Part 10 (1/2)
No, they would not hurt Bessie's bird for the whole wide world. They went quietly home, and left him there watching for his mate, who had flown up towards the sky to stretch her wings a little.
Slowly, hand in hand, the sisters pa.s.sed once more through the wood.
They could not bear to leave so sweet a place. And all the while Bessie's bird sang to them his strange song, ”Coming, coming, coming!”
They heard it till the wood was out of sight.
”Yes, there are always good things coming as well as going,” Aunt Annie said, softly, ”if we are patient and wait. The dear child's basket has grown more useful and lovely because she lost it that bright day.”
”And our lost darling?” Bessie's mother began to ask, and looked in Aunt Annie's eyes.
”Our Bessie's flowers do not fade now; there is no cold winter in heaven; she cannot lose her treasures there. And hasn't she grown more useful and lovely, living among the angels all this while?”
Then, from afar in the woods, they heard the low, sweet voice, that thrilled forth, ”Coming, coming!” and Bessie's mother smiled, and said, ”She cannot come to us, but we soon shall go to her; and O, our darling's hand in ours, how gladly shall we walk in the Eternal Garden!”
_Caroline S. Whitmarsh._
[Ill.u.s.tration]
HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE.
My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cake which he had fancied in pa.s.sing. He intended it for a child whose appet.i.te was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him.
He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While he waited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor, but perfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. ”Ma'am,” said he to the baker's wife, ”mother sent me for a loaf of bread.” The woman climbed upon the counter (this happened in a country town), took from the shelf of four-pound loaves the best one she could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face of the little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, open countenance of the great loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.
”Have you any money?” said the baker's wife.
The little boy's eyes grew sad.
”No, ma'am,” said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; ”but mother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about it to-morrow.”
”Run along,” said the good woman; ”carry your bread home, child.”
”Thank you, ma'am,” said the poor little fellow.
My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchase into his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with the big loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-still behind him.
”What are you doing there?” said the baker's wife to the child, whom she also had thought to be fairly off. ”Don't you like the bread?”
”O yes, ma'am!” said the child.
”Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait any longer, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get a scolding.”
The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention.
The baker's wife went up to him, and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. ”What _are_ you thinking about?” said she.