THE WEE WHITE ROSE.
No need now to caution Flaxie not to make a noise. She crept about
the house as still as a shadow, with an old, heartbroken look on her
childish face, pitiful to see.
And, far away in the east chamber, lay dear little Rose, flushed with
fever.
O, if you had only known what a darling it was that lay there!
From her sweet babyhood she had always been a sunbeam in her father's
house; and, after her father died, a year ago, it had really seemed as
if she thought she must try to comfort her poor mamma.
Aunt Jane, her mamma, was very delicate; and, when Dr. Gray came to see
her once, he said to little Rose,--
"You're mamma's little nurse. Don't forget to take good care of her."
And Rose did not forget. After that, she often said,--
"Unker Docker, I _do_ take care o' mamma."
If Mrs. Abbott dressed to go out, the little daughter would say,--
"Why, mamma, you must have your _yubbers_. I'll go get your yubbers and
warm 'em this minute."
_Lucy_ never thought of warming the rubbers, and she was a good girl
too.
When Mrs. Abbott stepped into the cold hall, Rose followed with a
little white lambswool shawl, begging her to put it over her shoulders.
She did not like to give her beautiful sick mother any trouble, so
she dressed and undressed herself, though scarcely five years old; and
every day, after dinner, went to her little room, lay down on the bed,
and took her nap without being told.
Mrs. Abbott had been in New Jersey only three days, when Dr. Gray
telegraphed to her that Rosie was ill, and she hurried home as fast as
she could.
The morning after she returned was little Rosie's birthday, and that
morning a present had come from her dear, good "Unker Willum,"--a
lovely muff and tippet, such as she had long been wishing to have.
Mamma brought them and laid them beside her on the bed.
"Wasn't it beautiful?" mamma said. "And see the squirrel's head on the
muff, and the cunning _porte-monnaie_ inside."
"Yes, pretty, pretty," said little Rosie; for her head was thumping so
hard that it did not please her very much, after all.
Once she had told dear "Unker Willum" that, if she had a lot of money,
she should be "perfickly happy."
"How much money would make you perfickly happy?" he asked.
"Three hundred and three thousand and thirty-six cents," said Rose;
and, every time he asked her, she gave the same answer.
So now there was a neat little note inside the muff, and it told Rosie
that, when next Christmas came, "Unker Willum would send her three
hundred and three thousand and thirty-six cents and make his darling
niece 'perfickly happy.'"
Rosie did not clap her hands or laugh at this letter as "Unker Willum"
had expected; she only smiled faintly, and by-and-bye began to cry
softly to herself. Mamma said,--
"Is it your head, darling?"
"Yes, mamma, my head aches; but that isn't what makes me cry. I was
s'posin' would you and Lucy and Bertie be very lonesome 'thout me, if I
should go way off up to heaven?"
"Don't talk so, my precious child," said Mrs. Abbott. "God doesn't want
you to die; He wants you to live to be mamma's dear little comfort."
"Does He?" asked Rosie, opening her sweet, blue eyes, and fixing them
on her mother's face. Then she moved her head from side to side on the
pillow, and said,--
"No, mamma, I think I'm going up to heaven velly soon."
Mrs. Abbott's heart throbbed with a quick pain at these words; and she
began to tell Rosie some stories to take up her mind; such as "Little
Bopeep has Lost her Sheep," and "Little Boy Blue, come, Blow your Horn!"
"Mamma," said Rosie, "I'd ravver hear that pretty story 'bout
Jesus--it's so much nicer. How he came down here, and put his hands on
the little chillens."
Then Mrs. Abbott sang, in a trembling voice,--
"'I think, when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
How he called little children as lambs to his fold,--
I should like to have been with them then.'"
"That's nice,--so nice," said little Rosie, smiling. "Now I'll go to
sleep, mamma."
Next day her little head was worse. Flaxie had begged Aunt Jane to take
her all her pretty playthings; but the sick child did not care for them
now. There were Flaxie's wee chairs and sofas and pictures to furnish
her baby-house, and dishes to set her baby-table. Rosie did not like
them now; but she knew she _had_ liked them when she was well.
"Mamma," said she, "shall I have playfings up in heaven?"
"Yes, dear: prettier ones than these."
"O, I am so glad. And, mamma, must I take my best dresses when I go
up?--my blue one with the pretty wuffles, you know, and my little pink
_beauty_ dress?"
"No, darling: God will give you nicer clothes than those to wear."
"Will he, mamma? O, that's very nice."
She lay quite still for a long time, and then called her mother to her
bedside.
"Mamma, you 'member that sweet story you sung to me 'bout Jesus?"
"Yes, dear."
"And is it all truly true, mamma?"
"Yes: quite true, my child."
"Well, that's all I want to know, mamma," said the blessed baby; and
then, with a happy smile, she pressed her cheek against the pillow, and
dropped off to sleep.
They were glad of that, for they thought the rest would do her good;
but, ah! she slept so long, so very long! A week went by, and still
she had not waked. Then she opened her eyes, and faintly said, "Mamma,
mamma."
Mamma bent over her, very happy to hear her sweet voice once more; and
the child placed one of her little arms about her dear mother's neck,
and so fell asleep again.
Dr. and Mrs. Gray watched beside her with sad mamma; for they knew now
that little Rose was going away from them.
She woke at last; and, O, how happy she was! for she found herself in
a beautiful world,--more beautiful than any thing she had ever dreamed
of,--and Some One was holding her in His arms. She was sure it was the
dear Jesus; and she nestled close to His breast, too happy to speak.
Her mother could not see this; but she _knew_ the Lord had taken little
Rosie; and, though her heart was very sad, she looked up through her
tears, and said,--
"It is well with the child."
But poor Flaxie! When they told her that little Rosie had gone away to
play with the angels, she sobbed, bitterly,--
"O mamma, mamma, if I hadn't teased her, _if_ I only hadn't! And now
God has taken her away; and I can't tell her I'm sorry!"
Ah, it was a sad, sad lesson to little Flaxie.
"I prayed as hard as I could, ever so long," wailed she. "God could
have made her well if He had thought best; and then what a hugging I
was going to give her! I wasn't _ever_ going to plague her again!"
Weeks after this, Mrs. Gray saw Flaxie one day standing at the front
door, with her hands clasped, looking straight upward into the sky.
"Dear God," she murmured, softly, "won't you please let me peek in a
minute and see Rosie? If you can't let me peek in, won't you please
tell Rosie I'm sorry?"