My Doggie and I | Page 9

sat down beside my old woman.
"What were you going to say about being puzzled, granny?"
"Puzzled, doctor! did I say I was puzzled?"
"Yes, but pray don't call me doctor. I'm not quite fledged yet, you know. Call me Mellon, or John. Well, you were saying--"
"Oh, I remember. I was only going to say that I've been puzzled a good deal of late by that text in which David says, `I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.' Now, my father and mother were both good Christians, and, although I cannot claim to be a good one myself, I do claim to be a poor follower of Jesus. Yet here am I--"
She paused.
"Well, granny," said I, "are you forsaken?"
"Nay, John, God forbid that I should say so; but am I not a beggar? Ah pride, pride, you are hard to kill!"
"Are you a beggar?" I asked in a tone of surprise. "When did you beg last, granny?"
"Is not a recipient of charity a beggar?"
"No," I replied stoutly, "he is not. A solicitor of charity is a beggar, but a recipient thereof is not. In your case it was I who was the beggar. Do you not remember when I found you first, without a crust in the house, how I had to beg and entreat you to allow me to put your name on this charity, and how you persistently refused, until at last I did it without your consent; and how, eventually, you gave in only when I charged you with pride? You are not forsaken, granny, and you are not a beggar."
"Brayvo, doctor! you have 'er there!" came in a soft whisper from the door.
For a moment I felt tempted to turn the boy out, as I had turned out the dog; but, seeing that my old woman had not overheard the remark, I took no notice of it.
"You have put the matter in a new light John," said Mrs Willis slowly, as her eyes once more sought the spout. "You often put things in new lights, and there does seem some truth in what you say. It did hurt my pride at first, but I'm gettin' used to it now. Besides," continued the old lady, with a deep sigh, "that trouble and everything else is swallowed up in the great sorrow of my life."
"Ah! you refer to your granddaughter, I suppose," said I in a tone of profound sympathy. "You have never told me about her, dear granny. If it is not too painful a subject to speak of, I should like to hear about her. When did she die?"
"Die!" exclaimed Mrs Willis with a burst of energy that surprised me--"she did not die! She left me many, many months ago, it seems like years now. My Edie went out one afternoon to walk, like a beautiful sunbeam as she always was, and--and--she never came back!"
"Never came back!" I echoed, in surprise.
"No--never. I was not able to walk then, any more than now, else I would have ranged London all round, day and night, for my darling. As it was, a kind city missionary made inquiries at all the police-offices, and everywhere else he could think of, but no clew could be gained as to what had become of her. At last he got wearied out and gave it up. No wonder; he had never seen Edie, and could not love her as I did. Once he thought he had discovered her. The body of a poor girl had been found in the river, which he thought answered to her description. I thought so too when he told me what she was like, and at once concluded she had tumbled in by accident and been drowned--for, you see, my Edie was good and pure and true. She could not have committed suicide unless her mind had become deranged, and there was nothing that I knew of to bring about that. They got me with much trouble into a cab, and drove me to the place. Ah! the poor thing--she was fair and sweet to look upon, with her curling brown hair and a smile still on the parted lips, as if she had welcomed Death; but she was not my Edie. For months and months after that I waited and waited, feeling sure that she would come. Then I was forced to leave my lodging. The landlord wanted it himself. I begged that he would let me remain, but he would not. He was a hard-hearted, dissipated man. I took another lodging, but it was a long way off, and left my name and new address at the old one. My heart sank after that, and--and I've no hope now--no hope. My darling must have met with an accident in this terrible city. She must