Chapter II: Getting a Living

AFTER Mrs. Sanders was buried, people seemed to forget all about Susie. The landlord called for his rent, and Susie paid him; which was all he wanted, so he did not trouble himself to inquire whether she was living alone or had any one to take care of her; and Elfie had told her not to say anything about it unless she was asked.

Elfie was rather proud of her new mode of living—having a roof to shelter her at night, a little spot she could call home—and she honestly believed Susie could not get on without her; and the feeling that she had some one to take care of, made her more careful of the things which were placed under her charge in the market.

But in spite of her care, and the extra employment it often brought her, the rent money could only be made up sometimes by Susie going without food the day before, for she could not eat the rubbish and refuse Elfie seemed to enjoy. A breakfast or dinner of raw pea-shells Susie could not eat above once or twice; and the stale fruit that Elfie brought home for her often made her ill, so that if she could not afford to buy a loaf, she often preferred being hungry to the chance of being ill and unable to work.

But the greatest trouble of all to Susie was the different way in which she spent Sunday. She missed her mother more on that day than any other; for poor as Mrs. Sanders had been, she had always contrived to go to church and take Susie with her, until she came to Fisher's Lane, and was unable to go out on account of illness. Elfie, however, had no other idea of Sunday than of a day to play more and eat less; for as there were no steps to clean nor baskets to mind, and very little refuse to be found about the market, she generally lay down to sleep, feeling very hungry on Sunday night.

Susie always folded up her work and put it away early on Saturday, that she might have time to clean the room, just as her mother had done. And so Elfie, finding her companion was not going to do any needlework on Sunday, persuaded her to come out to play; and for the sake of pleasing her Susie went. But the rough, noisy games of Elfie's companions, Susie could not enjoy, and she was glad to sit down in a quiet corner and think of her mother and the bright home she had gone to. Then she thought of their walks to church, and what she heard there, and how grieved her mother would be if she could see her now playing with these children, until she felt strongly inclined to run off to church now if only she knew her way.

She resolved not to go out to play again on Sunday; and when the next came round, she said, "Do you know your way to church, Elfie?"

"To church!" repeated Elfie. "They won't let us play there."

"No, I don't want to play," said Susie, looking down at her shabby frock, and wondering whether that was fit to go to church in. "I want to do as mother did, and she always went to church on Sundays."

Elfie looked puzzled. "Church ain't for poor people like us," she said.

"Oh yes, it is. Mother used to say she could never bear the trouble at all, if she could not go to church and get some help from God for it on Sundays."

"Eh? It's all along of the tables and chairs, and sleeping in beds, I suppose," said Elfie, a little disdainfully.

"Church has nothing to do with tables and chairs," said Susie. "We go there to hear about God and the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Well, there ain't no God for poor people that don't have tables and chairs," said Elfie.

"O Elfie, don't say that; God loves you, and wants you to know and love him."

"What! Wants me to go to church?" asked Elfie.

Susie nodded. "Come with me, will you?" she said eagerly.

Elfie laughed. "Catch me trying it, won't you; and there's a policeman walking up and down in front all the time."

"But the policeman is not there to keep people from going in," said Susie.

"What does he walk up and down there for, then?" asked Elfie quickly.

Susie could not answer this question, but she said, "Well, I know he don't keep people out."

"Not fine people that's got tables and chairs at home. God wants them in there perhaps, and so he gives the police orders to let 'em in. I know all about it, you see," she added triumphantly.

But Susie shook her head. "No, you don't," she said. "God wants us to know and love him—you and me, Elfie."

"I know them police that stands at the door, and that's enough for me," said the girl. "You can go if you like. Church, and tables, and chairs, and eating off plates, and sleeping in beds, is all one, I guess; and them that gets used to it can't do without it. But I can, and I shan't run to the police for that."

But although Elfie would not go with Susie, she willingly consented to show her the way; for she had not been to a church in this neighbourhood, and only knew the road to take the work backwards and forwards. So, after carefully washing her face and brushing her hair, and making herself as tidy as possible, Susie went out, carrying her prayer-book in her pocket-handkerchief, and trying to fancy that her mother was with her still.

Elfie would not come near the church; but after pointing it out, and watching Susie go in, she ran back to play with her companions, wondering all the time what could be going on inside the church to make Susie so anxious to go there. This was her first question when she met her as she came home.

"What do you look at—what do you do," she asked, "when you go to church?"

"We pray and sing, and hear what the minister says," answered Susie.

"What does he say?" asked Elfie.

Susie thought for a minute, and then answered, "Well, he reads out of the Bible, and says, 'Our Father.' You know that, don't you?"

But Elfie shook her head. "Who is 'Our Father'?" she asked.

"God, who lives up in heaven, where mother's gone," answered Susie.

"He's your Father, then, I suppose," said Elfie.

"Yes, and yours too," said Susie quickly.

"No, he ain't; I don't know him," said Elfie, shaking her head with a little sigh.

"But he knows you, Elfie—knows you, and loves you, and wants you to love him."

But Elfie shook her head persistently. "I don't know nothing about him, and nobody ever loved me," she' said.

And to end the conversation, she ran away to finish her game of buttons, while Susie walked quietly home.

She ate a slice of dry bread for her dinner, and saved one for Elfie; and then took her mother's Bible out of the little box, and sat down to read a chapter just as she used to do before her mother died. But the sight of the familiar old book upset all her firmness, and she sat down with it in her lap, and burst into tears. She was still crying when Elfie came rushing in to ask if she would not come out and join their play.

"What's the matter?" she exclaimed when she saw Susie in tears. "Are you so hungry?" she asked—for hunger seemed the only thing worth crying for to Elfie; and then, seeing the slice of bread on the table, and guessing it had been left for her, she put it on the Bible, saying, "You eat it, Susie; I've had some cold potatoes, and I ain't very hungry now."

But Susie put it back into her hands. "No, no, Elfie; you must eat that," she said. "I'm not crying because I'm hungry."

"What is it then?" said Elfie.

Susie looked down at the book lying in her lap. "I was thinking about mother," she said.

"Are you getting tired of living with me?" asked Elfie quickly.

"Oh no; you're very kind. I don't know what I should do without you, Elfie; but I do want my mother," said Susie through her tears.

Elfie looked puzzled. She was beginning to understand that all the mothers in the world were not like hers—that Susie's was not; and she could not understand why Mrs. Sanders had gone away and left her.

"What made her go away?" she asked.

Susie left off crying to look at her companion in surprise. "Don't you know God took her to heaven?" she said.

"Yes, I know, you said that before," answered Elfie impatiently; "but what made him take her?"

"Because he loved her," said Susie.

"But you said just now he loved you; why didn't he take you up there as well?"

"I asked mother about that one day, when she was telling me she should have to go away; but she said she thought God had some work for me to do in the world first before he took me home." And Susie dried her tears, and tried to be brave and choke back her sobs as she spoke.

"What work will you have to do?" asked Elfie, sitting down on the floor close to Susie's stool. Elfie always preferred rolling on the floor to sitting on any kind of seat; and she greatly enjoyed questioning Susie.

"Mother said God would teach me that if I asked him," answered Susie. "I don't know yet what it will be."

"Then why don't you ask him?" said Elfie in her straightforward fashion.

"I do," whispered Susie. "I ask him every night; because I want to do it, and then go home to mother."

"Is that what you do when you kneel down before you get into bed?" asked Elfie.

Susie nodded. "God hears what I say, too," she answered.

"Well, then, why didn't your mother ask him to let her stay and help you to do the work, if she didn't want to go away?" said Elfie sharply.

Susie knew not what to answer. The question puzzled her not a little; and to escape from Elfie's saying any more, she proposed reading a chapter from the Bible.

Elfie had grown tired of playing, and was quite willing to listen. She could not read herself, and was full of wonder that Susie could; and for some time she chattered and questioned so much about this that Susie could not begin; but at last she grew quiet, and Susie turned to her favourite verses in St. Matthew—the story of young children being brought to Jesus.

"That was kind of him to say, 'Let the children come to me,'" said Elfie when Susie paused.

"Yes; the Lord Jesus is always kind," said Susie.

"I wish he was here in London; I'd go to him," said Elfie. "It's nice to have anybody speak kind to you."

"You can go to him, Elfie," said Susie. "The Lord Jesus has gone up to heaven again now; but he'll hear you just as plain as though he was in the room here."

Elfie stared. "You don't think I'm going to believe that, do you?" she said sharply.

"Why not? It's the truth," said Susie.

"Maybe it is for fine folks that wants a lot of things to live, but not for a poor little street girl like me," answered Elfie.

"Why don't you think it's for you, Elfie?" asked her companion.

"Because I know what I am, and I guess he'd soon find out I was street rubbish, as the fine folks call me in the market." And Elfie clenched her fist angrily as she spoke.

"O Elfie, Jesus don't think you're street rubbish!" said Susie. "I think he cares for people all the more when he knows they're poor, because he was a poor man himself once."

"A poor man!" exclaimed Elfie. "Why, you said he was God's Son, and all the world was his."

"So it is; but when he came down here, the people wouldn't believe he was God's Son, and so he lived like a poor man—as poor as you and I, I think, Elfie."

But Elfie shook her head. "I'm street rubbish, but you ain't," she said.

"I found a verse about it," said Susie, "where Jesus says how poor he was—'The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.' There; that means Jesus had no home or comfortable bed, he was so poor," said Susie.

Elfie sat looking at her in dumb surprise.

"He was just as poor as me," she said. "Why didn't he go away, and leave the people, if he was God's Son?"

"Because he loved them, and he wanted them to know it; and to know that God loved them too, and wanted them to love him and be happy."

Elfie had never had any one to love her in all her life, and she could but dimly understand what Susie meant; but she did understand it a little, and all the vain longings she had felt when looking at a mother kissing her child sprung up in her heart now, as she said, in a subdued, gentle voice, "I wish he'd love me just a little."

"He does love you," said Susie, "not a little, but a great deal."

"Did he tell you to tell me so?" asked Elfie eagerly.

Susie knew not what to reply to this; but the thought stole into her heart—Was this the work her mother had spoken of—was she to tell Elfie of the love of God, try to make her understand it, and lead her to love him?

But her silence made Elfie think she had no message for her, and she said, "You need not be afraid to tell me, Susie; nobody ever did love me, and nobody ever will; and I don't want any love either." But in spite of these words, so sharply and angrily spoken, Elfie burst into tears.

Susie had never seen her cry before, and for very sympathy she burst into tears herself, as she threw her arms round her companion's neck, and drew her closely towards her. "Don't cry, Elfie; I'll love you," she said. "I'll love you ever so much; and you'll believe God loves you too; won't you?" she added coaxingly.

Elfie clung to Susie, and held her in a passionate embrace. "Say it again—" she whispered, "say you love me, Susie; it's what I've been wanting ever so long, I think."

"Everybody wants it," said Susie. "God puts the feeling in our heart, mother said; and then he gives us people to love us, just that we may know how he loves us himself."

"Tell me some more about it," said Elfie, still in the same subdued voice, and clinging fast round Susie's neck, her dirty tangled head of hair resting on her shoulder.

"I don't know how to tell it, Elfie, but just as the Bible tells it. Mother made me learn a good many verses about the love of God. I'll tell you some of them. 'God is love'; 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him'; 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' Now, don't you see God must love you, for you're in the world, and God so loved the world that he sent Jesus Christ to die that we might be saved?"

"Saved?" repeated Elfie.

"Yes; saved from our sins—the wicked things we do that make God sorry, and angry too," said Susie.

But Elfie did not care to hear about this; she wanted to know whether it was possible for God to love her—whether he had told Susie, he would love her.

"I'd do anything for that," she said, pushing back her tangled hair. "Do you think he'd like me better if I was to keep my face clean and comb my hair like you do?" she asked.

Susie smiled. "I think God does like people to be clean," she said; "and I'd like it, Elfie."

"Then I'll do it," said Elfie in a determined tone. "I've thought it was no good. Before, I was just street rubbish, and nobody cared for me; but if you do, and God will, I'll wash my face; and perhaps he will by-and-by, as the Lord Jesus his Son was a poor man himself."

And Elfie went at once to fetch some water to wash her face, and Susie promised to help her to do her hair.