to sleep for a few minutes last night. I didn't mean to, but I did."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIV.
_BLACKBERRYING._
"MAMMA, mamma, mamma!" cried Maggie and Bessie, dancing into the room
with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks.
"What is it, Sunbeams?" asked mamma.
"Oh! a blackberry party, mamma,--such a splendid blackberry
party!--and we are all to go if you will let us. John is going to take
us; and Dolly and Fanny are going, and Jane, too, if you would like to
have her. Can we go, can we? Oh, say yes, mamma!"
"And please don't say I am too little, mamma," said Bessie. "John will
take very good care of me, and carry me over all the hard places. And
if we pick more berries than we want to eat for tea, Mrs. Porter is
going to make them into blackberry jam for us to take home with us.
So you see it will be very useful, as well as very pleasant, for us to
go."
"Very well," said mamma, "that being the case, I think I must let you
go."
Half an hour later the party started, armed with baskets and tin
pails. Away they went, laughing and singing, by the lake road, and
then down the side of the mountain to a spot where John said the
blackberry bushes grew very thick. The way was pretty rough, and not
only Bessie, but Maggie also, was glad of John's help now and then.
Indeed, Bessie rode upon his shoulder for a great part of the way.
The blackberries were "thick as hops" when they came upon them,--some
still green, some red or half ripe, others as black as ink; and these
the children knew were what they must pick. The fingers of large and
small were soon at work, but Maggie and Bessie did not find it quite
as great fun as they expected.
"Ou, ou!" exclaimed Maggie, as she plunged her hand into the first
bush. "Why, there are horrid prickers on it!"
"And on mine too," cried Bessie. "They stick me like every thing. Oh,
my finger is bleeding!"
"To be sure," said Fanny; "you must be careful: blackberry bushes are
full of thorns."
Maggie and Bessie had not bargained for the thorns, and felt somehow
as if they had been rather imposed upon; but they picked away more
carefully. Now and then a berry found its way into a small mouth
instead of into the pails, and very ripe and juicy it tasted.
By and by Bessie gave a little sigh and said,--
"Maggie, do you think it is so very nice?"
"I'm trying to think it is," said Maggie; "but they do scratch
awfully, don't they? and the sun is pretty hot too. How many have you,
Bessie?"
"I guess about five hundred,--maybe it's a thousand," said Bessie.
"Can you count them?"
"Let's sit down there in the shade and do it," said Maggie. "One,
two, three, four,--there's seventeen, Bessie. That's a pretty good
many."
"Is it 'most a thousand, Maggie?"
"No," said Maggie, "I'm afraid it will take about fifty more to make
a thousand. Here's Bob; we'll ask him," as Bob and Hafed came by with
their baskets. "Bob, Bessie has seventeen berries; how many more will
it take to make a thousand?"
"Seventeen from a thousand," said Bob, "why it will take--nine
hundred--and--and--eighty-three. You haven't the beginning of a
thousand there yet."
"Have I enough to make a pot of jam?" asked Bessie, wistfully, looking
into her pail. "Your mother said she would make me a pot of my own if
I brought enough berries."
"A small pot it would be," said Bob, laughing. "Take two to show the
pattern, I guess," and he ran off.
Hafed lingered behind. He understood enough to know that Bessie was
disturbed because she had so few berries; and suddenly emptying his
basket, which was about a third full, into her pail, he said,--
"Me blackberry pick Missy Bess, all give."
"Oh! no, Hafed," said Bessie. "I thank you very much, but it wouldn't
be fair to take your berries."
"Please, missy, make Hafed feel good," he answered, holding his basket
behind him when Bessie would have poured the berries back. "Me much
find; bring, too, some Missy Mag--" by which he meant he would bring
some more to Maggie,--and he went after Bob.
"Oh! you're tired, are you?" said Jane, turning around to look what
her young charges were doing, and seeing them on the rock. "Maybe
you'd like a little lunch too; and here's some biscuits, and a couple
of cookies your mother told me to bring lest you should be hungry.
Then you can eat some of your berries; or, stay, I'll give you some of
mine so you may keep all your own."
So the kind nurse opened the paper containing the biscuits, and
spread it on the flat stone on which the children sat; next she pulled
two broad mullein leaves, and put a handful of berries on each, and
then having produced the drinking cup she always carried when the
children went on an expedition, she asked John where she should find a
stream, and one being near at hand as usual, the cup was soon filled
and placed beside the other things.
"There," said Jane, "I don't believe Queen Victoria herself had a
better set-out when she went blackberrying."
The children thought not; and the rest and unexpected little lunch
made them both feel refreshed and bright again.
"Bessie," said Maggie, as they sat contentedly eating it, "do you not
think foreigner boys are a great deal nicer than home-made boys?"
"What does foreigner mean?" asked Bessie.
"It means to come out of another country. Hafed is a foreigner, and
that little French boy who was so polite to us on board the steamboat
was a foreigner, and so is Carl."
Carl was Uncle Ruthven's Swedish servant.
"Are not Harry and Fred home-made boys, Maggie?"
"Yes; but, of course, I don't mean them: they're our brothers; but, of
example, don't you think Hafed is a great deal nicer and politer than
Bob?"
"Oh, yes! Bob laughed at me 'cause I had only a few berries; and Hafed
did not laugh a bit, but gave me his."
"Midget and Bess," came in Fred's clear tones from a little distance,
"come over here; here are lots of berries, lying on top of one another
almost, ripe and sweet; and calling out, 'Come pick me!' They hang
low, so we'll leave them for you, and it's nice and shady too."
"Fred is a nice home-made boy; is he not?" said Bessie, as they obeyed
his call.
"Yes, and Harry too," said Maggie. "I did not mean to pass any remarks
of them."
There were indeed lots of blackberries in the spot to which Fred had
called them; and, screened from the rays of the sun, they picked them
with comfort; besides which, many a large berry which they did not
pick themselves found its way into their pails; so that, by the time
Hafed came with his offering to Maggie, her own berries made quite a
show, and she steadily refused to take his.
Then John said they must be moving homeward. They went by a different
road from that by which they had come, stopping every now and then,
where the berries were fine and thick, to add a few more to their
store.
Seeing some which they thought particularly fine, the rest of the
party climbed a steep rocky path to get them; while Maggie and Bessie,
being tired, sat down to rest upon a fallen trunk. Suddenly a rustling
beside them startled them; and, looking round, they saw a large pair
of bright, soft eyes, gazing at them. A pair of ears were there also,
a black nose too; in short, the whole of some animal's pretty head;
and, before the little girls had time to call out or run away, a
beautiful little fawn sprang out from the bushes and ran to them as if
he was glad to see them. It had a red collar about its neck with some
letters on it; but the children had no need to look at them: they knew
the pretty creature quite well. It belonged to the little cousins down
at the homestead, and was a great pet, and now it came rubbing its
head against them, and putting its hoof into their laps, as if it were
very glad to see some familiar faces. It must have wandered from home,
the children knew; and so John said, when he came a moment later.
"I shall have to take the poor creature back," he said. "It would
never do to take it up home, for Buffer would tear it to pieces; and,
besides, they'll be worrying about it down there; so I'd better go at
once. You can find your way home from here, Fan; take that right-hand
path, and it will bring you out just below Owen's shanty."
The fawn seemed quite unwilling to leave the children; indeed it would
not go at all, till John tied a string to its collar, and drew it
after him. As it was found out afterwards, it had been lost since the
day before; and the homestead children were in great distress, and had
hunted for it in vain.
The path pointed out by John brought them, as he said it would, very
near Owen's hut, and, looking towards it, they saw Mr. Stanton and his
wife and Mrs. Bradford standing in front of it.
While Mr. Bradford had gone to the village to send the doctor, and try
to find a nurse for Dolly, the two ladies had come with Mr. Stanton to
see the sick child.
She was quieter than she had been through the night, but was, if any
thing, more ill. She moaned incessantly, and Lem said, was all the
time begging for something, he could not make out what.
Mrs. Stanton laid her soft, cool hand on the girl's burning forehead.
Dolly seemed to like the touch, and looking up into the lady's face,
said something in a beseeching tone.
"Do you want any thing, Dolly?" asked Mrs. Stanton, bending lower.
"I want," muttered Dolly; "I want to--to be angel."
"Poor Dolly," said the lady in a gentle, pitying tone.
"What is it she wants?" asked Lem.
"She says she wants to be an angel."
"Want to be an angel," moaned Dolly again. "Somebody loves the
angels--up in His place--not tired there--rest for the weary; that's
tired folks--that's me. I'm so tired--want to be an angel."
"Dolly," said Mrs. Stanton, not knowing if the girl could understand
her, yet hoping that she might even now speak a word in season,
"Dolly, you may be an angel some day if you will come to Jesus. He
wants you to come and love Him. He wants you to be a good girl so that
He may take you to His heaven, where there will be no more pain or
sorrow, where you will never be tired, where you will be an angel.
Will you love Him, Dolly; will you be a good girl, and try to please
Him?"
"Don't love _me_," said Dolly, who, with her eyes fixed on the lady's
face, had grown quiet, and really seemed to understand what she was
saying; "loves little gals, maybe, what sings: they has nice frocks,
and I aint fit for His beautiful place."
"Jesus will make you clean and white, and fit for His heaven, if you
ask Him, Dolly. He does love you. He is waiting for you to come to
Him."
"Little gals said He loved me; but can't ask Him, He don't come here."
"Yes, He does, Dolly. He is here now. You cannot see Him; but He
sees you, and is sorry for you. Shall we ask Him to make you fit for
heaven?"
"Yes," said Dolly.
"Dear Jesus," said the lady, "we ask Thee to give this little girl a
new, clean heart, and to make her fit to live with Thee"--
"To be an angel," put in Dolly, eagerly.
"Make her fit to be an angel, make her love to please Thee, and, when
it is time, take her to the home where there shall be no more pain or
trouble. Amen."
"No more pain--no more trouble," murmured Dolly, her mind wandering
again; "want to be an angel--I'll give her the cup," she cried; "they
say it kills folks to be too long in the Ice Glen, but I can't get
out; they'll send Lem to jail, will they? I'll fix 'em with their fine
gardens--want to--rest for the weary."
Then her eyes closed, but presently opened again; and, looking from
one to another of the kind faces above her, she said,--
"I say, did He see me give up the cup?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Stanton. "He sees all we do."
"And did He like me a little 'cause I did it?"
"Jesus was glad when He saw you give up the cup, Dolly, because it
was not yours, and it was right for you to tell where it was. He is
always glad when we do right, or when we are sorry for doing wrong."
"Can I speak to Him?"
"Yes: He is always ready and willing to listen to you, my poor child."
"Guess I'll tell Him," muttered Dolly; and, trying to put her hands
together as she had seen Mrs. Stanton do, she said, "Jesus, I'm true
sorry I sp'iled them gardens, and I want to be a angel, if you _could_
please to let me."
It was the first prayer that ever passed Dolly's lips; she did not
even know it was a prayer; she only knew she was speaking to Jesus,
the great friend of whom little Bessie and this kind lady had told her.
Then the poor child turned her face around and fell into one of her
short, troubled slumbers; while Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Mrs. Bradford
went outside, followed by Lem.
The two ladies and the gentleman sat down upon the rocks, while Lem
took his place in front of them, hugging up his knees, and staring
from one to another with half-frightened, half-sorrowful, looks. They
were all silent for a little time, then Lem suddenly said,--
"Mister, when folks goes to be angels they mostly dies, don't they?"
"Always, Lem," said Mr. Stanton, gently. "Angels are happy spirits
whom God has taken from all the pain and trouble of this world to live
with Him in that happy home where sorrow and death never come."
"Is Doll going to die?" asked the boy.
"I cannot tell: that will be as God sees best. Dolly is very sick; but
we will do for her all we can, and we will ask Him to make her His own
little child, so that if she dies she may be fit to live with Him, and
if she lives, she may be ready to serve Him and love Him on earth."
"I'll tell you, mister," broke forth Lem, after another moment or two
of silence, "I was awful sorry when I heard what Doll did to them
gardens after the little gals begged me out; but you see she didn't
know it, and she thought I was took to jail. I guess she's sorry too.
Wasn't you awful mad about it?"
"I did feel pretty angry, Lem; but we won't talk any more about that.
I do not think either you or Dolly will trouble our little girls
again; will you?"
"I shan't," said Lem, "and if Doll gets well and does, I'll fix her:
that's all."
Lem scarcely spoke without using some very bad word, such as is not
best for me to write or you to read; and Mr. Stanton was waiting his
time to speak to him about this. It came now.
"But maybe she'll die," continued Lem. "Anyhow, you and your folks
has been real good to me and Doll: what for I don't know, for we did
plague you awful. I don't s'pose I'll ever get the chance to do you a
good turn; but, if I do, you see if I don't."
"Lem," said Mr. Stanton, "you might do me a good turn now if you
choose."
"Can I, though?" said Lem; "well, I will fast enough; for you're a
fustrate fellow, and you tell fustrate tiger and bear stories. S'pose
you don't know another, do you?"
"Plenty more," said Mr. Stanton; "what I want you to do for me, is not
to use bad words."
"Never had no schoolin'," said Lem, a little sulkily.
"Schooling will not help you in the way I mean," said Mr. Stanton;
and then he explained to Lem what kind of words he did mean, telling
him how wicked and useless they were, and how it distressed those
who loved God to hear His holy name taken in vain. Lem said he would
do so no more; but the habit was so strong upon him, that, even as
he promised, he used more than one profane word to make the promise
strong.
But now a cry from Dolly told that she was awake and suffering, and
the two ladies went in, and found her quite wild again.
"I want to be a angel," she said; "there's no pain, no tired,
there--where's the singin'--I like it," and so she wandered on,
calling upon the little girls and begging them to sing. In vain did
Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Stanton sing for her the two hymns which had
taken her fancy, she only looked about more wildly for Maggie and
Bessie, crying that she wanted "little one and t'other one," to sing
for her. She grew worse and worse, till at last even the presence
of the two ladies seemed to make her more wild; and they went out,
leaving Lem to do the best he could with her. Mrs. Bradford was just
saying she did not know what to do, since the children were from home,
when the blackberry party appeared at the turn in the wood-path.
"Here are the children, heaven-sent, I believe," said their mother,
and she beckoned to her little girls.
They came running towards her, eager to show their berries, and to ask
for news of Dolly. Mamma told them how ill she was, calling for them;
and asked if they would go and sing for her.
Bessie said yes, at once; but timid Maggie looked half doubtfully at
the dark, ugly, little house, and had a short struggle with herself
before she could make up her mind to venture in. And after they were
inside, she held Bessie tightly by the hand, and for a moment or two
could scarcely find voice to sing.
Dolly's wild eyes turned towards them, and softened a little with
pleasure at the sight; and her loud, hoarse cries ceased. It was
evident she knew them.
"Sing, 'I want to be an angel,' my darlings," said mamma.
It was strange to see how the sweet sounds now soothed the sick child,
though they had failed when tried by Mrs. Bradford and Mrs. Stanton.
A love for music was, beside her affection for Lem, the one soft spot
in poor Dolly's sinful, hardened heart; but the practised voices of
the two ladies had not half the charm for her of the simple, childish
tones which had first sung to her the hymn which had taken such hold
upon her fancy, or rather on her heart. They sang it again and again,
varying from that only to "Rest for the weary," for no other hymns
seemed to satisfy the sick girl. She grew calm and quiet, and at last
even appeared to forget her pain as she lay listening.
Once, when they paused, she beckoned to Bessie, and said, "Do you
sometimes speak to Him?"
"To whom?" asked Bessie.
"To Him what has the angels, and is glad if we're good,--Jesus."
"Oh, yes!" said Bessie; "we speak to Him very often: when we say our
prayers, that is speaking to Jesus; and He always listens too."
"Then you speak to Him for me, will you? You knows Him better than I
do: I don't know Him much, only what you and the lady telled me, and
what the song says."
"What shall we tell Him?" asked Bessie.
"Tell Him I'm so tired this long while, and the pain aches so, and if
He _could_ just let me be a angel, I'd never do so no more; and I'm
sorry I plagued you, and I'll do just what He bids me. I'm sorry I
broke Miss Porter's plate too."
"Yes, we'll tell Him," said Bessie gently; "but, Dolly, Jesus would
like you to tell Him yourself too."
"I done it, and I'll do it some more," said Dolly, feebly; "make some
more singin'."
Maggie and Bessie sang again, and before long poor Dolly's eyes
closed, and she lay quietly sleeping; while our little girls, having
left some of their berries for Lem to give her when she woke, went
home with their mother and other friends.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XV.
_A FRIEND IN NEED._
THREE weeks had passed away, and still Dolly lay very ill. The
terrible rheumatic pains were better, it is true, and she could now
be moved without causing her so much agony; but she had a racking
cough and much fever, and showed, in many other ways, how very sick
she was. Lem said she had had a cough for a good while before that
night spent in the Ice Glen, and that she had always been complaining
of feeling tired. The doctor from the village shook his head when he
was questioned about her, and so did Mr. Stanton and old Mrs. Porter.
She had not wanted for such care as could be given her in her wretched
home. Mr. Bradford had found a woman who, in consideration of being
well paid, was willing to come and take care of her, and kind Mrs.
Porter provided her with such food as she could take. Maggie and
Bessie, and some of the ladies from the Lake House, came up to see her
every day when the weather permitted, and would sing to her, and tell
her of Jesus and His love.
It was strange to see how readily she listened, how eagerly she drank
it all in, especially when Bessie talked to her. Perhaps the simple,
earnest words of this little teacher were easier to be understood
by her poor, untaught mind, than those of others who were older
and wiser. Or it might be that she felt Bessie had been her first
friend,--the first one to extend to her the hand of forgiveness and
kindness,--or perhaps it was both of these things. However it was, she
was always glad to see the little girls and have them tell her of that
Friend above who was so full of pity, love, and forgiveness.
Dolly had heard of God before, but not as the kind, loving
Father,--the merciful, gracious Saviour,--who stands ready to receive
all who will turn to Him, who comes after us when we go from Him, and
who had now put out His pitying hand to draw to Himself this poor
little stricken lamb who had wandered so far from his fold. She had
heard His holy name taken in vain every day of her miserable little
life; she had never until now heard it spoken in love and reverence;
and the only idea she had had of Him, had been as some great but
terrible being who some day might find her out, and punish her for
the naughty things she had done. But the dread of this uncertain
punishment had not checked her in her wicked ways; and so she had gone
on, till the God she did not love and scarcely feared, had laid his
hand upon her, and then sent these little messengers to bring to her
the glad tidings of peace and pardon.
Day by day she grew more gentle, more humble, more quiet, more unlike
the Dolly of old, on whom kindness and harshness had both been thrown
away. Poor child, perhaps it was that she had had so much of the
latter, that she had not known how to believe in the former when it
came to her. It was touching to see her penitence for past offences,
and how anxious she now became to be forgiven by those whom she had
wronged. But her ideas of right and wrong were still very strange, and
rather difficult to deal with.
One day Mrs. Porter came to see her and brought some nice broth, with
which she fed her. As she was leaving, Dolly called her back, and told
her to look in the corner beneath a heap of dried sticks and see what
she would find. Willing to please the child, Mrs. Porter did so, and
drew out a soiled but fine pocket-handkerchief.
"There," said Dolly, "I'm going to give you that for your plate that I
broke. I'm right sorry I broke it. Jesus didn't like me much then, I
guess."
Mrs. Porter was quite sure that Dolly had not come honestly by the
handkerchief, and would not take it, which greatly distressed the
child. Just at that moment, Mrs. Bradford came in, and Mrs. Porter
told her the trouble.
"Dolly," said Mrs. Bradford, gently, "where did you get this
handkerchief?"
"Off old Miss Mapes' currant-bush," said Dolly, promptly; adding, in
an aggrieved tone, "I want her to have it 'stead of her plate, and she
won't."
"Because it is not yours to give away."
"Then 'taint mine to keep," said Dolly; "and I guess Jesus don't want
me to have it."
"He wants you to give it back to Mrs. Mapes, because that is the only
right thing to do, Dolly."
"Old Miss Mapes is hateful," answered Dolly. "She chased me off the
road when I didn't do nothin', and threw a hoe at me and cut my foot,
and that's why I took it; I'd liever Miss Porter would have it. She's
good."
"But if you want to be a good girl, and please Jesus, you must do what
He wants you to, not what you had rather do yourself."
"Would He rather I'd give the handkercher back to Miss Mapes?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Bradford. "He was grieved when He saw you take it;
and He will know you are truly sorry if you send it back to her."
"I'll do it, then," said Dolly; "you can take it to her: but don't you
tell her I did it for her, 'cause I don't,--it's only for Him."
Poor child! it was perhaps as much as was to be expected from one so
ignorant; and Mrs. Bradford, fearing to do her harm, said no more,
trusting that even this blind striving after right was pleasing in the
eyes of Him who has said, that little should be required of him to
whom little has been given.
"Say 'Gentle Jesus,'" said Dolly, turning to Bessie, who had stood by
while her mother was talking.
Next to the two hymns which had first taken her fancy, this seemed
to be the one Dolly liked best; and now she often asked for it.
Bessie repeated it. When she came to the two last lines of the second
verse,--
"In the kingdom of thy grace,
Give a little child a place,"
Dolly said, "I'm going to say, 'Give a better child a place,' 'cause
I'll be a better child now: true I will."
"With Jesus' help, Dolly," said Mrs. Bradford.
"He did help me," said Dolly. "He let her"--motioning towards
Bessie--"come and tell me about Him."