strong in her loving, holy purpose, she went on. "Everybody has some
burden; don't they, Aunt Patty? If our Father makes them very happy,
still they have their faults, like I do. And if he don't make them very
happy, the faults are a great deal harder to bear; are they not?"
"And what burden have you, dearie?" asked the old lady, quite softened.
"My tempers," said the child, gravely. "I used to be in passions very
often, Aunt Patty, till Jesus helped me so much, and very often now
I have passions in myself when some one makes me offended; but if I
ask Him quite quick to help me, he always does. But it is pretty hard
sometimes, and I think that is my burden. Maybe it's only a little
one, though, and I oughtn't to speak about it."
Aunt Patty was surprised, no less at the child's innocent freedom in
speaking to her than at what she said, for she had never suspected that
gentle little Bessie had a passionate temper. She looked at her for a
moment, and then said, "Then thank God every day of your life, Bessie,
that he has saved you from the misery of growing up with a self-willed,
ungoverned temper. Thank him that his grace has been sufficient to help
you to battle with it while you are young, that age and long habit have
not strengthened it till it seems like a giant you cannot overcome.
You will never know what misery it becomes then, with what force the
tempter comes again and again; _no one_ knows, _no one_ knows!"
Perhaps Mrs. Lawrence was talking more to herself than to Bessie; but
the child understood her, and answered her.
"Jesus knows," she said, softly, and with that tender, lingering tone
with which she always spoke the Saviour's name.
"Jesus knows," repeated the old lady, almost as if the thought came to
her for the first time.
"Yes, Jesus knows," said Bessie, putting up her small fingers with a
little caressing touch to Aunt Patty's cheek; "and is it not sweet and
precious, Aunt Patty, to think he had temptations too, and so can know
just how hard we have to try not to grieve him? Mrs. Rush told us about
it to-day, and I love to think about it all the time. And she told us
how he helped every one to bear their burdens; and now we ought to
help each other too, 'cause that was what he wanted us to do. But if
sometimes we cannot help each other, 'cause we don't know about their
burdens, Jesus can always help us, 'cause he always knows; don't he?"
"Bessie, come and sing," called mamma from the other room, and away ran
the little comforter to join her voice with the others in the Sabbath
evening hymn.
Yes, she had brought comfort to the worn and weary heart; she had put
her hand to Aunt Patty's burden and eased the aching pain.
"Jesus knows." Again and again the words came back to her, bringing
peace and rest and strength for all days to come. She had heard it
often before; she knew it well. "Jesus knows;" but the precious words
had never come home to her before as they did when they were spoken by
the sweet, trustful, childish voice,--"Jesus knows."
There is no need to tell that they were friendly after this, these two
pilgrims on the heavenward way,--the old woman and the little child,
she who had begun to tread in her Master's footsteps so early in
life's bright morning, and she who had not sought to follow him until
the eleventh hour, when her day was almost ended. For they were both
clinging to one faith, both looking to one hope, and the hand of the
younger had drawn the feet of the elder to a firmer and surer foothold
upon the Rock of Ages, on which both were resting.
And how was it with our Maggie?
It was far harder work for her to be sociable with Aunt Patty than it
was for Bessie; for besides her fear of the old lady, there was her
natural shyness to be struggled with. As for speaking to her, unless it
was to give a timid "yes" or "no" when spoken to, that was, at first,
by no means possible; but remembering that Mrs. Rush had said that a
look or a smile might show good-will or kindness, she took to looking
and smiling with all her might. She would plant herself at a short
distance from Aunt Patty, and stare at the old lady till she looked
up and noticed her, when she would put on the broadest of smiles, and
immediately run away, frightened at her own boldness.
Mrs. Lawrence was at first displeased, thinking Maggie meant this for
impertinence or mockery; but Mrs. Bradford, having once or twice caught
Maggie at this extraordinary performance, asked what it meant, and was
told by her little daughter that she was only "trying to bear Aunt
Patty's burden."
Then followed an account of what Mrs. Rush had taught the children on
Sunday.
"But, indeed, indeed, mamma," said poor Maggie, piteously, "I don't
think I can do any better. I do feel so frightened when she looks at
me, and she don't look as if she liked me to smile at her, and this
morning she said, 'What are you about, child?' _so_ crossly!"
Mamma praised and encouraged her, and afterwards explained to Aunt
Patty that Maggie only meant to be friendly, but that her bashfulness
and her friendliness were sadly in each other's way. So Mrs. Lawrence
was no longer displeased, but like the rest of Maggie's friends, rather
amused, when she saw her desperate efforts to be sociable; and after a
time even Maggie's shyness wore away. Before this came about, however,
she and Bessie had made a discovery or two which amazed them very much.
Surely, it might be said of each of these little ones, "She hath done
what she could."
[Illustration: Title decoration, chap. 10]
X.
_TWO SURPRISES._
Some time after this Aunt Patty bought a magnificent toy menagerie, not
for a present to any of her young nieces and nephews, but to keep as an
attraction to her own room when she wished for their company.
Even Maggie could not hold out against such delightful toys, and after
some coaxing from Bessie, and a good deal of peeping through the crack
of the door at these wonderful animals, she ventured into Aunt Patty's
room.
The two little girls, with Franky, were there one morning while mamma
and Aunt Patty sat at their work. The animals had been put through a
great number of performances, after which it was found necessary to
put the menagerie in thorough order. For this purpose the wild beasts
were all taken from their cages, and tied with chains of mamma's
bright-colored worsteds to the legs of the chairs and tables, while
the cages were rubbed and dusted; after which they were to be escorted
home again. This proved a very troublesome business, for the animals,
as was quite natural, preferred the fields, which were represented by
the green spots in the carpet, to the cages, where they were so closely
shut up, and did not wish to be carried back. At least, so Maggie said
when mamma asked the cause of all the growling and roaring which was
going on.
"You see, mamma," she said, "they want to run away to their own
forests, and they tried to devour their keepers, till some very kind
giants, that's Bessie and Franky and me, came to help the keepers."
But now Flossy, who had been lying quietly on the rug, watching his
chance for a bit of mischief, thought he had better help the giants,
and rushing at an elephant with which Franky was having a great deal
of trouble, tossed it over with his nose, and sent it whirling against
the side of the room, where it lay with a broken leg and trunk. Alas,
for the poor elephant! It was the first one of the toys that had been
broken, and great was the mourning over its sad condition, while Flossy
was sent into the corner in disgrace. Of course, it was not possible
for the elephant to walk home; he must ride.
"Patty," said Franky, "do down-'tairs and det my water-tart; it's in de
lib'ry."
"Franky, Franky!" said mamma, "is that the way to speak to Aunt Patty?"
"Please," Said Franky.
"Aunt Patty has a bone in her foot," said Mrs. Lawrence.
Franky put his head on one side, and looking quizzically at the old
lady, said, "Oo went down-'tairs for oo bastet wis a bone in oo foot,
so oo tan do for my tart wis a bone in oo foot."
Maggie and Bessie knew that this was saucy, and expected that Aunt
Patty would be angry; but, to their surprise, she laughed, and would
even have gone for the cart if mamma had not begged her not to.
"Franky," said mamma, as the little girls, seeing Aunt Patty was not
displeased, began to chuckle over their brother's cute speech, "you
must not ask Aunt Patty to run about for you. It is not pretty for
little boys to do so."
"But me want my tart to wide dis poor efelant," said Franky, coaxingly.
Bessie said she would go for the cart, and ran away down-stairs. She
went through the parlor, and reaching the library-door, which stood
ajar, pushed it open. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Ruthven were there; and
what did she see? Was it possible?
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
At this the two culprits turned, and seeing Bessie's shocked and
astonished face, Uncle Ruthven laughed outright, his own hearty,
ringing laugh. "Come here, princess," he said.
But Bessie was off, the cart quite forgotten. Through the hall and up
the stairs, as fast as the little feet could patter, never pausing till
she reached mamma's room, where she buried her face in one of the sofa
cushions; and there her mother found her some moments later.
"Why, Bessie, my darling, what is it?" asked mamma. "What has happened
to you?"
Bessie raised her flushed and troubled face, but she was not crying, as
her mother had supposed, though she looked quite ready to do so.
"Oh, mamma!" she said, as Mrs. Bradford sat down and lifted her up on
her lap.
"What has troubled you, dearest?"
"Oh, mamma, such a shocking thing! I don't know how to tell you."
"Have you been in any mischief, dear? If you have, do not be afraid to
tell your own mamma."
"Oh! it was not me, mamma, but it was a dreadful, dreadful mischief."
"Well, darling, if any of the others have been in mischief, of which
I should know, I do not think you will speak of it unless it is
necessary!"
"But you ought to know it, mamma, so you can see about it; it was so
very unproper. But it was not any of us children; it was big people--it
was--it was--Uncle Yuthven and Aunt Bessie; and I'm afraid they won't
tell you themselves."
"Well," said Mrs. Bradford, trying to keep a grave face, as she
imagined she began to see into the cause of the trouble. She need not
have tried to hide her smiles. Her little daughter buried her face on
her bosom, as she whispered the, to her, shocking secret, and never
once looked up at her mother.
"Mamma,--he--he--_kissed_ her!--he did--and she never scolded him, not
a bit."
Still the disturbed little face was hidden, and mamma waited a moment
till she could compose her own, and steady her voice.
"My darling," she said, "I have a pleasant secret to tell you. You love
dear Aunt Bessie very much; do you not?"
"Yes, mamma, dearly, dearly; and, mamma, she's very much mine,--is she
not?--'cause I'm her namesake; and Uncle Yuthven ought not to do it. He
had no yight. Mamma, don't you think papa had better ask him to go back
to Africa for a little while?"
Bessie's voice was rather angry now. Mamma had once or twice lately
seen signs of a little jealous feeling toward Uncle Ruthven. She,
Bessie the younger, thought it very strange that Bessie the elder
should go out walking or driving so often with Uncle Ruthven, or that
they should have so many long talks together. Uncle Ruthven took up
quite too much of Aunt Bessie's time, according to little Bessie's
thinking. She had borne it pretty well, however, until now; but that
Uncle Ruthven should "make so intimate" as to kiss Aunt Bessie, was
the last drop in the cup, and she was displeased as well as distressed.
"And if papa had the power," said Mrs. Bradford, "would my Bessie wish
Uncle Ruthven sent away again, and so grieve dear grandmamma, who is
so glad to have him at home once more, to say nothing of his other
friends? I hope my dear little daughter is not giving way to that ugly,
hateful feeling, jealousy."
"Oh! I hope not, mamma," said Bessie. "I would not like to be so
naughty. And if you think it's being jealous not to like Uncle Yuthven
to--to do that, I'll try not to mind it so much;" and here a great sob
escaped her, and a tear or two dropped on mamma's hand.
Mrs. Bradford thought it best to make haste and tell her the secret.
"My darling," she said, "you know, though you are so fond of dear Aunt
Bessie, she is not related to you,--not really your aunt."
"Yes'm, but then I love her just as much as if she was my very, very
own. I have to love her for so many yeasons; 'cause she is her own self
and I can't help it, and 'cause I'm her namesake, and 'cause she's my
dear soldier's own sister. Mamma, don't you think that is plenty of
yeasons to be fond of her for?"
"Yes, dear, but you must be willing to have others fond of her too. And
do you not think it would be very pleasant to have her for your own
aunt, and to keep her always with us for our very own?"
"Oh, yes, mamma! but then that could not be; could it?"
"Well, yes," said Mrs. Bradford; "if Uncle Ruthven marries her, she
will really be your aunt, and then she will live at grandmamma's, where
you may see her almost every day, and feel she is quite one of the
family."
"And is he going to, mamma?" asked Bessie, raising her head, and with
the utmost surprise and pleasure breaking over her face; "is Uncle
Yuthven going to marry her, and make her our true aunt?"
"Yes, I believe so," answered her mother; "it was all settled a few
days ago. We did not mean to tell you just yet, but now I thought it
better. But, Bessie, if you send poor Uncle Ruthven away to Africa
again, I fear you will lose Aunt Bessie too, for she will go with him."
"I was naughty to say that, dear mamma," said Bessie, her whole face
in a glow of delight, "and I am so sorry I felt cross to Uncle Yuthven
just when he was doing us such a great, great favor. Oh, he was so very
kind to think of it! He has been trying to give us pleasure ever since
he came home, and now he has done the very best thing of all. He knew
just what we would like; did he not, mamma?"
Mamma laughed. "I rather think he knew we would all be pleased, Bessie."
"I must thank him very much indeed,--must I not, mamma?--and tell him
how very obliging I think he is."
"You may thank him just as much as you please, dear," said mamma,
merrily. "Here comes Maggie to see what has become of us. She must hear
this delightful secret too."
So Maggie was told, and went capering round the room in frantic
delight at the news, inventing, as usual, so many plans and pleasures
that might fit in with this new arrangement, that Bessie was better
satisfied than ever, and even forgave Uncle Ruthven the kiss.
And here was a second joy at hand; for in came a message from Mrs.
Rush, asking that the little girls might come over to the hotel and
spend the rest of the day with her and the colonel. They were always
ready enough for this, and in a short time they were dressed and on
their way with Starr, the colonel's man, who had come for them.
Starr was a soldier, straight, stiff, and very grave and respectful in
his manner; and now, as he walked along, leading a little girl in each
hand, they wondered to see how very smiling he looked.
"Starr," said Bessie, peeping up in his face, "have you some good news?"
"I've no bad news, miss," said Starr, with a broader smile than before.
"You look so very pleased," said Bessie; to which Starr only replied,
"It's likely, miss," and became silent again.
When they reached the long crossing, who should be standing on the
corner but Sergeant Richards. Bessie saw him at once, and went directly
up to him.
"How do you do, Mr. Station Policeman?" she said, politely, and holding
out her morsel of a hand to him. "This is my Maggie."
"Well, now, but I'm glad to see you, and your Maggie too," said the
police-sergeant. "And how have you been this long time?"
"Pretty well," answered Bessie. "How are your blind boy and your lame
wife and your sick baby, and all your troubles?"
"Why, the wife is able to move round a little," said Richards, "and the
baby is mending a bit too."
"And Willie?" asked Bessie.
A shadow came over the policeman's honest face. "Willie is drooping,"
he said, with a sigh. "I think it's the loss of the sight of his
mother's face and of the blessed sunlight that's ailing him. His
eyes are quite blind now,--no more light to them than if he was in a
pitch-dark cell."
"But I thought the doctor could cure him when his eyes were all blind,"
said Bessie.
"Not just now, dear. Next year, maybe, if all goes well. That's the
best we can hope for, I believe. But here I am standing and talking to
you, when I've business on hand that can't be put off." So saying, he
shook hands again with Bessie and walked rapidly away.
"I s'pose he means he can't afford to pay the doctor now," said Bessie,
as she and Maggie went on again with Starr. "Mrs. Granby said they were
pretty poor, and she was 'fraid they couldn't do it this year. It's so
long for Willie to wait. I wonder if papa wouldn't pay the doctor."
"There's the mistress watching for the little ladies," said Starr, and,
looking up, the children saw Mrs. Rush standing at the window of her
room and nodding to them. In two minutes more they were at the door,
which she opened for them with even a brighter face than usual; and,
after kissing them, stood aside to let them see the colonel, who was
coming forward to meet them.
Yes, there he came, and--no wonder Mrs. Rush looked bright and happy,
no wonder Starr was smiling--without his crutches; moving slowly, to be
sure, and leaning on a cane, but walking on two feet!
If Colonel Rush imagined he was about to give his little friends a
pleasant surprise, he found he was not mistaken.
"Oh!" exclaimed Bessie, but it was in a very different tone from that
in which she had uttered it once before that day.
Maggie gave a little shriek of delight which would almost have startled
any one who had not known Maggie's ways, or seen her sparkling face.
"Oh! goody! goody! goody!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands and
hopping about in a kind of ecstasy. "How lovely! how splendid!
how--how--superfluous!" Maggie had been trying to find the longest
"grown-up" word she could think of, and as she had that morning heard
her father say that something was "altogether superfluous," she now
used the word without a proper idea of its meaning.
But the colonel was quite content to take the word as she meant it,
and thanked her for her joyous sympathy. He knew that Bessie felt none
the less because she was more quiet. She walked round and round him,
looking at him as if she could not believe it, and then going up to
him, took his hand in both hers, and laid her smooth, soft cheek upon
it in a pretty, tender way which said more than words.
"Do let's see you walk a little more," said Maggie. "It's so nice; it's
just like a fairy tale, when a good fairy comes and mends all the
people that have been chopped to pieces, and makes them just as good as
ever; only this is true and that is not."
"Who put it on?" asked Bessie, meaning the new leg.
"Starr put it on," answered the colonel.
"And did you make it, too, Starr?" asked Bessie.
"No, indeed, miss;" said Starr, who still stood at the door with his
hat in his hand, and his head on one side, looking at his master much
as a proud nurse might look at her baby who was trying its first
steps,--"no, indeed, miss; that was beyond me."
"Starr would have given me one of his own, if he could have done so, I
believe," said the colonel, smiling.
"So would I," said Maggie, "if mine would have fitted. I think I could
do very well with one foot; I hop a good deal, any way. See, I could do
this way;" and she began hopping round the table again.
"And you run and skip a good deal," said Mrs. Rush, "and how could you
do all that on one foot?"
Maggie considered a moment. "But I am very attached to the colonel,"
she said, "and I think I could give up one foot if it would be of use
to him."
"I believe you would, my generous little girl," said the colonel; and
Mrs. Rush stooped and kissed Maggie very affectionately.
"Will that new foot walk in the street?" asked Maggie.
"Yes, it will walk anywhere when I'm accustomed to it. But I am a
little awkward just yet, and must practise some before I venture on it
in the street."
It seemed almost too good to be true, that the colonel should be
sitting there with two feet, which certainly looked quite as well as
papa's or Uncle Ruthven's, or those of any other gentleman; and it was
long before his affectionate little friends tired of looking at him and
expressing their pleasure.
"We have some very good news for you," said Bessie; "mamma said we
might tell you."
"Let us have it then," said the colonel; and the grand secret about
Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie was told.
"I just believe you knew it before," said Maggie, who thought Colonel
and Mrs. Rush did not seem as much surprised as was to be expected.
"I am afraid we did, Maggie," said the colonel, smiling; "but we are
none the less pleased to hear Bessie tell of it."
"But if Uncle Yuthven did it for a favor to us, why did he not tell us
first?" said Bessie, rather puzzled.
"Well," said the colonel, with a little twinkle in his eye, "it is
just possible that your Uncle Ruthven took some other people into
consideration,--myself and Marion, for instance. Can you not imagine
that he thought it would be very pleasant for us to be related to you?"
"Will you be our yelations when Uncle Yuthven marries Aunt Bessie?"
asked Bessie.
"I think we shall have to put in some claim of that sort," said the
colonel. "Aunt Bessie is my sister, and if she becomes your own aunt,
I think my wife and I must also consider ourselves as belonging to the
family. What should you say to Uncle Horace and Aunt May?"--May was the
colonel's pet name for his wife.
It was not likely that either of our little girls would find fault with
this arrangement; and now it was impossible to say too much in praise
of Uncle Ruthven and his very kind plan.
The children spent a most delightful day. Mrs. Rush had ordered an
early dinner for them; after which the carriage came, and all four--the
colonel and his wife and Maggie and Bessie--went for a drive in the
Central Park. It was a lovely afternoon, the air so soft and sweet with
that strange, delicious scent in it which tells of the coming spring,
and here and there, in some sunny nooks, the children were delighted to
see little patches of green grass. Sparrows and chickadees, and other
birds which make their home with us during the winter, were hopping
merrily over the leafless branches, and twittering ceaselessly to one
another, as if they were telling of the happy time near at hand, when
the warm south winds would blow, and the trees and bushes be covered
with their beautiful green summer dress. Presently Starr, turning round
from his seat on the box beside the coachman, pointed out a robin, the
first robin; and then Maggie's quick eyes discovered a second. Yes,
there were a pair of them, perking up their heads and tails, with a
saucy, jaunty air, which seemed to say, "Look at me; here I am to tell
you spring is coming. Are you not glad to see me?"
And as the carriage drove slowly by, that the children might watch the
birds, one of them threw back his head and broke into the sweetest,
merriest song, which told the same pleasant story.
Yes, spring was in the air, and the birdies knew it, though earth as
yet showed but few signs of it.
"He sings just as if he was so glad he couldn't help it," said Maggie,
"and I feel just like him."
When they drove back to the city, the children were rather surprised
to find they were taken again to the hotel instead of going home at
once; but Mrs. Rush said, that as the weather was so mild and pleasant,
mamma had promised they might stay till after dark. This was a suitable
ending to such a very happy day, especially as it was arranged for
them to take their supper while their friends dined. Mrs. Rush thought
nothing too much trouble which could give pleasure to these two dear
little girls.
They were listening to one of the colonel's delightful stories when
Mr. Stanton and Miss Rush came in, with the double purpose of paying a
short visit to the colonel and his wife and of taking home their young
visitors.
Scarcely were they seated when Bessie walked up to Mr. Stanton with
"Uncle Er-er-er-Yuthven,"--Bessie was trying very hard for the R's in
these days, especially when she spoke to her uncle,--"we do thank you
so very much. We think you are the most obliging gentleman we ever saw."