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 clear face
of Dolly, resting on one cheek 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 he? 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 dear 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.