“Oh, papa is better, dear, dear papa!” cried Ethel, jumping and dancing
in delight.
“Oh, I’m so glad! I’m so glad!” cried Blanche and Harry in chorus.
“I so blad! I so blad!” echoed Nannette. “But I don’t want to doe home,
Ethel; I’se tired.”
“Then we’ll go and sit down a while under the trees by the little brook
over yonder,” returned Ethel in soothing tones. “You will like that,
Blanche and Harry, won’t you?”
A ready assent was given, and all three turned aside and spent an hour
or more in the pleasant spot, rolling on the grass, picking flowers,
throwing them into the water, and watching them sail away out of sight.
At length Nannette began fretting. “I so tired, so s’eepy. Me wants to
doe home see papa and mamma.”
“So you shall, Nan. I want to see them, too,” returned Ethel, rising and
taking her little sister’s hand as she spoke. “Come, Blanche and Harry.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” said Harry, flinging the last pebble into the water.
“I want to see papa and mamma; ’sides I’m hungry for my lunch.”
“So am I,” said Blanche, and they followed on behind Ethel and the baby
sister, laughing and chatting merrily as they went.
Myra met the little party at the gate, her eyes red with weeping.
“O Myra, what’s the matter?” asked Ethel in alarm.
“Never mind,” returned the little maid evasively. “Your lunch is ready,
and you’d best come and eat first thing, ’cause I know you must be
hungry.”
So saying she led the way into the house and on to the dining room.
They had come in with appetites sharpened by exercise in the open air,
and were too busy satisfying them to indulge in much chatter. Nannette
at length fell asleep in her chair and was carried to her bed by Myra,
whither Harry presently followed her.
“Has mamma had her lunch yet, Myra?” asked Ethel.
Myra seemed not to have heard, and the question was repeated.
“No, miss,” she replied, and Ethel noticed a suspicious tremble in her
voice.
“O Myra, I hope mamma isn’t sick,” exclaimed the little girl. “She has
been looking so pale of late!”
“She—she’s lying down—asleep,” Miss Ethel, Myra returned with
difficulty, swallowing a lump in her throat and hurrying from the room.
“How oddly Myra acts! and she looks as if she’d been crying ever so long
and hard,” remarked Ethel, half to herself, half to Blanche.
But Blanche had thrown herself on the bed beside the two little ones,
and was so nearly asleep that she scarcely heard or heeded.
Ethel seated herself in a large easy-chair by the window with a book in
her hand; but all being so quiet within and without the house, she too,
rather weary with the walk and sports of the morning, was presently
wandering in the land of dreams.
She was roused from her slumber by someone bending over her and softly
pressing a kiss upon her forehead. Her eyes opened and looked up into
the kind face of Mrs. Rogers, the vicar’s wife.
“Oh, I thought it was mamma!” exclaimed the little girl in a tone of
keen disappointment.
“No, dear, but I kissed you for her—your dear mother,” returned the lady
with emotion.
“But why didn’t mamma come herself?” asked Ethel, growing frightened
though she could scarcely have told why. “You are very kind, Mrs.
Rogers, but oh, I do want mamma! Can I go to her now?” She sprang to her
feet as she spoke.
“My poor child, my poor dear little girl,” the lady said tremulously,
seating herself and drawing Ethel into her arms.
“Oh, ma’am, why do you say that?” queried Ethel in terror. “Is anything
the matter with mamma? is papa worse? Oh, what shall I do? Can’t I go to
them now? I’ll be very quiet and good.”
“Oh, my child, my poor dear child, how shall I tell you!” cried the
lady, folding the little girl close in her arms, while great tears
chased each other down her cheeks. “Your dear father has gone to his
heavenly home, Ethel, and to the dear Saviour whom he loved and served
while here upon earth.”
“Do you mean that papa is dead?” almost shrieked Ethel. “Oh, oh, my
papa, my dear papa!” and hiding her face in her hands she sobbed
violently for a moment.
“But I must go to mamma!” she cried, dashing away her tears; “she will
be wanting me to comfort her, for there’s nobody else to do it now. Oh,
let me go! I must!” as Mrs. Rogers held her fast.
“No, dear child,” she said with emotion, “your mamma does not need you
or any other earthly comforter now, for God Himself has wiped away all
tears from her eyes and she will never know sin or sorrow or suffering
any more.”
A dazed look up into the lady’s face was Ethel’s only rejoinder for a
moment, then she stammered, “I—I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.
I—I—mamma has taught me that it is only in heaven there is no sin or
sorrow or pain.”
“Yes, darling, and it is there she is now with the dear husband—your
father—whom she so dearly loved!”
“Oh, you can’t mean it! it can’t be that both are gone, and nobody left
to love us or take care of us—Blanche and Harry, and Nan and me! Oh, no,
no, it can’t be possible!” cried the little girl, covering her face with
her hands and bursting into an agony of sobs and tears. “Mamma, mamma,
mamma, oh, I can never, never, never do without you!”
Mrs. Rogers drew her closer and spoke in low, comforting tones, her own
tears falling fast the while, “Dear child, God will take care of you and
your little brother and sisters. He calls Himself the father of the
fatherless. He pities and loves you and will raise up friends and
helpers for you. Can you not trust Him for that, dear child, and be glad
for papa and mamma, that they are safe with Him and will never again be
sick or in pain? and that if you love and serve Him while on earth He
will one day take you to be with Him and them?”
“I don’t want to die, and I cannot, I cannot do without my dear papa and
mamma!” wailed the well-nigh heartbroken child.
Her cry waked the three younger ones; a trying scene ensued.