WAS IT JOHNNIE’S FACE?
HOW strange it seemed! Something was going to happen, yet all was so
still, and there was nothing to disturb the scene.
Suddenly a bluebird flew across. It settled on a bush starry with wild
white roses. It put its head on one side and looked at Kitty with the
brightest, friendliest eyes. It was quite blue, except for a tuft of
golden feathers on its head, and a line of golden feathers round its
neck like a fairy necklace. Kitty had never seen anything so wonderful
as this bluebird. She stopped to look at it, and the bird looked back at
her with its winning eyes. Kitty advanced on tiptoe, and it fluttered a
little further into the wood. As it flew off it uttered a note.
“Listen!” said the naughty sprite, lifting its paw and giving Kitty a
pat.
What a note that was! “Glug! glug! glug!” deep as the whistle of a
bullfinch, then “Tri—ll—ill—ill!” it went like a lark caroling up in the
sky; then suddenly the song changed, and now it was like a nightingale
singing in the moonlight. Kitty’s heart swelled as she listened to the
song of the beautiful creature, and as it sang it skimmed through the
wood, now floating like a sea-gull on blue wings, now balancing itself
on the branch of one of the forest trees.
“Come on! Do not put off any longer. It sings to keep you from following
the star,” whispered the guardian child.
“Ah! let me listen a moment!” pleaded Kitty.
“Listen! listen!” said the naughty sprite, and down it gamboled from
Kitty’s shoulder, seeming to call and to entice the bird, which flew out
of the wood and perched on a bough singing; the tuft of golden feathers
on its head stood up like a crown, its golden necklace rose like a ruff
round its throat.
The sprite laughed, tossed back its head, frisked about, keeping time to
the bluebird’s song. Kitty thought it was the prettiest sight.
“Watch the star! The bird is a temptation—it is idle pleasure. See, it
plays with your naughty sprite. It sings to lead you astray,” whispered
the guardian child, and its pink wings fluttered in a tremor of anxiety.
Still Kitty lingered.
“Come on, for Johnnie’s sake—to win a Christmas blessing for Johnnie!”
urged the guardian child.
Kitty turned quickly in the direction to which the guardian child
pointed. The star was gliding no longer over the pleasant wood; its
course lay over a path that was very steep, bordered by no flowers,
shaded by no overhanging trees. She ran some steps, and her guardian
child pressed its rosy wings against her ears to muffle the song of the
bird.
But louder and louder it sang, and that piercing melody seemed to coil
itself like a string round Kitty’s heart, pulling her back. She stopped
running. The bird seemed to sing of frolics, and Kitty felt as if games
of four-corners, blind-man’s-buff, hide-and-go-seek were all hustling
and bustling about in her head, and tingling in her feet. She turned to
look.
[Illustration]
“Don’t!” murmured her guardian child.
But Kitty looked. The naughty sprite and the bluebird were having a
merry game. The bird flew as it sang and the sprite gamboled after it;
it hid in the bushes and the sprite went frisking and seeking for it;
then up the bluebird would fly and wheel round and round, singing as if
a thousand musical glasses were tinkling in its throat. The sprite had
the drollest air; jerking his head on one side and beckoning to Kitty.
“Oh! let me join in the game!” cried Kitty, and back she ran toward the
bird and the sprite.
The guardian child flew around her, crying, “Do not play with your
naughty sprite!”
As he spoke he spread his wings before Kitty’s eyes. But the music was
in Kitty’s heart, in her ears, it seemed to be in her hair, in her
feet—it was everywhere.
“I shall play!” she cried impatiently, and she pushed away her guardian
child.
She did not hear his sob, she did not notice that she had struck his
wing and that some rosy feathers lay strewn on the ground. One little
rosy feather had dropped on the bosom of her dress, and was caught there
by the folds.
She did look round to see her guardian child, with drooping wing,
growing paler and paler—vanishing away.
Deeper and deeper flew the bird into the wood, and sweeter grew its
song. The naughty sprite gamboled after it, Kitty gamboled after the
sprite. A star rose in the wood; it was like a blue diamond; it did not
glide above the tree-tops, it danced about the ground, as if it were
dancing to the song of the bluebird. The naughty sprite scampered up the
tree and pelted Kitty with acorns; it now peeped at her from behind the
trunks, now swung itself down and jumped into her arms all in a pant and
tremble of play. And the bluebird wheeled and circled above Kitty’s
head, and still it sang.
Skipping out of the wood came a hundred little creatures. They all had
pointed ears, curly tails, and sparkling black eyes. They carried tiny
lanterns that were blue and dazzling as the star. They were the
merriest, most frolicsome of elves, but the friskiest and most
fascinating of all was Kitty’s naughty self-sprite.
Louder sang the bird and louder; its song was now a dancing measure; it
echoed through the forest as if gayety were the single spirit of the
place. The blue star bounded and danced about the ground, here, there,
everywhere, as if it had gone crazy with delight. The playful creatures
danced and waved their lanterns, zigzag, up and down, crossing, circling
in a merry maze. Kitty seized the fore paws of her naughty sprite, and
dance, dance, dance they danced together. Livelier and livelier grew the
bluebird’s song, and madder and madder grew the dance.
All at once—wh-ir-r—the bird’s melody had changed to something between a
screech and a rattle. Kitty looked up. Twinkle, twinkle, round and
round, like a flaming Catherine wheel, the bluebird’s wings quivered and
shook; its tuft of golden feathers disappeared from its head; the gold
collar faded from its neck; the light that shone in its blue wings was
extinguished, and instead of the bird there hung on the branch where it
had perched a big black slug.
[Illustration]
Kitty started. What a transformation scene! All around her moved a
thousand foul and ugly shapes. The pretty frisking creatures had turned
to scaly black beetles as big as rats: some wriggled like adders; others
looked like monster earwigs, with tails like pinchers; others were
little men with heads of frogs; and the ugliest of all was her naughty
sprite. It had cruel eyes, and its fur was black and coarse like
bristles. Once more it sprang upon her shoulder, and laughed and
muttered, “No Christmas! No blessing! No Johnnie!”
Kitty felt quite cold. She looked round to her right shoulder. No
guardian child perched there. She looked up to the sky for her guiding
star, but it was gone. She was alone in the pathless woods with her
naughty sprite grinning and muttering. It seemed to her also that a mist
was closing around her. Then Kitty gave a great cry. “My guardian child!
my guardian child!” she called.
Her cry was repeated by a thousand shrill, mocking voices.
“No Christmas! No blessing! No Johnnie!”
“Look!” muttered the sprite, pointing.
Kitty perceived something lying white on the ground. At first she
thought it was a lily, then she saw it was a pale white face, lying very
still, with closed eyes and a rim of golden hair around its forehead.
Was it Johnnie’s face?
As she peered fearfully to see, the mist gathered and hid it. Then she
found that a dreadful thing was happening; the bushes were closing round
her. She set off at a run to find an opening, but there was none—round
and round—closer and closer the bushes gathered.
“Punishment Land!” muttered the sprite.
“Punishment Land!” echoed the mocking voices.
Faintly Kitty heard a sound of tramping. Little feet were running round
and round, backward and forward, zigzag; rebellious, weary, foolish,
perplexed little feet.
Then she knew that she had fallen back, that she was in Disobedience
Maze. It was the fog of Punishment Land that was rising about her,
blotting out the sight of everything but of one little pink feather that
lay, a rosy streak, close to her heart.
“My guardian child! my guardian child!” she cried with all her might.
“You wounded it; you drove it away,” chuckled the evil sprite.
Kitty put her hands up to her ears to shut out that jeering voice. She
cried the louder.
“My guardian child! Forgive me! forgive me! Come back to me!”
There came a flutter of wings, something bright was flying toward her,
piercing its way through the fog; yes, it was her guardian child
dragging one wing, but bravely beating the air with the other,
fluttering toward her, pale, its rainbow dress faintly shining, its eyes
bright with tears.
“Because you trusted me Love sent me back to you,” it murmured as it
nestled in Kitty’s outstretched arms. She burst into a great fit of
grateful tears, while the sprite cowered and trembled.
“Hurry!” whispered the guardian child. “The star is gone. It will be
difficult to find the path, but you must follow where I lead.”
A cry rose in Kitty’s heart: “I shall follow wherever you lead;” but she
remembered how she had most disobeyed after she had most protested, so
she sobbed and was silent.
Through the mist shone the rainbow-clothed form of the guardian child,
and Kitty followed. Wherever her guide told her to plant her foot she
placed it; through marshy ground that quivered and shook under her,
where crawling things like living roots wound themselves about her feet,
as if to drag her down, through narrow places where creatures that
seemed all arms sought to clasp her and hold her back, over thorns that
bruised and scratched her as she walked. Kitty followed her guardian
child without a murmur. Tormenting apparitions waved their tiny lanterns
and showed her an easier path, but Kitty did not glance aside. She kept
her eyes steadfastly fixed upon the rosy-winged figure that went before
her. One question only lay heavy at her heart. That lily-white face she
had seen through the mist, was it Johnnie’s dead face? Ah! had she lost
the Christmas blessing?
All at once, when the way seemed most perplexing, the guardian child
gave a cry and pointed upward. A light was breaking over the tree-tops.
It was the star!
Out of the mist stepped Kitty and her guide, upon the pathway, and there
pealed a chime of Christmas bells. Not distant bells, but clear and
joyous, filling the air. The sky was yellow as with the dawn; the summer
had passed; the snow lay white on the ground.
[Illustration]
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