A SONG IN THE NIGHT.
It snowed steadily all day; and evening closed around them in the midst
of this soft, noiseless storm. The roads were beginning to be blocked
up, the houses were hooded in ermine, and no one passed by the windows.
Not a soul had been in that day. So, after the lamp was lighted, they
drew closer together. Hal read a while from a book of poems that Mrs.
Howard had lent him.
"It is nearly bed-time," he said at length.
"I don't feel a bit sleepy."
"Hal," began Granny, stretching out her thin hand, "don't leave me. I
feel so strange."
"Worse, my own dear?"
"Not in pain, but sort of restful, as if I'd come to something--no,
I'm not afraid, Hal. I've been praying all along that I might die, and
maybe it's coming. I'm a poor old body, not worth much,--and Joe's
_there_, you know."
She gave her head a feeble nod. Hal swallowed over a great sob.
"When will it be Christmas?"
"To-morrow."
"Maybe I'll be up among the angels,--a poor, ignorant, foolish old
body like me! It's wonderful to think of! But Joe'll be there, to take
his dear Granny by the hand, and keep her from stumbling, and making
mistakes, and doing all the things that would shame or vex any one. And
Christ loved us all, you know. He died for us. I think I've understood
it better since Joe stood there on the ship, refusing to get into
the boat lest he might swamp it. He died for some one: not in _that_
fashion, for he didn't have any sins to bear, and wasn't reviled and
wounded; but still he gave his sweet life,--his dear life that was so
much to me."
Dot crept up to the bed.
"After I'm gone you and Dot'll love each other. It will be sad for a
little while, but God will remember you, and bring you comfort. I've
cried to him a' many times, when it's been dark all round; and, when
all other friends fail, you'll find him true and strong. I've done the
best I could. It's been poor enough; but then I never had learnin'
and all that to help me. I took you when you were all little chaps,
motherless and fatherless, and I've tried to keep you together. But
they've strayed off, Hal. There's only you and Dot to give Granny a
last kiss."
Dot was sobbing on Granny's pillow.
"Don't, deary, don't," in her quivering, entreating voice. "We must
all die some time. God knows when it's best. And I ain't of any use
now, my work's all done. I'd like to see 'em all again, Hal,--dear
little things; only I never can believe they are all men and women.
And, if Flossy comes back, give her my love. She was so pretty, with
her long golden curls! I don't wonder the grand lady liked her. And
Charlie,--Charlie was such a good girl all last summer, working like a
woman! Yes--if I could only see 'em once more!"
Hal wiped away his fast falling tears. It seemed too hard that Granny's
unselfish life should not be crowned at the last. To die here, almost
alone!
"You remember the old Christmas, Hal? The last time we were all
together! Ah, how sweet it was! And the presents, and the old shoe
full!"
Granny's voice sunk to a tremble of delight.
"It was so happy, so merry! All of 'em laughing and talking, and their
bright pretty faces full of fun. But--maybe--I'll see 'em all in
heaven. Don't cry, Dot."
Hal drew her to his breast, and soothed her with tender kisses. Then he
sat down in the old rocker, and took her on his knee.
"There never was such a Christmas, never! I was so glad to have you
all, so proud of you! And I've done my best"--
"Yes, Granny, God, who watches over all things, will bear witness to
that. You were mother and father to us. And how you have toiled and
worried and made sacrifices, how you have loved us, will all be written
in the Great Book. I'm glad you are going to have a reward there."
"I shall see Joe."
Then she was quiet for a long while.
"I can't remember any thing about the Christmas," said Dot with much
perplexity.
"Tell her, Hal. I'll listen; and it will seem all fresh again," pleaded
Granny in a faint, far-off voice.
"You were such a weeny little thing, and couldn't talk plain; but then
you had always been sick."
"And cross," Kit says.
"You did use to cry--sometimes; and then at others you were like a
little lamb. All children cry occasionally."
Dot felt, somehow, as if she had not outgrown the trick yet; but the
tears fell close to Hal's heart.
"But about the Christmas?"
"Oh, yes!"
Then Hal began. The preparations beforehand, the secrecy and plotting,
the stockings stuffed to overflowing, and the wildest of merriment the
next morning. It appeared to Dot that she could see it like a picture.
"And O Hal, that we should be so lonely now! Hasn't God let us slip out
of his mind for a little while?"
"I think not, my darling."
"But how _can_ you always believe? Why did God let Joe die, when we
wanted him so much; and Flossy go away? And all the other things,--the
sweet pretty flowers that were frozen?"
"My dear child, we cannot answer the questions. Trials always appear
very hard to those who have them to bear; but maybe God gives us one to
save us from some other that would be a great deal harder. And with it
there is grace to endure."
"As when you were hurt. I wonder that you could be so patient, Hal!"
and the little arms crept up around his neck.
"It was part my nature, you know. I used to be sorry at school, that I
wasn't like the other boys; for, somehow, I never _was_: but, when God
knew what I would have to bear, he made me patient, and almost girlish,
loving to stay in the house, and all that. If I'd been like Joe, I
should have fretted sorely when I found I should never be able to go to
sea. He was so full of life and energy, you know, so ambitious, that it
would almost have killed him. It was best to have it happen to me."
Dot sighed, her small brain being greatly puzzled.
"But I don't see why every one cannot be happy and prosperous. Isn't
there enough to go round to all?"
"God knows best. And, when it troubles me sorely, I think of the
little Christ-child, who was born eighteen hundred years ago, all
goodness and sweetness and meekness, and of the trials he had to bear
for our sakes. All the lowly life, the reviling, the unbelief, the
persecution, the being homeless, and sometimes almost friendless,
and at the last the shameful death. We shall never have all that, my
darling; and so we ought to bear our lesser sorrows patiently."
Dot made no answer.
"My darling," said Hal, glancing at the clock, "ought you not to go to
bed? It is almost midnight."
"And you?" reaching up to kiss the dear face.
"I am going to stay here by Granny."
Dot looked into his face with great awe.
"Hal, I've never seen any one die; but I want to stay too. There's only
just you and I; and she'll want us to kiss her for the last time, when
the angels come."
Hal pressed the little face in his trembling hands, but could not deny
the wistful eyes.
Then he rose, and looked at Granny. She had fallen into a peaceful
slumber. It did not seem as if she could die just then; and yet, at
this hour of rejoicing, some souls were slipping out of the world.
He came back to his seat, and to his little sister. Dot's head was
pillowed on his knee, and presently she began to drowse. Poor little
bairn!
So he kept his vigil by himself, thinking over the old days, when they
were all here. Oh, if Granny could have seen them once more! If the
brave and lovely men and women could come back to the old home-nest,
all outgrown,--and he smiled sadly to himself,--just to clasp each
other's hands, and glance into each other's eyes, to speak some word
of comfort and blessing, to smooth the path of the dear heart yonder,
who had given herself for them without stint or grudging, a holier
sacrifice than even a mother's love.
His mind was sorely troubled when he thought of Florence. Since
childhood she had "lain in the roses and lilies of life." They had
borne the burden and sorrow, the trials, the deprivations, days of
toil, nights of anxious care about the future. And it seemed as if none
of them had been especially prospered. She had gone to luxury at a
bound. Where was she to-night? Did any remembrance of them ever cross
her soul, amid her wealth and pleasure?
Poor Joe again! It was the sad refrain to which his life would be
forever set, like a strain of minor music. He loved Joe so dearly!
There was such a soreness, such an aching and longing in his heart,
that it sometimes seemed as if he could stretch out his arms, and
search among the tangled seaweed until he found Joe, and lift him out
of his cold bed. One bright dream broken off in the middle.
There had been so much to take up his attention this winter, that he
had hardly felt anxious for Charlie. Her cheerful little notes were
like stray sunbeams, and she _had_ promised to come back. Ah, if it
could only be in time to say good-by to Granny!
Now and then he shut his eyes, and breathed a tender prayer,--that God
would keep them all; that, no matter how far they strayed from each
other, they might never stray from him.
The lamp burned dimly in the room beyond. Granny still slept
peacefully, and Dot's baby hand was fast clasped in his. All was still
to awesomeness. Even the storm without must have ceased.
"Hal," called the dear voice.
Gently as he laid Dot down, the movement woke her.
"Give me a little drink, Hal, please," Granny asked.
He brought her some wine.
"I wonder if there is any thing that I could eat?"
"I left some chicken-broth on the stove to keep warm, and there is a
little jelly."
"I've had such a nice sleep, Hal! I feel so rested! It was almost like
being in heaven, for Joe seemed to have his arms around my neck. Is it
morning?"
"Almost."
"Oh!" exclaimed Dot, "it is clear and beautiful, with hosts of stars! I
wonder if any shepherd watches them and thinks"--
"'In Bethlehem of Judea,'" said Granny in a chanting tone. "'Unto you
is born a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.'"
"How strange it seems! Christmas morning!"
Hal brought the chicken and the jelly. Granny ate remarkably for her.
Then he placed his fingers on her pulse. It certainly _was_ stronger.
"I do think she is better," he said to Dot, who had followed him to the
kitchen.
"O Hal! maybe she won't die. I never saw anybody"--
"She was nervous last night, thinking so much of Joe," rejoined Hal
softly in the pause that Dot did not finish.
"I'm so glad to have her better!"
"Children," Granny said when they came back, "it is Christmas morning,
and you ought to sing. Everybody keeps Christmas."
Dot glanced up in tearful surprise. What was she thinking of,--angels
in heaven?
"They sang on the plains of Judea, you know."
An awesome chill crept over Hal. Was this the change that sometimes
preceded the last step over the narrow river? Had Granny received that
solemn call?
"Sing," she said again. "Some of the bright Christmas hymns."
Hal's heart was throbbing up to his throat. He did not know whether he
could trust his voice.
"What shall it be, Dot?"
She thought a moment. "'Wonderful Night,'" she answered. "But, oh! I
feel more like crying. I can't help it."
The two voices rose tremblingly in the beautiful carol.
"Wonderful night,
Wonderful night!
Angels and shining immortals,
Thronging the heavenly portals,
Fling out their banner of light.
Wonderful, wonderful night!"
They sang until they forgot sorrow and toil and poverty, and the great
fear that overshadowed them. The soft voice of the child Dot growing
stronger, and the pain in Hal's slipping away, changing into faith and
trust. For, as he sung, he grew wonderfully calm, even hopeful.
"It's like heaven, children! I've been thinking it all over, and God
_does_ know best. If they were all here, it would be harder for me to
go."
The two kissed each other amid fast falling tears. When they glanced up
again a faint streak of dawn stole in at the window.
"How strange!" exclaimed Dot. "We have not been to bed at all, only I
had a nap on your knee." Then very softly,--
"Merry Christmas, Hal."
"Merry Christmas to you, my little darling."
Then Hal looked at the fires, and hurried them up a trifle. How lovely
it was without! Over the whole earth lay a mantle of whitest ermine.
Tree and shrub were robed in fleecy garments,--arrayed for this
Christmas morning. As the sun began to quiver in the east they sparkled
with a thousand gems.
It seemed like the beginning of a new life. Why, he could not tell,
but he never forgot the feeling of solemn sweetness that stole over
him as he stood by the window in the flower-room, looking over to the
infinite, fancying that earth and heaven met this morning; the fine
gold of the one blending with the snowy whiteness of the other. So pure
was the soul of the little child born eighteen hundred years ago.
Within, it was all fragrance and beauty. The plains of the Orient could
not have been more odorous in that early dawn. Unconsciously he hummed
over two or three lines,--
"Midnight scarcely passed and over,
Drawing to this holy morn;
Very early, very early--
Christ was born."
They went about their simple homely duties, as if some unbidden guest
had entered, whose presence filled the space out of which a dear face
had vanished.
"Granny _is_ better, I am sure," Dot said, preparing some breakfast for
her.
"I am so thankful!"
"Listen to the church-bell! How faintly it comes ploughing through the
snow; but oh, how sweet! Hal, I can't help feeling happy. I wonder if
it is wrong, when we were so sad last night?"
Something floated through Hal's brain,--"Sorrow may endure for a night,
but joy cometh in the morning." He brushed a tear away from his eye;
but it was tenderness rather than sorrow.
While Dot was cooking her dainty breakfast, Hal took a turn at
shovelling snow, clearing the old doorstep, and part of the path. It
made his cheeks rosy, and the fresh crisp air took the tired look out
of his eyes.
"Granny has been asking for you," Dot said, as he came in.
He warmed his hands, and entered the room. Dot lingered by the window,
glancing up and down the unbroken road. Not a sound anywhere. It
absolutely seemed to her as if a little bird ought to come out of the
snowy trees, and sing.
Something attracted her attention,--a man striding along, muffled up
to the ears, looking this way and that, as if considering how best to
extricate himself from the last plunge, and make another. No, it was
not Dr. Meade,--no one for them thus early in the morning.
Still she looked, and smiled a little. The strong, manful tread was
good to behold. When he reached the house, he paused, appeared to be
considering, then wheeled about.
She laughed this time. He placed his hand on the gate-post, and leaped
over. It was such a boyish, agile spring! In the path he stamped off
the snow, came straight to the door, and knocked.
Dot started, and opened it. A tall, laughing fellow, with a bronze
brown beard and swarthy cheeks, lighted with a healthful glow of
crimson. What was there so oddly familiar in the laughing eyes?
For an instant he did not speak. Dot began to color with embarrassment,
and half turned to summon Hal.
"Oh, it's Dot, little Dot! And you have forgotten me!"
The rich, ringing voice electrified Hal. He made a rush in a blind,
dazed way; for the room swam round, and it seemed almost as if he were
dying.
"Oh, it isn't Joe! dear old Joe!"
And then Hal felt the strong arms around him. The glowing cheek was
against his, and there were tears and kisses, for Hal was crying like a
baby. I've done my best with him, I want you to observe; but I'm afraid
he will be a "girl"-boy to the end. But nothing ever was so sweet as
that clasp; and Joe's love on this side of the shining river seemed the
next best thing to the infinite love beyond.
"Oh, I can't believe it!" he sobbed. "Did God raise you from the sea,
Joe? for we heard"--
"Yes," with a great tremble in the tone. "It's just like being raised
from the dead. And oh, Hal, God only knows how glad I am to come back
to you all!"
Hal hid his face in the curly beard, and tried to stop the tears that
_would_ flow in spite of his courageous efforts.
There was a call from the other room,--a wild, tender cry,--and the
next instant Joe was hugging Granny to his throbbing, thankful heart.
You could hear nothing but the soft sobs that sounded like summer rain,
blown about by the south wind. Ah, how sweet, how satisfying! What was
poverty and care and trouble and loss, so long as they had Joe back
again?
"Oh!" cried Granny, "I'm willing to die now. I've seen him, my darling!"
"Why, Granny, that would be blackest ingratitude. Here I've lived
through all my narrow escapes, and they have been enough to kill any
ten men, and, by way of welcome, you talk of dying. Why, I'll run back,
and jump into the sea!"
"She has been very sick," said Hal.
"But she means to get well now. Dear old Granny! We couldn't keep house
without you."
They knew well enough then that it was Joe, and not a Christmas ghost;
for no one ever did have such a rich merry voice, such a ringing laugh,
and oh, the dear bright eyes, shining like an April sky!
Granny looked him all over. How he had changed! A great strong,
splendid fellow, whose smiling face put new hope into one.
"I almost feel as if I could get well," she said weakly.
"Of course you will; for, Granny, I have the silk gown, and we'll have
just the jolliest time there has ever been in this little shanty. But
where are all the rest?"
"Kit is at work in Salem, and he meant to come home last night; but I
suppose the storm prevented."
"It was terrible! I've travelled night and day to reach home by
Christmas. And last night, when the trains had to go at a snail's pace,
or were snowed in, I couldn't stand it, so I took a sleigh; but we lost
the road, and twenty other things; and then the horse gave out: it was
such fearful, wearing work. And, when I came in sight of Terry's old
store, I wouldn't stop, but trudged on afoot; for I wanted you to know,
first of all, that I was safe and alive."
"It's just like a dream; and oh, Joe, the merriest Christmas there ever
can be!"
"Where's that midget of a Charlie?"
"Ran away! It's very funny;" and Hal smiled, with tears in his eyes.
"But you know where she is?"
"I think she is in New York,--I'm pretty sure; and she has promised to
come home."
"Well, that beats my time! Ran away! She threatened to do it, you know.
And here I've forgotten all about little Dot! You don't deserve to be
kissed nor made much of, you small woman, when you never gave me a word
of welcome, but, instead, a cold, unfriendly stare. You don't remember
Joe, who broke his delicate constitution carrying you round on his back
to keep you from crying."
With that he caught her up, and perched her on the edge of Granny's
bed. She was very shy, and turned a brilliant scarlet. This great
strange fellow their dear, sweet Joe? She could not believe it!
"And you really were not drowned," said Granny, still anxious.
"Not exactly," with a droll twinkle of the eye.
"We heard"--
"Yes, the brave little 'Argemone' went down, and she was a beauty. But
such a frightful storm! You can form no idea of it. Some day I'll tell
you all. Our time is too precious for the long story now."
"And you wouldn't get in the boat," said Granny, her pale washed-out
eyes alight with pride.
"There were three young fellows of us besides the sick captain, and we
had no wives nor babies; so it seemed right that we should give the
others the first chance. It was a miracle that they were saved. I never
thought they would be. We lashed ourselves to some timbers, and trusted
the winds and waves. What those days and nights were I can never tell
you! I know now what that brave old soldier and sailor, St. Paul, meant
when he said, 'A day and a night have I been in the deep.'"
Hal gave the sun-browned hand a tender squeeze.
"An Arabian trading vessel picked us up at last. We thought Jack
was dead, but after a long while he revived. We were all perfectly
exhausted. I could send no word, and then I resolved to come home just
as soon as I could. I fancied you would hear of the loss. Did that make
Granny ill?"
"No, she was sick before."
"But I'll get well now," she rejoined humbly. "I didn't want to, you
know. Heaven seemed so much better."
Joe bent over and kissed her, wondering if he ever could repay the
tender love.
"Have you ever heard from"--
There was no need of a name.
"She was married more than a year ago. I wrote that to you. There have
been no tidings since."
"Are you going to have any breakfast?" asked Dot. "My muffins will be
spoiled."
"Yes, indeed! I'm hungry as a bear. Granny, shall I carry you out?"
She laughed in her old cracked, tremulous fashion, good to hear. To Hal
it seemed the beginning of a new life.
"I guess I'll lie still and think a bit, for I can't make it true.
It's just as if we watched for him last night, Hal, and to-day is a day
of great joy."
Dot's coffee and muffins were delightful. Then she broiled over a
little of the chicken that had been left from the day before, and they
had quite a sumptuous breakfast.
"How odd it seems to have Dot any thing but a baby!" laughed Joe. "It's
quite ridiculous for her to set up housekeeping. Small young woman, you
can't impose upon me."
"But she is royal at it;" and Hal gave her a fond smile.
"Now tell me all that has happened: I'm crazy to know. I believe I've
not heard a word in six or eight months," declared Joe.
So Hal went back to the summer,--losing the school, Charlie's running
away, Granny's illness, Kit's going to Salem, the mishap of the
flowers, even the vigil of last night, when they believed Granny dying.
"But it _will_ be a merry Christmas," Joe said with a great tremble in
his voice. "And you can never guess how glad I am to be safe and alive,
to comfort you all. Dear, dear Granny!--the best and bravest heart in
the wide world, and the most loving."