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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Am I going to be with you always, Mrs. Heedman?" cried Charlie, opening his eyes very wide. "Yes, I hope so," she answered. After a little more talking, principally on Charlie's side, who confided to her his private opinion of the cross Mrs. Wood, and his pleasure to think he was not going back to her any more, Mrs. Heedman left the room, and Charlie went to sleep.
"Yes, mother," Charlie answered, in desperation, and in a very low voice. "It will be too late to-morrow," said John Heedman, sinking back on his pillows exhausted "it will be too late." He lay so still for about an hour that Charlie thought he slept; after that he called Charlie to him, and wished him to sit up that night with his mother.
John Heedman had enjoyed a good plain education himself; he was intended for a tradesman, but his father died suddenly, and his mother and young sister being left dependent upon him, he went to work down the mine, as the wages were higher than he could get at any other employment.
Just as he was making up his mind that he would try to sit up and look about the room, the door was gently opened, and a pleasant face peeped in. Charlie remembered at once that it was good, kind Mrs. Heedman, who used to come and see his mother when she was ill.
Heedman one morning, just before school-time, "did you learn your lessons last night?" "No, mother," answered Charlie; "I can learn them this morning; there's time enough." "Do get your books then, and begin; you have only a quarter of an hour."
"What a terrible fate!" exclaimed Mrs. Heedman, "to be left entirely at the mercy not only of the temptation of the world, but the sinful wishes and inclinations of our own evil hearts!" "Terrible indeed," said John Heedman.
Heedman as he was going out; "your father's cough was worse this morning, and I want you to run along to the pit with some warm wrappings for him; the evenings are chilly now, and he feels the cold when he comes up." "All right, mother dear, I'll not forget," said Charlie, waving his cap to her as he went out of the gate.
Brown's, next door, Charlie, will you, and ask if she can let me have the bread tin I lent her yesterday," said Mrs. Heedman. "Yes, mother, in a minute," answered Charlie, still reading on, and thinking, "There's time enough; I dare say the bread is not ready." After a short time she spoke again, "Come, Charlie, I'm waiting."
It was not at all a grand, well-worded prayer, but it was simple, earnest, and heartfelt just the sort of prayer God loves to listen to. On the morning of Charlie's birthday, about a fortnight after that night he went down to his father, John Heedman was quite unable to go out to his work; he had been obliged to give up at last, and the doctor was called in.
"I think I shall wait and hear what your father has to say before I give an answer." John Heedman went on: "You remember, Charlie, the French marigolds we set, don't you?" "Yes, I do remember indeed; it was so odd, mother, it was all the same sort of seed, but when it grew up there was such a difference in the form and shade of the flowers, we could scarcely find two alike."
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