# Her Benny/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
Fading away.
The morning flowers displayed their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold.
As careless of the noontide heats.
As fearless of the evening cold.
Nipt by the winds' unkindly blast,
Parched by the sun's director ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away.
S. Wesley.
Joe Wrag heard the news in silence. Benny, who had gone to him to tell him what had happened to Nell, was not half pleased that he said nothing in reply. But Joe was too troubled to talk. Like granny, he had known for months what was coming, but it had come suddenly, and in a way that he had not expected, and the old man, as he afterwards expressed it, was "struck all of a heap."
Benny waited for some time, but finding Joe was not inclined to talk, he made his way home, leaving the old man gazing into the fire, with a vacant look in his eyes and a look of pain upon his face.
No one ever knew what the old man suffered that night. It was like tearing open the wound that had been made ​twenty years before, when his only son, as the crowning act of his unkindness, ran away fiom home, and had never since been heard of.
"If I could only believe that there was the smallest hope o' my ever getting to heaven," he muttered, "it 'ud be easier to bear."
And he hid his face in his hands, while great tears dropped between his fingers to the floor.
"Bless her little heart!" he murmured; "she did not believe as how any wur excluded; she allers stuck to that word 'whosoever,' an' sometimes I wur inclined to think as how she wur right. I wonder, now, if she wur? for sartinly it looks the reasonabler.
"Bless me!" he said after a long pause, "I'm getting mortal shaky in my faith; I used to be firm as a rock. I wonder if it are my heart getting righter, or my head getting wrong. But I mun have a few more talks wi' the little hangel afore she goes."
As soon as Joe was liberated from his watch, he made his way direct to the Infirmary, and bitterly was he disappointed when told that he could not be admitted, and that if he wanted to see the child he must come again on the following day.
His heart was yearning for a sight of her face, and another day and night seemed such a long time to wait; but he turned away without a word, and went slowly home.
Evening found him again at his post of duty, and the next morning found him anxious and sad. The night had ​seemed so very long, and he was burning with impatience to get away.
The men came to work at length, and off he started with all possible speed. The porter at the door knew him again, and he was admitted without a word.
Nelly was expecting him; she knew it was visitors' day, and she was certain he would come, so she waited with closed eyes, listening for the footfall of her old friend.
She knew without looking up when he stooped beside her, and reached out her wasted hand, and drew down his weather-beaten wrinkled face and kissed him.
For a long time neither of them spoke. Joe felt if he attempted to utter a word it would choke him, for she was far more wasted than he had expected to see her, and somehow he felt that that was the last time they would ever meet on earth.
Nelly was the first to break the silence.
"I's so glad you's come, Joe," she said simply.
"Are 'e, my honey?" said Joe, with a choking in his throat.
"Ay," she replied; "I wanted to see yer once more.
You's been very good to me, Joe, and to Benny, an' I wanted to thank -you afore I died."
"I dunna want thanks, honey," he said, sitting down in the one chair by her bedside, and hiding his face in his hands.
"I know yer does not want 'em, Joe; but it does me good, an' I shall tell the Lord when I gets to heaven how good you've been."
​Joe could not reply, and Nelly closed her eyes, and whispered again to herself, as she had often done—
"Seaward fast the tide is gliding, Shores in sunlight stretch away."
Drew down his weather-beaten wrinkled face and kissed him.
Then after awhile she spoke again, without opening her eyes.
"You'll not be long afore you comes too, will yer, Joe?"
​"Perhaps the Lord will let me look at you through the gate," sobbed Joe; "but I'm afeard He won't let sich as me in."
"Oh, yes, Joe," she said, opening her eyes with such a pained look." Does you think the Lord does not love yer as much as I do? An' won't He be as glad to see yer as I shall?"
"It does look reasonable like, my purty," said Joe; "but, oh, I'm so afeard."
"'Who-so-ever,'" whispered Nelly, and again closed her eyes, while the troubled expression passed away, and the smile that Joe loved to see came back and lit up her pure spirituelle face with a wonderful beauty. And as Joe watched the smile lingering about her mouth as if loth to depart, he felt somehow as if that child had been sent of God to teach him the truth, and to lighten the burden of his dreary life by giving him a hope of heaven.
"'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,'" he muttered to himself.
"Yes," said the nurse, coming softly to his side, "out of the mouths of babes He perfects praise."
Joe looked up in surprise. "Do you think the bairn is right?" he stammered out.
"I'm sure of it," she replied.
"But what about the elect?" said Joe, in a tone of voice that proclaimed how deeply he was agitated.
"I think the elect are 'whosoever will,'" she replied.
"So Nelly thinks," he said, and shook his head sadly, as if such news were too good to be true.
​The nurse, besides being a kind motherly woman who dearly loved children, was also a person of strong common sense, and hence she saw Joe's difficulty in a moment "You have no children of your own, I suppose?" she said.
"I had a son once," said Joe. "I hope he's still living."
"You do not love him, of course?"
In a moment Joe was on his feet.
"Love him!" said Joe, trembling from head to foot. "I'd lie down an' die for him this blessed moment if it would do him good."
"Ah! he has been a very good son, I expect," said the nurse.
Joe sat down again, and hid his face in his hands. After awhile he looked up and said with evident emotion—
"No, he was what people would call a bad son—a very bad 'un."
"Then if he were to come home again, you certainly would close the door against him?"
"Close the door agin him! Close the door agin my own child, my own flesh and blood ! Why, I've been longing for years for him to come home. I wish he'd try me, he should have the best of everything I've got in the house. Oh, marcy! how my poor old heart 'ud ache with joy if he were to come to-night."
Joe had got quite excited while delivering himself of this long speech. So the nurse said quietly,—
​"So you think, Joe, that you are better than God."
"Better 'n God?"
"Yes; more merciful, and loving, and kind."
"Who said so?" said Joe, staring at her as if he could scarcely believe his own ears.
"Well, you implied it," said the nurse, quietly.
"Me implied it?" said he in a tone of bewilderment. "How so?"
"Well, you say you had a bad son who has been away many years, and yet you say you love him still, so much so that you would willingly die for him; and that, bad as he has been, if he were to come home to-night, instead of driving him from the door, you would give him the heartiest welcome, and think nothing in the house too good for him. And yet you think God will turn away you. So you must admit, Joe," she said with a smile, "that you think you have more love and mercy in your heart than God has in His?"
Joe was silent. And Nelly whispered to the nurse, "Thank you so much."
After awhile Joe got up, and leaning over the crib, he kissed the pale brow of the little sufferer. "Good-bye, my purty," he whispered. "We*ll meet again, I do believe."
"Ay, Joe, I*m sure we shall."
"I'm main sorry to lose 'e," he said in a faltering voice, and brushing his rough hand across his eyes; "but I ken give yer to God."
"I'll be waiting, Joe, *gin you come. Now kiss me, for I'll be gone, I reckon, afore you come again."
​Silently Joe bent over her, and pressed a last lingering kiss upon her paling lips. Then sobbing, turned away and left the room.
Granny and Benny called a little later in the day, and found her sinking fast. Her last words to her brother were: "Be good, Benny, an' the Lord will provide, an' we'll meet in heaven." Then she lay as if asleep, taking no further notice of any one.
Once or twice the nurse heard her repeating, "Seaward fast the tide is gliding," and felt that the words were sadly true.
The nurse told granny that the child was dying, not of the blow on the head, but of swift decline. Nothing could save her, she said. The shock to her nervous system had of course hastened the end; but for that she might have lived till another spring, but certainly not longer. She did not seem to suffer in the least. Hour after hour she lay quite still, while the tide of her little life ebbed swiftly out, and the darkness stole on apace; but she did not fear the gloom. The brave little heart that had borne so patiently the frowns of an unkindly world, was now resting in the love of God.
The smile that had so long flickered over her face like firelight on a wall, now settled into a look of deep content. No murmur ever escaped her lips, not even a sigh; now and then her lips moved as if in prayer, that was all.
And thus she lay waiting for the messenger that should still the little heart into an everlasting rest, and listening for the footfalls that should tell of the coming of her Lord.
​After her last look at Benny, she was never seen to open her eyes again, but gradually sank to rest.
So fades a summer's cloud away,
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er,
So gently shuts the eye of day,
So dies a wave along the shore.
Two days after, Joe and Benny went together to the Infirmary. But they were too late: the pure spirit had gone to God, and the little tired feet were for ever at rest.
"Cannot we see her?" said Benny.
"No, you had better not." was the reply.
Benny felt it very keenly that he might not see his little dead sister, and yet it was best.
They were told, however, if they would be at the New Cemetery at the east of the town on the following day, they might see her buried, and mark her grave.
It was a cold cheerless afternoon when little Nelly Bates was laid in her grave. There was no pomp or display about that funeral, for she was buried at the public expense. Only two mourners stood by the grave, Benny and Joe, but they were mourners indeed.
Benny went from the grave-side of little Nell to his comer under granny's stairs, and sobbed himself to sleep. And Joe went to his hut to muse on the mercy of God, and to revel in his new-found hope of heaven.