Volume I Part 20 (1/2)
”Are you not well, dear grandpa?” said the little girl.
Nothing made of flesh and blood ever spoke words of more spirit-like sweetness, ? not the beauty of a fine organ, but such as the sweetness of angel-speech might be; a whisper of love and tenderness that was hushed by its own intensity. He did not answer, or did not notice her first question; she repeated it.
”Don't you feel well?”
”Not exactly, dear!” he replied.
There was the shadow of somewhat in his tone, that fell upon his little granddaughter's heart and brow at once. Her voice next time, though not suffered to be anything but clear and cheerful still, had in part the clearness of apprehension.
”What is the matter?”
”Oh ? I don't know, dear!”
She felt the shadow again, and he seemed to say that time would show her the meaning of it. She put her little hand in one of his which lay outside the coverlets, and stood looking at him; and presently said, but in a very different key from the same speech to Mr. Carleton, ?
”I have had a very nice time, dear grandpa.”
Her grandfather made her no answer. He brought the dear little hand to his lips and kissed it twice, so earnestly that it was almost pa.s.sionately; then laid it on the side of the bed again, with his own upon it, and patted it slowly and fondly, and with an inexpressible kind of sadness in the manner.
Fleda's lip trembled, and her heart was fluttering, but she stood so that he could not see her face in the dusk, and kept still till the rebel features were calm again, and she had schooled the heart to be silent.
Mr. Ringgan had closed his eyes, and perhaps was asleep, and his little granddaughter sat quietly down on a chair by the bedside to watch by him, in that gentle sorrowful patience which women often know, but which hardly belongs to childhood.
Her eye and thoughts, as she sat there in the dusky twilight, fell upon the hand of her grandfather which still fondly held one of her own; and fancy travelled fast and far, from what it was to what it had been. Rough, discoloured, stiff, as it lay there now, she thought how it had once had the hue, and the freshness, and the grace of youth, when it had been, the instrument of uncommon strength, and wielded an authority that none could stand against. Her fancy wandered over the scenes it had known; when it had felled trees in the wild forest; and those fingers, then supple and slight, had played the fife to the struggling men of the Revolution; how its activity had outdone the activity of all other hands in clearing and cultivating those very fields where her feet loved to run; how, in its pride of strength, it had handled the scythe, and the sickle, and the flail, with a grace and efficiency that no other could attain; and how, in happy manhood, that strong hand had fondled, and sheltered, and led, the little children that now had grown up and were gone! ? Strength and activity, ay, and the fruits of them, were pa.s.sed away; ? his children were dead; his race was run; ? the shock of corn was in full season, ready to be gathered. Poor little Fleda! her thought had travelled but a very little way before the sense of these things entirely overcame her, her head bowed on her knees, and she wept tears that all the fine springs of her nature were moving to feed ? many, many, ? but poured forth as quietly as bitterly; she smothered every sound. That beautiful shadowy world with which she had been so busy a little while ago, ?
alas! she had left the fair outlines and the dreamy light, and had been tracking one solitary path through the wilderness, and she saw how the traveller, foot-sore and weather-beaten, comes to the end of his way. And, after all, he comes to _the end_. ''Yes, and I must travel through life, and come to the end, too,” thought little Fleda; ”life is but a pa.s.sing through the world; my hand must wither and grow old too, if I live long enough; and whether or no, I must come to _the end_.
Oh, there is only one thing that ought to be very much minded in this world!”
That thought, sober though it was, brought sweet consolation.
Fleda's tears, if they fell as fast, grew brighter, as she remembered, with singular tender joy, that her mother and her father had been ready to see the end of their journey, and were not afraid of it; that her grandfather and her aunt Miriam were happy in the same quiet confidence, and she believed she herself was a lamb of the Good Shepherd's flock.
”And he will let none of his lambs be lost,” she thought. ”How happy I am! How happy we all are!”
Her grandfather still lay quiet, as if asleep, and gently drawing her hand from under his, Fleda went and got a candle and sat down by him again to read, carefully shading the light so that it might not awake him.
He presently spoke to her, and more cheerfully.
”Are you reading, dear?”
”Yes, grandpa!” said the little girl, looking up brightly.
”Does the candle disturb you?”
”No, dear! ? What have you got there'?
”I just took up this volume of Newton that has the hymns in it.”
”Read out.”
Fleda read Mr. Newton's long beautiful hymn, ”The Lord will provide;” but with her late thoughts fresh in her mind it was hard to get through the last verses; ?
'No strength of our own, Or goodness we claim; But since we have known The Saviour's great name, In this, our strong tower, For safety we hide; The Lord is our power, The Lord will provide.