THE VISIT TO ALECK’S GRAVE. THE FATHER’S RETURN.
Frankie missed his friend sadly. He lost all interest in his school, and
did not care for kites, or tops, or marbles. He grew pale, and very
unlike the once happy little fellow,
“With eyes so full of brightness,
And lips so rosily red.”
One Sabbath morning in the early autumn he went with his mother to the
cemetery. There was as yet no stone at Aleck’s grave, but Frankie had
planted a white rose-bush, which was then in all its snowy bloom.
“We must take up the rose-bush,” said Mrs. Western. “It is an exotic,
and cannot endure our severe frosts and snow.”
“What is an exotic?” asked Frankie.
“A plant that does not grow naturally in our climate. This rose belongs
to a warmer climate, and that is why we keep it in the house during the
winter. Thus God takes care of his children. Heaven is our home, and
when the winds blow too coldly and roughly for us here, God transplants
us. He has taken Aleck from all the cold and storms to the heavenly
garden. We should not mourn for him, Frankie. Does not our Father know
best? Then it will be only a little while before we shall be taken--only
a few years before we shall all be transplanted into the garden of the
Lord. You must try to be happy, my child. You must not _forget_ Aleck,
but remember that you have a work to do for Jesus, and a _part_ of that
work is to be cheerful and patient, showing that a little boy who loves
Jesus need never be unhappy.”
Frankie listened quietly. His mother’s words made a deep impression, and
he tried after that to be cheerful, but it was a long time before his
face had its wonted brightness.
Later in the autumn, when the maples were in their gayest colors of
crimson and gold, a great joy came to Frankie’s home. A letter was
received, saying that the father would be with them at Christmas time.
Oh, the preparations that were made for his coming! Frankie worked with
his mother, and before winter fairly closed in everything about the
house and yard was in perfect order. Then came the waiting, the most
difficult task of all. But the even-footed hours will not hurry their
pace, so Frankie tries to be patient, and now the day is at hand.
The whole house is made fresh and fragrant with boughs of pine and fir.
Only one more night! The father will be at home in the morning.
Frankie thought he would not sleep a wink for the thought of it, but he
did sleep soundly; and when he awoke, the sun was shining into the
window; and by the bedside stood his mother, with tears in her eyes, and
beside her was the tall man with black hair, and smiling, dark eyes,
whom he had seen in his dreams, and whose picture he had kissed and
called “papa” even when a baby.
It was indeed a “merry Christmas,” and more than that, a joyous, happy
one, full of sweet home pleasures and pleasant memories, sanctified by
the thought of the dear Christ, God’s best gift--his Christmas gift to a
sinful world.
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