“You’ll let me help too, won’t you?”
“But,” said Mrs. Bradford, “I thought you were saving that money for
another purpose.”
“Oh, so we _were_,” said Maggie, biting her underlip; “if I didn’t
forget it. What a child I am! always forgetting one thing in another.”
“What is it?” asked Belle.
“To buy a warm cloak and a pair of better _spetacles_ for good Mrs.
Granby, who is always being kind to other people, and never thinks
about herself,” said Bessie.
“And I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to put by a person we’ve known
for so long for people we’re hardly acquainted with, only through
water-lilies,” said Maggie. “Oh! I wish, I wish, I wish I had the
greatest lots of money that ever were seen, so I could give every one
every thing they wanted.”
Maggie was always wishing for lots of money; but it is only justice to
her to say that it was generally for the benefit of others, and not for
herself.
“Did you promise Mrs. Granby?” asked Belle.
“No, we did not promise, not with words,” said Bessie; “but then, we
made up our minds to do it, and we wouldn’t like not to. I think it
would seem a little like not being very true in our hearts to Mrs.
Granby.”
“Oh, dear!” said Maggie, “there are such lots of things one wants to
do; but somehow, one can’t seem to do every thing.”
“Mamma,” said Bessie, “don’t you think papa would like to help this
boy? He has enough of money.”
“My dear child,” said mamma, laughing: “you must not think there is
no end to papa’s money. He has a good many people to help now, and he
cannot do for every one, you know.”
“Well, then,” said Maggie, “we’ll tell Uncle Ruthven and the Colonel,
and see what they will do. I don’t mean we’ll ask them to help the lily
boy; but we’ll just let them know about him, and then leave it to their
own conscience.”
“Uncle Ruthven has a good deal of conscience about poor people; and so
has Uncle Horace too,” said Bessie.
But somehow the children could not find an opportunity to tell their
uncle and Colonel Rush about the “lily boy.” For the next few days
there was a good deal of company coming and going, and they did not
care to talk about it before strangers; then papa, Uncle Ruthven, and
the Colonel went off yachting, and stayed a week.
Meanwhile, Johnny and Sallie came to the house every morning, bringing
their basket of lilies; and when the little girls had bought as many
as they wanted for their daily gift to their mother, Mrs. Rush and the
other ladies would purchase the remainder. So Maggie and Bessie knew
that they were helping Johnny towards his heart’s desire in this way,
even if they had devoted their “charity money” to another object.
Early on the morning after the gentlemen had returned, the children had
gone down to the sands, and were playing happily together, when Belle
came on her daily visit. Belle considered herself almost as much at
home in Mrs. Rush’s house as Maggie and Bessie did.
“You live at the Ocean House, don’t you?” asked a little girl one day.
“Oh, no!” said Belle; “I don’t live there. I only sleep there, and eat
my breakfast there. I live at Aunt May’s, even when it rains, Maggie
and Bessie and I can’t do wifout oneanofer.”
She now came running swiftly over the beach towards Maggie and Bessie;
and, as soon as she had kissed them for good-morning, said eagerly,--
“O Maggie and Bessie! what do you fink? It is my birfday next week, and
papa told me to choose what he should give me, and I can’t think of any
thing I want. Do you know any thing I want?”
“Well, no,” said Maggie. “I think you have about every thing a
sensible child could want. I can’t remember a single thing; and that
is rather a bad business not to have some thing you _want_ for your
birthday present. I think, after all, maybe it is a better economy not
to have all you want; but to save up your wishes, so you can think of
something when any person tells you to choose a present.”
Maggie said this with her wiseacre air, and Belle and Bessie listened
with solemn admiration, believing it to be a speech containing a great
deal of wisdom; nor, indeed, do I know that they were far wrong.
“How much is your father going to cost for your present?” asked Bessie.
“I asked him that,” said Belle; “and he said that ’pended on what
I wanted. He said if it was a locket or necklace, or any thing that
would keep till I was a big girl, he would not mind giving a good deal
of money for it, he had to give me a present from mamma and himself
too; but if it was only a toy I could break or be tired of in a little
while, it would not be right to frow away much money on it. That is
just what he said. I ’member it very well. But I don’t want a locket
or those kind of things, there’s a whole lot of my own mamma’s pretty
things I can have when I’m a big girl. Papa is keeping them for me,
and I like those best. And I can’t think of a toy, not one;” and Belle
looked quite melancholy over her want of wants.
“Yes,” said Maggie again, “I b’lieve you have every thing in the world
a child could want.”
“Not my mamma,” said Belle, with the touch of sadness which always came
over her when she thought or spoke of her dead mother.
“Dear Belle,” said Maggie, tenderly. “But then God gives us our mammas;
and I only meant things that earth people could give you.”
“And, Belle, darling,” said Bessie, “your mamma is yours yet, even if
she has gone to Jesus! It is only that she is more of Jesus’s, and He
is more of hers now she is in His home with Him.”
Belle wiped away the tears which had gathered in her eyes; and then,
with Bessie’s arm about her neck, and Maggie holding her hand, sat
gazing up into the cloudless, blue sky, almost as if she expected to
see the face of her “angel-mother” looking down with tender love upon
her.
They all three sat silent for a few moments. The waves--they were
hardly more than wavelets, on this still, calm day--came up with their
gentle murmur upon the beach; and there was a sort of golden haze upon
the sea, and far off on the horizon, telling, perhaps, of a coming fog
later in the day: but the sky was clear above them now, and all was
bright and fair around.
The quiet and the peace stole into all three little hearts,--God’s
peace, which He gives to those who love and trust in Him, and who
strive to do His work, and bear His will, with simple faith that He
knows best, and will order all things right.
Old Daphne and Jane, each with her work, sat at a little distance, but
did not interfere with the children more than to see they did not
run into any danger; and were occupied with their own conversation,
the burden of which, on Daphne’s side, was the extreme loveliness and
sweetness of her young mistress; while each story that she told of
Belle’s goodness and smartness was immediately matched with one from
Jane of the wisdom and droll sayings of her particular young charge.
Each bird sang loud in praise of her own nestling; but the little birds
themselves neither heard nor heeded.
“Belle,” said Bessie, after a little, “a thought came into my mind just
now; no, not into my _mind_ either. I guess it was into my _heart_, it
was such a thought of love.”
“What was it?” asked Belle, looking as if all thoughts of love were in
_her_ heart towards the dear Bessie.
“About your mamma,” said Bessie. “You know your papa said he had to
give you a present from her. I just thought if maybe you wouldn’t like
to have her present something that by and by would be fit to go back to
heaven like a jewel for our Father.”
“Yes, I would,” answered Belle, to whom the oft-repeated,
oft-referred-to story was nearly as familiar and as dear as it was to
Maggie and Bessie. “Yes, I would; but what thing could I ask for that
would be like that? If you want any thing or Maggie, I’ll ask papa for
it, and give it to you, liever than to have it myself, you’re so dear
and good to me. I would, Bessie.”
“Oh, no, Belle!” said Bessie. “I never would _hint_ you to give me a
thing. Mamma says that is not a nice thing to do; and I was thinking of
something better than that, something that would be a great, great help
to some one, and last a great, great while, maybe for ever.”
“Well,” said Belle, “why don’t you tell me what it is? You know I
don’t have a great deal of _think_ in me to find out how to do good for
ofers; but I b’lieve I have some _do_ in me when I know how.”
“Yes, you have,” said Maggie, “and some day you’ll learn how to think
for yourself. You see you have not been quite so much brought up to it
as we have. That’s the mercy of having such a papa and mamma as ours.”
“Well,” said Belle rather hurt, “my papa is very such too, and I’d
rafer have him than any papa.”
“Oh, yes!” said Maggie quickly, seeing that she had made a mistake,
and hastening to heal the wound she had unintentionally given; “to be
sure you would, and I didn’t mean the least discompliment to your papa,
Belle; but you know he has had a great deal of trouble, and so has not
had time to teach you so much as our papa and mamma have taught us.”
“Yes, I know it,” said Belle, quite satisfied with this apology; “but
tell me now, Bessie, I can’t think what you mean.”
“Water-lily boy,” said Bessie, willing to give Belle the credit of
thinking out the matter for herself.
Belle looked puzzled.
“Lily boy, Johnny, school,” said Bessie, helping her along.
“Oh!” said Belle, as Bessie’s meaning came to her, “do you mean I could
ask papa to give the money for Johnny to go to school next winter?”
“Yes, dear,” said Bessie; “and it’s partly your mamma’s present it
would seem as if you and she were doing good together, and as if the
help for Johnny came from heaven.”
“Bessie! oh, you precious love!” burst forth Maggie. “You need never
say another word about my having good ideas. If I have ideas about
compositions and things, you have a great deal better ones about
living. I never did see such a child as you are,--no, never; and I hope
I never will: one of such a kind as you are is quite enough for _me_;”
and Maggie, after gazing at her sister with an air of the most intense
pride and satisfaction, threw her arms about her neck and kissed her.
“Don’t you think that is lovely, Belle?” she said; “and don’t you want
to do it?”
But little Belle sat silent for a moment, her eyes raised again towards
her dear mother’s home, her hands clasped, and a gentle, happy smile on
her lips.
Then she spoke, with that same, soft smile, and with a peaceful light
in her eyes.
“I was just saying a little prayer inside of my mouf,” she said, “to
ask Jesus to make papa feel like doing it, so dear mamma and I can do
some work for Him togefer. And papa will be helping too, all fee of us
togefer,” added the dear little thing, to whom no thought could bring
more happiness than the one that mamma in heaven, waiting for papa and
Belle, would know and be glad when she tried to please Jesus and to do
His work.
“I shall tell your papa Johnny is an honest boy,” said Maggie. “You
know we know he is, that day when the lilies were six cents a bunch,
and he had no pennies change for the ten cents I gave him, he would not
keep it, but pulled four lilies out of another bunch to make it even
with me. I told him he could keep it all, too.”
“I guess he is a pretty good boy,” said Bessie. “Sallie says he is.”
“I’ll tell papa all about him,” said Belle, which she did as her father
drove home with her that evening in the starlight. The fog which the
morning haze had foretold had lasted but a few hours, and all was now
again fair and clear.
“Has my pet thought of what she wants me to give her on her birthday?”
said Mr. Powers.
“Yes, papa.”
“Ah! Maggie and Bessie helped you to it, I suppose. I thought they
would,” said Mr. Powers.
“Papa,” said Belle, leaning her head upon her father’s breast, and
gazing upward at the stars, “if a present comes from mamma, it must
come from heaven, and so it ought to be somefing very, very good: don’t
you think so?”
“It shall be what my darling pleases, if papa can bring it about,” said
Mr. Powers, drawing her closer to him as she sat upon his knee.
“The fought of it came from heaven, I know papa,” Belle went on.
“Bessie gave it to me; and I am sure Jesus gave it to her.”
“What is it, dearest?” asked her father.
So Belle told her father of the “lily boy” and his desire to go to
school, and of what she wanted for her birthday gift from him and dear
mamma.
“And you would really rather I should do this than to have any thing
for yourself, my little girl?” said he.
“Yes, papa, really, really I would; and then you know, papa, if the
present comes from mamma and you, it will be as if she and me and you
did a little work for Jesus, all fee togefer,” and she put up her
little soft hand caressingly against his mouth.
He took it in his and kissed it, but no more was said for a little
while, as they drove slowly home in the still summer night.
“Will you promise, papa?” said Belle at last.
“Yes, darling, I will promise; that is, you shall send the boy to
school if I find he is steady and good, and his parents are deserving
people.”
“And if not, papa?” questioned his little daughter, fearful lest this
plan, which seemed to bring her nearer to her mother, should fail her
at the last.
“If not, or if I find any reason why this thing is not wise, I will set
aside the sum of money it would have taken, and we will soon find some
way in which mamma’s gift may do work for Jesus.”
Belle was satisfied.
“I am so glad my darling is learning to be unselfish, and to take
thought for others,” continued Mr. Powers.
“It’s all Maggie’s and Bessie’s fault, papa, all their fault. It never
came to me, myself; but they taught me how. And it makes me want to be
good when I see them good, even when they don’t tell me a word.”
“Yes,” said her father: “I think it has been a great blessing to you to
know Maggie and Bessie.”
“They’re the best of all my blessings, ’cept only you, papa. I’m a
great, great deal happier since I knew them, and I guess gooder too.
I don’t slap Daphne now; and I don’t fret so much when you tell me a
thing can’t not: do I papa?”
“No, my darling,” said her father: “my little Belle is becoming very
good and obedient, and I see she takes pains with her quick temper too.”
Mr. Powers felt as if he could not bear to part from his darling that
night, and when Daphne had undressed her and laid her in her bed, he
went and sat beside her, and held her little hand.
“Put out the light, and leave the window open, papa,” she pleaded;
“so we can look up at dear mamma’s home. See how bright the stars are.
Bessie says the water-lilies are like the stars come down here, so we
can think the stars are heaven’s lilies; but they do not fade like the
lilies; do they, papa?” She rambled on half sleepily, without waiting
for an answer. “And Jesus never fades, nor the angels He takes up to
His heaven. Papa, I’ll try to be like a little water-lily, and then
when Jesus has done wif me on earf, He will gafer me up to His home
where mamma is.”
So she talked on about mamma and Jesus and heaven till sleep came, and
she forgot alike the joys and sorrows of her young life.
But her father sat there, long after she fell asleep, and thought
with more pleasure than any thing had given him since his wife’s
death, of the work which “all fee togefer” might do for Jesus. And
as he remembered the many mercies which God had still left to him,
especially the blessing of this loving little child, he took shame to
himself that he had allowed his own great grief to make him forget the
wants and troubles of others; and he resolved that on each Christmas
and birthday, from this time forth, Belle’s gift from her “mamma in
heaven,” should be the means of doing good to some one who needed it.
He was as good as his word respecting the water-lily boy; and the very
next day went to work to find if Johnny Howe and his parents were
worthy of the help his little daughter wished to offer them.
All was satisfactory. Johnny’s parents proved to be industrious,
deserving people, with whom the world had gone rather hardly for the
last year or two. Johnny himself, a bright boy, eager to learn, and
who made the most of all his opportunities. His father and mother
thankfully accepted the offer Mr. Powers made to provide for his
education as long as they should need such help; and dear little Belle
was made happy in this “birfday present.”
Belle’s were not the only young eyes which gazed upward at the starry
sky that night with sweet thoughts of the heaven beyond.
Maggie and Bessie had gone out with Colonel Rush to see Mr. Powers and
Belle drive away; and the evening was so soft, and warm and lovely,
that after they had gone the Colonel sat down upon the steps of the
piazza to enjoy it, with one of his pets on either side of him.
It was very quiet: only two sounds broke the stillness; the ceaseless
song of the sea,--very low and gentle it was to-night,--and mingling
with it came the sweet tones of Mrs. Rush’s voice, as she sang her baby
to sleep in one of the upper rooms. They all sat listening to the two
hymns; so different, yet with no discord between them; the music of the
one blending so perfectly with the music of the other.
For a moment the sweet singer above paused; then, unconscious of the
listening ears below, began,--
“I was a wandering sheep.”
It carried the Colonel back, back to that time, now nearly two years
since, when on just such a night as this, with those same mingling
voices sounding in his ears, peace and rest had flowed in on his
troubled soul; when striving to reach the light pointed out by the
beloved little messenger beside him, he had laid hold upon the cross,
and felt its brightness all about him. Its rays had beamed clearly
for him ever since; for he knew from whence they shone, and that they
should never fail him.
The baby slept, and the young mother’s voice ceased as she laid it
in its cradle: but its father sat on, with the music still sounding
in his heart; and, as if the holy spell were on them too, his little
companions sat as motionless and silent,--Maggie leaning on his knee,
Bessie with her hand nestled in his, her head laid lovingly against his
arm.
Suddenly, some one threw back a blind from the library-window, and a
stream of light was thrown from within upon the sunny, brown curls
which lay against the Colonel’s shoulder. He looked down at her.
“Bessie, what were you thinking of, darling?” he asked, as he saw the
wistful face and earnest eyes, which seemed as if they saw beyond the
stars.
“A good many things, Uncle Horace,” answered the little one. “I
thought about Belle, and how glad her mamma must be to see how hard she
tries to be good, and I know it is hard for Belle to be good sometimes;
and about heaven and Jesus. And then I thought about our travels, and
how good our Father in heaven has been to us, and how I wished I could
do something very much for Him; and then--and then--Uncle Horace, I
don’t know what made me, I think it was the sound of the waves--I
thought about one night at Quam Beach, when I lay awake a great while,
and looked out at the stars and heard the waves making just such a soft
sound--and--and--I was saying a good many little prayers about you,
Uncle Horace: it was the night before the next morning when you told me
you had found Jesus, and was going to be His soldier.”
There was no answer in words; but his arm found its way around her, and
clasped her closer, and when the brave soldier could steady his voice,
it was to Maggie he spoke.
“And what was my honey-bee thinking of, to keep her so quiet?”
“I was thinking of our travels too, Uncle Horace,” answered Maggie;
“but not in such a very superior manner as Bessie. I was thinking what
a lovely time we have had all these months; and now how glad I am that
papa and mamma have come to decision to stay in Newport till it is time
to go home in the autumn. I like Chalecoo; but I’d rather stay in this
lovely place than to go anywhere else. And now our travels are done.”
“For the present, yes,” said the Colonel; “but we have all still one
road to keep, one journey to go, dear Maggie: that journey that shall
end at last in our Father’s house.”
“Yes,” said Maggie, with grave sweetness: “the narrow road, where the
golden letters and the silver thread shall guide us, and where our
Brother will help us where it is too hard for us to go alone.”
“And where our Father has let us find a few jewels for Him, I b’lieve,”
chimed in Bessie’s soft voice. “I hope we may find some more, but He
knows best.”
“‘They that seek shall find,’ if they search by the light of God’s Holy
Word,” said the Colonel, laying a loving hand on each little head; “but
we may not know what treasures are ours, till the day when he shall
make up His jewels.”
* * * * *
And now go forth on your travels, my Maggie and Bessie, followed by
the earnest prayer that you may be the means of drawing other little
pilgrims to journey beside the green pastures and still waters of the
way of salvation, led by the hand of the gentle Shepherd, who has
said, “Suffer little children to come unto me;” and who will guide them
at last to that perfect home, prepared for such as are of “the kingdom
of heaven.”