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NANNY MERRY.
[Illustration: CROWNING THE QUEEN]
NANNY MERRY;
Or,
What Made the Difference?
London:
T. Nelson and Sons, Paternoster Row;
Edinburgh; and New York.
1872.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH NANNIE IS INTRODUCED.
A little brown house, with an old elm-tree before it, a frame of
lattice-work around the door, with a broad stone for a step--this is
where old Grannie Burt lives. And there she is sitting in the doorway
with her Bible in her lap. She can't read it, for she is blind; but she
likes to have it by her; she likes the "feeling of it," she says. "When
my Bible is away," Grannie Burt says, "I am sometimes troubled and
worried; but if I can only touch it, my troubles are all gone; for what
harm can any trouble do us when we are going to heaven at last?"
But grannie doesn't always have to _feel_ her Bible. Sometimes--very
often--a little girl comes down the path to the brown house, and sitting
down close by grannie, on that cricket that you see there now, takes the
good book and reads the blessed words to her, till the tears trickle down
grannie's wrinkled face, and laying her trembling hand on the little
girl's head, she says, "God bless thee, my child."
I think she is expecting her now; for, see the cricket is all ready, and
on the little table is a pitcher of cool water from the old well that
you see just behind the house; and here is the little girl herself.
"Good-morning, grannie; are you waiting for me? I couldn't come any
sooner, because mamma wanted me to play with Charlie; and here are some
peaches mamma sent you,--she thought you would like them;" and Nannie,
quite out of breath with her walk and her talk, stops a minute, which
gives Grannie Burt a chance to answer her questions and to thank her for
her peaches. "Now shall I read, grannie?" said Nannie, as, taking a long
draught from the little pitcher, she sat down on the cricket.
"Eat this peach first," said grannie, picking out the softest and
handing it to her; "I know you must be warm from your long walk, and
this will cool you."
The peach looked so tempting that Nannie looked at it wishfully. Her
mother had only given her one, and she had sent grannie a whole basketful.
It was only for a moment that Nannie let these selfish thoughts trouble
her. "Grannie never has any of her own, and in a few weeks I can have
as many as I want," she thought; so taking up the Bible she said, "No,
grannie, thank you; the water has cooled me enough; where shall I
begin?"
"Read about heaven, Nannie; you know I like to hear about that best."
Softly the little voice began: "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth."
Then she read of the tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of
the nations; and of the water of life, that flows near the jasper throne.
When she had finished, she said, "What makes you like to hear of heaven
so much, grannie?"
"Oh, I'm going there, Nannie! When you read about the beautiful things,
the pearly gates, and the golden streets, I think, 'I shall see them,
for there will be no night there; not even in these poor old eyes of
mine.' And when you read, 'the Lamb is the light thereof,' then I think
Jesus will be there, and that's what I like best of all."
"Where _is_ heaven, grannie?"
"Up there, I suppose," she said, pointing to the bright sky above.
"But, grannie, there was a gentleman at our house yesterday, and I heard
him talking with my father, and he said he thought heaven was in the sun.
So I thought I would ask you, because you always know so much about it. Do
you think it is in the sun?"
"I don't think anything about it. I don't think it makes much difference
_where_ it is, if we only get there at last."
"Sister Mary said she thought heaven would be where God was."
"So I think, child; and I don't think it's the pearls, and gold, and all
those things you read about, that make it either; for I think any place
would be heaven, if we found Jesus there. This old room has been pretty
near it, sometimes."
Nannie turned to the 14th chapter of John, which she knew grannie loved
to hear, and commenced reading.
While she is reading, let us go down the street to the lane--bordered
with trees--walk up the narrow footpath, and over the stile just by the
blackberry-bushes, across the field to the little garden, and through
the borders of pinks and marigolds, to the white cottage where Nannie
lives. You can come to it by the street, if you choose, and you may come
in under the great elm-tree, by the gate; but then the street is so dusty,
and you miss seeing the little garden with its bright flowers; and the
blossoms in the lane smell so sweetly, that it is quite worth while going
that way. But here we are, before the door, on which we read, in bright
letters, "Dr. Merry;" for Nannie's name is Nannie Merry, and Nannie's
father is a doctor. He is doctor in a pleasant little town that is
situated on the banks of a narrow river. I don't think you could find
either the town or the river on your maps, if you should try; so there
would be no use in telling you their names. It was a pleasant town,
however, with its large elm-trees, and pretty white cottages, with here
and there a large house, where the grandest people lived.
But Nannie's father was only a country doctor, and didn't live in a very
large house. You can see for yourself that it is only a white cottage,
with green blinds, and a long porch in front, covered with sweetbriar
and honeysuckle. But the people that live in the house are quite as
pleasant as the house itself, or even as the people that live in the
large brick house. After Dr. Merry comes Mrs. Merry, or Nannie's mother,
who is, like most mothers, very kind and good; then sister Mary, who is
grown up, and Nannie thinks the best sister ever was; then Belle, who is
very pretty, and about twelve years old; John and Charlie, who are, like
most boys, great teasers, and Nannie sometimes thinks a good deal worse
than most boys--but then, Charlie is only four years old, so there is
some excuse for him. Lastly, we have Nannie herself, who is--well, we
shall find out what she is before our story is finished. She is nine
years old, "nearly ten," and would feel offended if we left that out.
But here she comes from Grannie Burt's, so we must stop talking about
her. She is coming by the lane just as we did, running at first, then a
little slower, till at last she stops, for her sister Mary is weeding
one of the pretty borders in the little garden.
"O Mary! grannie thinks just as you do about heaven; I don't think Mr.
Brown knows so much about it as she does."
"Why not, Nannie?"
"Oh, because grannie is almost there, Mary,--she ought to know!"
"What makes you think grannie is almost there?"
"Why, she said so; and then she loves to hear about heaven, just as I
did about home when I was at Aunt Sarah's."
"Do _you_ like to hear about heaven, Nannie?"
"Sometimes," she answered, while with her little shoe she played with
the pebbles.
"Not always! Nannie; when don't you like to hear about it?"
Nannie played with the pebbles a good while. At last she said, "I like
to hear _some_ things about it always, but not everything."
"And what do you like to hear about it always?"
"I like to hear about golden streets, and the beautiful water, and the
trees, and the harps of the angels, and their golden crowns."
"And what don't you like to hear about?"
The little foot moved backwards and forwards a good while, and when
Nannie did speak, she spoke almost as if she were afraid to do so.
"I don't like to hear about its always being Sunday there."
"Why, Nannie, don't you like Sunday here?"
"Why, yes, always once a week; but that's not like _always_. I don't
think I should like to go to church _every_ day, and learn the Catechism,
and have a cold dinner, and not play at all."
"Maybe I can help you a little, Nannie. Do you ever get tired of loving
father?"
"Why, no; I should never get tired of that, I'm sure he never gets tired
of loving me."
"Do you get tired of showing you love him by trying to please him?"
"No, Mary; but--"
"Never mind the 'buts' till I have done. Now, God is 'Our Father,' and
all we have to do in heaven is to love him, and to show how very much we
love him by trying to do all we can to please him. Do you think you'll
get tired of that?"
"No. But that isn't like Sunday."
"What do we do on Sunday, Nannie?"
"Why, go to church and--"
"Yes; but what do we go to church for?"
"Oh, I see now!" said Nannie, her face brightening up,--"oh, I see! We
worship God on Sunday, and that's what we'll do always in heaven; isn't
it, Mary?"
"Yes, that's why we say it's always Sunday there; and we shall love
God so much better there than we do now, that we can only be happy in
praising him. Even now, when we think how good he is to us, and how he
loves us, it seems as if we _must_ praise him; but then we shall see him
always, and never forget what he has done for us. Do you think we can
help praising him, or that it will be hard work to join with the angels
in singing, 'Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty'--'Worthy is the Lamb that
was slain'? Do you think you understand now, Nannie, and will like to
hear about heaven as much as Grannie Burt does?"
"Oh yes! I felt very sorry, because I knew I ought to love to think
about heaven! And so I think I do. But Belle said they did nothing but
sing hymns there, and she didn't see what there was so very pleasant in
that."
"Belle ought not to talk so. But what did you say to her?"
"I said," Nannie answered, holding down her head, "I thought the reason
she didn't like it was because she was not good; because all good people
liked to hear about heaven."
"That's the reason, I think," said sister Mary, as she gathered up her
weeds for Nannie to take away. Nannie carried them off, thinking all the
time, "Oh dear, I wish I were as good as sister Mary!" If wishes would
make any one good, Nannie would have been very good long before this time.
"At anyrate," said Nannie, as she emptied the weeds into the ash-heap,
"I will try. Father says there are weeds in our hearts, and we can pull
them up. I mean to try."
We shall see in the next chapter how Nannie succeeds in pulling up the
weeds.