_BELLE’S HOME._
You may be sure there was not much trouble in gaining the consent of
Lucy’s father to the plan proposed for her welfare. He was only too
glad and thankful to feel that his motherless little daughter would
be placed where she would have a kind and prudent eye to oversee and
guide her; and where she would have the opportunity of growing up
into a useful and steady woman. This he knew she could not do in the
unsettled life she now led on board ship with him, and he had long been
considering what he should do with her.
Lucy, though thankful, was not as much pleased, and shed some bitter
tears over the prospect. The poor child wanted to learn, and was glad
to have a settled home; but she dreaded the thought of parting from her
father, who would only be able to see her at such times as his vessel
should be at the port of Savannah, and who was the only person whom she
had to love her. But, in a day or two after, when she had seen Mrs.
Gordon, and heard her talk so kindly of all the pleasures and comforts
she would find in this promised home, she became more reconciled to it,
especially as the autumn still seemed a long way off to her, and she
had all the summer to go back and forth with her father on the sea.
So she told her troubles to her doll; and the steady, blue eyes, which
never winked or softened, brought comfort to her, and seemed to give
her the assurance that she need not be parted from her, even to go to
her new home. If she had not had this beloved companion, it would have
gone much harder with poor little Lucy.
Our little girls did not see her again; but last autumn, when they
were settled once more in their city home, after all their summer
wanderings, Mrs. Gordon wrote to them, saying that Lucy was quite
contented and happy under her care; and that she was a very good child,
being trustworthy and obedient, and showing a great desire to learn.
So there we will leave her, hoping that she will, as Maggie says,
“prophet by all that is done for her and make a useful and happy
woman.” The doll went with her; and all the other toys and amusements
which were provided for her never made her tired or forgetful of this,
her first love, or of the dear little girls who had taken so much
interest in her.
Our party did not remain long in Savannah, for the weather was becoming
warm and oppressive; but before they went away, they all spent a day on
Mr. Powers’ plantation.
This was several miles from the city; and starting in the morning,
soon after breakfast, they drove out in the cool of the day. Their
way lay through dense pine woods; tall, stately pines, with long,
straight trunks; shooting upwards, without leaf or branch, for many
a foot, till they neared their height, when they put forth their
dark-green crowns, which cast such a sombre shade below. The shade was
no objection on this warm day, and a light breeze was stirring, which
was very refreshing; but it sounded rather mournful to Maggie and
Bessie, as it moaned through the mighty stems, and rustled the thick,
fragrant leaves overhead. It has a strange, peculiar sound, the wind in
those dark, pine forests of the South,--a sound rather saddening to any
listener.
Maggie did not like it at all, and said so, which rather displeased
Belle, who, in her delight at returning to her beloved Southern home,
found every thing there perfect. However, as they drove on, both Maggie
and Bessie spied out so many objects which called forth their surprise
and admiration, that she was presently consoled, and concluded that
they “liked her own country pretty well, after all.”
Here and there was a magnolia with its magnificent cream-white
blossoms, their delicious perfume mingling with the fragrance of
the pines; there a group of scarlet cardinal flowers, or a little
pool bordered with bright blue flags and spotted tiger-lilies; while
through the deep stillness of the woods came the sweet notes of the
blue-jay and mocking-bird. Once, as they were passing over a bridge
which crossed a marsh, Maggie called the attention of the others to two
turtles, great big fellows, larger than any the children had ever seen
at the North; “swamp turtles” Belle said they were. They scuttled out
of the way in their clumsy fashion, diving out of sight into the mud;
and Bessie said she thought they must be some of the unclean animals
spoken of in the Bible, since they liked to live in such a dirty place.
The entrance to the plantation was through an avenue of magnificent
live-oaks, some of them so large that two or three men could not have
encircled them with their outstretched arms; and these splendid trees
were studded all over the lawn, spreading far and wide their branches,
which, unlike their neighbors the pines, they sent out very low,--so
near the ground in fact, that even Bessie could reach the gray Spanish
moss which hung over them in long festoons and wreaths. The children
had seen this curious moss before in the beautiful old cemetery of
Bonaventure, where the oaks are perfectly clothed with it; and Bessie
had admired it so much, that Maggie had taken up the idea of carrying
home enough to make “a bower” for her in their own little room. But she
thought it best to gain the consent of her father and mother to this
arrangement; not only because it was right, but also because nurse was
rather apt to call such things “truck and trash,” and to put them out
of the way as fast as possible. If papa and mamma said they might have
it, nurse might _call_ it what she pleased, but she could not throw it
away.
Mr. Powers stood awaiting them on the steps of the veranda, for he had
been at the plantation for three or four days, while Belle and Daphne
had been left in Mrs. Bradford’s charge at the hotel; for he did not
think it best for Belle to sleep on the plantation at that time of the
year.
She shrieked with delight when she saw him; and, in her hurry to
reach him, had nearly thrown herself from Daphne’s lap underneath the
carriage-wheels. There would have been an end to the day’s pleasure
then; but Daphne’s hand grasped her skirts, and saved her from a
terrible death.
As it was, the whole party were startled; and her father’s face had
lost its smile of welcome, and looked rather pale as he came down the
steps and took her in his arms.
“My pet!” he said, “always in too much of a hurry. This would have been
a sad meeting for papa, if you had fallen; but a good God took care of
you for me.”
Belle clung about his neck and did not speak; for whether it were the
fright, or the sight of her father, or the return to the old home which
she had left at such a sad time, or perhaps all three, her feelings
took a sudden turn, and when Mr. Powers had brought his friends in and
welcomed them, and raised the little face to kiss it again, he found it
drowned in tears.
“Why! my darling,” he said, “were you so frightened?”
“I don’t know, papa,” sobbed the excitable little thing; “but, this is
home--only--only--mamma is not in it.”
Tears, or something very like them, came to the eyes of all, even of
Mr. and Mrs. Norris, who had never known Belle’s dead mother; and Mr.
Powers turned hastily away, and stepped with her out on the veranda.
“_Only_ mamma was not in it!” Ah, yes! that was the _only_ that made
all the difference in the world, so that home did not seem like home
any longer.
It was some few moments before either of them were composed enough to
return; and when Mr. Powers came back he was alone, and told Bessie
that Belle wanted her to go to her.
Bessie went out upon the veranda, which ran on all four sides of the
house, and around the corner she found Belle curled up on a settee
where her father had placed her. She stretched out her arms to Bessie
when she saw her, saying,--
“Bessie, I do remember mamma so much in my home, and you are a comfit.
You are my next best comfit to papa, ever since the first day you spoke
to me in school.”
This was a pleasant thing for Bessie to hear; but she put aside her own
pleasure for the present, and thought only of being the “comfit” her
poor little friend called her. I wonder if there was any one among all
the people who knew her, who could have said that our dear Bessie was
not more or less of a comfort to them.
Her sweet sympathy and gentle tenderness soon did Belle good, and
Bessie let her talk on about her mother as long as she would.
Belle had been very bright and cheerful lately,--thanks to the friends
with whom she had been so much thrown,--and it was a good while since
she had had a fit of longing for her mother; but the coming to her home
had brought her great loss back to her, and just now she could think of
nothing else.
“Do you know where they put my mamma before she went to heaven?” said
Belle.
“No. Where?” answered Bessie.
“Do you see those high trees over there, Bessie? They put her where
little brother and sister are, and ever so many grandpas and grandmas.”
“But they didn’t put her soul there,” said Bessie.
“No,” said Belle, “’cause that was God’s part, and it went to him.
And then she couldn’t speak or hear me or see me, but was all deaded
away; and so they put the rest of her over there, and put a great many
flowers over her. But that was a long, long while ago, before I went
away to the North, and I didn’t see where they put mamma this ever so
long. Maybe the flowers are all faded. Will you come and see, Bessie?”
“We must ask mamma or your papa first,” said Bessie.
“They would let us,” said Belle: “it’s a very safe place. I used to
often go there when mamma was alive, to be by little brother and
sister, and she is there now. There couldn’t any danger come to us
where mamma is: could there, Bessie?”
“No: I guess not,” said Bessie. “I s’pose mother-angels take care of
their little children. I’ll go with you, Belle dear, if you’re quite
sure your papa will let us.”
“I know he would, Bessie; and I’d just as lief ask him; only then
Maggie and Lily will come too. I’d like Maggie to come, but Lily laughs
so much. I love Lily; but I don’t want any one to laugh where my mamma
is dead.”
“No,” said Bessie, with the most caressing tenderness of tone and
manner, “they shan’t; and I’ll go, Belle.”
With their arms about one another’s necks, the two little things ran
down the piazza steps, and the shady path, through which Belle led the
way; but as they came near the small burying-ground, their steps grew
slow and more reverent.
It was an exquisite spot. An iron railing enclosed it, but the rails
were hidden by the green vines which overran them, and within it was
beautifully sodded; the green broken here and there by the white
marble monuments and slabs which marked the resting-place of Belle’s
relations. Flowers of the loveliest kinds were blossoming over and
around them, and all showed the utmost care and loving remembrance.
Over the entrance was an arch, also of white marble, and on the stone
were cut the words, “He giveth His beloved sleep.”
“How sweet it is!” exclaimed Bessie, struck at once with the lovely
quiet and peace of the place; and then she looked up and spelled out
the letters on the arch.
“Sleep! that was what mamma said: it was only like a sleep if we loved
Jesus and tried to do what He wanted us to, and I think it must mean
Him when it says, ‘giveth His beloved sleep.’ What dear words! are they
not, Belle?”
“Yes,” said Belle, but without paying much attention to what Bessie was
saying, for her eye had caught sight of a new object in the enclosure.
“See!” she went on, catching Bessie by the arm: “there’s a stone there
where they put mamma;” and drawing Bessie with her, she pushed open the
light gate.
It swung easily back, for it was unfastened. There were none here to
intrude, no one came here who would not guard with the greatest love
and reverence the little spot sacred to “His beloved.”
“His beloved!” For of those who lay there, not one but had closed
their eyes in the full faith that they should open them again upon the
brightness of His face. Truly that was “God’s Acre.”
The “stone” which had attracted Belle’s attention was a shaft of pure
white marble upon her mother’s grave. The centre had been cut away so
as to leave four small arches, one on each side, and beneath there was
a cross, with the letters “I. H. S.;” before that an open Bible, with
the words, “I will not leave you comfortless.”
The sculptor had done his work perfectly; and the snowy marble showed
in beautiful contrast with the dark, glossy leaves of the bay tree
which spread its arms above it.
“Papa put it there, I know he did,” said Belle, after she and Bessie
had stood looking at it in silence for a moment or two.
“Yes: I s’pose he did,” said Bessie: “let’s see what these words are,
Belle.”
By standing on tiptoe, the little ones could manage to see the letters
carved upon the book; and Bessie read them out as she had done those
over the gateway.
“‘I will not leave you comfortless,’” Belle repeated after her. “Why!
mamma said that herself a little while before she went to heaven. Maybe
that was why papa put it there.”
“And Jesus said it,” replied Bessie. “It’s in the Bible, in a chapter
I’ve heard very often. Don’t you remember, Belle? It begins, ‘Let
not your heart be troubled;’ and Jesus said it Himself. Perhaps the
reason He told people not to be troubled was He was going to promise to
comfort them when they had something very bad to bear. It’s the best
comfort to know He loves you and will take you to heaven to see your
mamma some day: isn’t it, Belle?”
“He will if I’m good,” passing her little hand slowly and caressingly
over the marble; “but then I’m not always good.”
“No,” said Bessie, “not always; but mamma said you was not near so
spoiled as you used to be. I think you’re pretty good now, Belle.”
“I slapped Daphne’s face this morning,” whispered Belle, remorsefully.
“Oh! did you?” said Bessie. “Well, Belle, I used to slap people
sometimes, even when I had mamma to teach me better, and there was no
excuse for me.”
“But my own mamma _did_ teach me better, Bessie. I slap Daphne pretty
often, but she never tells papa; and I promise myself I’ll never do it
again, and then I just do.”
“Did you ever promise Jesus and ask Him to help you not to do it?”
asked Bessie.
“No,” answered Belle. “I didn’t think of it. I could do it now,
couldn’t I?”
“Yes,” said Bessie.
They knelt down together side by side, and Belle said in a soft but
steady voice, for her tears had now ceased,--
“Dear Jesus, I promise not to slap Daphne any more, or not to be
naughty any more if I can help it; and you will help me to be good.
Amen.”
Then pressing her lips to the cold stone, as if it were the warm,
living cheek she had once caressed, she said in a pleading, pathetic
whisper,--
“Dear mamma, your little Belle will try to be just as good as you would
want her to be if you were here wif her.”
Will any doubt that the “mother-angel” heard and rejoiced over the
simple promise uttered by her little one’s trusting lips?
“Do you think it really makes Jesus glad when I’m good?” asked Belle,
when they had risen from their knees.
“Oh! to be sure it does,” answered Bessie.
“And He _did_ leave me some comfit: didn’t He, Bessie? He left me papa,
and He gave me you and Maggie too; and your mamma is a great comfit
too.”
“Mamma’s the best comfort of anybody,” said Bessie.
“Oh, no, Bessie! oh, no! Papa best--you next.”
Bessie did not contradict her, though she thought it a very strange
opinion for Belle to hold, and was not at all convinced herself.
“I wish papa was here to stay with me by mamma a little while,” said
Belle, presently.
“Shall I go ask him to come?” asked Bessie.
“Yes,” said Belle. “Do you know the way?”
“Oh, yes! It’s right up that path, isn’t it?”
Then she kissed Belle and left her, turning back as she passed through
the gate, to look at her little playmate sitting by her mother’s grave
and leaning her head pensively against the monument. But Belle smiled
as she met Bessie’s eye, and the little girl felt that she had not
been left quite “comfortless.” Her own heart was very full of love and
sympathy.
Bessie ran up the path till she was nearly half way to the house, when
she was brought to a sudden stand-still by what she thought a very
alarming object. Just before her was a large black dog, broad-chested,
tall, and fierce-looking, standing directly in the path, and seeming as
though he meant to dispute the way.
Bessie’s heart was in her mouth and her knees shook; but she did not
scream. She looked at the dog and he looked at her, but he did not bark
or growl. Then she found her voice, and tried what coaxing would do.
“Nice doggie, nice little doggie,” she said to the great creature.
“Does little doggie want Bessie to go away? Well, she will. But then
the good little fellow mustn’t bark at Bessie and frighten her.”
Bessie had an idea that her seeming enemy could bite as well as bark if
he saw fit occasion; but she did not think it wisest to suggest it to
him.
It must have been a hard-hearted dog, indeed, which could have resisted
that insinuating voice and smile, and either bark or bite; and this one
did not seem inclined to do the one or the other; but then neither did
he seem to intend to move out of the path, but stood stock still gazing
at his unwilling little companion.
Seeing that he appeared peaceable, Bessie took courage, and, edging off
upon the grass, went a few steps forward. But as she passed the dog, he
turned and placed himself before her, though still without any show of
attacking her.
Bessie was pretty well frightened; but she began her wiles again,
talking to him as she would have done to Baby Annie or Flossy.
“Poor fellow! nice doggie. Bessie wouldn’t hurt little doggie for any
thing. Doggie, doggie, doggie! He’ll let Bessie go to the house, won’t
he? Don’t he want to go and see Belle down there?”
Now you must not think that Bessie wanted to save herself by exposing
her little friend; for she knew that this must be Duke, the great
English blood-hound, of which Belle had often spoken, saying how loving
and good Duke was to her, although he was fierce and unfriendly with
strangers.
But no, all coaxing proved useless: the dog stood his ground and would
not suffer her to pass, even giving a low growl and seizing the skirt
of her dress when she tried once more to do so.
Bessie was dreadfully frightened, and was about to call aloud for help,
when she saw Mr. Powers coming towards her from the house. As he came
down the path, a great snake glided from beneath some low bushes on
the other side, passed swiftly over the narrow path, and would have
been out of sight in an instant, had not the dog, suddenly all alert,
bounded forward, seized it by the back of the neck, and giving it a
violent shake, left it lying dead.
“How is this, dear child?” said Mr. Powers, looking from the dog and
snake to the child. “Old Ben told me he had seen you and Belle going to
the burying-ground. Where is Belle?”
“Yes, sir, we did,” answered Bessie; “and Belle is there now, waiting
for you to come to her mamma’s grave. I was just coming to tell you,
and that dog stopped me. He’s a pretty naughty dog; he wouldn’t let me
go on, and he killed the poor snake that did not do a bit of harm, but
was just running away as fast as he could.”
“Duke knew he would do harm if he but found the chance, my child,”
said Mr. Powers. “That is a very venomous snake, and the dog’s care
may have saved you from being badly bitten. Good Duke! brave fellow!”
and Mr. Powers patted the dog’s head. “It is years and years since
we have seen a snake of this kind upon the plantation, and I hope it
may be long before we see another. You and Belle have each escaped a
great danger this morning, Bessie. I am glad too that old Duke was not
bitten.”
Bessie was very grateful to Duke now, and she too patted and caressed
him. He seemed to think himself, that he had performed a great feat, as
indeed he had; and kept looking up at his master and thrusting his nose
into his hand as if to call for more thanks. Bessie’s attentions he
received more coolly, though he permitted them.
“Run up to the house now, you steady little woman,” said Mr. Powers:
“your mother is wondering where you can be, though she said you were to
be trusted not to get into mischief. It is a good thing to have such a
character, Bessie.”
When Duke saw that Bessie and his master were going in different
directions, he seemed to be divided in his own mind as to which one he
had better accompany. But after looking from one to the other he seemed
to decide that Bessie needed his protection, and trotted gravely along
by her side till she reached the house, when he turned about and raced
after his master.
Bessie went in and told her story, but so simply and with so little
fuss that her mother had no idea of the danger she had been in, till
Mr. Powers came with Belle and told how she, as well as Belle, had been
mercifully preserved from harm that morning.
When Belle came back with her father, she was quite composed, and soon
became cheerful again, though she was rather more quiet than usual all
the morning.
As soon as the party were rested after their drive, they all went out
for a walk about the place. Mr. Powers’ estate was a rice plantation,
and the children were greatly interested in going through the mills
and seeing how the rice, so familiar to them as an article of food, was
prepared for the market. They were particularly so, in watching the
husking of the rice. The grain was stored on the second story of the
buildings, in great boxes or bins. There was a little sliding-door in
each of these, just above the bottom of the bin; and when the men were
ready to go to work, a trough was placed leading from that, through
a trap-door, to a hopper on the floor below. Then the bin door was
opened, and the rice in its brown husks slid through the trough into
the hopper beneath, and from thence into the mill, on each side of
which stood a man who turned the arms of the mill. In this, the outer
husk was stripped from the rice; then it passed through another wide,
covered trough, into the sifting or winnowing machine. This was a large
box with a wheel at the bottom which turned the rice over and over. As
it came to the top, the chaff was blown away by a great “four sided
fan,” as Bessie called it, made of four pieces of canvas stretched in
different directions, and fixed upon a roller which was turned round
by a man, and fanned away the light husks broken from the grain on its
passage through the mill. But this was only the outer husk; and it had
to go down a third trough into another mill, where the inner covering
was taken off; then through a second fanning machine, from which it
came out clean and white; and lastly into a third building, where it
was led into another range of bins, till it should be necessary to put
it into the bags and barrels in which it was sent to market.
Maggie, as usual, wanted to “help;” and the good-natured colored men
who were about let her try her hand at just what she chose, provided
it was safe for her. Indeed, all the children, even Belle, to whom
the amusement was not new, were greatly pleased to pull up the
sliding panels of the bins, and see the rice come pouring down into
the mill-hopper, and to thrust their hands and arms into the white
grain, and shovel it into the bags. So entertained were they with
this business, that the older people walked on when they had satisfied
their own curiosity, leaving the children in the care of old Cato, who
promised to see that they came to no harm.
“We’ve done a whole lot of work, Mr. Powers,” said Maggie, when they
were called back to the house to dinner. “I think your men must be
pretty glad we came.”
“Yes,” said Lily: “we’ve most filled two bags and a barrel.”
“And we didn’t spill very much either,” said Bessie, who was at that
moment laboring away with a wooden shovel, on which she contrived to
take up about two table-spoonsful of rice.
“Capital!” said Mr. Powers: “you’ve earned your dinner to-day, have you
not?”
Whether the dinners were fairly earned or no, the exercise had given
them all good appetites, and they were not sorry to go in and take
their seats at the well-furnished table.