XVII.
_DOLLY GOES HOME._
DAY after day of the lovely September weather passed by, bringingchange to God's world without and within. The days were warm andsunny, but the nights were cool; and now and then came the quietfrost, painting the grand old forest-trees and their clinging vines.The Virginia creepers--always the first to change--turned a brightcrimson; here and there a maple flung out a scarlet branch, like agorgeous banner in the air; while chestnuts and birch showed a fewgolden leaves, in beautiful contrast to the vivid green of the foliagewhich was yet untouched.
Each day Aunt Bessie improved. She came out among the family oncemore, and sat with them in hall, parlor, and piazza, and even tookshort drives and walks, though she was still pale, and the poor hurtarm could not yet be taken from the sling. But, as she said, she hadnow a dozen pairs of hands instead of one, for all were anxious toserve her, and could not do enough for the dear treasure they had sonearly lost.
But, though strength and health came to her with tender nursing andthe lovely air and sunny days, they did not bring them to the poorlittle waif who had been cast upon the care and pity of these kindfriends. She did not suffer much now, except when the cough racked herpoor little wasted frame; but she grew weaker and weaker, and all knewthat the end must soon come. Dolly had long been ailing, far more sothan she imagined. Lem knew no more than herself, and there had beenno one else to care for her. There had been no mother's quickened earto mark the warning cough, no mother's loving eye to see the sunkencheek, no mother's tender hand to guard her child from damp and cold;and so the trouble had gone on unheeded and unchecked, till the nightspent in the Ice Glen had finished the mischief already at work.
Maggie and Bessie came in to see her very often, bringing her fruitand flowers, and now and then some other little offering; some daintywhich had been given to themselves and saved for her, a picture or atoy. For the toys she did not care much; indeed, they were so new toher that she scarcely understood them, and was too weak to play withthem; but the pictures always interested her, especially one of Christblessing little children, which Bessie had brought her. She would liefor hours with this in her hand, looking at it now and then with apleased, happy smile, which said that it told its own story to her.
But as the poor little body grew weaker, her love and trust in herSaviour grew stronger and brighter. A very simple faith was that ofpoor Dolly; but she knew in whom she had trusted,--the Jesus who haddied on the cross to save her soul and fit it for His heaven; and whohad said, "Suffer little children to come unto me." And the "littleone," as she called Bessie, had told her that Jesus meant _all_ littlechildren; that whoever would, might come to this blessed Saviour, andhe would take them in His arms, and love and care for them. And Dolly"loved Him because he had first loved" her, and longed to go and livewith Him for ever in that bright world where she had been told Hewaited for her.
It was wonderful to see how, without any direct teaching, she caughtthe words of the hymns the children sang to her, and how she would fitthem to herself and her own needs.
As for Lem, he watched her with a sort of dumb sorrow which wastouching to see. When he first saw Mr. Stanton, he made a piteousappeal to him, "to get her well, not to let her die;" and when thegentleman told him, as Mrs. Bradford had done, that he could donothing, and that life and death were in the hands of God, who saw fitto take Dolly to Himself, he refused to speak or think of any thingfor his own good.
"Lem," said Dolly to him one day, "why don't you be glad I'm going toJesus? I'm glad. I asked Him a many times to take me."
"'Cause I can't," said Lem, sullenly. "I thought we was goin' to getalong fustrate if _he_ looked after us; but 'taint no good gettin' tobe engine driver now, if you're goin' away."
"Oh, yes, it is!" said Dolly; "and you'll be good, won't you, Lem, andnot steal no more, and try to come to Jesus too; and I'll ask Him tohelp you like He helped me?"
"I don't see as it's much help to make you sick and let you die," saidLem.
"I don't know," said Dolly. "I guess, maybe it's just the bein' sickand dyin' is a good help. You know, Lem, if I hadn't a been sick andthe little one found me there, I'd never a heard about Jesus, andI guess the best help He can give me is to take me right up there.I asked little one t'other day how she come in that out-of-the-wayplace, where I thought nobody never come 'cept for hidin', and shesaid the man brought her; but she thought Jesus sent him, so shecould tell me 'bout Him. I guess He did too; I guess He knew I waslonesome and tired, and would like to be an angel. Don't you thinkthat was help, Lem; and wasn't He good to let it come to me?"
This had been said with many a pause and very feebly, for Dolly wastoo weak to talk much now; and a sudden fit of coughing took away herbreath before Lem could answer.
The dying child had never lost her interest in the poor, sicklymarigolds in her pots. They had for some reason, too, thrived ratherbetter in their new home, and the two buds Lem had pointed out toMrs. Bradford had grown larger, and one of them was now openinginto a ragged, stunted flower. But it was very beautiful in poorDolly's eyes, for she had raised and cared for it herself; and noother blossom could be so lovely for her. But the more she loved andcherished her own plant, the more bitterly did she grieve over thedestruction of the gardens of the two little girls who had been sokind and forgiving to her. She knew for what purpose they had takenso much pains with them, especially with the heliotrope and geraniumwhich had been so ruthlessly torn to pieces; for Mrs. Porter had toldher, and her sorrow and repentance were very bitter and very sincere.
One Sunday morning, towards the end of September, Maggie and Bessiewent over with their mother to see her. She was lying with her sunkeneyes fixed on the marigolds, which stood on a small table beside thebed; and, oh, how wan, white, and wasted she looked! Yet there was alook of perfect peace on the poor face; and, when the children camein, she turned to them with a bright smile.
"They're coming on nice, aint they?" she said; "don't they lookpretty?"
Maggie and Bessie were rather uncomfortable, for they did not thinkthe forlorn marigolds pretty, and they did not wish to hurt Dolly'sfeelings by saying so; but mamma came to their relief, by saying, asshe could with truth,--
"It has agreed with your pets to be up here, Dolly; they have donebetter since you came."
"Yes," said Dolly; and then asked, "Could you give me a nice bit ofwhite paper and a scissor?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Bradford, and sent Maggie over to the house forthese things.
When Maggie came back, Dolly wanted to raise herself and take thethings from her, but could not do it. Mrs. Bradford put her armunder the pillow and lifted her. Then the child tried to fold andcut the paper; but the trembling fingers had no power, and paper andscissors fell from them; while Dolly looked about her with a piteous,disappointed air.
"What is it you want, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Bradford; "cannot we do itfor you?"
"I know," said Lem; "she wants to fix up her posy, like the gardenerfixes 'em up to the big farm." Lem meant the homestead. "She seen himthrough the hedge, one day, doin' of it, and she said this mornin' shewanted hers fixed up that way."
Mrs. Bradford understood at once. Poor, simple Dolly had seen thegardener shielding his choice blossoms by a circlet of fringed paper;and she would fain do as much for the stunted little favorite whichwas so lovely in her eyes.
"Maggie will cut it for you," said the lady; and, under her mother'sdirection, Maggie's deft little fingers soon prepared the paper tosuit Dolly.
But she could not be satisfied without putting it about the flowerwith her own hands, while Lem held the pot for her; and it wastouching to see how the poor, wasted fingers fluttered feebly aboutthe blossom that was to outlive her,--touching it so tenderly, andfolding the fringed paper about it with such care. It was done atlast, and, as Mrs. Bradford laid her back, she looked at her work witha contented smile; and then, exhausted with the effort, closed hereyes, and whispered faintly, "Sing."
The little ones sang her f
avorite hymns, until she slept,--slept thelast sleep which was to know an awakening upon earth,--and then stolesoftly out with their mother.
But mamma was back and forth all day,--far more so than usual; and inthe afternoon, when the hour came for Sunday school, the children,knowing she was there, ran over to give her a kiss before they went totheir class.
"We'll ask Dolly what she wants us to sing," said Maggie; "for youknow she can hear us quite well from our Sunday bower."
The door stood open, for the day was so soft and warm, that, savefor the changing leaves which showed that autumn was at hand,they might have thought themselves in midsummer. It was a lovelyafternoon,--scarce a breath of air was stirring, and the lake laycalm and placid, the trees and rocks reflected on its surface withsurprising clearness. A Sabbath hush was in the air; a kind of gloryfrom the golden sunshine seemed to fall on all around,--on lake andmountain, woods and rocks, on the lawn and the cosy old house. Itstreamed through the lattice of Dolly's little window too, and fellupon the small head which lay on the pillow. Mrs. Porter would haveshut it out; but Dolly murmured, "No, no," and seemed to like it.
There was even a deeper stillness within the room than without, forthere was an angel waiting there, and those who watched little Dollyfelt his presence.
The children felt the solemn hush; and their little feet paused uponthe threshold of the open door. Mamma and papa were there, UncleRuthven and Mrs. Porter; and poor Lem, crouched at Mr. Stanton's feet,his hands clasped about his knees, his head bent upon them.
Mamma put out her hand, and beckoned to the children; and, withcareful steps, they came to the bedside.
"Would you like to speak to my little girls, Dolly?" asked Mrs.Bradford, gently.
Dolly opened her eyes, and fixed them on the children, with a wistfulsmile.
"You was good to Doll," she said, in a faint whisper. "Jesus sent you.He loves you, 'cause you was good--and--I'll be an angel--and tellHim--you teached me about Him, and--He'll love you more. Good-by."
"Good-by, Dolly," said Bessie, not knowing this was to be the lastgood-by, and yet with the tears gathering in her eyes.
"Good-by, Dolly," whispered Maggie; "we are going to our Sundayschool, and you will hear us sing."
"We'll think a good deal about you, and sing all your hymns, shallwe?" asked Bessie.
"Rest for the weary," sighed Dolly.
"My darlings," said mamma, "ask Aunt May to leave the lessons for thisafternoon, and let you sing as long as you can;" and drawing them toher, she kissed first one, and then the other, with a long, tenderkiss.
Dolly's eyes followed them, as they went out, and then came back toMrs. Bradford's face with a longing, wistful look.
"What is it, my child?" asked the lady.
"I guess, if I'd had a mother, she'd kiss me, like that,--don't you?"
"Shall I kiss you, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Bradford, with tearful eyes.
"Could you?" said Dolly, with a brightening look.
Warm from the loving mother's heart came the motherly kiss, whichDolly had never known before; and with a long, satisfied sigh, sheagain closed her eyes.
Then came the sweet voices of the children and their teacher, hymnafter hymn of infant praise floating in, as it seemed, on that soft,shimmering sunshine, and filling the little room with music. Dollylay still, and they could not tell whether she were listening or not.Presently, she opened her eyes again, started, and murmured,--
"Oh! I don't want to go in the Ice Glen; it's dark and cold,"--then,more gently, "well, never mind; Jesus will take care of me, Iguess,--yes, Jesus will. He'll let me--be an angel--to praiseHim--day--and--night. He does--care--for me."
Slowly, slowly the words dropped from her lips; then came one or twofluttering sighs; and a little ransomed soul, thirsting for the waterof life, had flown away, and was safe within the bosom of Him who hassaid, "Suffer little children to come unto me." The little, weary,homesick child had gone home to the love that never fails, to the carethat never tires.
Lem came over to the Lake House, the next day, carrying one of Dolly'sflower-pots on each arm; and, setting them down before Maggie andBessie, who were on the piazza with Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie,drew his sleeve across his eyes, and said,--
"She telled me I was to bring 'em to you, and say, maybe they'd go alittle bit to make up for the sp'ilin' of your gardens, and maybe,when the flowers was out, they'd do to go to the show. That was whatshe was settin' so much by 'em for, when she lay a dyin'."
The tears which had not fallen over the happy little child who hadgone to be an angel, fell fast over the simple tokens of gratitude andrepentance she had left behind her; and faithful was the care bestowedupon them by our Maggie and Bessie.
Not with any thought of taking them to the flower show, however; itwas only for Dolly's sake: it would never do to display these wretchedlittle plants beside some of the really beautiful and flourishingthings which their more fortunate brothers and cousins had raised.Besides, these were not of their own growing, and Maggie and Bessiehad, long since, given up all thought of trying for a prize.
A few days after Dolly's death, Mrs. Bradford took up Maggie's secondvolume of "The Complete Family," which she had not looked over forsome time, and there she found written something which touched hervery much. Mingled with many other things, giving an account of theirsummer among the mountains, and written in Maggie's own droll,peculiar way, ran the story of Lem and Dolly, of their persecutions,and of the difficulty she and Bessie had had in forgiving their manyinjuries; but all that was not new to the mother, who now read for thefirst time what Maggie had written during the last week. It ran thus,leaving out Maggie's mistakes:--
"M. and B. Happy were very thankful to our Father in heaven, because he let them be of a mind to forgive Dolly. If they had not forgiven her, and made up their resolutions to do a kind thing for her, then B. would have run away when she saw Dolly, and not waited to speak to her and give the banana, and so nobody might have known that Dolly was sick, and she might have died without knowing about Jesus, who died for her; but she never knew it till Bessie told her. And, oh, how dreadful that would have been for M. and B. Happy! but God was so good as to spare them of it, and Dolly learned about Jesus, and loved Him, and wanted to please Him, only she did not have much time; but Jesus does not care about that, so long as she believed on Him, and loved Him, and He took Dolly away to His own heaven to live with Him. And M. and B. Happy were happy about it, even if Dolly was dead, because papa and mamma, and all our grown-up, wise people, think she is happy with Jesus; and we hope our Father will let it be a little jewel to carry to Him, when the angel takes us over the river, and the Elder Brother will say we did it unto Him, because we did it to His poor little lamb that did not know about Him. And now M. and B. Happy do not mind so much about the gardens, even though they can't try for a prize, and B. says she had rather have Dolly's little marigold than the prettiest prize that ever was, but I am afraid M. would not; but then, you see, she is not so very perfect as B., and besides I don't like the smell of the marigolds: I think it's awful. And God let M. have a very happy dream. M. knows it is foolish to think much about dreams, because they are not a bit of consequence, and she hopes any one who reads this will not think she was so foolish as to believe any thing about it; but it did make her feel a little glad about it, and B. liked it too. The dream was this: I was out by the lake with Bessie, but it was the night, and oh! there were so very many stars, and Dolly's little bed was out by the lake too, and she was in it, quite alive. And we heard voices all around, but we could not see where they came from; but we knew it was the angels, and they were calling to Dolly, and she came out of her bed, and tried to go, but she could not, because she had no wings. Then such a beautiful thing happened,--the stars came down out of the sky, and fixed themselves down to the ground where Dolly stood, and
she went up, up, up on them, just as if they were steps, to heaven. And when she stepped over each one, it went right back to its place in the sky; but it left a long light behind it, like the shooting star we saw the other night; and at the top of the stair of stars was a soft, white cloud; and when Dolly came to it, a hand came out of the cloud, and took her in, and we knew she was quite safe, and would never come back again. But for all I was glad M. cried, and dear mamma came and woke her up, and asked me why I cried, and kissed me, and I told her I was glad Dolly went to heaven, because she had no precious mamma to kiss and love her, or to tell her troubles and happinesses to. So it was a very happy, grateful thing, all about Dolly."
A very happy, grateful thing, the dear mamma thought it too; and veryhappy, grateful tears were those which dimmed her eyes as she read herlittle daughter's simple story, and then thanked God that the lessonsof love and forgiveness which were given to her little ones fell notupon stony ground, but took root and bore precious fruit in thosetender young hearts.
XVIII.
_GOOD-BY TO CHALECOO._
AND now there was much talk of going home, and the time for the flowershow was at hand, and our Maggie and Bessie could not help a littlefeeling of sorrow, that they had nothing to show that they had triedto do as well as the others. They had thought they should not mind itso very much; but as the time drew near, they found they did; and manya sigh and sad thought went to the memory of the lost heliotrope andgeranium.
The day came, and the whole party from the Lake House, from grandmammadown to baby, were to go and spend the day at the homestead, and tohave a grand family dinner after the flower show.
Soon after breakfast, the wagons came to the door, and the happy,merry party were ready to be packed in. The boys had already takentheir seats in the last one, where the prize flowers and vegetableshad been stored; and the little girls were waiting their time to beput snugly in between some of the older people, when Bessie suddenlybethought herself of the marigolds, which had not been attended tothat morning.
"O Maggie!" she said: "we forgot to water Dolly's marigolds. Let's runand do it before we go."
Away they scampered to the side of the house where they had stoodDolly's treasures, but came back in a moment, with wondering faces,crying out,--
"Somebody has moved our marigolds."
"Where are our marigolds?"
"Never mind the marigolds now," said papa, catching up Bessie, andputting her into the wagon, where, the next moment, she was seated onColonel Rush's knee,--"never mind the marigolds; they are safe, andwill keep until you come back again;" and then he whisked Maggie intothe wagon, and she was nestled into a seat beside Uncle Ruthven, withhis arm about her to keep her from falling out.
Away they went, the whole party as merry as crickets,--laughing,singing, and joking, as they drove down the mountain. They might makeas much noise as they pleased, on this lonely mountain road; there wasno one but the squirrels and the wood-pigeons to be consulted, andthey did not seem to object to the fun. The woods were lovely to-day.Crimson and gold, scarlet and purple, were gaining fast upon the greenof the past summer; each moment, some one was calling to the others tolook here, and look there, at the brilliant leaves, so wonderful inthe richness and variety of their gay coloring.
When they had come down into the valley, where farms and cottages lay,and where people were coming and going, papa said they had bettermake less noise, or these good, quiet folks would think them a band ofwild Indians coming down from the mountains. But the boys were besidethemselves with fun and frolic, and it seemed impossible for them tobe quiet. They had a flag with them, which they waved and cheeredwhenever they passed a house or saw laborers at work in the fields;and the people seemed to like it, and came running to see the fun, andwaved and cheered in return, as good-naturedly as if they thought itwas all done for their pleasure.
As they passed Aunt Patty's cottage, she drove out of the gate inher low pony carriage, with Nonesuch before it, on their way to thehomestead. The old lady nodded and smiled, as if she were glad to seethem so happy, but Nonesuch seemed not only surprised, but displeased,at finding himself in such jolly company; and, after some shaking ofhis head and putting back of his ears, stood stock still in the middleof the road; nor could all Aunt Patty's coaxing or scolding, or evensome gentle touches of the whip, persuade him to go on, till thewhole party were out of sight. Aunt Patty and Nonesuch often had suchdifferences of opinion, and I am sorry to say the donkey generally hadthe better of the old lady.
What a delightful bustle there was when our friends arrived at thehomestead, and the whole family came pouring out to receive them!For the time, Maggie and Bessie forgot the little sore spot in theirhearts which was caused by the thought that they had no share in thatwhich brought them all together, until lisping little Katy Bradford,who was very fond of her young cousins, said,--
"Maggie and Bethie, I'm tho thorry you have no flowerth for the thow."
"Yes," said Bessie, "it's a very mournful thing for us; but we try notto think too much about it."
"Papa ith going to give very nith prithes," said Katy, taking a verypoor way to console her cousins; but she meant well. "We think heith going to give thome one a canary-bird. Thith morning there hathbeen a bird thinging--oh, tho thweetly!--in the libr'y where papa haththe pritheth, and will not let uth go in, and Aleck thaid it wath acanary."
Maggie gave a little sigh.
"Bessie and I want a canary very much," she said. "There is one in thenursery at home; but we want one for our own room, and we are going toask mamma to let us have it next Christmas."
"I'd jutht like you to have thith one, 'cauthe you're tho good and Ilove you," said Katy, and she put up her lips, for a kiss, to firstone little cousin and then the other.
And now Mr. Alexander Bradford said he should like to have papa, andUncle Ruthven and the Colonel come with him, and act as judges on thefruit and flowers.
While the gentlemen were gone, making these last arrangements, thechildren had a good play; and in about an hour's time they were allcalled in to take part in the great event of the day. The spot chosenfor this was the latticed piazza which served as the children'ssummer play-room; and here a long table was set out with the fruit,vegetables, and flowers, each of which it was hoped by the youngowners might gain a prize.
The place looked very pretty. It was festooned with dahlias,chrysanthemums, and other bright-colored autumn flowers and leaves;and, although the display upon the table might not have seemed verygrand to less interested eyes, the children desired nothing better;and it certainly did them great credit.
"Bessie," whispered Maggie, as they went in, "does it make you feel alittle as if you was homesick for our geranium and heliotrope?"
"Yes," answered Bessie, in the same tone; "it makes the cry come in mythroat, Maggie; but I am not going to let it come out, and I shall tryto find enough of 'joyment in the others' 'joyment."
They kept very close together, these two generous little girls, andhand in hand walked round the table to look at the pretty sight. Eacharticle was labelled with its owner's name, and behind such as took aprize was the reward it was thought to have merited. Not a child buthad some one pretty or useful gift; even the little Persian, who hadnot been very successful, but to whom Mr. Alexander Bradford had givena humming-top and ball, as the reward of his industry and perseverance.
Fred displayed an enormous melon which had been ripe for some days,and was now rather too mellow and soft, and, having been joltedsomewhat severely on its ride down the mountain, had fallen topieces, presenting, as joking Fred said, "a very _melon_choly sight."But Cousin Alexander had seen the melon in its glory, before itwas taken from the vine; and, in spite of its present distressedappearance, Fred found a handsome six-bladed knife placed beside thefragments,--"A blade for each piece, and the handle thrown in," saidpleased Fred; adding, that he thought Cousin Alexander wanted anexcuse for giving presents.
The l
ittle girls were standing lost in admiration of a miniature setof croquet, just the thing for small hands, and which had rewardedthe care bestowed by Katy upon a lovely tea-rose, when Harry calledsuddenly from the other side of the room,--
"Hallo! Midget and Queen Bess, how came these old things here?" Thenin a tone of still greater astonishment, "Why, I declare! Oh, whatjolly good fun! Come here, pets, and see this!"
Maggie and Bessie ran round to the other side; and there, to theirgreat surprise, stood Dolly's two marigolds. Forlorn enough theycertainly looked among the flourishing plants and bright blossomswhich had been the fruit of their cousins' labors; even more forlornthan they had done when Dolly left them as her dying legacy to thedear little ones who had been her friends.
The flower which had been in blossom when she died, now hung blackand withered on its feeble stem, kept there only by the fringed paperwhich she had put about it with such touching care. The second bud hadhalf opened into another scragly, stunted flower, about which not eventhe most loving eyes could see the slightest beauty, and, in spite ofthe care which Maggie and Bessie had given them, the leaves of bothplants were wilted and drooping. But there was more than one heartat that table for which those feeble, sickly plants had a value farbeyond that of the richest and rarest exotic.
Beside the marigolds stood a bird-cage, and in it, hopping about,and with his little head perking from side to side, as he watchedthe scene so curious and new to him, was a beautiful canary-bird.He was not singing now, for he did not know what to make of it all,and was not quite sure whether he were pleased or no; but, as thechildren stood looking from him to the marigolds in blank amazement,he gave a little inquiring "cheep, cheep!" as a first move to a betteracquaintance.
"Oh, the darling birdie!" cried Bessie; "who is he for?"
But Maggie exclaimed with a trembling lip,--
"Fred, Fred! it wasn't fair. You ought not to make fun of poor Dolly'smarigolds, and to hurt our feelings that way."
"I did not do a thing," said Fred, "and knew no more about it thanyourself."
"Nor I," said Harry: "most likely it was papa or some grown-up person;and certainly no one has meant to make fun of you. Don't you see thecard on the cage, and what is written on it?"
Maggie looked at the card, as her brother moved the cage nearer to her.
"'For our Maggie and Bessie--the dear'--oh! what is it Harry? read itto me quick."
Harry read it,--
"For our Maggie and Bessie, the dear little workers in the garden of the Lord, who tended the Christian plants of patience, kindness, and forbearance, till their lovely blossoms overran the evil weeds of malice and ill-will, and sowed the seeds of that which brought forth fruit for the glory of God."
"I don't understand it," said Maggie. "Does it mean the canary is forBessie and me?"
"Of course," said Harry.
"But I am sure we ought not to have any credit about the marigolds,"said Maggie, still wondering. "If there is any, it is Dolly's orLem's."
"And Harry," said Bessie, "the marigolds are pretty ugly. I don't muchthink we ought to have a prize, even if we had grown them up."
"Dolly left you the marigolds," said Harry; "so, if they win a prizeyou ought surely to have it, and I am glad of it,--that I am. But Idon't quite think it was these poor little scrubs that had that honor."
"But, O Maggie! just to think of that lovely, darling, little birdiebeing for us," said Bessie, pleasure beginning to have its way oversurprise; "and we never 'spected a thing 'cause we had no flowers."
"Yes," said Maggie, now in great delight as she began to understandhow it was, "and we would rather have had it than any thing else."
Never was a birdie coaxed with more pretty names than was this oneduring the next ten minutes; and he seemed to like them well, for,after answering with one or two more half-timid "cheeps," he brokeinto a soft trill, which soon swelled into a clear, sweet song of joy.
Maggie and Bessie were in ecstasies, and Cousin Alexander certainlyhad reason to think his kindness had given all the pleasure heintended it should.
This was the last day they were to spend at the homestead, and thechildren made the most of it. Every nook and corner was visited, andall kinds of odd traps were dragged to light, and presented by theyoung cousins to be kept in memory of the old place, "family relics,"Maggie called them; and very curious "family relics" some of themwere. Among other things were two or three peacock feathers, a turkeywing, some pebbles from the brook where papa used to sail his boatswhen he was a boy, a piece of rusty tin pipe, which, because it lookedblack and smoky, and came from the field where the burnt barn hadstood, they persuaded themselves must be a part of the very leaderdown which papa slid when he ran for the ladder to save his littlebrother,--all these, and other treasures of like value, were carefullycollected and stowed in the wagons, to be carried to the Lake House,and thence to the city.
But at last the busy, happy day came to an end, and farewell had to besaid to the dear old homestead and the kind family there.
Birdie did not like his ride up the mountain at all, but chirped in avery miserable, beseeching manner all the way; and, when he was safelyat the Lake House and hung up out of the reach of Mrs. Porter's oldpussy cat, tucked his head under his wing, and went to sleep at once,as if he were glad to forget all his troubles.
But he was bright enough the next morning; for he woke the littlegirls with his song some time before the hour at which they wereaccustomed to rise. Bessie, always a light sleeper, was the first tobe roused by his sweet notes, that soft, half-doubtful little trillwith which he began; but, as it rose into a gush of joyous music,Maggie, too, stirred, and opened her eyes. She listened a moment, thenturned towards Bessie, who lay with her eyes fixed on the bird with adreamy, thoughtful look.
"What are you thinking of, Bessie?" she asked, softly.
"I was thinking," said Bessie, "that it seemed as if our Father wasletting the jewel of forgiveness sparkle a little for us here beforewe carried it over the river to Him."
"Yes," said Maggie, "I was thinking something like that last night,but I did not put it in such nice words; and I am just going to put inthe Complete Family, that B. Happy said it. And perhaps, Bessie, if wehad not taken up the jewel of prayer, and asked our Father for help,we might never have found the other jewels."
"Or, if He had not helped us very much, we might not have taken themup, when we did find them," said Bessie. "It was pretty hard work totake up that first one of giving the banana to Dolly; and, Maggie, doyou know I did such a very naughty thing as 'most to wish He did notgive me the chance I had asked for: but, after that, all the rest werevery easy to take up, and I did not find it at all hard to forgiveDolly every thing she had done."
"Yes," said Maggie: "I guess that's always the way, and after all, Idid not have to forgive Lem and Dolly near so many times as 'seventytimes seven.' Oh, yes, you darling birdie! do you want to say you knowall about it? Bessie, let's think the canary is a kind of keepsakefrom Dolly, 'cause you know it seems as if it came by her, and mammasays it is of no use to take the marigolds to town, for they will bequite dead in a few weeks."
"Yes, so we will, Maggie, and that's a very nice idea of you; andthen we might call our birdie 'Marigold,' for memory of the poorlittle plants as well as Dolly."
"Oh, yes!" said Maggie; "that's lovely, so we just will."
So from this day the canary was called Marigold, nor was it longbefore he knew his name, and would answer with a chirp when it wascalled.
In two or three days more, they said good-by to Chalecoo and all itspleasures. The parting was a hard one on all sides, especially for Mr.Porter's family, who knew how much they would miss the sweet childishvoices, the merry laughter, and patter of little feet, which had madethe old house so gay and bright through all the long summer.
As for poor Lem, he was in despair. He had begged hard to go with Mr.Stanton, promising the best of behavior if he were only allowed to doso; but the gentleman did no
t think the city was the best place for aboy like Lem, and thought it wiser to leave him in the care of Mr.Porter, who promised to keep him for the winter, and give him work ifhe would try to do well, and be honest and industrious. In the spring,if Mr. Porter could give a good account of him, Mr. Stanton meantto send him out to sea, with some good, careful captain who wouldtry to do well for the boy. Lem had such a fancy for a roving life,that this was thought the best thing for him; but just now even thispromised pleasure was lost sight of in his grief at the loss of hiskind friend. His father had never come back; and, from all that couldbe learned, it was believed that he had gone to a far-away country,leaving his poor children to shift for themselves.
All agreed that it was better so. A heavenly Father had cared forthese poor desolate ones, and sent them help in the time of theirgreatest need. One had no longer need of earthly care, but was safewith Jesus in that home which He had bought for her with His preciousblood; and for the other, there was much to be hoped. A strong desireto please Mr. Stanton, and a fear of doing what would have grievedDolly, kept him from much that was wrong; and he could scarcely beknown for the same boy, who a few months since had been a terror toevery small child and harmless animal, and a torment to every farmerand housekeeper in Chalecoo.
"Good-by! good-by! good-by!" The words, so hard to say, were spoken;and dear old Mrs. Porter stood upon the piazza steps, wiping her eyeswith her apron, as she watched the wagons going slowly past the lake,and carrying our friends down the mountain for the last time.
"Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer," she said toDolly and Fanny, who stood beside her, feeling almost as mournful; "ifI'd known I'd feel so bad to part with them, I don't know as I couldhave made up my mind to take them: but those dear little ones havejust taken the heart right out of me. Well, God bless them, whereverthey may go."
"As He does," said Fanny, "for surely they have brought a blessinghere this summer. Who would have thought such little things could doa bit of good to those two?" and she looked at Lem, who lay with hisface buried in the grass, trying to hide his tears; "and yet see whatthey've been the means of bringing to them."
"Ay, Fanny," said her mother, "little hands may do God's work, if theybut take it up in His strength and with His help."
"Well," said Mr. Porter, when he had taken the homeward-bound partysafely to the place where they were to take the boat down the river,"I reckon one of the best jobs I ever did was to take you up Chalecoomountain for the first time, and one of the worst to bring you downfor the last."
"But you can find _consolement_ to think we are coming back some othertime," said Maggie; "and we thank you very much for letting us have anice time this summer, Mr. Porter."
"Yes," said Bessie, "we had a lovely, happy time among the mountains,even if the sea was not there."
And now as we leave our Maggie and Bessie, are there not some littlefriends who will say that they have spent a useful as well as a happysummer among the mountains?
THE END]
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.
Transcriber's Notes
Minor punctuation typos have been silently corrected.
Retained both spellings of "Fanny" and "Fannie."
Page 41: Changed "eat" to "ate." (Orig: cracked and eat his almond.)
Page 354: Retained original sentence, but Dolly was dead. (Orig: "Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer," she said to Dolly and Fanny, who stood beside her,)
Bessie among the Mountains Page 17
