suffered so much from the cold, turned from it with a shudder towards
the other, which looked much gayer, and many more people walked in it;
but the Dove looked anxiously towards the narrow one, which grieved
Maggie, and made her cry out, "O, Dovey, Dovey! how can you love the
cold so well, or ask me to go where it is? Let us rather walk this way a
little, and do you not see there are plenty of cross-roads?--so, if we
wish, we can go on to that narrow road at any time."
So, notwithstanding the Dove's remonstrances, Maggie entered this road,
and found the air so pleasant and warm, that she liked nothing better
than to walk in it.
She saw a great many people here; but they took no notice of the little
girl, who walked along so quietly, with her Dove in her bosom, and the
bits of china in her pocket. But, if they did not notice her, she
noticed them well, and thought them strange enough.
To her surprise she found the air, which had at first seemed so warm,
began to grow cold, and more like the air about the old house; and,
shivering with cold, and seeing the people about her wearing large
cloaks, it was quite natural she should ask them to let her in beneath
the warm folds of them. To her civil request some of them paid no
attention; others looked at her in wonder, and some were so rude as to
speak cruel words to her, and bid her not dare speak to them again.
So Maggie saw them walk on, wrapped in their warm cloaks, and complained
not. Indeed, she had lived too long in the little house without a door,
not to be able to bear the cold bravely--only she could not help wishing
sometimes that she had the bed with her, that she might jump in between
its clothes and warm herself a while; but she was patient, remembering
that she was journeying towards the Great King's palace, where her
mother lived. Suddenly it occurred to her that the road to the Great
King's palace lay through a remarkably cold country, and that the people
who were travelling thither seemed in no haste, for they often sat down
by the road-side and played; and some even went back, instead of
forward, while all those little side-roads, which she thought she had
seen before, had vanished. So, one day, she said to one of the people
who sat down:
"Why do you not hasten that you may see the Great King?"
"The Great King, indeed!" he said whom she had addressed. "I am in no
hurry to see him."
And others intimated as much as the lady long ago had said, that they
themselves doubted very much if there were any Great King at all.
"What shall I do?" cried Maggie. "I cannot be in the right way. O, how
shall I get to the Great King's palace!" And, upon this, the Dove rose
up from Maggie's bosom, and turned backwards whither they had come.
Though long and dreary seemed the cold road she must retrace, yet, such
was her confidence in the Dove, she turned very gladly; and though not
one of those people had cared for Maggie before, now they clustered
around her, begging her not to leave them, and seeking to draw her away
from her purpose. And when she saw how they seemed to love her, and feel
sorrow at her going, she said to them:
"I am grieved to leave you, since you have just begun to love me; but I
promised my mother I would go to the Great King's palace, and I must go
where Dovey leads me."
"How silly to mind a bird!" cried one; and, picking up a stone, he
hurled it at the Dove, who was hovering in the air, and broke its wing,
so it could not fly.
Then, indeed, it seemed as though her grief was very great, and she
could not help wishing she were already in the Great King's palace, or
that he would send his servant for her, who was dressed in the black
robe, and wore the crown of stars. She often saw this servant now; he
came to bear many away; but the crown of stars was not on his brow, and
his face shed no light around, only gloom.
Well, Maggie was obliged to stop and bind up the Dove's wing, and tend
it a little before she could proceed on her journey. All delay was
unwelcome to her; for, as the journeying thus far had been in pain, the
true journey was still to begin. She was so hungry and thirsty, too! So
it seemed impossible she could proceed when once she had started
forward. There was no one to give her a crust of bread, or offer her a
cup of cold water; nevertheless, she wouldn't tell the poor Dove, who
was moaning with pain, for she thought, and well enough, that he had as
much of his own trouble as he could well endure.
She had another trouble, too; there were some people whom she could not
think desired to go away from the King's palace, and so she would tell
them how they were going altogether in the wrong path; but they would
either laugh or stare at her in wonder. Then she would almost have stood
weeping in the road at their strange conduct, but the Dove would
incessantly warn her to go on. At last, between grief and hunger, she
fell sick, and thought she should die there, without ever seeing her
mother or the Great King. But, lo! a gentle being, clothed in a white,
spotless garment, came and put to her lips a cup of medicine, which she
told Maggie, if she would but drink, would make her quite well again,
and protect her against hunger and thirst for the rest of the journey.
Upon this, Maggie drank it all but the dregs, and she found it so bitter
that she thought it far worse than any cold she had ever endured. But,
when the bright being saw she left the dregs in her cup, she was not
satisfied, and bade her drink those, even with tears in her eyes. Maggie
drank them as she bade her, and then the bright one vanished, leaving
the child quite well and vigorous. The weariness vanished from her
frame, the parching thirst from her mouth, and, what was yet more
amazing, she found the little Dove quite well, and she stood with it in
her arms before the two roads again.
So she commenced her journey upon the road she had so long ago rejected,
and soon found that the snow vanished from the ground and shook itself
from the tree-tops; the grass sprang up, the flowers played beneath her
footsteps, and gay birds hopped among the boughs of the trees, making
the air melodious with their songs; the brooklets ran murmuring by the
road-side, and Maggie's Dove cooed with joy.
O, Maggie knew this was the road leading to the palace of the Great
King--the very one her mother had travelled--the road, too, which she
had been told did not exist! She met many children here, who sought the
same she did; and they talked with Maggie, and she loved them, and with
them thanked the King who had made for them such a lovely road to his
palace.
At last, one day, there came the same servant who had carried away her
brother, and gently, softly, took her in his arms. So often had she
thought of his coming that she felt no kind of fear. He told her that
the Great King wanted her, and that her mother was all ready to receive
her. O, how her heart leaped at this, to hear a real word from her
mother, and to think the Great King wanted her! As she lay in his arms,
the servant, who wore on his head his bright stars, kissed her eyes and
her brow. He carried her a long distance, sped through many a long, dark
valley, and then they came out upon a bright shore, where were many
people dressed in shining clothes.
Maggie looked at herself, and saw, with amazement, that she too was
dressed likewise, and that the servant who had brought her hither had no
longer a black robe, but a silver one, which sparkled so, Maggie was
scarce able to look upon it. She had soon crossed the sea, and then her
mother caught her in her arms, and wept for joy.
"O, Maggie, Maggie!" she said; "I have watched your journey all along,
and my sorrow was so deep when I saw you mistake the roads. It was I
whom the Great King sent when you was sick, that I might bear his love
to you, and make you well. Come, now, and go with me before his throne."
Upon this they joined the crowd who were entering the palace;--but we
cannot enter it,--we must first finish our journey.
THE OLD WOMAN AND THE ENCHANTED SONG.
Ruth had two sisters,--Grace and Jessie. Now Grace and Jessie were
twins, and everybody praised their blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and when
they laughed, people said, "How sweetly they smile!"--and when they
wept, people said, "Poor little ones!" and immediately took them in
their arms, and strove to bring back the dimpling smile to their faces.
Grace and Jessie played together always, and little Ruth, who was
younger than either of them, was left often alone. No one ever called
her beautiful, nor stroked her hair, nor kissed her brow; and when she
stood by the side of the twin sisters at the gate, and the people, in
passing, praised the flaxen curls of Grace and Jessie, then they would
turn towards her, and, their smiles vanishing, they would regard her
with a pitiful air, turning silently away. Then she would creep off by
herself into some favorite nook of the garden, thoroughly ashamed that
she should so far have forgotten herself as to stand by the side of her
beautiful sisters.
Her mother, too, often took her in her lap, and, kissing her brow
sorrowfully, would exclaim, in sad tones:
"My poor, plain child,--my dear homely Ruth!"
Her father never caressed her. His love seemed to be kept for the twins,
whose two bright faces peered over his chair, and whose glad voices were
always ready to greet him on his return home.
And still Ruth loved her father so much, and, nestling close in the
corner of the garden away off by herself, mourned that he never kissed
her, nor called her his dear, pretty Ruth.
"O," thought the child, "how I do wish I could do something for my
father, which might please him, so that only once he might call me his
dear child! O, why was not I made a twin?" Thus the poor child mourned
to herself.
She had a doll, which she made her constant companion, and she played it
was very lovely like Grace and Jessie; she told it all her griefs, and
really came to feel that the doll understood all she said to it.
She had also another pleasure; it was that of reading. Her mother had
given her many books, and she loved to sit among the rose-bushes, and
read their beautiful stories. She liked to read about a man who lived
off alone upon an island, and had only some cats and monkeys for his
companions; how the cave was his house, and the skins of beasts were his
garments; how he looked off upon the ocean, and saw not one sail, and
wandered about upon his island, without hearing one human sound.
This story had a wild fascination for our little Ruth, so that she read
it again and again; yet still the book was as new to her in its interest
as at first.
Then there were other stories she loved to read; some about lonely,
patient, lovely young girls, who went out into the world alone to seek
their fortunes, and returned home with wealth and honor. She often
wished she might go forth in this way, so that when she came back no one
should dare call her plain or unlovable. Then she longed to hold some
secret charm, so that whoever she should desire to do so, should love
and caress her. But still no bright fairy stooped down from the skies to
change her black, stiff hair into shining ringlets, or her dark-brown
skin into the fairness of that of her sisters; and so Ruth only read,
and wondered, and wished.
One day when, as usual, Ruth had found herself quite alone,--Grace and
Jessie had gone to take a walk, and her mother was reading by
herself,--she had taken her book, and sat down beneath the shade of a
broad tree in the garden. She was reading the story of a fair princess,
who had many suitors and splendid gifts, and who was called the Queen of
Beauty.
"Alas!" she cried, "why was not I beautiful, so I might be loved! Then I
should not be the sober, odd thing I am now!"
"Would you, then, so much like to be beautiful, dear child?" said a
voice close at her side, and, when Ruth looked up, she saw an old woman
whom she never had seen before. She was clothed in a long blue dress,
and her face was full of motherly love. Ruth's heart was filled with
gladness, for seldom had so affectionate a glance been shed on her; and
when the old woman bent down and kissed her, how all remembrance of the
indifference of father, mother, friends, vanished from her mind, and it
seemed that her whole life was given to her new friend, that she might
do with her whatever she willed!
All strangeness at her sudden appearance vanished, too, as soon as she
had kissed her. Ruth felt under the control of a great power, and
watched her movements with as much love as confidence.
When the old woman had looked into Ruth's eyes, and had seen the
thoughts which beamed there, she looked up into the sky, and beckoned to
a very light, beautiful cloud, which was sailing carelessly along.
She had no sooner done this than the cloud began to descend slowly
towards them, just as though it understood her summons, and, when it
had reached the place where she stood, it remained motionless.
[Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN AND THE ENCHANTED SONG.]
Then she took up little Ruth in her arms, and stepped on to the cloud
and sat down; and, after arranging herself and Ruth quite comfortably,
she said something, which Ruth could not understand, and then the cloud
began to rise, moving as easily as it had done before it came down from
the sky.
While they were going up, Ruth was amazed to see how the garden and the
beloved tree below became continually smaller and smaller; how,
by-and-by, she could only distinguish the house, and how that became
dimmer and dimmer, until it entirely disappeared from her sight.
Then she turned towards the old woman, and saw that her kind blue eyes
lovingly regarded her; and so she still more forgot the home below,
where, without doubt, her departure would pass unnoticed.
New objects began to attract her attention. The cloud on which they sat
did not, like the others, just float over the earth, but it went proudly
on, and came among the stars, and constellations of stars, and she saw
how many were clustered together, and no tongue could describe their
beauty; and then the deep blue was ever about her, and she saw it away
off in the distance, growing to a darker and darker shade, until it
became like the air of midnight; while ever from its darkness shone out
those immense stars, and clusters of stars.
Then the most beautiful sight of all was when some star glided past her,
and shot afar off into the dark blue beyond--there was such dazzling
glory in it!
Sometimes they would be quite near enough to the stars they passed to
discern the people who dwelt upon them, and she felt for them a
friendship at once, and only longed that she might go down and tell them
so.
The child had forgotten she was plain and odd; she did not think to ask
herself whether the people on those bright stars, so beautiful and
happy, might not repulse her for her homeliness.
At last they did approach one bright star, and Ruth saw, to her delight,
that, when the cloud had come down into a lovely garden, the old woman
stepped off from it, then took her up also, and placed her on the
ground. Then the cloud, which had been their chariot (and a far better
one it was than ever king had to be drawn in), rose upward, and began
its gentle course in the sky.
When the old woman saw how Ruth looked after it, she said to her:
"I use all the clouds in that way, more or less, and all those about
your earth do many such a service while the people little dream of it.
In fact, every one there looks down upon the ground too much; they have
no idea of the goodly things they would find if they searched upwards
more."
The old woman sighed as she said this. Such a happy and pleasant looking
old woman to have sighed so deeply!
Then she took Ruth's hand, and led her towards her cottage, which was
the most beautiful thing you ever could imagine. Without, it had the
tints of the mother-of-pearl, while its framework was of silver. The
windows and doors were of diamonds, and there sparkled from them
continually all the rich tints of the rainbow. Within, everything was
wrought of the finest silver, and the rooms were hung, some in delicate
blue silk, others in rose colors.
Ruth was entirely overwhelmed with the beauty of the house,--so much so,
as to stand still, looking at the things about her.
"You must be tired with your long ride," the woman said, "and I wish you
to rest well; for there are many things I will show you. After you have
rested, I will bring you some food."
And, with this, she put Ruth upon a sofa, and made her lay quite down,
to refresh herself with sleep. But Ruth thought, in her heart, "Rest!
Does she think I can be tired, when I have been sitting upon that soft
cloud, looking at the wonderful stars? How could I ever be either tired
or hungry?" But she said nothing aloud, for the charm of the old woman's
presence hovered over her, and, as soon as she closed her eyes, she fell
into a soft and beautiful slumber.
O the dreams Ruth dreamed then! Strangely enough, she thought her father
and mother, as well as Grace and Jessie, were riding and playing on
clouds; and they were all so happy together, and they seemed to love her
very dearly; so that, in her dream, she remembered nothing of their
former neglect. She dreamed how her father called her to him, and laid
his hand upon her head; and it was _such_ a gentle pressure, and it made
her so happy, that she awoke,--and there really was a gentle hand upon
her head, and a soft kiss fell upon her lips,--such a touch, and such a
kiss, as poor Ruth had scarce ever known before, and which made her
quickly twine her arms around the old woman's neck, and kiss her warmly.
Then the old woman put her in one of the silver-wrought chairs, and put
before her, on plates sparkling with precious stones, soft, ripe fruit,
with a delicious flavor, such as she had never before tasted. She could
not help thinking how glad Grace and Jessie would be to see such before
them; and so, as at that moment she looked up, and saw the old woman
smiling upon her, she took two of the most beautiful and the largest of
the fruit and put them in her pocket, for she had no doubt but what, at
some time, all too soon, she should go back to the earth.
When she had done this, and finished her delicious repast, which,
however, was slowly, for she was so filled with delight, the old woman
bade her leave her chair, and come to her; upon which she took her in
her arms, and, looking lovingly down upon her, said:
"My dear Ruth, I am going to show you all the treasures which the
children upon the earth gather together, in order some time to take with
them to heaven. I call their treasures what they love most in their
hearts, and put into actions. Everything they do or say is kept very
carefully; for one day they will want them. So you see they cannot lose
anything. Everything in nature, every cloud that seems only leisurely
floating in the sky, is serving some purpose. And all that is done below
is borne up here."
Ruth could not help thinking that the old woman might show her some very
beautiful and some very curious things to keep; and in sorrow she began
to think what unpleasant things of her own were treasured up, to be
given back to her some day when she least expected or desired them.
But the old woman said nothing about Ruth's things, but, taking her
hand, led her forth into the garden again.
"I am going to show you some things there are here," said her friend;
"and if they seem ridiculous to you, don't laugh at them. For my part, I
think it sad children will treasure up such miserable things."
They had soon passed into the garden, where Ruth saw the most delicate
flowers she had ever seen--they were so tall, and nodded their heads
gayly to each other; but when she came to a bed of violets--white ones
and blue, _so large_, larger than she thought it was possible for them
to grow--she stopped to gaze upon them in complete admiration; the
fragrance, too, was delicious--more so than those her brother had,
although those were very fine ones.
"Take some, my child," said the old woman, who watched her delight with
a kind smile. So down upon her knees she dropped, and took them, and she
could not help thinking how beautiful and lovely a smile would fall upon
her from her mother's face, as she gave them to her. So the violets,
too, were carefully laid in her pocket for her mother.
Then they passed out from the garden, and came to a gray house; withered
flowers lay about it, while briers and nettle-bushes clung to its walls;
but, worse than all this, there came forth from the house angry, hateful
words, and noises of a mad strife. Ruth feared to pass this place, and
clung closely to the old woman's side.
"Here," said the old woman, kindly putting her arm around Ruth, "are
kept all those angry words which children speak to each other and their
friends; all their little fretful words when they are impatient, and
which they will never wish to see again, but which, alas! will be given
back to them at a most unwelcome time."
Then they went on to another house, the walls of which were black, and
not a green thing grew about it.
"There," said the old woman, "are the treasures of those children who
care most for themselves, and do not think of others' pleasures. Those
things which they have so loved are kept carefully for them; but they
will only tell them of what they have done for themselves." So she
opened the door, and Ruth looked in. There was such a medley of things!
Candies of gay colors, nice waxen dolls, a great many broken toys, nice
fruit, and, indeed, I could not begin to tell you of all Ruth saw there.
There had come, too, a mould upon many of the things, so many of them
had grown tarnished; and a bad stench rose from some fruit which had
been there a long time.
"You see, my child," said the old woman, as she locked up the door,
"these things cannot be preserved to look so brightly as when they were
first brought here; they all grow rotten; and I cannot prevent the worms
creeping in to corrupt them."
Then they met some very black-looking clouds, loaded with things like
those Ruth had seen in the two houses, and they were put in with the
rest.
"Alas," she sighed, "that the children will send up these things!"
Ruth rejoiced to see that, with quick step, her kind guide passed by
many more such houses; for they terrified her. She feared she might
hear, if she listened well, some complaint she had uttered, or should
see some tarnished toy which she had selfishly treasured. No wonder she
liked to hasten by the houses!
Then they passed away from the dreary desert places where black houses
were, into beautiful plains where the grass was mingled with bright and
lovely flowers, and rivulets gracefully flowed along; and here were
lovely temples, shining with precious stones, so that Ruth clapped her
hands at beholding them. "Here," said the old woman, "are more beautiful
treasures, which are my great glory and delight."
She showed Ruth one, round which the whitest blossoms grew among green
leaves, in which were treasured all the smiles ever given to comfort
people who had grief in their heart; and these smiles shed about the
whole temple a light like a halo of glory.
In another were the soft, loving words which many children had given
others, poorer and lowlier than themselves, to encourage their weak
hearts; words which they had given and forgotten, but which had yet been
carefully gathered up, and put in this temple. From this temple a low
sound of sweet music rose, which filled Ruth's heart with a perfect
peace, as if she had found everything she could ever desire.
In another temple yet were all the words of love, which children express
and feel in their hearts to each other. From this temple proceeded
louder tones, but yet those of sweetest harmony.
In another, all the gentle, loving words ever whispered to the animals.
"I prize these highly," said the old woman.
"It is very strange," said she, looking upon the temples, "that I find
these precious treasures thrown about very carelessly upon the earth.
The children never dream of their worth, and were I not always ready
there, some would be lost. But remember, Ruth, none are suffered to be
lost; and so, when the children to whom these belong are going into
heaven, they shall find there many a treasure they did not dream of
possessing. Thus shall the treasures they had forgotten grow brighter
and brighter, while others they had perhaps remembered have grown
corrupted and vain!"
At these words, Ruth longed to lay many treasures in the temples, and
she heard a song, which the different tones of the temple formed in the
air. It melted her heart with its divine harmony.
"O," cried Ruth "could I but sing such a song to my father! he who loves
songs so well. What joy it would be to him!"
"And would you patiently sing the song though he thanked you not?" asked
the old woman.