A STRANGE JOURNEY.
That night Winifred could not sleep. Turn and settle herself as she
would she could not even fall into a doze; and all kinds of troublesome
thoughts kept flocking into her mind.
Chief amongst these was the old fear about the swallows--the fear that
they would go when she was not watching them, and that she would not be
able to bid them good-bye and wish them a pleasant journey.
Winnie’s head was tired and confused that night. She did not remember
that the swallows had hardly even begun to gather for flight as yet.
She fancied they were there in myriads in the water-meadows, and that
any time they might make their silent start.
“Oh dear!” sighed the little child, “perhaps they will go to-night.
Didn’t somebody say they always went at night and nobody ever saw them?
I should so like to see them go. I don’t think they would be angry with
me. I am so fond of them--I think they are fond of me too. I must just
get up and look out of the window.”
It was a mild night, and Winifred wrapped herself well up in her little
flannel gown, and folded the eider-down quilt about her shoulders.
She stole to the window and drew up the blind and looked out into the
dusky night. There was a little moon, but not much, and enough wind
to stir the leaves of the trees and make them look almost like living
things, bending over, and whispering one to the other.
Where were the swallows?
Surely they were flying about the trees, chattering excitedly, whirling
from place to place, planning, discussing, and preparing for flight?
Winifred listened and looked, and felt convinced of this. She was sure
she could see in the uncertain light the darting black forms chasing
one another, hurrying through the air, and sometimes darkening it for
a moment, as a cloud of winged birds rose together from the trees, and
then as suddenly dispersed again. Yes, they were certainly going to fly
away that night, the child thought, and she must wait and watch to see
them go.
She curled up her feet under her little gown, pulled the soft quilt
more comfortably about her, rested her head against an angle of the
window-frame, and prepared to stay for the flight.
How long she waited she did not know. Gradually it seemed to her that
the moonlight grew brighter. It became almost as light as day, only
that there was a softness and beauty in the light which seemed hardly
like sunshine.
Then all at once came a whirring of countless wings. It was a soft,
_feathery_ noise, as Winifred afterwards told herself, that made her
think of the angels flying through heaven. And this sound of wings came
nearer and nearer, and the air seemed dimmed by a dark, soft cloud of
flying birds.
“The swallows!” said Winifred, softly; “they are going. I must open
the window and say good-bye.”
The window was soon thrown wide, and the child leaned eagerly out and
called to the birds who were whirling past.
“Oh swallows, dear swallows! Good-bye! good-bye! Where are you going?”
And the swallows answered in a sort of musical chant:
“We are going to the land of sunshine and flowers;
We are leaving behind the darkness and cloud;
We are going whither the great power leads;
We are going we know, yet know not where.”
And as the child listened, a great longing came over her to fly with
the swallows to the bright unknown land whither they were bound.
“Swallows, swallows, I want to go to the sunshine and flowers. Can’t
you take me with you?”
And the swallows chanted again:
“Can you trust the unseen power?
Dare you fly out into space?
Dare you leave the known behind you?
Have you faith to fly away?”
Winifred clasped her hands and leaned out more and more, gazing at the
flying swallows.
“Oh, please stop! Please one of you stop and tell me some more. I want
to fly with you. I have to go away one day, I don’t know where. I
should like to go with you, if you’ll take me. Do please tell me when
you are going, and please wait and take me too. I want to fly with you.”
And then suddenly one of the swallows did stop, and perched upon the
ledge of the open window; and Winifred found that it was a beautiful
black, glossy bird, as big as herself, and yet she was not a bit
surprised or afraid.
“Dear swallow,” she said, stroking the bird’s soft, feathery head,
“dear, pretty swallow, won’t you let me fly away with you?”
“Why do you want to fly?” asked the swallow.
“I want to know where you are going. I want to know why you go; I have
to go away too, very soon. I should like best to go with you.”
“But I don’t know where we are going,” said the swallow; “how do you
know you would like to come?”
“You said it was to a nice place, with sunshine and flowers,” said the
child.
“Yes, so it is. I know that, but I don’t know where it is.”
“Do none of you know?”
“No; none of us know exactly.”
“Then how can you find the way?” asked Winifred, with grave interest.
The swallow looked at her with his bright eyes as he answered:
“We cannot lose the way. Something always tells us how to go. It never
tells us wrong.”
“And you are not afraid?”
“Oh no!”
The swallow looked at the child with grave, bright eyes, and asked:
“Would not you be afraid, either?”
“N--no. I think not,” answered Winifred, with just a little hesitation
in her voice.
“Not afraid to leave your home and your parents, and brothers and
friends, and go somewhere right away, you don’t know where?”
Winifred was silent. She did not know what to say. She was beginning to
feel a little fear, yet she hardly knew how or why.
“You are not afraid, swallow?”
“No; I know I shall be taken care of.”
“Then why should I be afraid?”
“I don’t know; but I think you are.”
Winifred pondered again.
“Do you know what makes you not afraid?”
The swallow turned his head from side to side, and by-and-by answered:
“I think it’s because I always do just as I’m meant to do--stay when
I ought to stay, and fly when I ought to fly, build when I ought to
build, and do just what I ought. If swallows always do that they need
never be afraid.”
“And how do you know what you ought to do?”
“Something inside me tells me.”
“Does it never tell you wrong?”
“No, never.”
Winifred sighed, and shook her head.
“But I never have anything inside me to tell me what I ought to do and
what I ought not,” she said.
“Do you not?” said a soft voice quite close to her, and the child
started, for it did not seem as if it was the swallow who had spoken,
and looking round, Winifred saw a beautiful figure in white standing
beside her, and looking with grave, kind eyes into her face. He had
great white wings, and Winifred said half aloud, half to herself:
“It is an angel.”
“Winifred,” said the angel, softly and yet gravely, “have you nothing
inside you that tells you when you do right and when you do wrong?”
Slowly Winnie’s eyes fell, and the rosy colour mounted to her cheeks.
“I do try not to do wrong. I don’t think I am very naughty,” she said,
as if excusing herself.
“Did I say you were?” asked the angel.
“It seemed as if you did.”
The angel smiled at her a sort of pitying smile.
“Is it I that spoke, my child? or the _something_ in your heart to
which you do not always listen?”
“I do what I can,” said Winifred, still seeming to answer a different
voice from the angel’s. “I am not strong. I can’t do like other people;
and besides, little girls can’t do things. I am going to try before I
go away, but I’ve never been able before.”
“Never?”
“No; there never seems anything for me to do for anybody else.”
“Nothing?”
“No; only such silly little things that it isn’t worth beginning.”
The angel looked gravely down upon the child for some minutes, and
Winifred felt a strange sense of pain and humiliation falling upon
her. Then he turned to the swallow who was still sitting upon the
window-ledge, and said quietly:
“Show her.”
Then the angel disappeared, and Winifred and her friend were left
together.
“Can you get on my back?” asked the swallow.
“Oh yes!” cried Winnie, eagerly, glad to have something to distract her
thoughts. “Are you going to take me with you? I should like that.”
“I am going to take you a little way, and show you some things,”
answered the swallow. “You will come back by-and-by.”
Winifred had no difficulty in making herself comfortable and secure
upon the swallow’s back, and very soon they were flying quickly through
the dark night.
“Are you going after the other swallows?”
“Not just yet.”
“Won’t you be afraid of getting lost if you are left behind?”
“Oh no, we never get lost whilst we are doing our duty.”
Winifred began to feel rather uncomfortable. She was half sorry she had
agreed to go with the swallow.
“Is it your duty to do what the--the angel told you?”
“Yes.”
“I think he was vexed,” observed Winifred rather discontentedly. “I was
glad when he went away.”
“Hush!” answered the swallow, “you ought not to talk like that.”
Winnie was silent for awhile, and then she asked:
“Where are you taking me, swallow? What are all those lights down
there?”
“The lights of a great city. I am going to show you some pictures.”
“I like pictures,” said the little girl, brightening up at the idea. “I
am glad now that I came with you, swallow.”
All in a minute Winifred found herself looking into a pretty garden.
There were some little children at play there, one little girl sitting
by herself with a book, and two younger boys trying hard to mend
a broken toy. It would have been an easy task enough for any more
experienced hands, and by-and-by one little fellow looked up and said:
“Please, sister, will you do it for us?”
“Oh, I can’t; I’m busy. You can quite well do it for yourselves.”
The two little fellows returned to their task, but their efforts
only made the damage worse, and soon they burst out crying in their
disappointment.
“What babies you are!” said the little girl rising, going further away.
“You make my head ache with all that noise.”
“What a horrid little girl!” cried warm-hearted Winnie. “Why couldn’t
she mend the toy? Anybody could have done it at first. Why doesn’t she
go and comfort them? Poor little boys!”
“You see it was such a _little_ thing,” answered the swallow, “only
a toy, and only a few tears. It was not worth while troubling over a
little thing like that. It would be different if it were something
great.”
Winnie was silent, and the swallow flew on again.
Now they were in a room, and a little boy was lying on a sofa, and he
had no books or toys within reach.
“I wish somebody would come--it is so dull,” Winifred heard him say. “I
wonder when the others will be coming in.”
Just then there came a sound of children’s voices laughing and
shouting. They came nearer and nearer, and seemed to pass the door of
the room, but nobody came in. The little sick boy called; but in the
noise of laughing nobody heard, and the tears came into his eyes.
“They have all gone up to play,” he said, “and nobody cares to see if I
want anything, and I did so want to have somebody to talk to!”
“Oh, swallow!” cried Winnie indignantly, “what horrid children! That
poor little boy! How could they?”
“It was such a _little_ thing, coming in to speak to him, I don’t
suppose anybody ever thought of it,” answered the swallow. “They are
not horrid children. They are fond of their little brother; but people
cannot always think of little things, you know.”
Winifred said no more. She felt subdued and ashamed. How could the
swallow know what she had been thinking about that day?
The next time the swallow paused it was again in a room. A lady was
half lying upon a sofa, and she did not look ill, only unhappy. She had
books and flowers and all sorts of nice things round her, but she was
not doing anything.
“Who is that?” asked Winifred. “Why does she look unhappy?”
“She is unhappy,” answered the swallow.
“Why, is she ill?”
“No, she is unhappy because she has nothing to do.”
“What does she generally do?”
“She has never done anything yet. She has been waiting all her life for
something, and it has never come.”
“Why!” said Winifred in a puzzled way, “grown-up people can do such
lots of things. My mamma is always busy.”
“What does she do?”
“Oh, ever so many things. Sees after the servants, takes care of us
all, is kind to poor people, and works for the sick. I can’t think of
half the things, but she is always doing something or other.”
“What little things those are though!” said the swallow almost, as
it seemed, contemptuously. “They would never suit that lady. She is
waiting and has always been waiting for some great thing to do. She
would never be satisfied with ‘little silly things’ like those.”
“Why, swallow,” cried Winifred indignantly, “how can you talk so! Why
it’s little things that make big ones. If mamma never did all those
little things every day, I think everybody would be miserable and
everything would go wrong.”
“Ah!” said the swallow, turning his head knowingly from side to side.
“So you have learnt your lesson at last. Now we will go back.”
Again came that whirling flight through the dark air, and Winifred
found herself at her nursery window again.
The angel was standing there, and it seemed to the child as if he
lifted her gently in his arms.
“Little child,” he said tenderly, “tell me what you have seen.”
Winifred felt in a very different mood from the one in which she had
set out. Looking into the angel’s face she answered humbly:
“I think I see now.”
“I think you do. You will not think things too little now to be worth
thinking of--little acts of self-denial, little words of love, little
deeds of kindness--you will not despise them now.”
“No, angel, I will try not. I did not understand before.”
“You did not; and yet, my child, you might have done.”
“How?”
“You might have read it in your Bible--in the life of Jesus Christ, our
Pattern.”
“Please explain.”
“He came down from Heaven to live for us--that was a great thing, was
it not? And He died on the Cross for our sins--that was a great thing
too. But He took little children up in His arms and blessed them, and
that _seemed_ a little thing to those who stood by; but has it proved
such a little thing?”
“Tell me,” said Winifred earnestly.
“I think it has made little children and loving parents very happy ever
since. I think it has made a great difference to the world, knowing
that He loved the children and did not think them _too little_ to be
blessed and noticed and loved. If nothing is too little for Him, need
we find it too little for us.”
“Dear angel,” said Winifred, with tears in her eyes, “I will try never
to forget.”
“Try, little child,” answered the angel tenderly; and looking down into
Winifred’s eyes, he added almost solemnly, “and when you have learnt
the lesson, will you be afraid to come with me?”
“With you, where?”
“To a bright, happy land, where no sorrow is--to a beautiful home where
you would live always in the light of your Saviour’s love. Would you be
afraid to go there, my child?”
“I don’t know,” answered Winifred slowly. “Do you mean heaven?”
“I mean a happy, holy place, where no sorrow or pain can ever come.
You were not afraid to go with the swallows over the sea to a land of
sunshine and flowers. You were not afraid of a long strange journey
with them, you knew not whither. Would you be afraid to trust to me?
Would you be afraid to let me carry you across a river, and into a new
land far more bright and beautiful than the one where the swallows go?”
Winifred lay still and quiet in the angel’s arms. She did not quite
know what he meant. She felt languid and dreamy; but she was not
afraid. She could not feel afraid looking up into his face and seeing
his kind eyes bent upon her.
“I am going away soon,” she said.
“You are, my child, you are.”
“Did you know?”
“Yes, I knew.”
“Will you come and take me when I go?”
“Yes, if you would not be afraid to come with me.”
“No, I should not be afraid, I think. I will be ready when you come.”
And then it grew dark; the angel and the swallow both faded away and
Winifred knew no more.