Chapter VI: Gleams of Sunshine

IT was a beautiful Sabbath morning, and the bells were ringing for church. Katy had now been several months in her new home. Things did not improve in the least, but grew worse if anything. She had never asked if she might go to church. She had never been in a church since she went with her mother. She had not forgotten it, and now, as she stood in the back-yard and heard the bells ringing, the thought came over her that it would be nice to go to church.

"But then—" she sighed—"how can I go with such clothes?"

She had seen the well-dressed people on their way to church, and often met Daisy going or returning, and as she recalled their dress, she thought:

"No, I guess they don't let folks come to church looking like this."

Not that Katy was dressed in rags as she used to be, but Mrs. Scram thought the less she spent upon Katy the better. Color and material and shape were of no consequence, if she were but covered, so her clothes were old and faded and ill-fitting, always made from cast-off garments, and they were not clean now, either, for Katy had not become very skilful in housework yet, and she was sure to spill dish-water or something else all over herself.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to get away in the direction of the bells. She did not like to ask Mrs. Scram, though, to let her go.

"I might just go and sit on the steps and hear them sing, and I mean to, if she'll let me," was the conclusion she arrived at before long. She did not mention church to Mrs. Scram,—she had a feeling that she would surely say "No" if she did, so she asked if she might go out a little while. Things were in as good a state as they could be in, in that family, for asking a favor. The baby was asleep, and Mrs. Scram had just commenced a fresh novel, so she said "Yes."

Katy covered herself as well as she could in a large, faded shawl; her hat was an old one of Mrs. Scram's, very odd-looking indeed. A queer little figure she was, as she set out to find a church. She did not have to walk far before coming to a stone church, covered with vines. The bell was ringing, and the people were hastening along.

Katy thought they all looked happy, bowing and smiling to each other. She did not go into the church-yard, but loitered by the fence. Just then a pretty carriage, drawn by two little gray ponies, stopped before the gate, and a lady and gentleman got out. The lady passed on into the church-yard, and stood waiting for her husband.

Katy was charmed. She thought, "Here is the very prettiest lady I ever saw."

But the lady's face was not remarkable, except that she had soft, loving eyes, and a pleasant mouth, that looked as if it smiled easily. And it could not have been the splendor of her dress that made Katy think so, for that was of soft, gray material, and except the few moss rose-buds in her gray hat, she wore little or no ornament.

People need not take so much trouble to appear what they are not, for they carry the whole story in their faces. If they are selfish and cross and proud, or unselfish and sweet-tempered and humble, it is usually all written out, and even a little child may read it.

The lady stood where she did not see Katy, her husband soon came, and they passed on into the church. The people had all arrived and taken their places, so Katy stole softly along, and seated herself in the doorway up in the corner.

It was very pleasant to sit there that lovely morning, and hear the grand organ, and the sweet singing. Then came the preacher's voice, and Katy leaned her head back, and gazed up into the blue sky. The green branches overhead waved in the breeze, the bees hummed, and the crickets chirped, and the minister's voice sounded farther and father off, and—Katy was asleep.

The next she knew anything about was hearing a soft voice say, "Why, here is a poor little chick fast asleep!"

Katy opened her eyes, and there was the pretty lady with the gray dress and pleasant face, looking right at her.

Katy was ashamed—she jumped up quickly. She had not meant to be there at all when church was out.

Mrs. Lynn—for that was her name—said: "Poor little girl! Were you all tired out? And did you have a nice nap?"

Katy hardly knew what she said, she felt so confused, with the people all about her.

"Won't you come into the Sabbath-school?" said the lady. "You may come into my class if you wish to."

Katy managed to murmur out: "I don't look fit."

"Oh, never mind that to-day, you'll do very well."

So Katy followed her new friend into the Sabbath-school room, and was soon seated in Mrs. Lynn's class of little girls, about her own age. You will think, perhaps, that Katy felt uncomfortable at once because of the cold looks given her by the other girls, or else drawing off to the other end of the seat away from her, as you may have seen girls do when a new scholar that was poorly dressed came into the class.

But these little girls were many of them poor. Mrs. Lynn had gathered up her class herself from the by-ways and back streets, poor, straying little ones, whose mothers did not know or care how they spent their Sabbaths.

She loved best to work among the neglected ones. The lesson for that day was about Jesus being the Good Shepherd. Mrs. Lynn told them all about sheep and the shepherds, then she hung up a large colored picture, and pointed out the happy little lambs frisking about in the green fields, and the shepherd standing near watching them. She told them how the lambs were not all contented in the pleasant pasture, and sometimes some of them wanted to get away from the shepherd and take care of themselves.

Then she brought out another picture of a little lamb that had gotten away from the fold, and was hurrying along as fast as it could go, over rough fields and through briars and brambles that tore the little feet. Deep, dark holes were all around it, and it was in danger of falling into them, but on it went, up the steep mountains, and the cold storm came on, then plunged into the dark woods where the howling of the wolves could be heard.

"Oh, dear," said Tiny Mills, "oh, do get him out of that quick, please do."

And Mrs. Lynn brought out the last picture, where the Shepherd had found the little lamb almost dead with fright and cold, and was bringing it back, the poor little thing lying in his bosom, wrapped in his warm cloak. Then Mrs. Lynn told them how "they" were little lambs, and Jesus was the Good Shepherd, and little children that loved to stay in the fold,—children that loved Jesus and obeyed their parents, and gave up sin, were happy, and the Good Shepherd kept close by them. But when children wanted to get away from Jesus, and go off among the briers and thorns of sins, they were in great danger. Satan was the wolf that was always lurking about to destroy them.

Then she told how Jesus goes after poor lost children who are sinning against him, how He calls them to come to Him, and be His lambs, and how much He loves them.

Katy listened eagerly, with eyes very large and earnest, to every word her teacher said. At last she ventured to ask:

"Does He love folks that haven't any nice dresses and money?"

"Yes, indeed He does, my dear child. When He lived here on the earth, He was poor Himself, and poor people were His friends, and He loved them. Yes, nobody need stay away from Jesus for want of money or nice clothes. Jesus is just as glad to see the poorest and meanest and wickedest people that ever lived coming to Him as He is to see the rich and great."

"Does he love folks that have done something very bad?"

Katy asked this question while the color came and went on her face, for the recollection that she had once stolen something, that she had once been a thief, had never left her and had often troubled her very much.

"Oh, yes, Katy. If one gives up doing the naughty thing, and asks Jesus to forgive, He forgives them and loves them all the same."

At the close of school, Mrs. Lynn got Katy's promise to come the next Sabbath if she could. She gave her a little picture of the Good Shepherd carrying a lamb in His bosom. And she whispered a few loving words to her that nobody else could hear, telling her that Jesus would love her if she would come to Him and be His little lamb, that she must pray to Him every day, and ask Him to give her a new heart, and that she might tell Him all her troubles, and ask His help, just as she would go to her mamma if she were living.

Katy went home with a lighter heart than when she came. When she got there, she found Mrs. Scram in bad humor, because she had stayed away so long. She tried not to be angry and slam the doors as she was in the habit of doing when she received the usual cuffing of her ears.

"The next time you get out, you'll know it," said Mrs. Scram. "Here I've been three mortal hours taking care of this cross baby, and I'm 'most tired to death."

The weeks passed away, and Mrs. Scram read just as many novels as ever, and scolded and cuffed Katy just as usual, and the baby cried as much, and the days were long and hot, and Katy sometimes remembered the words of her teacher and sometimes she did not, although she was taking some slow, short steps toward Jesus. She loved to get away by herself and study the little picture Mrs. Lynn gave her, and tried to remember all she said about being Jesus' lamb. She would have so loved to go to Sabbath-school every Sabbath, but she did not get there very often, and she did not always bear it well when Mrs. Scram said she could not go. Sometimes she would get very angry, and forget all about trying to be good.

It was a hard life she lived, and Mrs. Lynn was the only brightness in it. To tell the truth Katy had a good many troubles of her own making. She had a quick temper and a strong will, and sometimes showed them out in a way that made Mrs. Scram treat her still more harshly.