One night Chee was feeling very lonely for Daddy Joe’s fiddle--more
lonely than any night since Cousin Gertrude had been at the farm. It
seemed years since she had fingered its dear old strings. She had been
very much discouraged that last time. Knowing so well the tones she
longed to hear, though she had done her best, she was dissatisfied.
Even now she could feel the thrill that entered her soul at the
concert, three long years ago.
“If I could only play that way how happy I’d be. I wouldn’t care any
more about Aunt Mean, nor my face, nor feel the aching so for Daddy
Joe, nor anything.”
Chee was troubled with these mournful thoughts when she suddenly became
conscious that some one near was crying--very softly, but surely crying.
There was an opening which had been cut through for a register from
Chee’s room to the “best room” below.
“It must be Cousin Gertrude, and something awful must be the matter to
make anybody big cry almost out loud.”
She could not endure it long, just to lie still and listen. Creeping
down the front stairs, she noiselessly entered the best bedroom, and
slipped her hand into Gertrude’s.
“Why, Childie, how came you here?” The young lady tried to speak as
though tears were not even then rolling down her cheeks.
“To comfort you,” was the simple explanation.
For a moment, big blue eyes looked yearningly into little black ones,
then dropped, and tears stole from under quivering lashes.
Chee crept closer. “Wouldn’t it help you to tell me about your secret?”
she asked, sobbingly.
Cousin Gertrude took the little girl in her arms. Sitting on the bed
she rocked her gently back and forth, as though to quiet the would-be
comforter herself.
“It was because I was angry. I know it. I am all to blame. Who had a
better right to tell me of my faults? But I had been abroad and he
hadn’t, and he made me so indignant. I’ve such an awful temper, Birdie,
you must never let yours run away with you.”
Chee was frightened at her cousin’s sudden outburst of confidence, but,
with characteristic intuitiveness, she said nothing.
“I forgot that his feelings were just as hard to manage, and I threw it
down and declared I would never touch it again as long as I lived. And
then he said he would never speak to me again until I had taken back my
words.
“Then the carriage came--oh, why didn’t it wait a little longer? I
would surely have come to my senses in another minute. But I left
him and came here. Yet Birdie, Birdie, wouldn’t I touch it now if I
could--if it wasn’t at home and he far, far away!
“Oh, why did I lose my temper? How could I? They always said we were
both too hot-headed to get on together. And now all is lost forever,
he’s gone--he won’t come back. Oh, I can never, never forget this
night.”
[Illustration: “‘SHALL I ASK OUR FATHER?’”]
The girl ceased her wild, mournful speaking and buried her face in
her pillow. Uncontrolled sobs shook her form.
Chee was bewildered. She could not understand Gertrude’s trouble, but
her cousin’s misery had become hers. Her fingers trembled while she
stroked the bright hair, trying to think of the right thing to say.
Soon Cousin Gertrude was quiet. Chee thought her asleep, when a long,
quivering sigh escaped. It seemed almost a sob.
Chee had wanted to say something which she had hardly dared; this last
sign of grief now gave her courage.
“Cousin Gertrude,” she ventured, in a whisper, her lips close to the
other’s hot cheek.
“Yes, Birdie.”
“Would--would--shall I ask Our Father--to make it better?” The
moonlight was falling clear on Chee’s upturned face. Her eyes shone
softly, their usual glittering brightness mellowed. Her long black
hair appeared blacker than ever as it fell upon the whiteness of her
night-robe.
A feeling of awe came over the older girl. “Can this be the same
child,” she meditated, “who with expressionless features obeys Aunt
Mean’s abrupt commands? Can this be the same little girl who once
blushed to tell me her Indian name--this tiny being so strong and
trustful, who looks now as though bringing a message from the angels,
if she be not one herself? Shall I tell her God cannot help, that I
have brought my own trouble upon myself, and I only am to blame?”
But the longer those eyes looked their message into hers, the more
unwilling she became to speak this bitterness. “She is but a child,
after all. I will not dim the brightness of a faith so beautiful.”
Finally she answered, in a low and tender voice, “Yes, Birdie, you may
ask Him.”
“Then good night, Cousin Gertrude.” A kiss--and the little comforter
was gone.
The next day Gertrude did not leave her room. She had told Aunt Mean
that a severe headache made her feel weak. Chee thought she might
honestly have said “heartache.”
The little girl cheerfully waited on the sufferer, but when once
outside the best bedroom, her face was very sober.
“Of course Our Father will make it all right soon, ’cause I asked Him
to be very quick, but I do wish so hard He’d let me help.”
Finally the long day drew to a close. Aunt Mean and Uncle Reuben
retired. Chee again returned to Gertrude.
She was in the parlor. It was very dark in there, even the dim twilight
was shut out. Chee, following Cousin Gertrude’s voice, found her
sitting by the window.
She threw open the blinds. She could not bear to think her friend was
sitting alone in the dark.
“Cheer up, Birdie, I shall be better soon,” said the girl at sight of
Chee’s sorrowful face. But even while she tried to speak gaily, she
looked so pale and worn it saddened the little cousin.
Chee started up-stairs, then turning, came slowly back and hesitatingly
whispered, “I’ve told Him all about it. He’s surely heard. It’ll be all
right pretty soon.”
“Yes, my comforter,” was the only reply.
Up in her own room, how Chee longed for Daddy Joe’s fiddle. “I know I
could make real music to-night--I know I could,” she told herself. “I
am sure it would be real, but it would never do; I mustn’t, cause then
my secret wouldn’t be mine any more.”
But the temptation increased, until she resolved to bring out her
treasure and look at it. “Just look at it and hold it.” That would give
a little joy.