THE SPECTACLES.
Ashamed as Maud was of her mother, she found new cause for unhappiness,
when, one day, Susan died.
"Who is there, now," asked the beauty, "to make my fine dresses, and
keep them clean, and to pet me, and praise my beauty, and carry me to
the fair sometimes, so that every one may look at my face, and wish hers
were half so handsome?"
"Poor, dear mother, your hard work is done," said Daisy, in her gentle
way, bending over the dead form that Susan had left. "You will never see
the old dame's face again, nor hear the wolves growl in the wood, nor
tire yourself with taking care of us."
The corpse's hands were hard and rough, but they had grown so with
working for her children; and Daisy kissed them tenderly, and filled
them with fresh flowers, and bore her mother's body far into the still
wood, and buried it under the same great tree that lay still, like a
tombstone, across Peter's grave.
Though Daisy was no longer a child, she could not have done this without
fairy help. All the way, she felt as if other arms than hers were
bearing her mother's form, and as if new strength were in her own when
they handled the heavy spade.
As Daisy worked there alone in the wood,--for she could not see the
fairy, who was helping her,--the little birds sang sweet and tender
songs, as if they would comfort their friend.
For Daisy had loved her mother dearly, and remembered her loving,
parental care, and could not but be sorrowful at losing her, even for a
little while.
Yet she tried to calm her aching heart, because Maud, she knew, would
need all her care now, and must be served, and entertained, and
comforted more carefully than ever, so that she might not constantly
miss her mother, and spend her days in weeping over what could not be
helped.
The young girl did not think how much more toil, and care, and
unhappiness was coming to herself; for it was always Daisy's way to ask
what she could do for others, and not what others might do for her.
And, children, if you want your friends, and God himself, to love you,
depend upon it there is no way so sure as this--to forget yourselves,
and think only whom you can serve. It is hard, at first, but becomes a
pleasure soon, and as easy and natural as, perhaps, it is now for you to
be selfish.
You must not be discouraged at failing a few times; for it takes a great
deal of patience to make us saints.
But every step we move in the right way, you know, is one step nearer
to our home in heaven--the grand and peaceful home that Christ has
promised us.
We left Daisy in the wood, with the birds singing above her, as she
finished her pious work; perhaps, with finer ears, we might have heard
angels singing songs of joy above the holy, patient heart that would not
even grieve, because another needed all its strength.
But the birds' songs ceased; they fluttered with frightened cries,
instead; the wind rose, and the boughs began to dash about, and the
night came on earlier than usual. Daisy saw there was to be another
fearful storm; and her first thought was of Maud, alone in the lonely
wood.
How she wished for wings, like the birds, that she might fly home to her
nest! But, instead, she must plod her way among the underbrush, which
grew so thick in places, and the wind so tangled together across the
path, that she went on slowly, hardly knowing whether she were going
nearer home or deeper into the wood.
"Silly girl, where are your spectacles?" said a voice by Daisy's side;
and the old woman seized her arm, and dragged her over the rough path,
as she had done once before.
"There is no need of them, now I have your lamp," said Daisy in a sad
voice; for she was thinking of dear faces that her eyes would never rest
upon again.
"That's as much as you know. But you cannot cheat me, Daisy. Have my
glasses been of so little use that you put them in your pocket, and
choose rather to look through tears?"
"I did not mean to cry; but how can any one help it when----"
"I know--I know; you needn't tell me of your sorrows, but take out the
spectacles."
So Daisy did as she was told, and never had the glasses seemed so
wonderful; for, besides that now the old dame's lamp gave a clearer
light, something made Daisy lift her eyes, and, instead of two poor
bodies lying asleep in the storm, she saw a splendid city far, far up
upon the tops of the tallest trees, and Peter and Susan walking there,
hand in hand, and smiling upon her as Peter had smiled in her dream.
"Well," said the shrill voice of the dame, "will you give me back my
glasses now, and keep your tears?"
"O, no!" and Daisy seized the old woman's withered hand, and turned to
thank her; but she was not there: one moment Daisy felt the pressure of
a gentle hand in hers, and then the beautiful fairy floated from before
her sight, far up above the trees, and stood, at last, with her father
and mother. All three were smiling upon her now, and pointing upwards to
the trees, whose leaves were broader and more beautiful than any in the
wood.
But the young girl stumbled, and fell among the thorns, and seemed all
at once to awake from a dream; for, the dame's lamp gone, her path had
grown narrow and dark again; and she found it would not do to look any
more at the city of gold, until she should find her own poor cabin in
the wood.