THE FAIRY LETTERS.
Maud was so tired of being alone, and so anxious, besides, to ask if
Daisy had seen the stranger who disappeared from her, that she ran good
naturedly enough to the door, to welcome her sister.
But when she saw the dame's wretched old face, and the little beggar
whom she had thrust away so scornfully, and Daisy herself bending under
the heavy load of sticks, Maud's wrath came back again.
"Here I shall have to wait an hour for my supper," she complained,
"because you chose to lag behind, and tire yourself with bringing
burdens for other folks. I should like to know where you will put your
precious friends: not in _our_ house--be very sure of that."
But the dame quickly silenced her by asking, "Who has fed, and clothed,
and taken care of you and all your kith and kin? Who gave you the gown
on your back and the beauty in your cheeks? And when you found your
sister lying half dead by the roadside,--as you would have been but for
my care,--what were you willing to do for her? O Maud, for shame!"
"She is no sister of mine," answered Maud, making way; however, as she
spoke, for the beggar to enter her door.
"Ask Daisy," was the dame's reply.
"O Maud, I was so sorry that you left us," Daisy said; "for the
beautiful man I saw in heaven, whom you are to love, came and spoke to
me, with a look and words I can never forget in all my life."
"Where was it?" asked the sister eagerly.
"In that part of the road which our father used to call the Church,
because the trees made such grand arches overhead, and it was so still
and holy, with the stars looking through the boughs. You remember the
elm, with the grape vine climbing up among its boughs, and hanging full
of fruit: I met him there."
"But he could not be half so beautiful as the man I saw in that very
place," boasted Maud. "I talked with him a while; then I suppose he
heard you coming, for he went away."
The old dame's bright, sharp eyes were fixed upon her; and Maud cast her
own eyes down in shame, as Daisy continued,--
"The dame's bundle of wood was very heavy, and this little girl dragged
so upon my skirts as we toiled on, that I knew she must be tired. I was
feeling glad that I happened to meet them, because I am both young and
strong, you know, and used to work, when, as I told you, Christ
appeared, standing beneath the elm."
[Illustration: AND HE LOOKED INTO MY FACE.]
"How ashamed you must have felt! I suppose he thought you the old dame's
daughter, or a beggar, perhaps. I'm glad you did not bring him to our
cabin; how it would look beside his palace in the golden city above!
What did he say to you?"
"'Blessed, O Daisy, are the merciful,' he said; 'I was hungry, and you
gave me food; thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was sad, and you cheered
me; tired, and I rested on your arm.'
"'O, no,' I answered, 'you must be thinking of some one else. I never
saw you before, except in my vision once.'
"He took my hand, and looked into my face with such a gentle smile that
I did not feel afraid, and pointed at the wood: 'This burden was not the
old dame's, but mine; the blood you wiped away was mine; when you fed
and comforted this little one, you were feeding and comforting me. You
never can tell how much good you are doing, Daisy; poor girl as you are,
you may give joy to my Father's angels. Look through your spectacles.'
"So I looked, and there sat the poor little beggar, (see, she has
fallen asleep from weariness!) moaning and sobbing in the grass, as when
we found her first; and an angel stood beside her, weeping, too."
"An angel beside _her_?" interrupted Maud.
"Yes, a beautiful angel, with the calm, holy look which they all wear in
heaven, but I never saw upon this earth; he wept because she had no
friend; and, just then, I was so fortunate as to come past, and, not
seeing the angel, I asked her to take my hand, and run along beside me.
"But now I saw that, when the child began to smile, the angel also
smiled, and lifted his white wings and flew--O, faster than
lightning--over the tree tops, and past the clouds; and the sky parted
where he went, until I saw him stand before the throne, in the wonderful
city above.
"And Christ said, 'He stands there always, watching her, unless she
needs him here; and when her earthly life is over, he will lead her
back, to dwell in my Father's house. For the great God is her Father,
and yours, and mine; she is my sister: should I not feel her grief?'"
Maud's heart fell, for she felt that the being whom she had met must
also have been Christ, and asked Daisy if he looked sad and tired, and
had wounds in his hands.
"O, no--what could tire him, Maud? He looked strong, and noble, and
glad, and seemed, among the dark trees, like a shining light."
"Alas! then it was I who tired him, and made him sorrowful," thought
Maud; then said, aloud, "But, Daisy, are you sure he took your hand?
See, it is smeared with the old dame's blood, and soiled with tears you
wiped from the beggar's face, and stained and roughened with hard work:
are you sure he touched it?"
"The whole was so strange, that I dare not be sure whether any part of
it was real," replied Daisy, who was so modest that she did not wish to
tell all Christ had said.
"_I_ am sure, then," outspoke the dame. "He took her hand, and--listen
to me, Maud!--he said, 'This blood, these tears, these labor stains,
will be the brightest jewels you can wear in heaven; have courage, and
be patient, Daisy--for beautiful words are written here, that never will
fade away.'"
And when Maud asked what they were, the dame replied sharply, "Exactly
the opposite of words that are written on somebody's fine hands:
self-sacrifice, and generosity, and faith, and earnestness, and love.
Such words as these make Daisy's rough hands beautiful."