Chapter VIII: The Results of Jim Blewett's Interference

"MOTHER! Do you really mean it? Oh, mother! Will God really make me well some day?"

It was little Annie Blundell who spoke, in eager, excited tones. The young medical student and his friend, the clever surgeon, had just gone away, leaving behind them an atmosphere of hope and joy. In time, Annie would grow stronger, and perhaps quite well. That had been the doctor's verdict, which the mother had heard with heartfelt thankfulness.

"Yes," Mrs. Blundell said, in answer to Annie's agitated questions, "if all goes well, my dear little invalid daughter will be able to run about like her sister one of these days; only we must do all the kind doctor says, and follow his directions."

"What was it he said about fresh air, mother?" Annie inquired anxiously.

"He said life in the country with plenty of fresh air would be of the utmost advantage to help to make you stronger. I am going to write to your grandfather, Annie, and ask him if he would not like a little grandchild in his home, one who would grow to love him dearly, I know."

"And you, mother? And Maggie?"

"I don't know, darling, yet."

"I could not leave you, mother!"

"Not if leaving me would mean making you strong and well?"

"No," was the response in determined accents. "Oh, mother, don't ask me to go!"

Mrs. Blundell sighed. She had again put off writing to her father, shrinking sensitively from explaining to him the miseries of her married life; but, now that she knew that fresh air was the one thing needed to assist in Annie's cure, she determined to appeal to him to take the child.

Maggie heard her mother's resolve in silence, but she drew near to her sister, and put her arms in mute protest around her neck.

"Oh, Maggie," Annie whispered, tearfully, "I don't think I want to get well now."

Meanwhile Jim Blewett had parted from his friend, and had returned to his lodgings. Clara, who had been evidently on the look-out for his arrival, met him at the door; and in a mysterious whisper asked him to walk into Mrs. Metherell's sitting-room.

"There is some one there waiting to see you," she explained.

"Who is it, Clara?"

"Some one called Mudford, sir."

Jim waited to hear no further, but hastened into the room, where he found his landlady in earnest conversation with a fresh-complexioned old man, evidently a countryman—no other than Mrs. Blundell's father.

"I am delighted to see you," Jim said cordially. "In fact, I don't know there is any one I would rather see!"

Old John Mudford took the young man's outstretched hand, and shook it heartily.

"Sir," he answered, "I am much indebted to you. You see I've replied to your letter by coming up to London. I'm no great hand at writing, so I thought I'd better come. This kind lady," he said, indicating Mrs. Metherell with a jerk of his thumb, "'as been tellin' me all about my poor maid an' 'er troubles. I knowed what it would be, an' I warned 'er to no purpose. Maybe I was too rough—well, I own I was! I saw things different in those days!"

"I'm sure if your daughter disobeyed you, she has repented it bitterly," Mrs. Metherell remarked. "I have known her for several years, and have deeply sympathised with her in her troubles."

The old man turned a grateful look upon the speaker as he said: "Ma'am, I feel that grateful to you, and to Mr. Blewett, that I can't find words to tell my feelings. If Dinah 'ad sent me a line, I would 'ave done all I could for 'er. If I spoke in anger long ago, I've repented of it ever since. The loss a' my maid was a sore trial, but maybe the Lord knew I wanted a lesson."

"But she is lost no longer," the young man broke in eagerly. "When are you going to see her?"

"At once, sir, if you'll kindly give me the address!"

"I will take you there, and we can talk on the road."

The landlady watched them depart with eyes full of pleasure and sympathy.

"I've a notion things are brightening for Mrs. Blundell," she remarked to Clara. "I believe her father intends to look after her and the children. How Mr. Blewett hurried the old man off! What an impetuous, warm-hearted lad he is, to be sure!"

Meanwhile the medical student was pouring into his companion's ears the story of how he had become acquainted with Maggie, and telling of the doctor's opinion of Annie.

Who can tell what tumultuous thoughts filled the father's heart as he followed Jim up the dark, rickety staircase! He was to see his daughter again, and he had come full of forgiveness and love. She had ever been in his mind this Christmas season, and the letter telling of her trials and troubles, clearly pointing out to him his duty, had come at the very time when his lonely heart had been yearning for her presence.

There were tears in the old man's eyes as, after receiving the usual, "Come in," in answer to his knock, the medical student took him by the arm and led him into the badly-lighted room.

Mrs. Blundell put down her work hastily, whilst the children turned curious eyes on the stranger. Old John Mudford took a step forward and looked at his daughter's face, exclaiming brokenly:

"Dinah! My poor maid!"

"Father! Father!"

"Dinah! My dear, I've come to take you home with me!"

After that Jim Blewett beat a hasty retreat, for he knew his share in the work of reconciliation was done.

"This has been the most wonderful Christmas I ever remember!" Maggie said seriously, when, her mother having become more composed, the children were introduced to their grandfather.

"And this—the sight of your dear face, father—is the crowning joy of all," Mrs. Blundell said gladly. "I never thought you would come to London to look for me."

"Well, you see, it was Mr. Blewett's doing."

"God bless him! We've much to thank him for."

"He gave us the doll, my dear Rose," said Annie, "and he brought the doctor to see me."

The little girl looked into her grandfather's face appealingly.

"You won't take me away from mother and Maggie will you?" she asked.

"No, my dear. You shall all go back to Cornwall with me."

"Oh, father!" Mrs. Blundell exclaimed joyfully.

"Oh, how splendid!" Maggie cried, clapping her hands.

"Is it in the country?" Annie asked, a wistful longing in her eyes. "Will there be flowers, and trees, and birds? And shall I get well there?"

"I trust so, my dear," the old man replied, "and it's quite in the country. Your mother will tell you all about it."

"And we shall never come back here any more," said Maggie reflectively, casting a lingering look, not devoid of affection, round the garret which had been home to them so long. "Poor old place! I shall never forget it!"

It had been a poor home, but after all, mother and children had had their happy days there—days when no troubles had been able to obliterate the sunshine of God's presence in their hearts, and they had felt secure in His loving care.

There is little more to tell. When old John Mudford returned to Cornwall, he took his daughter and her children with him, and in her native air Mrs. Blundell soon lost her careworn looks, and her tired eyes regained their strength. Maggie became quite rosy and blooming; but it was Annie who changed the most. The following summer found her able to move about, and her poor back grew stronger as time went on, and the fresh, country air did its work.

Mrs. Metherell still keeps on her lodging-house, and Clara remains with her as servant; but she has lost her favourite lodger, for Mr. Blewett has been appointed junior house surgeon at the hospital where he was once a student, so that it is more than probable he will find his life's work in London, after all.

Meanwhile, first amongst the carefully guarded treasures of Maggie and Annie Blundell is the doll, in its gaudy amber gown, that was the humble means of bringing a shower of blessings in its train. The children declare they will never forget their last Christmas in London, which, in the midst of their poverty and many anxieties, was full of unlooked-for happiness and joy.

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