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ON ANGELS' WINGS
[Illustration: Violet's Surprise. _Page 89._]
ON ANGELS' WINGS
BY THE HON. MRS. GREENE
London, Edinburgh,
and New York
Thomas Nelson
and Sons
_CONTENTS_
_I._ _Little Violet_ 9
_II._ _Mother's Farewell_ 16
_III._ _A Sad Discovery_ 21
_IV._ _Father's Love_ 28
_V._ _A Strange Book_ 43
_VI._ _Great Excitement_ 48
_VII._ _Fritz and Ella_ 55
_VIII._ _A Bitter Cry_ 76
_IX._ _Aunt Lizzie's Visit_ 87
_X._ _The Parting Kiss_ 105
_XI._ _The Bunch of Violets_ 115
_XII._ _The Silver Watch_ 127
_XIII._ _Noisy Friends_ 136
_XIV._ _Evelina_ 144
_XV._ _Weighed in the Balances_ 151
_XVI._ _Father's Letter_ 159
_XVII._ _The Kind Physician_ 166
_XVIII._ _Sorrowful Tidings_ 181
_XIX._ _A Bright Prospect_ 192
_XX._ _All Alone_ 212
_XXI._ _A Guilty Conscience_ 232
_XXII._ _A Startling Message_ 239
_XXIII._ _Great Preparations_ 249
_XXIV._ _A Grievous Disappointment_ 259
_XXV._ _Wings at Last_ 270
_XXVI._ "_No more Tears_" 283
_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS._
_Violet's Surprise_ _Frontispiece._
_Violet helps her Father_ 32
_Learning the News_ 52
_Going forth to War_ 76
_Carving the Cake_ 98
_The Farewell Kiss_ 114
_Reading the Letter_ 163
_The Procession_ 275
ON ANGELS' WINGS.
CHAPTER I.
LITTLE VIOLET.
Every one knew little Violet. She sat always in a small window which
projected out over the street, and her purple frock and pale face were
looked for and recognized by almost every passer-by.
She had sat in that curious turret-shaped window for four years--in
winter, in spring, in summer, in autumn. Other children made snow men
and pelted snowballs in the street beneath, while she looked on from
above and laughed and clapped her hands. In the spring the little ones
went off by the score and gathered yellow and purple crocuses, of
which not a few found their way into Violet's lap, or bloomed again in
the vases which stood on the sills of the old-fashioned eight-sided
window. She loved to have those flowers, and took them from the
children's hands with her brightest and most grateful smile. Later on
they brought her violets, sweet wood-violets, and trailing ground-ivy;
but for these flowers she now had no smile, only tears, which gathered
and multiplied, and which would, despite all her efforts, run down her
purple dress in large, bright drops. For was not she herself called
Violet? and had not some one, not so long ago, often whispered this
word to her in a voice which seemed for ever in her ears?--
"My own sweet Violet, lay thy head on mother's breast and rest thee a
while. My little Violet is sweeter to me than all the flowers in the
town."
And now that Violet had no mother, she could scarcely bear to look at
the purple blossoms which they brought to her in bunches; and yet she
put them aside, and, when they were withered, treasured them all in
"mother's Bible," which lay always on a little table beside her.
In summer, in the gap at the far end of the street, between the church
and the fountain, she could always catch a glimpse of the hills--the
beautiful green hills, covered with trees to the very top, and from
whence, in the autumn, the children returned laden with nuts, baskets
and satchels and boxes full; and though Violet did not eat nuts, they
made tea-things out of the shells, and had doll tea-parties in the old
turret-window.
A year ago she had been a very happy little girl; and although even
then she could not walk, nor run, nor jump about like other children,
still she never fretted about it. She had some one always with her
who made the long days pass so happily, that she never stopped to ask
herself why she was unlike the others, or why all the neighbours as
they went by looked up at her with such pity in their eyes.
Only once for a few moments she had seemed to understand something
about it, when little Fritz Adler, her great friend, going by riding on
a stick with a horse's head attached to it, shrieked up to her from the
street beneath in great pride,--
"Ha, ha, Violet! look at me how I can prance; thou couldst not do so if
thou triedst."
"I could," she shouted. "By-and-by, when I can run like thee, I will
ride too."
"No, no, thou never wilt," screamed Fritz, giving his wooden horse a
lash with his leather whip. "I wanted to give thee this horse, this
very one; Ella had bought thee this very whip; but mother said 'No,' it
would be folly to give thee such a present."
"Why?" asked Violet. "Why, Fritz, did she say that?"
"Ah! thou knowest thou art not like other children."
"Why am not I like other children?"
"Because thou canst not run or even walk about like me and Ella. Mother
says thou art a little hunchback, and it would hurt thy poor back to
ride and prance like this;" and Fritz, again lashing his horse, began
to plunge violently up and down on the pavement opposite.
"Fritz, what didst thou say? I am what?" but he could give no answer,
for his mother, who lived in the little baker's shop across the road,
rushing out, promptly secured the offender, and having given him a
smart slap across the face, dragged him back into the house.
"Mother, what did he say I was? and why did his mother slap him? He
called me a little hunchback. What does that mean, mother?"
Violet's mother had not been attending to the conversation. She had
been working at a little white frilled pinafore for her daughter at a
table near the stove, and she had just taken the crimping irons from
the heart of the fire, red-hot and smoking; but when she heard these
words she dropped them suddenly on the floor, and in a moment she was
on her knees in front of little Violet's chair, and covering the
child's thin white hands with kisses.
"What does it signify what it means; he is a cruel boy to call thee
such a name. Thou art my darling, my treasure, my sweetest Violet. Thou
art the most precious little girl in all the town."
Somewhat amazed at her mother's sudden anguish of mind, and at the
passionate way she kissed her cheeks and stroked her hair, Violet gazed
at her with eyes which widened and dilated, and then she seemed for a
few moments lost in thought; after which she said, in her usual quiet
voice, with only the faintest tinge of trouble in it,--
"Mother, dear, is this a hump I have on my back? and is that the reason
why I sit in this chair and cannot walk?"
"Dearest," replied her mother almost in a whisper, "my heart's love, do
not fret or think any more about what Fritz said. Thou art one of God's
own little children, and is not that the best thing of all?"
Violet nodded her head--it was a way she had of agreeing to things said
to her; but still she was not quite satisfied, for after a pause she
said anxiously,--
"But did God give me this hump, mother? and what is in it that it pains
me so?"
As she asked this question, she gave a sudden sob, and some tears fell
on the front of her pretty purple dress.
"Do not cry, my sweetest treasure," cried the mother, drawing the
child's head down on her shoulder, and once more covering it with
kisses. "What does it matter what we are like here? If thou canst not
walk nor run here, by-and-by Christ will carry my little lamb in his
bosom; and if thou hast a hump on thy back now, what does it matter?
Some day the good Lord Jesus will call my little one to himself, and
then all the pain will be gone; and where the poor shoulders ache so
much now, thou wilt have wings, shining wings, and thou wilt never cry
there any more, but always be quite happy."
"And Violet will have wings!--thou knowest that?" said the little
girl, lifting her head suddenly from her mother's shoulder and looking
earnestly into her face.
"Yes, darling."
"Beautiful, shining, silver wings; and no more hump and no more pain?"
"No more hump and no more pain," replied her mother softly.
"And thou wilt be there, dearest mother?"
"Yes, sweetest treasure, I trust I shall be there."
"And father?"
"And father also."
"And Fritz; will he be there? Will he not, mother?"
"I hope so. Yes; but it was not kind of him to speak roughly to my
little one."
"His mother slapped him," said Violet sorrowfully.
"He deserved it," replied her mother somewhat sharply.
The little girl gave a long sigh; and pressing one of the tears which
still stood in a bright drop on the front of her dress with the tip of
her finger until it disappeared in the purple cashmere folds, she said
softly,--
"I love Fritz. I must tell him what thou hast just told me, that though
I cannot run or jump like him or Ella, some day, not very far away,
when the Lord Jesus calls me, I shall have wings. Is it not true,
mother?"
"Quite true," she answered with an effort, then turned quickly away
towards the stove and resumed her ironing.