_UP_ the dark stairs that led to his poor home strode a gloomy-faced
young man with despair in his heart and these words on his lips:--
“I will struggle and suffer no longer; my last hope has failed, and
life, become a burden, I will rid myself of at once.”
As he muttered his stern purpose, he flung wide the door and was
about to enter, but paused upon the threshold; for a glance told him
that he had unconsciously passed his own apartment and come up
higher, till he found himself in a room poorer but more cheerful
than his own.
Sunshine streamed in through the one small window, where a caged
bird was blithely singing, and a few flowers blossomed in the light.
But blither than the bird's song, sweeter than the flowers, was the
little voice and wan face of a child, who lay upon a bed placed
where the warmest sunbeams fell.
The face turned smiling on the pillow, and the voice said
pleasantly,--
“Come in, sir, Bess will soon be back if you will wait.”
“I want nothing of Bess. Who is she and who are you?” asked the
intruder pausing as he was about to go.
“She is my sister, sir, and I'm 'poor Jamie' as they call me. But
indeed, I am not to be pitied, for I am a happy child, though it may
not seem so.”
“Why do you lie there? are you sick?”
“No, I am not sick, though I shall never leave my bed again. See,
this is why;” and, folding back the covering, the child showed his
little withered limbs.
“How long have you lain here, my poor boy?” asked the stranger,
touched and interested in spite of himself.
“Three years, sir.”
“And yet you are happy! What in Heaven's name have you to render you
contented, child?”
“Come sit beside me, and I'll tell you, sir; that is, if you please
I should love to talk with you, for it's lonely here when Bess is
gone.”
Something in the child's winning voice, and the influence of the
cheerful room, calmed the young man's troubled spirit and seemed to
lighten his despair. He sat down at the bedside looking gloomily
upon the child, who lay smiling placidly as with skilful hands he
carved small figures from the bits of wood scattered round him on
the coverlid.
“What have you to make you happy, Jamie? Tell me your secret, for I
need the knowledge very much,” said his new friend earnestly.
“First of all I have dear Bess,” and the child's voice lingered
lovingly upon the name; “she is so good, so very good to me, no one
can tell how much we love each other. All day, she sits beside my
bed singing to ease my pain, or reading while I work; she gives me
flowers and birds, and all the sunshine that comes in to us, and
sits there in the shadow that I may be warm and glad. She waits on
me all day; but when I wake at night, I always see her sewing
busily, and know it is for me,--my good kind Bess!
“Then I have my work, sir, to amuse me; and it helps a little too,
for kind children always buy my toys, when Bess tells them of the
little boy who carved them lying here at home while they play out
among the grass and flowers where he can never be.”
“What else, Jamie?” and the listener's face grew softer as the
cheerful voice went on.
“I have my bird, sir, and my roses, I have books, and best of all, I
have the cross on the old church tower. I can see it from my pillow
and it shines there all day long, so bright and beautiful, while the
white doves coo upon the roof below. I love it dearly.”
The young man looked out through the narrow window and saw, rising
high above the house-tops, like a finger pointing heavenward, the
old gray tower and the gleaming cross. The city's din was far below,
and through the summer air the faint coo of the doves and the
flutter of their wings came down, like peaceful country sounds.
“Why do you love it, Jamie?” he asked, looking at the thoughtful
face that lit up eagerly as the boy replied,--
“Because it does me so much good, sir. Bess told me long ago about
the blessed Jesus who bore so much for us, and I longed to be as
like him as a little child could grow. So when my pain was very
sharp, I looked up there, and, thinking of the things he suffered,
tried so hard to bear it that I often could; but sometimes when it
was too bad, instead of fretting Bess, I'd cry softly, looking up
there all the time and asking him to help me be a patient child. I
think he did; and now it seems so like a friend to me, I love it
better every day. I watch the sun climb up along the roofs in the
morning, creeping higher and higher till it shines upon the cross
and turns it into gold. Then through the day I watch the sunshine
fade away till all the red goes from the sky, and for a little while
I cannot see it through the dark. But the moon comes, and I love it
better then; for lying awake through the long nights, I see the
cross so high and bright with stars all shining round it, and I feel
still and happy in my heart as when Bess sings to me in the
twilight.”
“But when there is no moon, or clouds hide it from you, what then,
Jamie?” asked the young man, wondering if there were no cloud to
darken the cheerful child's content.
“I wait till it is clear again, and feel that it is there, although
I cannot see it, sir. I hope it never will be taken down, for the
light upon the cross seems like that I see in dear Bessie's eyes
when she holds me in her arms and calls me her 'patient Jamie.' She
never knows I try to bear my troubles for her sake, as she bears
hunger and cold for mine. So you see, sir, how many things I have to
make me a happy child.”
“I would gladly lie down on your pillow to be half as light of heart
as you are, little Jamie, for I have lost my faith in everything and
with it all my happiness;” and the heavy shadow which had lifted for
a while fell back darker than before upon the anxious face beside
the bed.
“If I were well and strong like you, sir, I think I should be so
thankful nothing could trouble me;” and with a sigh the boy glanced
at the vigorous frame and energetic countenance of his new friend,
wondering at the despondent look he wore.
“If you were poor, so poor you had no means wherewith to get a crust
of bread, nor a shelter for the night; if you were worn-out with
suffering and labor, soured by disappointment and haunted by
ambitious hopes never to be realized, what would you do, Jamie?”
suddenly asked the young man, prompted by the desire that every
human heart has felt for sympathy and counsel, even from the little
creature before him ignorant and inexperienced as he was.
But the child, wiser in his innocence than many an older counsellor,
pointed upward, saying with a look of perfect trust,--
“I should look up to the cross upon the tower and think of what Bess
told me about God, who feeds the birds and clothes the flowers, and
I should wait patiently, feeling sure he would remember me.”
The young man leaned his head upon his folded arms and nothing
stirred in the room, but the wind that stole in through the roses to
fan the placid face upon the pillow.
“Are you weary waiting for me, Jamie dear? I could not come before;”
and as her eager voice broke the silence, Sister Bess came hastening
in.
The stranger, looking up, saw a young girl regarding him from
Jamie's close embrace, with a face whose only beauty was the light
her brother spoke of, that beamed warm and bright from her mild
countenance and made the poor room fairer for its presence.
“This is Bess, my Bess, sir,” cried the boy, “and she will thank you
for your kindness in sitting here so long with me.”
“I am the person who lodges just below you; I mistook this room for
my own; pardon me, and let me come again, for Jamie has already done
me good,” replied the stranger as he rose to go.
“Bess, dear, will you bring me a cup of water?” Jamie said; and as
she hastened away, he beckoned his friend nearer, saying with a
timid wistful look,--
“Forgive me, if it's wrong, but I wish you would let me give you
this; it's very little, but it may help some; and I think you'll
take it to please 'poor Jamie.' Won't you, sir?” and as he spoke,
the child offered a bright coin, the proceeds of his work.
Tears sprung into the proud man's eyes; he held the little wasted
hand fast in his own a moment, saying seriously,--
“I _will_ take it, Jamie, as a loan wherewith to begin anew the life
I was about to fling away as readily as I do this;” and with a quick
motion he sent a vial whirling down into the street. “I'll try the
world once more in a humbler spirit, and have faith in _you,_ at
least, my little Providence.”
With an altered purpose in his heart, and a brave smile on his lips,
the young man went away, leaving the child with another happy
memory, to watch the cross upon the old church tower.
It was mid-winter; and in the gloomy house reigned suffering and
want. Sister Bess worked steadily to earn the dear daily bread so
many pray for and so many need. Jamie lay upon his bed, carving with
feeble hands the toys which would have found far readier purchasers,
could they have told the touching story of the frail boy lying
meekly in the shadow of the solemn change which daily drew more
near.
Cheerful and patient always, poverty and pain seemed to have no
power to darken his bright spirit; for God's blessed charity had
gifted him with that inward strength and peace it so often brings to
those who seem to human eyes most heavily afflicted.
Secret tears fell sometimes on his pillow, and whispered prayers
went up; but Bess never knew it, and like a ray of sunshine, the
boy's tranquil presence lit up that poor home; and amid the darkest
hours of their adversity, the little rushlight of his childish faith
never wavered nor went out.
Below them lived the young man, no stranger now, but a true friend,
whose generous pity would not let them suffer any want he could
supply. Hunger and cold were hard teachers, but he learned their
lessons bravely, and though his frame grew gaunt and his eye hollow,
yet, at heart, he felt a better, happier man for the stern
discipline that taught him the beauty of self-denial and the
blessedness of loving his neighbor _better_ than himself.
The child's influence remained unchanged, and when anxiety or
disappointment burdened him, the young man sat at Jamie's bedside
listening to the boy's unconscious teaching, and receiving fresh
hope and courage from the childish words and the wan face, always
cheerful and serene.
With this example constantly before him, he struggled on, feeling
that if the world were cold and dark, he had within himself one true
affection to warm and brighten his hard life.
“Give me joy, Jamie! Give me joy, Bess! the book sells well, and we
shall yet be rich and famous,” cried the young author as he burst
into the quiet room one wintry night with snow-flakes glittering in
his hair, and his face aglow with the keen air which had no chill in
it to him now.
Bess looked up to smile a welcome, and Jamie tried to cry “Hurrah;”
but the feeble voice faltered and failed, and he could only wave his
hand and cling fast to his friend, whispering, brokenly,--
“I'm glad, oh, very glad; for now you need not rob yourself for us.
I know you have, Walter; I have seen it in your poor thin face and
these old clothes. It never would have been so, but for Bess and
me.”
“Hush, Jamie, and lie here upon my arm and rest; for you are very
tired with your work,--I know by this hot hand and shortened breath.
Are you easy now? Then listen; for I've brave news to tell you, and
never say again I do too much for you,--the cause of my success.”
“I, Walter,” cried the boy; “what do you mean?”
Looking down upon the wondering face uplifted to his own, the young
man answered with deep feeling,--
“Six months ago I came into this room a desperate and despairing
man, weary of life, because I knew not how to use it, and eager to
quit the struggle because I had not learned to conquer fortune by
energy and patience. You kept me, Jamie, till the reckless mood was
passed, and by the beauty of your life showed me what mine should
be. Your courage shamed my cowardice; your faith rebuked my fears;
your lot made my own seem bright again. I, a man with youth, health,
and the world before me, was about to fling away the life which you,
a helpless little child, made useful, good, and happy, by the power
of your own brave will. I felt how weak, how wicked I had been, and
was not ashamed to learn of you the lesson you so unconsciously were
teaching. God bless you, Jamie, for the work you did that day.”
“Did I do so much?” asked the boy with innocent wonder; “I never
knew it, and always thought you had grown happier and kinder because
I had learned to love you more. I'm very glad if I did anything for
you, who do so much for us. But tell me of the book; you never would
before.”