Chapter IV: With Christ

MRS. CHERITON'S trials had only begun. Eugene's croup was followed by congestion of the lungs, the attack assuming from the first alarming symptoms. He would not bear his mother out of his sight for a moment. Indeed the result of her injudicious fondness showed itself during these sad weeks in a manner which would have been a warning to any one. Though she deprived herself of sleep, and almost of food, in order to be always at hand to minister to his wants, he showed no gratitude. He exacted everything as a right, and, if there was the slightest opposition to his wishes, he screamed with passion, often exclaiming, "I hate you. Go away, bad mamma." He would not take medicine from her, shrieking, "You tell lies. You told me it was good and it wasn't. I'll let Miss Howard give it to me: she never tells lies."

From Marion, too, he would submit to any treatment, even to the blisters upon his chest. "It will hurt you, Geenie," she said, "but if you don't have it on for a few minutes that dreadful pain will come back. Be a good boy, and I will tell you a nice story about Gypsy."

"Will you bring Gypsy to see me?"

"Yes, I will."

In addition to Eugene's sickness, the doctor's services were in daily requisition for Mrs. Douglass, who had never risen from her bed since the night of her grandson's seizure. The agony of mind she had suffered on account of her daughter, followed so speedily by Eugene's dangerous illness, proved too much for a frame enfeebled by disease. Violent pain in the head was succeeded by nervous chills, until Dr. Danforth became alarmed for her life.

Under these circumstances Marion proved her real friendship by spending as much time as possible with the patient sufferer, and thus was at hand when poor Juliette, driven to her wits' end by the insubordination of her darling, was unable to control him.

As the young mother had not spoken of the events of that never-to-be-forgotten night, neither Mrs. Douglass nor Marion could account for the entire change in her manners and appearance. They supposed her fright at the sudden illness of her boy had for the time driven all other thoughts from her mind. Indeed, Mrs. Douglass, with many tears, thanked God that in his wonder-working providence he had taken any means to prevent a career of gayety which must have ended in her ruin. It would have been an immense relief to her could she have known that a card with the name "C. W. Alford" had been sent to her daughter the day following Eugene's attack, that the question written with pencil underneath his name, "When can I see you?" had been hastily answered with one word, "Never."

Yes, her Father in heaven, more ready to grant our requests than we are to ask them, had indeed answered the Christian mother's prayers, though as yet she knew it not.

Through all these anxious, weary days and nights, in the midst of her duties,—and they were onerous,—Mrs. Cheriton was supported by the thought, "God will help me: he has promised to help those who ask him."

In after-days she used to say, "I seemed to be living in a dream. Whenever the thought of Mr. Alford came into my mind, or the recollection of his vague suggestions recurred to me, I shivered, while my cheeks burned like fire. Then the conduct of Geenie, ungovernable and unloving, continually reminded me of another precipice from which I had been drawn back.

"On the other hand, I wondered at myself, at the sweet peace which at times filled my soul. How good God has been to me! How kind, how loving, how tender! Sometimes when Geenie slept I found time to read a few verses in the Bible. I found verses written expressly for me: 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.' 'For he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust.' I could scarcely believe that these precious words were in God's own book. I put in a mark and read them again and again."

But it was impossible for such a radical change to take place in Mrs. Cheriton without the fact becoming visible to those about her. Even before her mother noticed anything, the servants talked about it.

"She must believe he is going to die," one girl said to another, "else she wouldn't speak so kindly, and thank me as she does."

The first thing indicating a change noticed by her mother was one morning, when the chamber-girl, having put everything in order, had left the room, Juliette came from the adjoining chamber with a smile on her face. Approaching the bed, she kissed her mother, saying, softly,—

"Geenie is asleep. If you like, I'll read to you," laying her hand on the Bible as she spoke.

"Thank you, dear. That would indeed be a pleasure."

"Where shall I read? But here is your mark in St. John's Gospel."

In a low, and, to her mother, inexpressibly sweet voice, she read the last words of Christ to his disciples, frequently pausing as she read, as though applying the precious words to her own case.

Mrs. Douglass lay with her eyes fixed on the pale countenance of the reader, wondering what made her so beautiful. The rich bloom had gone, the dark eyes no longer flashed; but never had there been such a serene smile wreathing the lips. It seemed to indicate an inward peace.

At last, Juliette, raising her eyes from the book met her mother's gaze fixed intently on her.

"Can I do anything more for you, dear?" she said, rising and leaning over the bed.

"O Juliette! If you could, if you would, pray: we need help so much."

There was a momentary struggle in the breast of the young convert, and then, throwing herself on her knees by the bed, she hid her face in her hands and poured out from a thankful heart prayer for Christ's presence, such as he had promised his disciples, and praise for the blessed hope of acceptance and pardon. With the simplicity of a child who has scarcely learned the language of prayer, but whose soul is fully alive to the value of the blessings to be asked for, she plead for wisdom equal to every emergency, grace for every trial her Father in his love might see fit to send. She prayed for her dear mother, so weak and suffering, for her boy, not yet out of danger, that He who loved them better than any earthly love would do for them according to his will. "But, oh, dear Jesus, who loves little children," she cried, clasping her hands, "if he must die, and it is Thy blessed will, prepare my boy, my poor, neglected child, for heaven. Let him not suffer eternally for his mother's sinful neglect of Thy commands."

Then her sobs became so violent that she was obliged to rise hastily and leave the room.

Mrs. Douglass closed her eyes, while she murmured the inspired words, "Lord, now let Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation."

"I asked God, and He has heard my prayers. She has learned to pray. That was not her first prayer. O my Saviour, help me to thank Thee as I ought."

When Dr. Danforth made his next visit, he found Mrs. Douglass bolstered up in bed, Hepsey, who had for a day or two supplied Marion's place, arranging her still abundant hair. They were engaged in animated conversation when he entered. He had become deeply interested in the strangers, having never forgotten the scenes of the night of his introduction to them. To no one had he ever mentioned the young mother's prayer, the burden of which was help for herself from some great danger, not for relief and returning health to her child.

"You are better," he said, cheerfully, after having counted her pulse.

"Yes, Doctor, I have had a restorative."

"Wine? I wish you had taken it sooner."

"No, Doctor. I have heard my daughter pray." The mother's face beamed with joy.

"What is so great a beautifier as happiness?" was the doctor's thought. "She looks ten years younger." He spoke seriously, but with the greatest tenderness, saying,—

"I have heard her pray, and I think her prayers have been answered. She has borne the trials of these sad weeks with a sweet submission and patience I have seldom seen surpassed."

"God has given her grace according to her day."

"Yes. He has indeed fulfilled His promise to the widow and orphan."

"My daughter is not a widow, Doctor," murmured the patient, her cheeks flushing. "You have been such a kind friend, I may confide so much of our story to you. Juliette was married at the early age of fourteen, and her child was born within the year. Geenie was only a few weeks old when his father left home for England, ostensibly to obtain a situation where he might support his family in the luxuries to which they had been accustomed. We hear from him occasionally, but have never seen him since."

"Unnatural monster!" cried the doctor, indignantly. He thought of his own little girl, and wondered how she would endure such a living trial,—she to whom the loss of a pet dog had been the greatest grief she had known.

It was a minute or two before he could rally sufficiently to remark, "Eugene is better too. I am sorry to say my patient will soon be dismissing me."

"We have so few friends in America, we cannot give up your visits without regret, Doctor. But it is selfish for us to keep you longer than is necessary, when so many need you."

"Is a physician to have no friends, then?" queried the doctor, assuming a gruff voice. "You will find it hard, madam, to get rid of me." Then, with an emphatic shrug of his shoulders, he went away, and drove nearly a mile out of his course, while he was wondering what kind of a man Mr. Cheriton could be who would forsake a wife like Juliette.

In another respect the young mother showed that she had taken God's word as the rule of her life. This was in the management of her child. Formerly, when herself provoked at his rudeness or impatient at his exactions, she had dealt him a sudden blow, which, however, always seemed to rouse his combativeness to such a degree that it required much skill to soothe him. She usually had to buy him off from the exhibition of temper by confectionery or some new toys. Now, feeling her own weakness, she daily sought strength from God. She had noticed, too, how easily Mr. Angus and Marion had made him obey, not by blows or threats, but by a firm and gentle kindness, which won his confidence. It was her aim to imitate this method.

As soon as he was able to sit up, Eugene felt rather than understood that his mother would no longer submit to be struck in the face or called "bad mamma" when his wishes were crossed. She talked to him, explained that he must obey, that Jesus Christ loved good children, and that she would teach him to pray, and ask this best Friend to help him be good.

There is a sacredness in religious teachings which always arrests the attention of a child. No stories are so much delighted in as the stories of Joseph and Samuel and Daniel, and particularly the story of our dear Saviour. Over and over again these stories may be repeated; yet the little one never tires, but will ask new questions concerning the wonderful characters.

Juliette had thus a double incentive to read her Bible. She wished to find in the sacred pages strength for daily duties; and she also read for the instruction of her boy.

Marion came in one day and found Geenie dressed in a wrapper, sitting in his mother's lap. In her hand she held the Good Book, and they were talking eagerly of the story she had read. Marion wrote afterwards, in her letter to Mr. Angus, that she seldom had seen a prettier picture,—the beauty of both so softened by the subjects on which they were talking.

Marion bent over and pressed her lips to the fair forehead of the young mother, and Eugene made them laugh by imitating her example.

"She's nicer than she was," he exclaimed, patting her cheek. "She doesn't tell lies any more. She tells me when the medicine is going to taste badly,—but I take it all the same."

After talking for a few minutes with Mrs. Douglass, Marion hurried away, saying to herself,—

"What a glorious change! What a purifier and refiner Christianity is! How Mr. Angus will rejoice that Juliette has accepted her Saviour!"

Before I close this chapter I must tell the reader that Marion showed Mr. Alford's card to Mr. Lambert the very day Mrs. Douglass had given it to her, only asking whether he knew the man. He did not, but soon found a man of his description was a frequenter of gambling-saloons and other disreputable places of resort, that the name Alford was one of several aliases, and that he was a man wholly unfit to be trusted.

To neither Mrs. Douglass nor her daughter did she repeat this information, the change in Juliette rendering it unnecessary.