VII.
THE BIRDLING FLIES AWAY.
The Ruggleses had finished a last romp in the library with Paul andHugh, and Uncle Jack had taken them home, and stayed a while to chatwith Mrs. Ruggles, who opened the door for them, her face all aglowwith excitement and delight. When Kitty and Clem showed her theoranges and nuts they had kept for her, she astonished them by sayingthat at six o'clock Mrs. Bird had sent her in the finest dinner she hadever seen in her life; and not only that, but a piece of dress-goodsthat must have cost a dollar a yard if it cost a cent. As Uncle Jackwent down the little porch he looked back into the window for a lastglimpse of the family, as the children gathered about their mother,showing their beautiful presents again and again, and then upward to awindow in the great house yonder. "A little child shall lead them," hethought; "well, if--if anything ever happens to Carol, I will take theRuggleses under my wing."
"Softly, Uncle Jack," whispered the boys, as he walked into the librarya little while later; "We are listening to the music in the church.They sang 'Carol, brothers, carol,' a while ago, and now we think theorganist is beginning to play 'My ain countree' for Carol."
"I hope she hears it," said Mrs. Bird; "but they are very lateto-night, and I dare not speak to her lest she should be asleep. It isafter ten o'clock."
The boy-soprano, clad in white surplice, stood in the organ loft.
The lamps shone full upon his crown of fair hair, and his pale face,with its serious blue eyes, looked paler than usual. Perhaps it wassomething in the tender thrill of the voice, or in the sweet words, butthere were tears in many eyes, both in the church and in the greathouse next door.
"I am far frae my hame, I am weary aften whiles For the langed for hame-bringin An' my Faether's welcome smiles. An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, Until my e'en do see The gowden gates o' heaven In my ain countree.
The earth is decked wi' flow'rs, Mony tinted, fresh an' gay, An' the birdies warble blythely, For my Faether made them sae; But these sights an' these soun's Will as naething be to me, When I hear the angels singin' In my ain countree.
Like a bairn to its mither, A wee birdie to its nest, I fain would be gangin' noo Unto my Faether's breast; For He gathers in His arms Helpless, worthless lambs like me, An' carries them Himsel' To His ain countree."
There were tears in many eyes, but not in Carol's. The loving hearthad quietly ceased to beat and the "wee birdie" in the great house hadflown to its "home nest." Carol had fallen asleep! But as to thesong, I think perhaps, I cannot say, she heard it after all!
* * * * *
So sad an ending to a happy day! Perhaps--to those who were left--andyet Carol's mother, even in the freshness of her grief, was glad thather darling had slipped away on the loveliest day of her life, out ofits glad content, into everlasting peace.
She was glad that she had gone, as she had come, on wings of song, whenall the world was brimming over with joy; glad of every grateful smile,of every joyous burst of laughter, of every loving thought and word anddeed the dear, last day had brought.
Sadness reigned, it is true, in the little house behind the garden; andone day poor Sarah Maud, with a courage born of despair, threw on herhood and shawl, walked straight to a certain house a mile away, dashedup the marble steps and into good Dr. Bartol's office, falling at hisfeet as she cried, "Oh, sir, it was me an' our childern that went toMiss Carol's last dinner party, an' if we made her worse we can't neverbe happy again!" Then the kind old gentleman took her rough hand inhis and told her to dry her tears, for neither she nor any of her flockhad hastened Carol's flight--indeed, he said that had it not been forthe strong hopes and wishes that filled her tired heart, she could nothave stayed long enough to keep that last merry Christmas with her dearones.
And so the old years, fraught with memories, die, one after another,and the new years, bright with hopes, are born to take their places;but Carol lives again in every chime of Christmas bells that peal gladtidings and in every Christmas anthem sung by childish voices.
Birds' Christmas Carol Page 7
