.
“Little Miss feel so bad ’bout it as did old Joe,” he said, “but, Missy, dat was de Lord’s way to help old Joe. Long time he ben wantin’ a Bible an’ save up he money, and hab mos’ enough; an’ one day a poor feller come along what hab no shoes an’ hab cut he foot awful, an’ he mus’ go on to de city to see his chile what dyin’; an’ de Lord say in my heart, ‘Joe, you gib dat money for shoes for dis poor feller,’ an’ I couldn’t help it no way, Missy, an’ I buys him de shoes out de store. An’ he ain’t gone but little time, an’ I walkin’ roun’ by Miss Sims’ feelin’ down in de mout’ along ob my Bible; an’ a piece ob paper come blowin’ to my feet, an’ I picks him up, an’ ain’t he a bit out my Lord’s book, an’ I sarch roun’ an’ fin’ noder one. Praise de name ob de Lord what sen’ Joe such comfort till he hab more money!”
Bessie still stood silent, her heart too full for words at the simple story of this old disciple’s self-sacrifice. And he had only these three leaves out of God’s precious Book, while at home there were Bibles without number for all who needed them. Oh! if she only had one to give him. But here there was none, – yes, there was too.
Just before they left home, grandmamma had given to each of the little girls a Testament and Psalms bound together. She thought they might be more convenient for daily use in travelling, than the handsomely bound Bibles which they generally used at home; and if they should happen to be lost would not be so much regretted. They had been carried in the little satchels all the way; and now, as usual, Bessie’s satchel hung by her side. The book was not large; but the print was good and clear, far better than that on old Joe’s cherished leaf, and what a world of riches it would hold for him.
“I could give him mine,” thought Bessie, “and he would be so glad. I don’t b’lieve grandmamma would mind if I gave away her present for such a reason as this; and Maggie will let me use hers when I want to read. I think I ought to give it to him, and I know I would like to.”
“S’pose little miss kin read fus’ rate,” said Joe, interrupting her thoughts.
“Mamma says I can read very nicely,” she answered.
“Maybe she wouldn’t min’ readin’ out a piece. Some words most too hard for Joe, but he kin listen fus’ rate.”
Bessie drew her satchel around, and unfastened it.
“Shall I read you some out of my own little Testament?” she said, drawing forth the book.
Joe’s eyes brightened.
“If Missy be so good,” he said, eagerly. “She hab it all dere: all how de Lord Jesus lib an die, an lib again, an’ talk for his people?”
“Yes,” said Bessie. “What would you like me to read?”
“If Missy read where He say, ‘Let not your heart be trouble’; an’ how He go to make a place for dose what follers Him.”
Bessie found the fourteenth of John, and read it carefully and distinctly, the old man listening intently. When she came to the fourteenth verse, he raised his hand and said, —
“I t’ought so. I t’ought dere war a promise like dat. Now I know sure some day He gib me a Bible, I allers do ax it in His name, an’ He promise allers stan’ sure.”
“Yes,” said Bessie, thoughtfully; then added, in a tone of some self-reproach, “but, Joe, I forgot that promise once this morning.”
“But Missy mind it now?”
“Yes,” answered Bessie. “You see we had such a dreadful trouble, Joe, and it’s not quite over yet. Somehow the cars took us away without papa and mamma, and we didn’t know where we were going, and there was no one to take care of us. It was worse than once when I was lost in New York; cause that was my own country where I live, and the policemen were there; and it seemed to me that even our Father couldn’t help us in such a trouble as this. But in a minute I knew that was wrong, and I asked Him to send us help: and right away he did; for a kind gentleman came who we saw in the cars before, and he is taking care of us, and will take us back to papa and mamma. That is the gentleman there by the tree.”
Joe nodded, as much as to say he knew, as indeed he did; for the story of the little wayfarers had come to his ears. Little he thought when he first heard it, what a blessing they had brought to him.
“And, Joe,” continued the child, “I think maybe our Father had a purpose in letting us be run away with, and bringing us to this place.”
“Sure, Missy,” replied the old man. “He allers hab a purpose in what He do, an’ a good one too; but sometimes we don’t see it, we ain’t fait’ enough.”
“But I think I do see it now,” said Bessie, her tiny fingers still resting on the blessed words of Jesus’ promise. “I think He sent me here, so I could bring you my little Testament.”
“Yes, Missy. I ’spect He did, dat’s a fac’,” answered Joe, not taking in at once that she meant to give him the book; “an’ dose words done Joe a heap of good. Yes: He send you here for read ’em to Joe.”
“But you don’t understand,” said Bessie. “I mean He sent me here to give you the Testament. I think He meant you to have it, you asked it in His name. It isn’t all the Bible: but it has all about Jesus, and a good deal besides, and the Psalms too; and you will love it very much, won’t you?”
“Missy don’t mean she gwine fur gib Joe her own book?”
“Oh yes, I do,” answered Bessie. “I have another Bible at home, and papa would give me as many as I want, and I can read my sister’s till we go home. I am going to give it to you for your own, Joe.”
The old man sat for a moment speechless with wonder and gratitude, then covered his face with his hands.
“I t’ank de Lord fust, and you next, Missy,” he said, when he removed them. “I t’ank Him, and bress His name, fur sen’ his little white dove to bring His word to ole black Joe. Yes, yes; for sure His promise stan’ in all place an’ all time. Missy fin’ it, an’ Joe fin’ it: de ole an’ de young, de black an’ de white, de rich an’ de poor, – all who lub and trust Him. He hear all, an’ do for all.”
He took the baby hand, and kissed it with a tender reverence that was very touching to see, but which the child in her innocence scarcely understood.
“Shall I read some more?” she asked.
Joe thankfully assented; and she finished the chapter, and read also the fifteenth then, closing the book, placed it in the old black man’s hand.
“De Lord know what’s in my heart, but I can’t speak it out no way,” he said, as he received it, drawing his rough coat-sleeve across his eyes; “but, Missy, I t’ink it a great t’ing to be de Lord’s little messenger to bring His word to his poor ole servant, what been thirstin’ for it so long.”
Belle had wakened while Bessie was reading, and sat up rather surprised at her little friend’s occupation, but did not interrupt it.
“It’s just like my dear Bessie,” she said to herself; “she’s always doing somefin’ for somebody.”
She looked about her as she listened to the reading; for every word came distinctly in the deep stillness around. Maggie was asleep still, and Mr. Travers’ eyes remained closed; but as Belle watched his face she said to herself, —
“I guess he’s just pretending. If he was papa, I’d go and wake him up, and tell him he is. Maybe he finks Bessie would be too bashful to read before him if she fought he was awake.”
Perhaps Belle was right; for Mr. Travers woke or seemed to wake very suddenly when Bessie ceased reading; and, looking at his watch, said that it was time for the train, and they must rouse the sleeping Maggie. This was done; and Maggie woke rather indignant at herself for going to sleep at all, and a little ashamed at finding all the others awake before her.
“Why! Did you put that there, sir?” she asked, as Mr. Travers picked up the hat which had proved such a comfortable pillow, and put it on his head.
“Yes,” he answered, “I thought the tree rather a hard resting-place for that little head in spite of the mass of curls which came between them, so when I saw it going down I popped in the ‘bad hat’ without your knowing it.”
“I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” said Maggie. “I wish I could do something for you.”
All the children were very grateful to this kind stranger who had taken such good care of them, and Belle said, —
“I wish I could too. If I was big I’d ask you when your birfday was; and I’d make you a pair of slippers, and a pin-cushion, and a watch-case, and every fing nice for a birfday present.”
“And I’d help,” said Maggie.
“And I,” said Bessie.
Here was ground for Maggie to build a new plan upon; and, in the few minutes which passed before the train came, she had enough to think about to keep her from feeling very impatient for its arrival.
And there it came, rushing up the long line of rail, – yet hardly fast enough for the little ones who had been so long away from their dear friends, – hailed with clapping of hands, dancing steps, and glad exclamations: never was a train more welcome.
The place was alive in a moment. Women and children came out to the doors and gates of the cottages, dogs barked, and hens cackled. Half a dozen men, white and colored, seemed to spring out of the ground, ready to busy themselves on the arrival of the cars; and old Joe drew up his wheelbarrow to the side of the track, ready for any chance trunk or box which might need to be wheeled away, and bring him a few pennies. Joe was a rich man now, to be sure, rich in the wealth which should pave with shining gold the path he must tread to the heavenly mansion his Saviour had gone to prepare for him: but he must still have a care for his few worldly needs; and now that his one great desire had been granted, he would yet put by something that he might have a little to help along such of his Lord’s work as should be given into his hand.
His hand was shaken, not only by the three children, but also by Mr. Travers; and they were gone: but their coming had brought light and gladness to old Joe; and, in his own simple language, he “will nebber disremember dis day while de Lord remembers me.”
There they were, – mamma, and the two papas, baby, nurse, and Daphne, – still at the station at – , and watching as eagerly for the train which was to bring back the sorely missed darlings, as those same little darlings were looking for the first glimpse of the dearly loved faces of their “own people.” What joy there was! What huggings and kissings! some happy tears too; and as for Mr. Travers, if he had had six arms to be shaken instead of two, they would all have been in use at once. There was some time to spare before the arrival of the train which was to carry them on the right route, which had been missed that morning; and it would be still longer before kind Mr. Travers would be able to proceed on the journey he had so generously interrupted, at some inconvenience to himself, for the sake of the little fellow-passengers who had so unconsciously attracted his notice that morning.
They gathered in the small room, which seemed large enough to hold them all now, and Mr. Travers was thanked over and over again, his address taken by Mr. Bradford, and a promise drawn from him that he would make his house his home when he should come to New York. More than this, Maggie privately drew from him the date of his “birfday,” which happened to be on the twenty-fifth of December: and you may like to know that this “plan” of Maggie’s was successfully carried out; and, last Christmas, Mr. Travers received a box containing a pair of slippers worked by Maggie, a pin-cushion by Bessie, and a watch-case by Belle. I do not believe that Mr. Travers thought the less of them because there were some crooked stitches in them, – especially in the two last, – and that the pocket of the watch-case was so small that by no possibility could a watch be squeezed therein.
But he did not part from the children that day without some token of remembrance, for when Maggie inquired about his birthday, and repeated, —
“I would so like to do something for you, sir, you was so kind to us,” he answered, —
“You can do something for me, Maggie. Give me your little Testament, if you will; and when I look at it, it will bring back to me some very sweet recollections of this day.”
Dear Maggie, only too happy when she could give or do any thing which brought pleasure to another, readily consented, thinking as Bessie had done, that “grandmamma wouldn’t mind when she knew the reason;” and the second little Testament went forth on its mission of love and life, in the hands of a new owner.
And pray what do you think had been that ungrateful baby’s greeting to her little sisters’ new friend? Nothing less than that oft-repeated “Oh, bad hat!” But being rested and at her ease now, she was not fretful, and was more astonished than displeased at its reappearance. We ought not to call her ungrateful either. She was glad to see her sisters, and offered plenty of “love Maggies’” and “love Bessies’,” which meant a tight squeeze of the little arms about the neck; but she could not understand the distress and anxiety their absence had occasioned on all sides, nor did she know what care had been bestowed upon them by the owner of the hat.
But Mr. Travers having taken off the hat and placed it beneath his chair, Baby made the most of her opportunities, and, seating herself on the carpet behind him, pulled it forth, and turned it over and over on her lap. Finding on a closer acquaintance that it was not so objectionable as she had thought it, she proceeded to try it on; and, nothing daunted by the fact that she was nearly extinguished by it, was, greatly to the amusement of all, presently discovered toddling blindly about the room, with her small head and dimpled shoulders quite hidden; while from beneath the hat came a muffled voice saying, in lisping tones, —
“Nice hat! oh, nice hat! Baby on nice hat.”
Bessie almost fell from her mother’s lap, and Belle from her father’s knee, with laughing at this joke, and Maggie hopped around and squealed in an ecstasy of fun and delight; and even the grown people could not help laughing heartily at the little “turncoat,” as nurse called her pet.