of this book? I have not been able to read it today, as my head ached too
badly. It's a book that I love very much."
"The Bible!" cried Paula, "Oh, I didn't know that you read it too."
The young lady shook her head sadly, "I used to read it when I was a child,
Paula. It was and is the beloved Book of my mother, but for many, many
years I never opened it. When your uncle came to inscribe you as a pupil,
he told me how much you loved your father's Bible, and that started me
thinking of my own, hidden in the bottom of my trunk, and so I began to
read many chapters that I remember having read with my mother, and now I
believe that Gabriel would never tire if I read it to him all day."
"Tell her to read the story of Jesus healing the sick people," came the
eager voice of Gabriel.
Mademoiselle smiled, "Gabriel is right. When people are sick they love to
hear of the greatest doctor of all. Read about the ten lepers, Paula."
At this point the old lady returned, and she too stood and listened as
Paula began to read the wonderful story.
"And as Jesus came to Jerusalem, He went through Galilee, and entering into
a village, behold, ten lepers stood afar off, and cried, Jesus, Master,
have mercy on us, and He said to them, Go show yourselves to the priest.
And as they went their way, they were healed, and one of them seeing that
he was healed, returned and glorified God in a loud voice, and cast himself
at the feet of Jesus, giving thanks to Him, and behold, he was a Samaritan.
Then said Jesus, Were there not ten healed? Where are the nine? Only this
foreigner has returned to give glory to God. And He said to him, Rise,
therefore; thy faith hath made thee whole" (Luke 17:11-19). Here Paula
stopped, not knowing whether to go on to the end of the chapter.
Mlle. Virtud then dosed her eyes, but one could see she was not sleeping.
Paula waited in silence, and so did the old lady as she stood there with
her rough, toil-worn hands clasped beneath her apron.
"Read some more," said Gabriel, "No," said Mlle. Virtud. "It's time the
children returned, for they must reach home before dark." She drew us to
her, giving us both a long embrace. "May God bless you both, by dear young
friends! Come back soon to see me." Then Victoria's mother embraced us
also, saying at the same time, "I have a poor blind daughter. I would be
very grateful if you would stop in to see her the next time and read her
the same story you have just read to Mademoiselle."
"I don't know how to read," she continued; "I have such a poor stupid head,
and Victoria doesn't seem to have learned to read very well. She can show
you where we live--and now, goodbye until the next time."
On our return Teresa prepared supper. She was more hurried than usual
because she had to get the week's wash ready for the next day; but she
listened with great interest, nevertheless, to the story of our afternoon's
visit. "I'm going to see her tomorrow, poor child," she said.
That night Teresa came to tuck us in and kiss us goodnight which was her
habit, as she said, to try to take partly the place of our poor dear
mother. I whispered in her ear, "Teresa, I've come to love Mademoiselle
Virtud."
"Good! good!" exclaimed the old servant; "that's something new indeed! And
why has the wind so suddenly changed in her direction?"
"It's because I know her now!" I said.
Teresa seated herself on my bed, and in spite of the cold she talked to me
a long time, telling me that my heart's coldness and my selfishness had
caused her much grief. I could see how happy I had made her to have
confessed my faults and thus show the beginning of a great change. She told
me how my mother died with a prayer on her lips for me. Then die spoke of
Paula who thought of nothing except making other people happy. "Wouldn't
you like to be like Paula?" Teresa questioned me. "Of course, dear Teresa,"
I said, "but that's impossible, I'm too bad for that."
"Who it is, Lisita, that makes Paula so good?" and Teresa's voice took on a
new and most tender note.
"It's the Lord Jesus!" I answered in a low whisper.
"That's well answered, Lisita! And the same Lord Jesus would do the like
for you. Let me ask you something. Do you not find me changed--since--
since--I began to pray to Him?"
"Yes, Teresa."
"In what way have you noticed the change?"
"Well, for one thing--wash-day doesn't make you irritable, as it used to
do," I said.
"That's something, now isn't it? Oh, when one has the peace of God in the
heart, anger doesn't have a chance to get inside as it used to do."
I looked at her furtively. By the lamplight I could see in those dark blue
eyes such a new, such a tender, confident look, that in spite of the
wrinkled cheeks and her white hair I saw a startling likeness to Paula
herself. I couldn't explain it at the time, but later I understood--Teresa
and Paula were just part of the family of God and it was His likeness of
Jesus, His dear Son, I had seen in both of them.
PART TWO
CHAPTER ONE
SOME YEARS LATER
The years passed swiftly without bringing any great changes in our quiet
life. Our grandparents had aged a bit, and Teresa was not quite as active
as formerly, while a few wrinkles had gathered on our father's forehead;
but all this had come so slowly that the change was hardly noticed.
Rosa, who was now eighteen years old, was studying in the city. She was
still the same--studious, faithful and sincere in all that she did. Her
quiet reserved manner caused some people to call her proud, but those who
knew her better loved her, and knew she could be depended on in time of
trouble.
Catalina still suffered somewhat, but now was able to walk around a bit
without crutches, and in spite of her delicate health and poor twisted body
she had come bravely to take her true place among us as our "big sister,"
so loving and solicitous for everybody's welfare that she came to be known
in the neighborhood as "The little mother."
Paula was now fourteen years of age. In the house, at school, in the
village, everywhere, everybody loved her, and I can say with all honesty
that never a shadow of envy ever disturbed the tender friendship which had
united us to her from the beginning. One could not possibly be jealous of
Paula. All that she possessed was ours. Our joys were hers. Our sorrows
were her sorrows. She had grown in body and mind, and yet had kept the same
characteristics. Always bright and happy and full of fun, she had the same
simple, humble ways as when at ten years of age she had come among us. Her
special summer delight was to run through the fields, always returning to
the house with a big bunch of wild flowers for Catalina. In one thing only
she always seemed to fail. Teresa had a fearful task in teaching her to sew
and to knit.
"What are you going to do in the future if you don't know how to do these
things?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Paula would say sadly, and would take up the work
once more with such sweet resignation that Teresa, moved with compassion,
would take the work from her hands saying--"There! There! Run outdoors now
for a bit of fresh air."
Then away Paula would go into the garden or under the trees that lined the
village street. Soon she was back with such a happy smile that Teresa
forgave her completely.
Once however Teresa lost all patience with her, exclaiming, as she saw the
strange ragged ends she had left in her sewing, "Drop that work, and go
where you please; but remember this, never will you be called a 'Dorcas.'
Never will you be able to sew and provide garments for the poor. It's not
enough to tell them you love them, you must show it by your works--and the
best way to do that would be to learn to be useful to them."
Paula sat back stiff and straight in consternation. "Oh, Teresa, I never,
never thought of that!" she said in a tone of greatest remorse, "Oh, please
let me go on! I will try to do better!"
But Teresa had taken away the work, and was not inclined to be easily
persuaded. "No, not now! Another time perhaps you may show what you can
do."
Paula therefore had to submit; but that was the last time that Teresa had
any reason to complain. That afternoon Paula had gone straight to her room,
and I followed soon after to comfort her, but I found her kneeling by her
bedside pouring out her heart in true repentance to Him who was ever her
unseen Companion. I closed the door gently behind me and stole away.
Later Paula said to me, "Oh, Lisita, I'm surely bad indeed. One thing I've
certainly hated to do, and that is to sit down and learn to sew, especially
in fine weather like this. I seem to hear a thousand voices that call me
out-of-doors. I never could see any earthly reason why I should have to
learn how to sew, and so I never even tried to please Teresa in that way.
But now she tells me that if I go on like this I shall never be able to sew
for the poor. I never thought of that! I wonder what the Lord Jesus must
think of me. He gave His life for me, and here I am not willing to learn
something that would help me to put clothes on poor folks! Oh, I must! I
must learn to sew, no matter what it costs."
That was it--to do something for others, that was the principal thing in
all her thoughts.
In school Paula never did win prizes--nor did I. Both of us were generally
about on an equal level at the bottom of our class.
About a year after our first visit to Mademoiselle Virtud's house, Madame
Boudre had moved us up to the Third Grade. Teresa made a magnificent
apple-cake as a sign of her pleasure. My father also showed his great
satisfaction, and in fact everybody rejoiced to see that at last we were
both making progress. In spite of all, however, there was one great heavy
weight on my heart, and I cried myself to sleep that night I think Mlle.
Virtud also felt badly that we were leaving her, but she made us promise to
come and visit her. "You are no longer my pupils," she said, "but you are
still, and will be always, my dear friends."
Gabriel was so glad to see us that it was always a joy to go and play with
him on our Thursday half-holidays. Paula always told him Bible stories, for
that seemed to be his chief pleasure, and I taught him to read. Victoria's
mother used to bring her work over to Mlle. Virtud's room and heard the
stories with great delight.
"If I had been able to leave my Victoria in school she would have become as
wise and learned as you, Mesdemoiselles," she would say a bit sadly at
times. "But there, I can't complain; what would we have done without the
money she earns at the factory?"
One afternoon we said good-bye to Gabriel and mounted the stairs to visit
the blind girl. Left alone for most of the day, she passed the long hours
knitting. She was about the same age as our Catalina, but she appeared to
be much older. The first time we had visited her, she had hardly raised her
head from her work, and showed but little interest in the stories that her
mother had asked us to read to her. It was not so much indifference as an
apparent incapacity to comprehend the meaning of what she heard. But on
this particular afternoon Paula started singing a hymn. The poor girl
suddenly dropped her work in her lap, and listened with rapt attention.
When Paula had finished she exclaimed "Oh, mamma! mamma! Tell her to please
sing again."
Mme. Bertin could not suppress a cry of delight as she said, "Dear
Mademoiselle Paula, please sing another song! Never have I seen my
Marguerite so happy." And so Paula sang hymn after hymn. As Paula at last
stopped singing, for the time had come to go home, poor Marguerite
stretched out her arms as if groping for something.
"Please do not be offended, Mademoiselle Paula," implored Madame Bertin;
"she wants you to come nearer that she may feel your face. The blind have
no other eyes." Paula kneeled at Marguerite's side and the blind girl
passed her hands gently over the upturned face, pausing an instant at the
broad forehead, then on over the beautiful arched brows and long eyelashes
and the delicately-fashioned nose and lips, that smiled softly as she
touched them.
"You have not seen her hair," said the mother, as she guided the girl's
hands upward and over the waves of light brown hair that seemed like an
aurora fit for such a face, and then finally down the long braids that
extended below Paula's waist Then with one of those sudden movements
characteristic of the blind, she carried the shining braids to her lips and
kissed them as in an ecstasy. Then, just as suddenly, in confusion she
dropped them and buried her own face in her hands.
At this Paula sprang to her feet and put her arms about the poor girl, and
murmured in her ear, "We do love you so, Marguerite!"
After that visit, little by little Marguerite began to love to hear us
speak of the Saviour. Her indifference and sadness disappeared, giving
place to a quiet peace and joy that was contagious for all who came in
contact with her. Mme. Bertin no longer called her "My poor daughter," only
"My Marguerite." For the next two years she became our constant delight.
Teresa at times gave us clothes but slightly worn to take to her, which
gave us almost as much joy as we carried them to Marguerite as she herself
felt on receiving them.
One day Gabriel came running to tell us that Marguerite was quite ill, and
we lost no time in going to see her. With painful feelings of presentiment
we mounted the steep stairs to her room.
As we entered, Madame Bertin came toward us with her apron to her eyes and
Mile. Virtud made signs for us to come over to the bed, as she slightly
raised the sick girl's head.
"Dearest Marguerite," said our teacher; "Here are Paula and Lisita."
"May God bless them both," and Marguerite spread out her ams toward us,
adding, "Oh, Paula, please sing again, 'There's no night there!'" And Paula
sang once more the old hymn.
"In the land of fadeless day
Lies the city foursquare;
It shall never pass away,
And there is no night there.
"God shall wipe away all tears;
There's no death, no pain, nor fears;
And they count not time by years,
For there is no night there.
"Oh, how beautiful!" And it seemed as if the poor blind girl were straining
those sightless orbs for a glimpse of the Beautiful City. "Don't cry,
mother," she said as she caught a low sob from the other end of the room.
"I am so happy now to go to be with Jesus in His City." The poor mother put
her face close to her daughter's lips so that she might not lose a word.
"One regret only I have, Mamma," Marguerite said; "and that is, that I have
never seen your face. Oh, that I might have seen it just once."
"In Heaven," interrupted our teacher, "your eyes will be open forever."
"Oh, yes," said the dying girl. "There perhaps I will see Mamma and
Victoria. Will you please give Victoria a kiss for me when she comes home
from the factory tonight Tell her I'm so grateful; she has worked so hard
for us!" Then suddenly--"Paula!" she called--"Paula!"
"Here I am, Marguerite," and Paula came closer, taking her hand.
"Ah, you are here. Thanks, dear Paula," she gasped. "Many thanks for
telling me about Jesus and His love for me. Sing--"
The sentence was never finished, but Paula's sweet voice rose, as once
again she sang the sublime words:
"There is no night there."
"Is she dead?" I said, as we looked down on the still white face.
"Her eyes are open now," said Mlle. Virtud tenderly, "in the City where
there is no night!"
CHAPTER TWO
THE BRETON
It was a snowy, blustery day. It is always a source of pleasure to see the
drifts beginning to bank against the houses across the street On this
afternoon the bushes and roofs were already crowned in white, and all the
trees were festooned as if for a holiday. The smaller objects in the garden
had disappeared under this grand upholstery of nature, and the rattle of
the carts and other ordinary sounds of the village were muffled in the
mantle of snow. To be sure Paula dampened my pleasure a bit by reminding me
that there were many people who were in great suffering on account of the
storm, without proper food, warm clothing, or fire in their houses.
It had been a hard winter. Many of the factories in town had had to
discharge their workers on account of lack of orders. Happily, Teresa with
Catalina's help had done all she could to aid the poor folks in our
neighborhood. Paula had sewed incessantly. Her stitches were pretty uneven
and the thread frequently knotted in her nervous hands, but Teresa said
that the mistakes she made were more than made up by the love that she put
into her work.
I read to Paula while she sewed, and we were certainly happy when at last
the mountain of old clothes which had been gathered for the poor had been
made over and finally distributed to the needy ones.
I remember especially one poor woman to whom Teresa had sent us with a
package of clothes, who received us with tears of gratitude.
And now, as I sat looking out at the gathering drifts, I heard Catalina
remark in a relieved tone, "At last that's finished!"
"What's finished?" I asked. "My old dress," she said. "Who would have
thought I could do a job like this! But there it is turned and darned and
lengthened. Happily, I don't believe that poor Celestina Dubois will be
very difficult to please"--and Catalina pulled a comical smile.
As one looked at that peaceful, beautiful face it was hard to realize that
it could belong to the poor, miserable, complaining invalid of a short time
before!
"What a shame that it's still snowing so hard," she said, "I would have
liked to have sent it over to Celestina today. Teresa says the poor woman
needs it badly. But I suppose we'll have to wait till morning."
"That won't be at all necessary," said Paula, "We're not afraid of a little
snow; are we, Lisita? If you only knew how I love to go out into a
snowstorm like this!"
"You must be like the mountain goats of your own country," said Catalina
with a laugh. "To think of getting any pleasure in going out in a
snowstorm!"
"Oh, no!" said Paula. "The goats don't like the cold."
"Well, I declare!" said Catalina, "I wouldn't have believed that! Well, run
and ask permission of Teresa."
And Teresa dressed us up as if we were going on a voyage to the North Pole
and gave us a thousand instructions. "Above all things don't 'dilly-dally'
on the way," she said. "The Breton was released from jail today, and you
may depend on it he will not be in a very good humor. What a shame that
Celestina should have such a terrible neighbor. You can never tell what a
man like that may do. If my rheumatism would only let me, I would gladly go
with you."
"What on earth would we do if we happened to meet the Breton?" I questioned
Paula, and terror began to grip my heart as we drew near the drunkard's
house.
"Don't you be afraid, Lisita," said Paula, taking my trembling hand in
hers.
Celestina received us with exclamations of surprise and delight.
Overcome with emotion, she said, "To think of your coming to see me through
all this terrible storm! I never would have expected you on such a day!"
We noticed a shade of sadness in her tone, and Paula questioned her as to
the reason.
The old lady shook her head. "No, there's nothing particular," she said;
"the Lord seems to heap good things upon me; but at times on nearing the
end of the journey the pilgrim gets a bit tired and longs for the blessed
final rest." Then she paused and turned to us once more with a smile. "And
you, young people, how goes the journey with you?"
"I too find," said Paula gravely, "that at times the way is difficult, but
as we put our hand in that of the Lord Jesus, He helps and strengthens us."
The old lady's eyes were full of amusement as she answered, "My, oh, me!
You talk as wisely as an old traveler who is about to finish his long
journey instead of being still at the bottom of the hill. And your uncle!
Has he begun to go with you yet?" "My uncle," and Paula hesitated, "at
least he permits us to serve the Lord."
"But he doesn't let you attend church yet?"
"No, but I think he will some day."
"Courage, Paula," said the old woman, "the Lord Jesus has said, 'Be thou
faithful unto death, and I will give thee the crown of life!' How happy I
shall be when your uncle permits you to attend with us. I know the Lord has
saved you and given you eternal life, and He will do exceeding abundantly
above all you can ask or think. I've learned to say to Him, 'Thy will be
done!' While here on this earth we're all students in His school. Sometimes
the hours are long and the bench is hard, but if we are attentive and apt
in the learning of our lessons, He is faithful, and oh, so generous in
giving us of His good things! Some things He's tried to teach me, but I'm
too dull yet to comprehend, but I do know that some day He'll let me see it
all quite clearly. For example, it's difficult to understand why He should
have given me the Breton and his children for neighbors. Do you know the
family?" she asked us.
"Oh, yes, indeed," said I; "I should say we did." This long conversation
had made me sleepy, but the mention of the Breton had brought me wide-awake
again.
"It I had known," continued the old lady, "that on the other side of the
partition I was to hear nothing but quarrels and fightings and cursing, I
would never have moved in here, but more that that, not content with
disturbing the peace from within his own apartment, he even comes over to
my side to torment me here in my small room. The Breton indeed is a
terrible man when he's drunk. I have tried to talk to him to see if I could
do something to change his evil ways, but so far all my efforts have been
useless."
I interrupted her to ask if she knew he had been liberated from the jail
that very day.
"Oh, yes," she said; "he made a terrible scene this morning bullying his
poor wife around. The poor soul is certainly worthy of our pity. But here I
am talking on and on without enquiring once as to Catalina's health."
"It was Catalina herself who sent us with this package for you," said
Paula. "For me!" cried the old lady. "What's all this?" and she nervously
untied the strings. Then as she saw the good warm dress, her eyes filled
with tears. "May the Lord bless the dear girl! He surely must have revealed
to her my need!"
"Would you mind, please, putting it on? Catalina wanted us to find out if
it fits you," I said.
The good woman nothing loath tried on the dress as she exclaimed, "My, oh
me, how handsome I am for once in my life, at least," and a merry twinkle
danced in old Celestina's eyes, "I'll have to keep this for Sunday wear
only."
"No," said Paula, "Catalina said to be sure to tell you it was for everyday
wear, for you see how it keeps out the cold."
"Well, then," said the old lady, "I suppose I must obey orders. But my, how
beautiful it is, too beautiful for the likes of me!" And Celestina stroked
the lovely cloth with her gnarled and withered fingers. "How very good the
dear Lord is! And now if you don't mind, let us pray together here to thank
Him for all His mercies." Celestina who could not kneel, placed her hands
on our bowed heads, and after a heartfelt prayer of thanks asked the Lord
to bless us each one and each member of our family, her neighbors, and
lastly herself.
Hardly had she finished when uncertain steps were heard coming down the
passage. The door suddenly burst open and a man staggered into the room.
"What's this you're doing?" he shouted.
"We're praying," the old woman answered tranquilly.
"No more praying then! Do you hear me? I forbid you!" he shouted again in
such a terrible voice that it was all I could do to keep from screaming
with fright "You know very well," said Celestina calmly, "that you cannot
prohibit my doing the thing that pleases me in my own house."
"And what pleasure do you get out of praying, tell me, you pious old
hypocrite!"
"Well, if you'll sit down calmly in that chair yonder, I'll answer your
questions."
"And suppose I don't care to sit down! Do I look as if I were tired?"
"Perhaps not, but when you visit your friends you should try to please
them, shouldn't you?"
"What! Do you count me as one of your friends?"
"And why not?"
"This is why!" and the Breton shook his great fist in the old lady's face.
"Oh, I'm a bad one I am! I could kill all three of you in a jiffy! Why, I
just finished a month in the jail for 'regulating' a fellow-worker at the
factory, and I don't mind doing another month for regulating you people!"
And the poor fellow's face was more terrible than his words, and I thought
our "time had come," as the saying is.
"Now, don't you be afraid," whispered Celestina, as she drew me close; "God
is with us; don't forget that!"