THE GOLDEN CITY.
Tony lay there in the dark, overwhelmed by his unusual terror and sorrow,
until he heard the voice of old Oliver calling his name feebly. He
hurried to him, and found him still beside the bed where Dolly was lying.
He had taken off most of her clothes, and put her white nightgown over
the rest, that she might sleep warmly in them all the night, for her
little hands and feet felt very chilly to his touch. The fire had gone
out while they were away, and the grate looked very black and cheerless.
The room was in great disorder, just as they had left it, and the gas,
which was burning high, cast a cruel glare upon it all. But Tony saw
nothing except the dear face of Dolly, resting on one check upon the
pillow, with her curly hair tossed about it in confusion, and her open
eyes gathering a strange film. Beppo had made his way to her side, and
pushed his head under her lifeless little hand, which tried to pat it now
and then. Old Oliver was sitting on the bedstead, his eyes fastened upon
her, and his whole body trembled violently. Tony sank down upon his
knees, and flung his arm over Dolly, as if to save her from the unseen
power which threatened to take her away from them.
"Don't ky, gan-pa," she said, softly; "don't ky more than a minute. Nor
Tony. Are I going to die, gan-pa?"
"Yes, my little love," cried old Oliver, moaning as he said it.
"Where are I going to?" asked Dolly, very faintly.
"You're going to see my Lord and Master," he said; "him as loves little
children so, and carries them in his arms, and never lets them be
sorrowful or ill or die again."
"Does he live in a bootiful place?" she asked, again.
"It's a more beautiful place than I can tell," answered old Oliver. "The
Lord Jesus gives them light brighter than the sun; and the streets are
all of gold, and there are many little children there, who always see the
face of their Father."
"Dolly's going rere," said the little child, solemnly.
She smiled for a minute or two, holding Beppo's ear between her failing
fingers, and playing with it. Tony's eyes were dim with tears, yet he
could see her clear face clearly through them. What could he do? Was
there no one to help?
"Master, master!" he cried. "If the Lord Jesus is here he can save her.
Ask him, master."
But old Oliver paid no heed to him. For the child who was passing away
from him he was all eye and ear, watching and listening as keenly as in
his best and strongest days; but he was blind and deaf to everything else
around him. Tony's voice could not reach his brain.
"Will gan-pa come rere?" whispered the failing and faltering voice of
Dolly.
"Very soon," he answered; a radiant smile coming to his face, which made
her smile as her eyes caught the glory of it. "Very, very soon, my little
love. You'll be there to meet me when I come."
"Dolly'll watch for gan-pa," she murmured, with long pauses between the
words, which seemed to drop one by one upon Tony's ear; "and Dolly'll
watch at the door for Tony to come home; and she'll fret ever so if he
never comes."
Tony felt her stir restlessly under his arm, and stretch her tiny limbs
upon the bed as if she were very tired, and the languid eyelids drooped
slowly till they quite hid her blue eyes, and she sighed softly as
children sigh when they fall asleep, weary of their play. Old Oliver laid
his shaking hand tenderly upon her head.
"Dear Lord!" he said, "take my little love to thyself. I give her
up to thee."
It seemed to Tony as if a thick mist of darkness fell all about him, and
as if he were sinking down, down, very low into some horrible pit where
he would never see the light of day again. But by-and-bye he came to
himself, and found old Oliver sobbing in short, heavy sobs, and swaying
himself to and fro, while Beppo was licking Dolly's hand, and barking
with a sharp, quiet bark, as he had been wont to do when he wanted her to
play with him. The child's small features were quite still, but there was
an awful smile upon them such as there had never been before, and Tony
could not bear to look upon it. He crossed her tiny hands lightly over
one another upon her breast, and then he lifted Beppo away gently, and
drew the bed-clothes about her, so as to hide her smiling face.
"Master," he cried, "master, is she gone?"
Old Oliver only answered by a deep moan; and Tony put his arm about him,
and raised him up.
"Come to your own chair, master," he said.
He yielded to Tony like a child, and seated himself in the chair, where
he had so often sat and watched Dolly while he smoked his pipe. The boy
put his pipe between his fingers; but he only let it fall to the ground,
where it broke into many pieces. Tony did not know what to do, nor where
to go for any help.
"Lord," he said, "if you really love the old master, do something for
him; for I don't know whatever to do, now little Dolly's gone."
He sat down on his old box, staring at Oliver and the motionless form on
the bed, with a feeling of despair tugging at his heart. He could
scarcely believe it was all true; for it was not very long since--only it
seemed like long years--since he had leaped over the counter in his
light-heartedness. But he had not sat there many minutes before he heard
a distinct, rather loud knock at the shop-door, and he ran hastily to ask
who was there.
"Antony," said a voice he knew very well, "I have come with the doctor,
to see what we can do for your little girl."
In an instant Tony opened the door, and as Mr. Ross entered the boy flung
his arms round him, and hid his face against him, sobbing bitterly.
"Oh! you've come too late," he cried, "you've come too late! Dolly's
dead, and I'm afraid the master's going away from me as well. They
couldn't take her in, and she died after we had brought her home."
The doctor and Mr. Ross went on into the inner room, and Tony pointed
silently to the bed where Dolly lay. Old Oliver roused himself at the
sound of strange voices, and, leaning upon Tony's shoulder, he staggered
to the bedside, and drew the clothes away from her dear, smiling face.
"I don't murmur," he said. "My dear Lord can't do anything unkind. He'll
come and speak to me presently, and comfort me; but just now I'm deaf and
blind, even to him. I've not forgot him, and he hasn't forgot me; but
there's a many things ought to be done, and I cannot think what."
"Leave it all to us," said Mr. Ross, leading him back to his chair. "But
have you no neighbour you can go and stay with for to-night? You are an
old man, and you must not lose your night's sleep."
"No," he answered, shaking his head; "I'd rather stay here in my own
place, if I'd a hundred other places to go to. I'm not afraid of my
little love,--no, no! When everything is done as ought to be done,
I'll lie in my own bed and watch her. It won't be lonesome, as long as
she's here."
In an hour's time all was settled for that night. A little resting-place
had been made for the dead child in a corner of the room, where she lay
covered with a coarse white sheet, which was the last one left of those
which old Oliver's wife had spun in her girlhood. The old man had given
his promise to go to bed when Mr. Ross and the doctor were gone; and he
slept lightly, his face turned towards the place where his little love
was sleeping. A faint light burnt all night in the room, and Tony, who
could not fall asleep, sat in the chimney-corner, with Beppo upon his
knees. There was an unutterable, quiet sorrow within him, mingled with a
strange awe. That little child, who had played with him, and kissed him
only a day since, was already gone into the unseen world, which was so
very near to him now, though it had seemed so very far away and so empty
before. It must be very near, since she had gone to it so quickly; and
it was no longer empty, for Dolly was there; and she had said she would
watch at the door till he came home.