because he let them be of a mind to forgive Dolly. If they
had not forgiven her, and made up their resolutions to do a
kind thing for her, then B. would have run away when she saw
Dolly, and not waited to speak to her and give the banana,
and so nobody might have known that Dolly was sick, and she
might have died without knowing about Jesus, who died for
her; but she never knew it till Bessie told her. And, oh,
how dreadful that would have been for M. and B. Happy! but
God was so good as to spare them of it, and Dolly learned
about Jesus, and loved Him, and wanted to please Him, only
she did not have much time; but Jesus does not care about
that, so long as she believed on Him, and loved Him, and He
took Dolly away to His own heaven to live with Him. And M.
and B. Happy were happy about it, even if Dolly was dead,
because papa and mamma, and all our grown-up, wise people,
think she is happy with Jesus; and we hope our Father will
let it be a little jewel to carry to Him, when the angel
takes us over the river, and the Elder Brother will say we
did it unto Him, because we did it to His poor little lamb
that did not know about Him. And now M. and B. Happy do not
mind so much about the gardens, even though they can't try
for a prize, and B. says she had rather have Dolly's little
marigold than the prettiest prize that ever was, but I am
afraid M. would not; but then, you see, she is not so very
perfect as B., and besides I don't like the smell of the
marigolds: I think it's awful. And God let M. have a very
happy dream. M. knows it is foolish to think much about
dreams, because they are not a bit of consequence, and
she hopes any one who reads this will not think she was so
foolish as to believe any thing about it; but it did make
her feel a little glad about it, and B. liked it too. The
dream was this: I was out by the lake with Bessie, but it
was the night, and oh! there were so very many stars, and
Dolly's little bed was out by the lake too, and she was in
it, quite alive. And we heard voices all around, but we
could not see where they came from; but we knew it was the
angels, and they were calling to Dolly, and she came out of
her bed, and tried to go, but she could not, because she had
no wings. Then such a beautiful thing happened,--the stars
came down out of the sky, and fixed themselves down to the
ground where Dolly stood, and she went up, up, up on them,
just as if they were steps, to heaven. And when she stepped
over each one, it went right back to its place in the sky;
but it left a long light behind it, like the shooting star
we saw the other night; and at the top of the stair of stars
was a soft, white cloud; and when Dolly came to it, a hand
came out of the cloud, and took her in, and we knew she was
quite safe, and would never come back again. But for all
I was glad M. cried, and dear mamma came and woke her up,
and asked me why I cried, and kissed me, and I told her I
was glad Dolly went to heaven, because she had no precious
mamma to kiss and love her, or to tell her troubles and
happinesses to. So it was a very happy, grateful thing, all
about Dolly."
A very happy, grateful thing, the dear mamma thought it too; and very
happy, grateful tears were those which dimmed her eyes as she read her
little daughter's simple story, and then thanked God that the lessons
of love and forgiveness which were given to her little ones fell not
upon stony ground, but took root and bore precious fruit in those
tender young hearts.
[Illustration]
XVIII.
_GOOD-BY TO CHALECOO._
AND now there was much talk of going home, and the time for the flower
show was at hand, and our Maggie and Bessie could not help a little
feeling of sorrow, that they had nothing to show that they had tried
to do as well as the others. They had thought they should not mind it
so very much; but as the time drew near, they found they did; and many
a sigh and sad thought went to the memory of the lost heliotrope and
geranium.
The day came, and the whole party from the Lake House, from grandmamma
down to baby, were to go and spend the day at the homestead, and to
have a grand family dinner after the flower show.
Soon after breakfast, the wagons came to the door, and the happy,
merry party were ready to be packed in. The boys had already taken
their seats in the last one, where the prize flowers and vegetables
had been stored; and the little girls were waiting their time to be
put snugly in between some of the older people, when Bessie suddenly
bethought herself of the marigolds, which had not been attended to
that morning.
"O Maggie!" she said: "we forgot to water Dolly's marigolds. Let's run
and do it before we go."
Away they scampered to the side of the house where they had stood
Dolly's treasures, but came back in a moment, with wondering faces,
crying out,--
"Somebody has moved our marigolds."
"Where are our marigolds?"
"Never mind the marigolds now," said papa, catching up Bessie, and
putting her into the wagon, where, the next moment, she was seated on
Colonel Rush's knee,--"never mind the marigolds; they are safe, and
will keep until you come back again;" and then he whisked Maggie into
the wagon, and she was nestled into a seat beside Uncle Ruthven, with
his arm about her to keep her from falling out.
Away they went, the whole party as merry as crickets,--laughing,
singing, and joking, as they drove down the mountain. They might make
as much noise as they pleased, on this lonely mountain road; there was
no one but the squirrels and the wood-pigeons to be consulted, and
they did not seem to object to the fun. The woods were lovely to-day.
Crimson and gold, scarlet and purple, were gaining fast upon the green
of the past summer; each moment, some one was calling to the others to
look here, and look there, at the brilliant leaves, so wonderful in
the richness and variety of their gay coloring.
When they had come down into the valley, where farms and cottages lay,
and where people were coming and going, papa said they had better
make less noise, or these good, quiet folks would think them a band of
wild Indians coming down from the mountains. But the boys were beside
themselves with fun and frolic, and it seemed impossible for them to
be quiet. They had a flag with them, which they waved and cheered
whenever they passed a house or saw laborers at work in the fields;
and the people seemed to like it, and came running to see the fun, and
waved and cheered in return, as good-naturedly as if they thought it
was all done for their pleasure.
As they passed Aunt Patty's cottage, she drove out of the gate in
her low pony carriage, with Nonesuch before it, on their way to the
homestead. The old lady nodded and smiled, as if she were glad to see
them so happy, but Nonesuch seemed not only surprised, but displeased,
at finding himself in such jolly company; and, after some shaking of
his head and putting back of his ears, stood stock still in the middle
of the road; nor could all Aunt Patty's coaxing or scolding, or even
some gentle touches of the whip, persuade him to go on, till the
whole party were out of sight. Aunt Patty and Nonesuch often had such
differences of opinion, and I am sorry to say the donkey generally had
the better of the old lady.
What a delightful bustle there was when our friends arrived at the
homestead, and the whole family came pouring out to receive them!
For the time, Maggie and Bessie forgot the little sore spot in their
hearts which was caused by the thought that they had no share in that
which brought them all together, until lisping little Katy Bradford,
who was very fond of her young cousins, said,--
"Maggie and Bethie, I'm tho thorry you have no flowerth for the thow."
"Yes," said Bessie, "it's a very mournful thing for us; but we try not
to think too much about it."
"Papa ith going to give very nith prithes," said Katy, taking a very
poor way to console her cousins; but she meant well. "We think he
ith going to give thome one a canary-bird. Thith morning there hath
been a bird thinging--oh, tho thweetly!--in the libr'y where papa hath
the pritheth, and will not let uth go in, and Aleck thaid it wath a
canary."
Maggie gave a little sigh.
"Bessie and I want a canary very much," she said. "There is one in the
nursery at home; but we want one for our own room, and we are going to
ask mamma to let us have it next Christmas."
"I'd jutht like you to have thith one, 'cauthe you're tho good and I
love you," said Katy, and she put up her lips, for a kiss, to first
one little cousin and then the other.
And now Mr. Alexander Bradford said he should like to have papa, and
Uncle Ruthven and the Colonel come with him, and act as judges on the
fruit and flowers.
While the gentlemen were gone, making these last arrangements, the
children had a good play; and in about an hour's time they were all
called in to take part in the great event of the day. The spot chosen
for this was the latticed piazza which served as the children's
summer play-room; and here a long table was set out with the fruit,
vegetables, and flowers, each of which it was hoped by the young
owners might gain a prize.
The place looked very pretty. It was festooned with dahlias,
chrysanthemums, and other bright-colored autumn flowers and leaves;
and, although the display upon the table might not have seemed very
grand to less interested eyes, the children desired nothing better;
and it certainly did them great credit.
"Bessie," whispered Maggie, as they went in, "does it make you feel a
little as if you was homesick for our geranium and heliotrope?"
"Yes," answered Bessie, in the same tone; "it makes the cry come in my
throat, Maggie; but I am not going to let it come out, and I shall try
to find enough of 'joyment in the others' 'joyment."
They kept very close together, these two generous little girls, and
hand in hand walked round the table to look at the pretty sight. Each
article was labelled with its owner's name, and behind such as took a
prize was the reward it was thought to have merited. Not a child but
had some one pretty or useful gift; even the little Persian, who had
not been very successful, but to whom Mr. Alexander Bradford had given
a humming-top and ball, as the reward of his industry and perseverance.
Fred displayed an enormous melon which had been ripe for some days,
and was now rather too mellow and soft, and, having been jolted
somewhat severely on its ride down the mountain, had fallen to
pieces, presenting, as joking Fred said, "a very _melon_choly sight."
But Cousin Alexander had seen the melon in its glory, before it
was taken from the vine; and, in spite of its present distressed
appearance, Fred found a handsome six-bladed knife placed beside the
fragments,--"A blade for each piece, and the handle thrown in," said
pleased Fred; adding, that he thought Cousin Alexander wanted an
excuse for giving presents.
The little girls were standing lost in admiration of a miniature set
of croquet, just the thing for small hands, and which had rewarded
the care bestowed by Katy upon a lovely tea-rose, when Harry called
suddenly from the other side of the room,--
"Hallo! Midget and Queen Bess, how came these old things here?" Then
in a tone of still greater astonishment, "Why, I declare! Oh, what
jolly good fun! Come here, pets, and see this!"
Maggie and Bessie ran round to the other side; and there, to their
great surprise, stood Dolly's two marigolds. Forlorn enough they
certainly looked among the flourishing plants and bright blossoms
which had been the fruit of their cousins' labors; even more forlorn
than they had done when Dolly left them as her dying legacy to the
dear little ones who had been her friends.
The flower which had been in blossom when she died, now hung black
and withered on its feeble stem, kept there only by the fringed paper
which she had put about it with such touching care. The second bud had
half opened into another scragly, stunted flower, about which not even
the most loving eyes could see the slightest beauty, and, in spite of
the care which Maggie and Bessie had given them, the leaves of both
plants were wilted and drooping. But there was more than one heart
at that table for which those feeble, sickly plants had a value far
beyond that of the richest and rarest exotic.
Beside the marigolds stood a bird-cage, and in it, hopping about,
and with his little head perking from side to side, as he watched
the scene so curious and new to him, was a beautiful canary-bird.
He was not singing now, for he did not know what to make of it all,
and was not quite sure whether he were pleased or no; but, as the
children stood looking from him to the marigolds in blank amazement,
he gave a little inquiring "cheep, cheep!" as a first move to a better
acquaintance.
"Oh, the darling birdie!" cried Bessie; "who is he for?"
But Maggie exclaimed with a trembling lip,--
"Fred, Fred! it wasn't fair. You ought not to make fun of poor Dolly's
marigolds, and to hurt our feelings that way."
"I did not do a thing," said Fred, "and knew no more about it than
yourself."
"Nor I," said Harry: "most likely it was papa or some grown-up person;
and certainly no one has meant to make fun of you. Don't you see the
card on the cage, and what is written on it?"
Maggie looked at the card, as her brother moved the cage nearer to her.
"'For our Maggie and Bessie--the dear'--oh! what is it Harry? read it
to me quick."
Harry read it,--
"For our Maggie and Bessie, the dear little workers in
the garden of the Lord, who tended the Christian plants
of patience, kindness, and forbearance, till their lovely
blossoms overran the evil weeds of malice and ill-will, and
sowed the seeds of that which brought forth fruit for the
glory of God."
"I don't understand it," said Maggie. "Does it mean the canary is for
Bessie and me?"
"Of course," said Harry.
"But I am sure we ought not to have any credit about the marigolds,"
said Maggie, still wondering. "If there is any, it is Dolly's or
Lem's."
"And Harry," said Bessie, "the marigolds are pretty ugly. I don't much
think we ought to have a prize, even if we had grown them up."
"Dolly left you the marigolds," said Harry; "so, if they win a prize
you ought surely to have it, and I am glad of it,--that I am. But I
don't quite think it was these poor little scrubs that had that honor."
"But, O Maggie! just to think of that lovely, darling, little birdie
being for us," said Bessie, pleasure beginning to have its way over
surprise; "and we never 'spected a thing 'cause we had no flowers."
"Yes," said Maggie, now in great delight as she began to understand
how it was, "and we would rather have had it than any thing else."
Never was a birdie coaxed with more pretty names than was this one
during the next ten minutes; and he seemed to like them well, for,
after answering with one or two more half-timid "cheeps," he broke
into a soft trill, which soon swelled into a clear, sweet song of joy.
Maggie and Bessie were in ecstasies, and Cousin Alexander certainly
had reason to think his kindness had given all the pleasure he
intended it should.
This was the last day they were to spend at the homestead, and the
children made the most of it. Every nook and corner was visited, and
all kinds of odd traps were dragged to light, and presented by the
young cousins to be kept in memory of the old place, "family relics,"
Maggie called them; and very curious "family relics" some of them
were. Among other things were two or three peacock feathers, a turkey
wing, some pebbles from the brook where papa used to sail his boats
when he was a boy, a piece of rusty tin pipe, which, because it looked
black and smoky, and came from the field where the burnt barn had
stood, they persuaded themselves must be a part of the very leader
down which papa slid when he ran for the ladder to save his little
brother,--all these, and other treasures of like value, were carefully
collected and stowed in the wagons, to be carried to the Lake House,
and thence to the city.
But at last the busy, happy day came to an end, and farewell had to be
said to the dear old homestead and the kind family there.
Birdie did not like his ride up the mountain at all, but chirped in a
very miserable, beseeching manner all the way; and, when he was safely
at the Lake House and hung up out of the reach of Mrs. Porter's old
pussy cat, tucked his head under his wing, and went to sleep at once,
as if he were glad to forget all his troubles.
But he was bright enough the next morning; for he woke the little
girls with his song some time before the hour at which they were
accustomed to rise. Bessie, always a light sleeper, was the first to
be roused by his sweet notes, that soft, half-doubtful little trill
with which he began; but, as it rose into a gush of joyous music,
Maggie, too, stirred, and opened her eyes. She listened a moment, then
turned towards Bessie, who lay with her eyes fixed on the bird with a
dreamy, thoughtful look.
"What are you thinking of, Bessie?" she asked, softly.
"I was thinking," said Bessie, "that it seemed as if our Father was
letting the jewel of forgiveness sparkle a little for us here before
we carried it over the river to Him."
"Yes," said Maggie, "I was thinking something like that last night,
but I did not put it in such nice words; and I am just going to put in
the Complete Family, that B. Happy said it. And perhaps, Bessie, if we
had not taken up the jewel of prayer, and asked our Father for help,
we might never have found the other jewels."
"Or, if He had not helped us very much, we might not have taken them
up, when we did find them," said Bessie. "It was pretty hard work to
take up that first one of giving the banana to Dolly; and, Maggie, do
you know I did such a very naughty thing as 'most to wish He did not
give me the chance I had asked for: but, after that, all the rest were
very easy to take up, and I did not find it at all hard to forgive
Dolly every thing she had done."
"Yes," said Maggie: "I guess that's always the way, and after all, I
did not have to forgive Lem and Dolly near so many times as 'seventy
times seven.' Oh, yes, you darling birdie! do you want to say you know
all about it? Bessie, let's think the canary is a kind of keepsake
from Dolly, 'cause you know it seems as if it came by her, and mamma
says it is of no use to take the marigolds to town, for they will be
quite dead in a few weeks."
"Yes, so we will, Maggie, and that's a very nice idea of you; and
then we might call our birdie 'Marigold,' for memory of the poor
little plants as well as Dolly."
"Oh, yes!" said Maggie; "that's lovely, so we just will."
So from this day the canary was called Marigold, nor was it long
before he knew his name, and would answer with a chirp when it was
called.
In two or three days more, they said good-by to Chalecoo and all its
pleasures. The parting was a hard one on all sides, especially for Mr.
Porter's family, who knew how much they would miss the sweet childish
voices, the merry laughter, and patter of little feet, which had made
the old house so gay and bright through all the long summer.
As for poor Lem, he was in despair. He had begged hard to go with Mr.
Stanton, promising the best of behavior if he were only allowed to do
so; but the gentleman did not think the city was the best place for a
boy like Lem, and thought it wiser to leave him in the care of Mr.
Porter, who promised to keep him for the winter, and give him work if
he would try to do well, and be honest and industrious. In the spring,
if Mr. Porter could give a good account of him, Mr. Stanton meant
to send him out to sea, with some good, careful captain who would
try to do well for the boy. Lem had such a fancy for a roving life,
that this was thought the best thing for him; but just now even this
promised pleasure was lost sight of in his grief at the loss of his
kind friend. His father had never come back; and, from all that could
be learned, it was believed that he had gone to a far-away country,
leaving his poor children to shift for themselves.
All agreed that it was better so. A heavenly Father had cared for
these poor desolate ones, and sent them help in the time of their
greatest need. One had no longer need of earthly care, but was safe
with Jesus in that home which He had bought for her with His precious
blood; and for the other, there was much to be hoped. A strong desire
to please Mr. Stanton, and a fear of doing what would have grieved
Dolly, kept him from much that was wrong; and he could scarcely be
known for the same boy, who a few months since had been a terror to
every small child and harmless animal, and a torment to every farmer
and housekeeper in Chalecoo.
"Good-by! good-by! good-by!" The words, so hard to say, were spoken;
and dear old Mrs. Porter stood upon the piazza steps, wiping her eyes
with her apron, as she watched the wagons going slowly past the lake,
and carrying our friends down the mountain for the last time.
"Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer," she said to
Dolly and Fanny, who stood beside her, feeling almost as mournful; "if
I'd known I'd feel so bad to part with them, I don't know as I could
have made up my mind to take them: but those dear little ones have
just taken the heart right out of me. Well, God bless them, wherever
they may go."
"As He does," said Fanny, "for surely they have brought a blessing
here this summer. Who would have thought such little things could do
a bit of good to those two?" and she looked at Lem, who lay with his
face buried in the grass, trying to hide his tears; "and yet see what
they've been the means of bringing to them."
"Ay, Fanny," said her mother, "little hands may do God's work, if they
but take it up in His strength and with His help."
"Well," said Mr. Porter, when he had taken the homeward-bound party
safely to the place where they were to take the boat down the river,
"I reckon one of the best jobs I ever did was to take you up Chalecoo
mountain for the first time, and one of the worst to bring you down
for the last."
"But you can find _consolement_ to think we are coming back some other
time," said Maggie; "and we thank you very much for letting us have a
nice time this summer, Mr. Porter."
"Yes," said Bessie, "we had a lovely, happy time among the mountains,
even if the sea was not there."
And now as we leave our Maggie and Bessie, are there not some little
friends who will say that they have spent a useful as well as a happy
summer among the mountains?
[Illustration: THE END]
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.
Transcriber's Notes
Minor punctuation typos have been silently corrected.
Retained both spellings of "Fanny" and "Fannie."
Page 41: Changed "eat" to "ate."
(Orig: cracked and eat his almond.)
Page 354: Retained original sentence, but Dolly was dead.
(Orig: "Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer,"
she said to Dolly and Fanny, who stood beside her,)
End of Project Gutenberg's Bessie among the Mountains, by Joanna H. Mathews