Once upon a time there was a little girl no bigger than Lolly here,
sitting in the dirt by the roadside, crying.
Her frock was all ragged and soiled, and the tears had run over the dust
upon her face, making it streaked, and disfiguring it sadly.
Altogether, she was a very miserable little object, when a lady, walking
along the road, suddenly came upon her, and stopped to see what was the
matter.
As the lady gazed upon the strange, ragged little creature, there came
tears into her eyes, and she said softly, as if speaking to herself,--
"Who would think that this is the daughter of a great King?"
The child, seeing a beautiful lady before her, jumped from the ground,
and, with shame, began to shake herself from the dirt that clung to her
garments; but the stranger, taking no notice of her untidy condition,
clasped the child's fingers in her white hand, and told her to lead her
to her home.
It was a brown cottage, very like mine, only _that_ one was hung with
cobwebs, and the dust was an inch thick upon the floor, and the window
was so begrimmed that scarcely any light came through.
"Ugh!" said the lady, as she stood upon the threshold and looked in.
"Bring me a broom!" And she brushed away the hanging webs, and made the
floor neat and clean, and taught the child to wash the window, until the
bright sun came in and played about the floor and upon the walls; and
then she made the little girl wash her face and hands, and put on a
better frock, that she found in the chest.
"Now, my little princess," said she, "come outside for a while, in the
fresh air, and I will talk to you."
"Why do you call me 'little princess'?" asked the child, as they sat down
upon the cottage-step, while the birds twittered about them and the sweet
breath of summer touched their cheeks.
"Because you are the daughter of a great King," said the lady, gently
stroking her soft, brown hair, that she had found so tangled and shaggy,
but had made so nice and smooth.
"My father was a poor man, and he lies in the graveyard," said the little
girl, as she looked wonderingly at her friend.
"Yes; but I mean your heavenly Father," said the lady--"he whom we call
GOD. Surely you have heard of him, my dear child!"
The little girl said that she had heard of him; but, from what she could
learn, the lady knew that she looked upon him as one that is afar off;
and she wished to teach her how very near he is continually, even round
about her bed and about her path, and spying out all her ways.
"Do you live here all alone, dear child?" asked she kindly.
Her words were so sweet and gentle that they sounded like the murmur of
the brook near the little child's home.
"All day long alone, while mother is away at her work," answered the
child, with her eyes full of sad tears.
"And what do you do with the weary hours? Do they not seem very dull and
dreary to you?" asked the lady.
"Ah, yes," said the little one. "I have nobody to play with or talk to;
and I'm glad when the night comes and I can creep into bed and shut my
eyes and forget everything."
"What if you had some kind friend ever near, to smile on you and bless
you,--somebody to whom you could tell all your little sorrows as you are
now doing to me?" said the lady. "Would that be pleasant?"
"Oh yes, indeed!" returned the child. "Will you stay?" for she had felt
it very sweet to be sitting there with the kind lady's words falling like
music upon her ear, and her heart was lighter and happier than it had
been in all her life.
"I cannot always be with you," said the lady. "But there is One who
'will never leave you.' How beautiful he has made everything about you!"
And she looked upon the green earth, with the peeping flowers, and upon
the delicate shrubs that skirted the roadside, and the wild-roses and
creeping plants along the hedges, and then she looked up into the blue
heavens, with such an expression of love that the child gazed at her with
rapture.
"Such a good God!" said the lady, still looking up with the bright light
upon her face. "And such a wondrously beautiful world, where we may walk
joyously, with his love in our hearts as well as all about our path; and
yet we sit in the dust weeping, and forget that he is our Father, and
that he is watching for us to turn towards him--poor, wandering, wayward
children that we are!"
Though the lady spoke as if to herself, the child knew that she was
thinking of her; for she had not quite put away the shame of her first
appearance; and she touched her white hand timidly with her brown finger,
and said, really in earnest, "I won't sit in the dirt again."
"That's a dear child," said her friend. "You must never again forget
that, although you are poor, and must live in this world for a while, you
are in truth a little exiled princess, and your glorious home is with the
great King, your Father, in the skies; and it does not become the
daughter of so great a King to put herself on a level with the beasts;
but you must lift yourself up more and more towards heaven."
The little girl looked at her, and straightened her figure to its
greatest possible height.
"Not to carry yourself proudly, as the daughter of an earthly king might
do," continued the lady, "but be above doing a mean or low thing, and try
to be heavenly and pure, like your blessed Lord and Father; and then he
will lift you up to his beautiful, high throne."
The child's head drooped again, and she looked despondingly at her
teacher, as if she did not really know what to do.
"I'm going now," said the lady; "but I shall come once a week to see how
you get on. I shall not expect the cobwebs to gather any more in the
cottage, nor the dust to collect upon the floor, nor to shut out the sun
from the window, nor the little princess's face to be dirty and ugly;
because that would offend the pure and holy God, who made this world
fresh and clean and beautiful, and expects his children to keep it so. Do
you think you will remember 'Our Father'?"
"'Who art in heaven,'" said the child, calling to mind the prayer taught
her some time in her life, but long since almost forgotten.
"Not in heaven _only_, dear child," said the lady. "I want you to think
of him as close beside you always, wherever you go. Can you read?"
"A little."
The lady opened a pocket-Bible, and drawing the little girl closer to
her, said, "Now, say after me,--
"'Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy
presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed
in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and
dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead
me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness
shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the
darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the
darkness and the light are both alike to thee.'
"You see, my dear child," said she, as she reverently closed the book,
"we cannot get away from God if we would, and surely we would not try to
hide ourselves from so kind a Friend and Father if we could. Only when
we are doing something that we are ashamed of do we shun the face of one
who loves us; and if we try to flee from the eye of God we may be sure we
are guilty of some wickedness. How much sweeter is it to do what we know
will please him, and look freely up into his face, as a good child
delights to meet his earthly parent's smile!"
The lady rose to go, and the child looked wistfully at her and then at
the little Bible.
"Ah yes; I will give you this. It will tell you what to do." And she
put the book into the child's hands. "You will read a chapter every day
till I come?"
The little girl gladly promised, but was sad at the parting; for never an
hour passed so cheerily as the hour with the kind teacher.
"You may be sure I'll come again, for _He_ sends me," said the lady. And
she looked up once more with the heavenly face, and then stooped till her
soft lips touched the child's forehead; and, while the pressure of the
gentle kiss thrilled through the very soul of the little girl, her friend
was gone.