THE FAIRY'S LAST GIFT.
Maud went home to the lonely cabin; there was no one to make a fire, and
dry her wet clothes, and comfort her. When little Susan heard what had
happened, she ran away to live with the mother of Joseph; and Maud was
left alone.
Wearied with fright, and trouble, and remorse, the beauty sank upon her
bed and fell asleep.
But hardly were her eyes closed, when she seemed in a damp, cellar-like
place herself, but, looking upward, saw the glorious golden city Daisy
told her about, with its pearly gates and diamond foundations, and the
river shaded by beautiful palms, and throngs of angels walking on its
banks.
The ranks of angels parted, and she saw among them the Beautiful One,
who had met her in the wood--only he was bright and joyous now, and his
wounds shone like stars; and--could it be? yes--he was leading Daisy and
Joseph, not a poor drudge and humble herdsboy now, but, like the other
angels, clothed in light, crowned with lilies, and Joseph's harp of
reeds changed to a golden harp, on which he still made music.
She saw two other beautiful ones come forward and embrace her sister:
one, she felt, was the father she had never seen, and one was Susan, the
good and humble mother of whom Maud had been ashamed.
Then she awoke, to find herself alone in the cabin, which was damp and
dark as she had dreamed; and she could only hear the night wind sighing,
and the voices of the wolves and snakes.
As soon as morning came, she hurried to the river bank, in hopes, thus
late, to save her sister, or to hear, at least, some news from her. But
she saw only floating logs and blocks of ice jarring and whirling down
the river.
And from that hour Maud believed herself a murderer, and would gladly
have given her own life to forget the dreadful scene, which kept rising
before her, of the good, gentle sister drowning in the flood, and the
sound of the dame's shrill voice asking, "Now, are you satisfied?"
But Daisy did not drown. When Joseph saw her danger, though almost dead
himself, he took fresh courage, and made such bold, brave efforts that
both he and Daisy reached the shore.
Long, happy days they spent together on the earth. Determined that she
should have no more trouble with her sister, Joseph took his wife over
the sea to a pleasant island, where she had a happier, if not so
splendid a home as Maud.
When he opened the door to show Daisy her beautiful little house, who
should stand within but the fairy, all dressed in her velvet and
pearls, and looking as bright as if she too were glad that Daisy's life
was to be so happy now.
Many a gift the fairy brought them: little Peters, and Susans, and
Daisies came in her arms, to play before their door, and make the
cottage merry with their songs, before _our_ Daisy went to wear her
crown in heaven. And many a pleasant tune Joseph played to his wife and
children on the home-made harp of reeds, before it was changed to a harp
of gold, and chimed in with the angels' music, in our Father's home
above.
When packing her things, to leave the cabin, Maud left Daisy's dresses,
as they were not fine enough for her, and also some little things which
her sister had treasured--among them, the spectacles.
But once in her fine new home, and the wedding over, the first things
she found, hanging in the fringe of her shawl, were Daisy's spectacles.
So she thought how queerly Daisy used to look in them, and put the
glasses on, to amuse her husband; but what was her surprise to find she
could see plainly through them now!
And, alas! the first thing they told her was, that this man, for whom
she had left all her rich suitors, did not love her, but her money;
despised her because her mother was so poor, and was much fonder of one
of the ladies whom he had forsaken than of her.
She told him this angrily; but he only laughed, and said she might have
guessed it without spectacles, and asked how he could love any one who
thought only of herself.
She hoped he might be jesting, yet his words were soon proved true; for
he not only neglected, but treated her harshly, and when she was
saddest, dragged her to the balls which she no longer enjoyed, and
laughed about her spectacles, which began to leave their mark upon her
handsome face.
"At least," thought Maud, "I am very rich; there is no end to my
jewelry. I will find out all its value through the spectacles."
But though there were pearls and diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and
sapphires, set in heavy gold, they seemed only a handful through the
glasses; while she saw whole heaps of finer pearls lying neglected under
the sea, and rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds scattered about on the
sands, or in the heart of rocks, enough to build a house. Melted along
the veins of the earth she discovered so much gold, too, that her own
didn't seem worth keeping; for Maud only valued things when she thought
others could not have so fine.
Do you remember what the dame said, when she placed the spectacles on
little Daisy's breast? "Take care of her heart, now, Peter, and this
gift of mine will be a precious one."
Here was the trouble: Maud, with all her beauty and wealth, had not
taken care of her heart; and so, when Daisy saw bright, and wise, and
pleasant things through the glasses, Maud saw only sad and painful ones.
The beauty grew tired of life; her husband was so jealous that he would
not allow any one to admire her; and she found the palace did not make
her any happier than the cabin had done, nor did the open country seem
any brighter than the wood.
For it isn't whether we _live_ in a palace or a cave, but whether our
hearts are cheerful palaces or gloomy caves, that makes the difference
between sad lives and merry ones.
So, one day, when the dame appeared with her gifts, Maud said, "O, take
them away--take back all the beauty, the power, and money you ever
brought, and give me a heart like Daisy's."
"Pretty likely," said the dame. "You asked for money--you and your
mother, both; now make the most of it."
But the old woman had hardly left the house when one of Maud's servants
brought her in, wounded, and weeping bitterly, for a wagon had run over
her.
"Carry her home to her cave; why did you bring her to me?" said Maud.
But just then she seemed to see the cold, bare cave that Daisy had told
her about, with nothing except wooden stools and a smoky fireplace--no
soft bed, no child to watch over and comfort the poor old dame.
So Maud called the servants back, and had the woman placed in her own
room, and watched with her, and bathed her limbs, and though she was
fretful, did not once neglect her through a long and tedious illness.
At last, the dame felt well enough to go home, and bade good by to Maud,
who begged her not to go; "for," she said,--and the tears came into her
eyes,--"you make me think of dear Daisy, the only one that ever loved
me, with this selfish heart."
"No, no; I cannot trust you," said the dame, and disappeared.
But she came back, with such a bundle in her arms as she had brought to
Susan once; and when Maud looked up to thank her, lo! the dame had
changed to a lovely fairy, with a young, sweet face--the same that Daisy
used to talk about.
Bending over Maud, she wiped the tears from her face, and put the bundle
in her arms, and disappeared.
And when the little child learned to love her, Maud forgot her fears and
cares, her cruel husband and her selfish self, and found how much
happier it makes us to give joy than to receive it.
The little girl was named Daisy, and grew up not only beautiful and
rich, but wise and good; she spent her money nobly, and gained the love
and added to the happiness of all her friends.
But the one whom she made happiest was her own mother--Maud.