_THE SNOW._
THESE were indeed pleasant times, and very happy children were our
Maggie and Bessie. The only trouble was that night would come, and put
an end to first one and then another of these delightful days, and
that, as Maggie said, they had to stop enjoying themselves "just to go
to sleep."
"I wish the sun always shone in this country," she said, "and that
night never, never came."
"What would the little children on the other side of the world say to
that?" said papa. "If you had the ruling of day and night, and kept the
sun all the time on one side, how do you think they would like to have
it always night?"
"Oh! I did not think about that," said Maggie. "I suppose it would be
pretty selfish. I guess I had better wish for two suns, one on our
side, and one on theirs."
"Or, better still, rest satisfied that our heavenly Father has ordered
all things, night and day, sun, moon, and stars, as is best for his own
glory and the happiness and comfort of all his creatures," said Mr.
Bradford. "I think even my wide-awake Maggie would tire of the light of
the sun if it should shine for the twenty-four hours, day after day,
and the quiet, blessed night never come, when we might close our tired
eyes, and take the rest we need."
"Could we not sleep in the day-time if we were tired, papa?"
"We might sleep, but not as well or as pleasantly as we now do when
all is dark and quiet."
"Then if I was to wish for two suns, I'd better wish we should never be
tired or sleepy."
"So you might go on wishing forever, and if you had the power, changing
first one and then another of the wise laws which our Father in heaven
has made for the good of all. And what distress and confusion this
would make! What a miserable, unhappy world this would be if you,
or some other weak, human creature who cannot see the end from the
beginning, and cannot tell what would be the consequence of his wishes,
were allowed such power. No, we may thank God, not only that he does
what is best for us, but also that he has allowed none but himself to
be the judge of this."
"So I had better be contented to have the night as it is, papa; is
that what you mean? Perhaps other people would not like to have things
as I did, and they might think I was a very disagreeable child to have
them my way; and I should not like that at all."
"I would not be glad if there was never any night," said Bessie, who
was always more ready than her sister to go to rest.
"Then I wont wish it," said Maggie; "and I shall just always try to
think 'our Father' knows best, even if I don't feel quite suited
myself."
One afternoon, about dark, it began to snow, much to the children's
delight; for grandmamma had promised a sleigh-ride whenever it should
be possible. All night the soft, feathery flakes fell gently and
steadily, so that in the morning the ground was covered thickly with a
beautiful white mantle.
Since the weather had become cold, each day, after breakfast, Maggie
and Bessie were allowed to throw out crumbs for the sparrows and
chickadees, who came about the house to find something to eat. The
birds seemed to know the hour almost as well as the children, and
seldom came for their breakfast before the right time. But on this
morning the little girls were scarcely down-stairs, when their brother
called them to come and see what a flock of their pets had already
gathered on the piazza and window-ledge. For the ground being all
covered with snow, there were no stray crumbs or seeds to be found;
and the chickadees and sparrows, being early risers, found themselves
hungry and in need of their regular breakfast rather sooner than
usual; and now the prints of their tiny feet were to be seen all over
the snow, while twice the ordinary number of birds hopped about the
piazza, or perched upon the railing and window-ledge, chirping away,
twitching their little heads from side to side, and watching the
children with their bright, twinkling eyes as if asking what made them
so late.
Away ran Maggie to ask Patrick for a piece of bread, and came back with
a rush and a jump and a sudden shove at the window which put every
mother's bird of them to flight. In her hurry to feed them, she quite
forgot that they were so easily startled, and was much distressed when
she saw them all flying off in a great fright.
However, the bread was crumbled and thrown out; and by the time prayers
were over, the whole flock were back again, pecking away with much
satisfaction, and twittering and chirping as if they were telling each
other what very kind people lived in this house, and how thankful they
should be for such good friends. At least, this was what Maggie told
Franky they meant, as he watched them with his chubby face pressed
close against the window-pane.
"No shoes and stottins," said he. "Poor birdies! Dere foots too told.
Mamma buy shoe for birdies."
His little sisters thought this very sweet and funny in Franky, and
they hugged and kissed him till he thought he had said something very
fine, and kept repeating it over and over again.
Pretty soon it stopped snowing, and the sun came out. Then Maggie and
Bessie were much amused in watching the people clearing the snow from
the sidewalks, and the boys snow-balling one another. Presently Mrs.
Bradford missed Franky from the room. As she had the baby, she could
not go after him, but sent Maggie.
She ran from room to room, but could not find her little brother. When
she opened the nursery door, and put in her head, she rather wondered
to see the bureau-drawers open, and several things lying scattered over
the floor; but she did not think much about it, for there was no one
there, and she must find Franky. As she went down-stairs again, she
saw the back-door was standing open, and went to shut it. Here she met
Franky coming in with very rosy cheeks, and his face all smiles, as if
he were well pleased with himself.
"Oh, Franky!" said Maggie, "what made you go out in the cold with no
hat and coat? Didn't you hear me calling you?"
"Yes," said Franky.
"Then why didn't you come?"
"Me too busy," said the little boy; and away he ran into the parlor,
while Maggie went to shut the door. To her great surprise, she saw
the piazza strewn with shoes and stockings,--her own, Bessie's, and
Franky's, and even a pair or two of baby's little worsted socks. She
came in, and followed Franky.
"Franky," said Mrs. Bradford, "did you not hear mamma calling?"
"Yes'm," said he again, "but me too busy."
"But you must always come right away when mamma calls. What were you
doing?"
"Me dave de birdies shoes and stottins," said Franky; "dere foots too
told."
Then Maggie told her mother what Franky had done, and nurse coming in
just then, Mrs. Bradford sent her to see. Sure enough, the little rogue
had gone up-stairs, and filling his skirt with his own and his sisters'
shoes and stockings, had scattered them upon the piazza, thinking that
the birds could make use of them. Maggie and Bessie thought this a most
capital joke, and even nurse, who was much displeased, could not help
smiling as she heard their merry peals of laughter. Mamma did not scold
Franky, for she did not think he meant to do anything naughty, but she
told him he must never do so again, and that the birds did not need
shoes and stockings to keep their feet warm.
"But, mamma," said Maggie, "how is it the birds do not have their feet
frozen in the snow and the cold? If we were to go hopping about with
bare feet, it would hurt very much, and we would be sick; but the
sparrows do not mind it at all."
"Because God has fitted them, dear, as he has all his creatures, for
the life which he means them to lead. He has given to the sparrows
and chickadees, not soft, tender feet like yours, but horny claws on
which they can hop over the snow and gravel without feeling the cold,
or being hurt. See by this how he has cared for all he has made; the
smallest or weakest bird or animal is known and watched over by his
all-seeing eye. When our Saviour was on earth, he chose these little
birds to teach us a most precious lesson. Once when he was talking to
his disciples, after telling them that they were to fear God, and not
man, he wished to show them how constant and watchful was God's care
of his people, and he said, 'Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father. But
the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore; ye
are of more value than many sparrows.' A Roman farthing was less than a
cent and a half, so that one of these sparrows cost less than a penny,
and this was meant to teach us that if each of these little birds which
was worth so small a sum is known and remembered by the Almighty; if
not one of them can fall and die unless he sees it, how great must be
his care and love for us, whom he has called 'of more value than many
sparrows,' and for whom he gave his only Son to die upon the cross. It
is a very sweet and comforting thought to know that he never forgets
us, and that no harm can come near us, unless he knows and permits it."
"And it ought to make us think that he sees what we are doing, and
knows if we are even a little bit naughty. Ought it not, mamma?" said
Bessie.
"Yes, darling, and it should make us very careful not to grieve or
displease him by even a wicked thought or angry feeling."
"'Cause when he sees it, he thinks we are ungrateful about his Jesus,"
said the thoughtful little Bessie.
This was Saturday and a holiday, when the children had no lessons, and
the boys did not go to school; and about twelve o'clock Harry and Fred
came in with Tom Norris, Walter Stone, and Johnny Ransom; they were all
four going into the yard to build a snow-man, and Harry begged that
his sisters might go, too, saying that he and Fred would take care of
them. Mamma had no doubt of this, and she said Maggie might go, but she
was afraid to have Bessie play in the snow, lest she should take cold.
Maggie said she would not go if her sister might not; but Bessie told
her to go, and she would stand at the library-window and watch them at
their work. Maggie still hesitated, but her mother said she would see
that her sister did not feel lonely while she was gone, and having
been well wrapped up, she at last went with the boys.
To say that Bessie was not disappointed and did not very much wish that
she, too, might have a share in the delightful play, would not be true.
But though a tear came into her eye as she saw the others run off, she
bore it bravely.
"Mamma, you would be sure to let me go if you thought it best; wouldn't
you?" she asked, lifting her face to her mother to be kissed.
"Indeed, I would, my sweet child; you may be certain mamma would never
take from you any pleasure she thought safe for you; but it would be
wrong and foolish in me to let you go when you would probably take cold
and be sick. And now what shall we do to amuse ourselves. If you like
to stand by the window and see the boys, I will bring my work and tell
you a story, or we will sit by the fire, and I will read to you."
Bessie chose the first, for she said that would be two pleasures at one
time.
When Mrs. Bradford came back with her work-basket, Bessie was standing
on a chair by the window, and she turned to her mother with a very
bright face.
"Mamma," she said, "come and see what a nice time Maggie is having. I
think I am 'most glad you didn't let me go, 'cause if I was playing
myself, I could not see how much she 'joys herself. Just hear her
laugh!" and Bessie laughed merrily herself.
Mamma stooped and kissed her sweet-tempered, generous little daughter,
who, instead of fretting and making herself and others miserable
because she could not do as she wished, not only contented herself with
the pleasures which were left to her, but really tried to find comfort
in her very disappointment.
Maggie did indeed seem to be enjoying herself. The boys had begun their
snow-man, but she found that rather hard work, and, having asked leave,
was snow-balling her playfellows with all her might. She was not very
apt to hit them, for her small hands could not take very sure aim in
her thick worsted mittens; but whenever she missed her mark, she became
only more eager, and, hit or miss, her gleeful laugh rang out all the
same. Mrs Bradford found that no story was needed; so engaged was
Bessie in watching the frolicsome antics of her sister, that she had
no thought of anything else. In the height of her play, Maggie did not
forget every few moments to stop and kiss her hand and nod and smile at
the two dear faces in the library-window. When her mother thought she
had been out long enough, she called her in, and she came all glowing
and rosy with her play in the fresh, cold air.
"Tom says the sleighing is splendid. I hope grandmamma wont forget us."
"No fear of that," said mamma; and she had scarcely spoken when Aunt
Annie's smiling face appeared at the door.
"Well, little polar-bear, where did you come from?" she asked, taking
hold of the bundle of furs and wrappings which called itself Maggie.
"Out of the icebergs to eat you up," growled Maggie, pretending to be
the bear Aunt Annie had called her.
"Very well, sir, I suppose you have a good appetite since you have come
so far; but, of course, if I am eaten up, you cannot expect my mother
to go sleigh-riding with the fellow that has made a meal upon her
child."
When Maggie heard this, she declared that she was no longer a
polar-bear, but just Aunt Annie's own little niece, who would not eat
her up even if she were starving, and whom it was quite safe to take
sleigh-riding. Both she and Bessie were wild with delight. They could
scarcely eat their dinner, and the moment it was over, ran away to the
nursery to be dressed for the ride.
When the sleigh came to the door, Aunt Annie said she had two
polar-bears to ride with her, and pretended to be quite alarmed. But
both the bears proved to be very well-behaved, and neither bit nor
scratched; although they did now and then hug a little as they sat, the
one between mamma and grandmamma, and the other between Aunt Annie and
Aunt Helen; for Aunt Helen had come from Riverside to make her mother a
visit and to stay till after Christmas.
"We are to have a Christmas tree, Aunt Helen," said Maggie.
"And all our people are to come," said Bessie.
"We have a great deal to do yet," said Maggie. "There are a great many
presents to buy, and Christmas will be here one week from yesterday,
mamma said so. Aunt Annie, you said you would take us shopping for
those things mamma is not to know about."
"Very well," said Aunt Annie, laughing. "I suppose I may as well give
up Monday to it, if your mother will let you go."
Mamma was quite willing it should be so, if the weather were fine.
The things which she was not to know about were her own, and papa's
Christmas presents. The book-marks were all worked. Those for Colonel
and Mrs Rush were quite finished and laid away; but the two which
were intended for papa and mamma still wanted the ribbon, and this was
one of the things to be bought. Then Maggie was to buy some trifle
for papa, and Bessie one for mamma. They were not trifles to them,
however, but very great and important purchases, and there was a great
deal of whispering and hiding in corners. It was rather a singular
circumstance, but one which was very convenient, that mamma never asked
what they were doing, or even seemed to see that they were engaged with
some work in which she was not asked to help.
They had a lovely drive. All the sleighs and cutters in the city seemed
to have turned out for the first fine sleighing; and the air was full
of the jingling of the merry bells, and the shouts and laughter of the
boys as they pelted each other with snow-balls, or went skimming along
on their sleds. The Central Park looked beautiful in its pure white
dress which lay so smoothly, just as it had fallen from the hand of the
kind Father above; and Maggie said the trees and bushes thought white
feathers were becoming, and so had dressed themselves out as if they
were going to a Christmas party.
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