MORE ABOUT BEPPO.
Bryda was not allowed to go alone to the village again, since her
nurse had told granny she was missing on that unfortunate Sunday
afternoon, when the whole household had turned out in pursuit of her.
She had therefore promised Beppo to meet him in the church or
churchyard at half-past five, and take him to Cousin Salome.
For the second time she found the poor little Italian in bitter
grief. It happened that a great dark bank of clouds had covered the
sky for a great part of the day, and the church inside was so dark
that the sexton thought it well to light up the building before the
short service, which was every evening during summer at six, and in
winter much earlier.
Tonight the choir were practicing before service, so when Beppo came
to the church at half-past five, to meet his little friend, the
building was lighted up. He came to see his beautiful angel again to
tell her, whom he still thought a great and powerful friend, all that
had happened to him. But with the darkness outside and the bright
lights within, all the colors had faded out of the window, so that,
as any one who goes into a lighted church by night can see, there was
only a dark blank space where the beautiful angel had stood. And the
passionate little southern boy said to him self that his friend had
forsaken him, that she was gone and would never come back again.
Bryda felt that somehow he was quite wrong, but how was she to
explain, or to comfort him?
First she told him his angel was not gone, but had only faded from
his sight, and that with daylight he would find her again. But as at
this he only sobbed afresh, and said she _was_ gone, he could not see
her, so she must be gone, Bryda tried to explain that his friend was
no real person but only a beautiful picture. This only made him very
indignant; he knew angels took care of people, his mother had often
told him so; did Bryda mean to tell him there were no angels?
Then Bryda, not knowing how to meet these questions, proposed that he
should come with her at once to Cousin Salome; and, hand in hand, the
two children went up the long shrubbery walk to find her.
Salome greeted them with her own bright smile, and made Beppo sit on
a low stool by her side. Soon the black eyes grew very bright and
round, when the child found that this English lady had seen his own
beautiful Italy, and seemed to love it nearly as well as he did.
Then, when Cousin Salome began to speak to him in Italian, Beppo
fairly jumped off his stool and clapped his hands with delight.
Here was a friend for him! Until one has gone to a strange country
and there been very lonely and sorrowful, like poor little Beppo, it
is not easy to understand the delight that he felt at hearing his own
language spoken again.
After a little time Bryda began to tell Cousin Salome all about
Beppo's troubles, and especially the last, which seemed to the poor
little boy a very great one.
"No, Beppo, your beautiful angel is not gone," she answered, "she is
only hidden from you for a time by the darkness. But I will tell you
both, dear children, what this little grief of Beppo's is like; and
we can make it a sort of parable. Bryda, you know what a parable is?"
"A story that means something, isn't it?" said Bryda.
"Yes, dear. Well, when we are young, our life is like a bright
painted window, very lovely to look at. But supposing our sky gets
dark, and some great trouble comes up like the night----"
"Something like your illness, cousin?" said Bryda gently.
Cousin Salome smiled.
"Yes, perhaps, dear. Or like Beppo's great trouble, when his mother
told him she must go and be with God, and leave him alone. That
makes life seem very dark, doesn't it, Beppo?"
Beppo nodded his head; he could not speak, because a great lump came
up in his throat and made him feel as if he must choke.
"Well, when the night is over," went on Salome, "and the kind, bright
sun comes back again, our life looks beautiful again. But what do
people do when the church gets dark, Beppo?"
"Light de lamps," said Beppo quickly.
"Ah, yes! that is it! Light the lamps, and then we forget all about
the darkness outside. Inside there is warmth and light and
brightness, and sweet hymns go up to the Great White Throne of God.
And life is beautiful after all, though it is a little more sad and
solemn, as Beppo feels it now."
Then Cousin Salome went on to talk to Beppo in Italian about a Friend
who never would forsake him, and Who was always near, though the dim
eyes of men cannot see Him; of One far more lovely and loving than
the angels, who were only servants in that great House of the
Father's, in which heaven and and earth are contained. Only
servants; but He--this Friend Who was willing to be always Beppo's
friend, if the child would look to Him and trust Him--He was the Son
of the House, and all things were His.
Bryda listened, though she could not understand the language; and as
she listened she thought she knew the use of lessons.
"Lessons and doses," she had said, "were supposed to do people good;"
and now she saw, at all events, one use of lessons. "If I could talk
Italian to Beppo, how nice it would be!"
And to herself she resolved that when the new governess came--it was
to be very soon now--she would work harder than ever before, even
over lists of dates. After all she might find out some day that
there was a use for those, too!
Beppo listened as to one who told him some strange new thing. He had
been taught by his mother much about angels watching over him with
beautiful shining wings; but very little, almost nothing, about the
loving Saviour Who was once a little boy like himself, and Who grew
up to be the Friend and Helper of any one who was in distress, and to
Whom the little troubles of His little children were as important as
the great and bitter griefs that crush the hearts of men.
Poor little boy! he drank in every word, with great eyes fixed on
Cousin Salome's face, and it seemed to him, as it had seemed to Bryda
while she listened to the vicar's sermon, that there never could be
anything half so sweet as trying to please this loving Lord Jesus,
Who was such a kind Friend.
But the invalid began to grow tired, and Bryda saw that she could not
talk much longer. So she got up suddenly, and carried off Beppo, and
Cousin Salome was left to her needful rest.
It was settled first of all, though, that Bryda should give Beppo
lessons in reading every day.
"Reading and weeding!" said Uncle Jack. "I have made love to Hayes
the gardener, and he has promised to let Beppo come and weed in the
garden; and so the little chap can earn something, and not feel quite
such a burden on old Roger."
Beppo's mother was not to be long a burden on any one. One night,
while Beppo slept, and while it seemed that she slept, too, old
Roger, stealing in on tiptoe, found that she was indeed asleep,
wrapped in that last long sleep which no evil dreams disturb. She
would never be hungry, or thirsty, or tired again, for God had taken
His child, who, though ignorant enough, had been faithful to Him, to
that rest of which we say, "He giveth His beloved sleep."
Close by that grave, with the one word "Liz," they made another, and
on that there was only one word, too--"Speranza."
[Illustration: Only one word, too--"Speranza."]
Very few of the village people knew what Cousin Salome told Bryda,
that the beautiful name of the poor Italian meant "Hope."
Old Roger would not part with Beppo. He was a lonesome old man, he
said, and it would be a charity to let the boy stay with him. Beppo
could weed and learn to read for the present, and as soon as he knew
the language better he could go to school in the village. Every one
was well pleased with the plan, for, though some of the village
people thought old Roger rather odd, from the way he had of talking
about heaven as if it were quite near, and of Bible people as if they
were still alive, yet no one doubted his goodness; and kind Cousin
Salome promised to pay for Beppo's schooling. So it seemed that the
poor little boy, after his long wanderings, would have a happy home
and kind friends, and would soon forget his troubles. Bryda was at
first very patient with her pupil, who, to do him justice, was not
stupid; but what puzzled her most was that it did not seem natural to
the Italian child to say the English words as she did.
Uncle Jack, coming one day into the room where these lessons were
going on, found Beppo with tearful eyes, while Bryda appeared to have
at that moment thrown the reading-book to the other end of the room,
where it lay looking like a book in disgrace in the corner, gaping
wide open, with a leaf or two scattered on the way, for it was an old
one.
[Illustration: Bryda appeared to have thrown the reading book to the
other end of the room.]
"What is this noise about?" said Uncle Jack, with a face of
amusement; "what's the matter now?"
"Beppo's _too_ stupid, Uncle Jack--and I--I lost patience."
"Lost, a valuable temper," said Uncle Jack, with a serious face; "at
least I mean 'Lost, a good temper, of no value to any one but the
owner. Is very cheerful, and marked with a capital B. The finder,
if poor, shall be handsomely rewarded on bringing it to----'
"_Don't_, Uncle Jack!" Bryda stood on tiptoe and put her hands over
his mouth, while Beppo picked up the book and put in the scattered
leaves. "But really I can't make him understand some things. He
spells c-a-t, and then calls it 'cart,' and when at last I get him to
say 'cat,' he goes on m-a-t, 'mart!'
"I suppose Miss Quillnib never had any such worries in teaching
Bryda?" said Uncle Jack slyly. Bryda looked a little ashamed.
"But do you know that it is natural to him to say cart and mart
instead of cat and mat, and you will have to teach him gradually that
English does not sound like Italian, Bryda? Now suppose, by way of
variety, that _you_ say this simple little sentence after me:
"'Aldiborontiphoscophornio!--where left you Chrononhotonthologos?"
"'Aldiboronti'--I don't know any more!"
"_That's_ not English, Uncle Jack!"
"Well, I assure you it comes out of an English play. So, naturally,
the actor has to say it. Try something easier:
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper;
A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper,
Where's the peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked?"
"Which of us three will say that very fast three times without a
mistake?"
They all tried, and all failed, and the lesson ended in such shouts
of laughter that both the grannies hobbled in--helping each other--to
see what the fun was.