Volume I Part 6 (2/2)
Fleda's next words were scarce audible, but they contained a reproach to him for speaking so.
”We may as well look at it, dear,” said he, gravely; ”it must come to that ?- sooner or later ? but you mustn't distress yourself about it beforehand. Don't cry ? don't dear!” said he, tenderly kissing her. ”I didn't mean to trouble you so.
There ? there ? look up, dear ? let's take the good we have and be thankful for it. G.o.d will arrange the rest, in his own good way. Fleda! ? I wouldn't have said a word if I had thought it would have worried you so.”
He would not indeed. But he had spoken as men so often speak, out of the depths of their own pa.s.sion or bitterness, forgetting that they are wringing the chords of a delicate harp, and not knowing what mischief they have done till they find the instrument all out of tune, ? more often not knowing it ever. It is pity, ? for how frequently a discord is left that jars all life long; and how much more frequently still the harp, though retaining its sweetness and truth of tone to the end, is gradually unstrung.
Poor Fleda could hardly hold up her head for a long time, and recalling bitterly her unlucky innocent remark which had led to all this trouble, she almost made up her mind, with a certain heroine of Miss Edgeworth's, that ”it is best never to mention things”. Mr. Ringgan, now thoroughly alive to the wounds he had been inflicting, held his little pet in his arms, pillowed her head on his breast, and by every tender and soothing action and word endeavoured to undo what he had done.
And after a while the agony was over, the wet eyelashes were lifted up, and the meek sorrowful little face lay quietly upon Mr. Ringgan's breast, gazing out into the fire as gravely as if the panorama of life were there. She little heeded at first her grandfather's cheering talk, she knew it was for a purpose.
”Aint it most time for you to go to bed?” whispered Mr.
Ringgan, when he thought the purpose was effected.
”Shall I tell Cynthy to get you your milk, grandpa?” said the little girl, rousing herself.
”Yes dear. ? Stop, ? what if you and me were to have some roast apples? ? wouldn't you like it?”
”Well ? yes, I should, grandpa,” said Fleda, understanding perfectly why he wished it, and wis.h.i.+ng it herself for that same reason and no other.
”Cynthy, let's have some of those roast apples,” said Mr.
Ringgan, ”and a couple of bowls of milk here.”
”No, I'll get the apples myself, Cynthy,” said Fleda.
”And you needn't take any of the cream off, Cynthy,” added Mr.
Ringgan.
One corner of the kitchen table was hauled up to the fire, to be comfortable, Fleda said, and she and her grandfather sat down on the opposite sides of it to do honour to the apples and milk; each with the simple intent of keeping up appearances and cheating the other into cheerfulness. There is, however, deny it who can, an exhilarating effect in good wholesome food taken when one is in some need of it; and Fleda at least found the supper relish exceeding well. Every one furthermore knows the relief of a hearty flow of tears when a secret weight has been pressing on the mind. She was just ready for anything reviving. After the third mouthful she began to talk, and before the bottom of the bowls was reached, she had smiled more than once. So her grandfather thought no harm was done, and went to bed quite comforted; and Fleda climbed the steep stairs that led from his door to her little chamber just over his head. It was small and mean, immediately under the roof, with only one window. There were plenty of better rooms in the house, but Fleda liked this because it kept her near her grandfather; and indeed she had always had it ever since her father's death, and never thought of taking any other.
She had a fas.h.i.+on, this child, in whom the simplicity of practical life and the poetry of imaginative life were curiously blended, ? she had a fas.h.i.+on of going to her window every night when the moon or stars were s.h.i.+ning, to look out for a minute or two before she went to bed; and sometimes the minutes were more than any good grandmother or aunt would have considered wholesome for little Fleda in the fresh night air.
But there was no one to watch or reprimand; and whatever it was that Fleda read in earth or sky, the charm which held her one bright night was sure to bring her to her window the next.
This evening a faint young moon lighted up but dimly the meadow and what was called the ”east-hill,” over against which the window in question looked. The air was calm and mild; there was no frost to-night; the stillness was entire, and the stars shone in a cloudless sky. Fleda set open the window, and looked out with a face that again bore tokens of the experiences of that day. She wanted the soothing speech of nature's voice; and child as she was, she could hear it. She did not know, in her simplicity, what it was that comforted and soothed her, but she stood at her window enjoying.
It was so perfectly still, her fancy presently went to all those people who had hushed their various work and were now resting, or soon would be, in the unconsciousness and the helplessness of sleep. The _helplessness_, ? and then that Eye that never sleeps; that Hand that keeps them all, that is never idle, that is the safety and the strength alike of all the earth, and of them that wake or sleep upon it, ?
”And if he takes care of them all, will he not take care of poor little me?” thought Fleda. ”Oh, how glad I am I know there is a G.o.d! ? How glad I am I know he is such a G.o.d! and that I can trust in him; and he will make everything go right.
How I forget this sometimes! But Jesus does not forget his children. Oh, I am a happy little girl! ? Grandpa's saying what he did don't make it so ? perhaps I shall die the first ?
but I hope not, for what would become of him! ? But this and everything will all be arranged right, and I have nothing to do with it but to obey G.o.d and please him, and he will take care of the rest. He has forbidden _us_ to be careful about it too.”
With grateful tears of relief Fleda shut the window and began to undress herself, her heart so lightened of its burden, that her thoughts presently took leave to go out again upon pleasure excursions in various directions; and one of the last things in Fleda's mind before sleep surprised her was, what a nice thing it was for any one to bow and smile so as Mr.
Carleton did!
CHAPTER III.
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