Part 13 (1/2)

”I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as though expecting you.”

I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf--for the house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing, almost opposite Mrs.

Wickham's--and before I could ascend the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.

”Bertha Sprague! I was sure it was you when I saw you go to Mrs.

Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I was here?”

”She had no opportunity until to-day,” I said. ”But dear Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you know that.”

”Yes, I am sure you would.”

Then I recounted to her something of my visit to Mrs. Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear face full of sympathy, then said:

”There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know? When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days! Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is this divine life!”

She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully: ”Now, tell me of my children--are they coming?”

I gladdened her heart with all the cheering news I could bring of her loved ones; and so we talked the hours away, recalling many sweet memories of the earth-life, of friends and home and family ties, and looking forward to the future coming to us of those whom even the joys of heaven could not banish from our hearts.

Then also another evening, as the soft twilight fell, and many of our dear home circle were gathered with us in the great ”flower-room,” we heard a step upon the veranda, and as my brother went to the open door a gentle voice said:

”Is Mrs. Sprague really here?”

”She is really here. Come and see for yourself.” And sweet Mary Green entered the room.

”I am so glad to welcome you home!” she said, coming to me with extended hands, and looking into mine with her tender, earnest eyes.

”My precious girl!” I cried, taking her to my heart in a warm embrace.

”I have been asking about you, and longing to see you.”

”I could scarcely wait to reach here when I heard that you had come.

Now, tell me everything--everything!” she said as I drew her to a seat close beside me.

But questions asked and the answers given are too sacred for rehearsal here. Every individual member of her dear home-circle was discussed, and many were the incidents she recounted to me that had occurred in her presence when her mother and I were together and talking of the dear child we considered far removed from our presence.

”I was often so close that I could have touched you with my hand, had the needed power been given,” she said.

After a long, close converse had been held between us, I took her to the library, whither the rest had gone to examine a new book just that day received. I introduced her to them all as the daughter of dear friends still on earth, confident of the welcome she would receive. My youngest sister and she at once became interested in each other, finding congeniality in many of their daily pursuits, and I was glad to believe they would henceforth see much of each other in many different ways.

There was no measurement of time as we measure it here, although many still spoke in the old-time language of ”months” and ”days” and ”years.” I have no way of describing it as it seemed to me then.

There were periods, and allotted times; there were hours for happy duties, hours for joyful pleasures, and hours for holy praise. I only know it was all harmony, all joy, all peace, at all times and in all conditions.

CHAPTER XVI.

There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingrat.i.tude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.--[Was.h.i.+ngton Irving.