Chapter XXI: Brought Home

WHEN Rámpál Singh and his daughter returned home on the night of Sukhiya's death, they heard, with some consternation, that Hira had gone out alone with a strange old woman.

They had no heart to reproach Anandi for letting her go, for the old servant was so distressed herself that they could not add to her grief.

As no one had the least idea where the ghi-seller lived, it was impossible to go in search of the missing girl, so they could only wait and pray, hoping that she would soon return.

As night closed in and still she did not come, Rámpál Singh started out in hopes of hearing some news. But as he took the opposite direction and went away from, instead of towards, Sukhiya's home, he naturally heard nothing, and returned as much in the dark as ever.

The night was passed by the whole household in great anxiety, for who could tell that the story was a true one? It was more than possible that Sukhiya's accident had been invented as a means of enticing the blind girl away from her Christian friends.

As soon as morning dawned, the search was begun in good earnest. In spite of her weakness, Anandi persisted in taking her part, for she bitterly reproached herself for having let the girl go, and longed to do all in her power to bring her back.

On her way, she met Reuben Dayál, who was more than ready to help those who had been such good friends to his family in time of need.

"I know Sukhiya quite well," he said cheerily, "and will soon find out whether she really fell off the roof or not. If she did, everybody will know it."

The boy was not at all sure of the house, but he went in the right direction. And the first person he met told him that it was quite true that the ghi-seller had fallen off the roof, that she had died soon after, and even now preparations were being made for her funeral.

Reuben was delighted to think that he was to be the one to restore Hira to her friends, and hurried on to the house, which had been pointed out to him.

Here a new difficulty arose. There were several amongst those gathered to take part in the funeral who bore witness to the fact that a blind girl had been there the night before, but none could tell what had become of her. All they knew was that a boy in the crowd had offered to see her home, and she had left with him.

Reuben was sorely disappointed that he was again thrown off the track. Still, he determined not to give up, for it was plain that Hira could not be very far-off.

As he was standing outside, wondering where he should go next, a man and boy passed him; they were talking very earnestly, and he thought he caught the name of Rámpál Singh. This might be a clue, so he followed them, and as they turned a corner, he caught them up and asked eagerly, "Have you heard anything of a blind girl who was here last night, in the ghi-seller's house?"

Reuben was a sharp boy, and he knew from the look of warning which the man gave to his son that he did know something, whether he said so or not.

"What blind girl are you asking after? And what should we know about her?" was the evasive answer given.

"Tell us what she is like," said Behári Lál, "for there are many blind girls, and we might tell you of the wrong one."

Reuben gave a few particulars of Hira's appearance, which the father and son gravely listened to.

And at the end, the man asked, "And who may 'you' be, that you should be looking for this girl? Perhaps you are her brother?"

"Oh, no, I am not," answered Reuben; "I am no relation at all. But Rámpál Singh and his daughter have been very kind to my mother, and as they are in great trouble about this lost girl, I am trying to find her."

"And who is Rámpál Singh? And where does he live?" asked the man carelessly.

Reuben was delighted at the opportunity, and eagerly exclaimed, "Shall I take you to his house? Then you can tell him all you know."

"What do I know about this girl?" was the answer. "But you can show me the house; it will do no harm."

So Reuben led the way while the others followed.

When they arrived, Rámpál Singh had just returned after another vain search.

Reuben introduced his two companions by saying, "I think this man knows something about Hira, so I have brought him to you."

Behári Lál was ready to contradict this statement, but his father stopped him.

Then began a conversation, from which Rámpál Singh gathered, with some difficulty, for he could get no direct answer, that the man "could" give some information, but he was determined to gain something for himself by doing so. It was quite evident that if a sufficient reward was offered, Hira would very soon be produced.

This was a perplexing turn for things to take, for, anxious as Rámpál Singh was to rescue the blind girl and bring her home again, he hesitated at taking such means. Besides, if it should be proved that the man was any relation, and so had a claim on the girl, having once obtained money on this account, he might try to do so again and again.

Before there had been time to settle this knotty point, suddenly Shushila and Anandi appeared in sight, bringing Hira with them.

The man's face fell, and Behári Lál gave an exclamation of surprise. But neither of them revealed the fact that this was the blind girl of whom they could have given some information if they had chosen.

Rámpál Singh said gravely, "I see my daughter has found the missing child, so we need not trouble you any more."

And the father and son quietly walked away.

TO-DAY.

"THERE!" cried Mrs. Rosendale, stopping short in her walk. "I have never given poor Mrs. Lee that money after all! How stupid of me!"

"You gave her the parcel," said Beatrice; "won't that do for to-day?"

Mrs. Rosendale sighed. She was very, very tired—almost too tired to contemplate another twenty minutes' walk through the snow, and yet the money she had taken for Mrs. Lee was urgently needed.

She hesitated still, and Beatrice fidgeted her hoop backwards and forwards. She knew her mother was weary and that she might offer to go by herself, but it was dull to go alone.

"Can't they wait till to-morrow?" she said grudgingly. "You are always doing things for them."

"He that 'seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?'" said Mrs. Rosendale thoughtfully. "We know their need, Beatrice. Yes, I must go." She turned round resolutely and set off at a brisk pace.

"I 'spose I can go," said Beatrice, lagging a step or so behind. "You go home, mother. Mrs. Lee ought to be very grateful to you, wearing yourself out like this."

"I shouldn't like you to go grudgingly, dear," said Mrs. Rosendale, pausing and looking into the clouded little face, "for to help these poor ones is to serve the Lord Jesus."

"I said I'd go," repeated Beatrice.

She could not quite conjure up a smile, it did seem such an unnecessary bother to go back, but she held out her hand for the money, and strolled slowly away.

She had not intended to do more than pop the money into Mrs. Lee's hand and return at once; but such a mite of a boy opened the door and told her to come to mother 'cause baby was a-dying that she felt obliged to step inside. And once in, she stood fascinated.

Such a poor bare room, such a tiny fire, such a pale, sorrowful mother, such a tiny, pinched baby lying with closed eyes on her lap.

"Mother sent you this," said Beatrice in a whisper.

Mrs. Lee's eyes brightened. "The doctor has just been, miss, and he said as how we might still save the baby with proper nourishment. Will you tell your dear mother, and say I can't thank her enough? The money's just come in time, please God."

Beatrice went home to find warm shoes and hot cocoa awaiting her, and she delivered her message, but she said little of all she had seen.

The next day, thought snow was falling fast, she volunteered to go again and see how the baby did. And an hour later, she came flying into her mother's room.

"Mother, it's better! It's got its eyes open and smiled at me!" Then she flung her arms round her mother's neck, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. "Oh, mother darling, if you hadn't persisted in going yesterday, it might have been dead."

"I thought 'you' went, my child."

"Yes," said Beatrice slowly, "but I hated going. Now I am so very, very glad. Mrs. Lee said God must have sent us just at the right minute."

HIRA'S QUEST.