Читать книгу: «Bessie among the Mountains», страница 7

"And when we say 'Our Father,' what do we say about forgiveness?"

"'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,'" said Bessie. "I know what you mean, mamma."

"And so do I," said Maggie; "but I cannot do it, mamma, I cannot forgive Lem and Dolly as I want to be forgiven myself, so I think I had better leave out that part of 'Our Father,' to-night. I wouldn't like to pray a story."

"Nor would I wish you to say what you did not feel, dearie, but I should like you to pray that from your heart."

"But I could not, mamma," said Maggie. "Why, we have forgiven Lem and Dolly so often, and it is not a bit of use."

"Do you remember what I was reading to you the other night?" said mamma, "how Peter came to our Lord, and asked Him how often he should forgive his enemy. What answer did Jesus make?"

"He said 'forgive him till seventy times seven,'" said Bessie.

"O mamma!" said Maggie. "I never could do that. I think I could be like Peter, and forgive Lem and Dolly seven times; but every time I do it, it grows harder and harder, and I never could do it by the time it was seventy times seven. That is such a lot! Every bit of forgiveness in me would be used up by that time."

"Our Lord only said 'seventy times seven,' to show that we must forgive a great number of times, Maggie. He did not mean to measure our forgiveness any more than He measures His own. He is ready to pardon all who go to Him, as often and as freely as they need. But we must ask Him from our hearts; and can we do so if those hearts are full of unkindness and hard feeling towards those who have injured us? I know how hard it is for you both, my darlings; I know by my own feelings how hard it is to forgive Lem and Dolly; but I cannot hope to be forgiven myself for what I have done wrong this day, unless I forgive them the harm they have done to me."

"They did not harm you, mamma, did they?" asked Maggie.

"Yes: they hurt my two little blossoms, Maggie and Bessie, and so grieved me very much. But I can hope my flowers will soon get the better of the harm they have received; not only of their sorrow, but also of their anger and hard feeling towards those poor, unhappy children. Suppose you had at this moment a chance to do a kind thing, or speak a kind word to Lem and Dolly, – would either of you do it?"

"Mamma," said Bessie, "I think I would. It would be very hard, and I'm afraid I wouldn't quite like to do it; but I would try to think how often Jesus forgave me, and I would say, 'forgive me my trespasses' as I forgive Lem and Dolly, and maybe that would make it easier."

"It will indeed, my darling; and what does my Maggie say?"

"I'll try too, mamma – but – but – I can't help thinking I'd be pretty glad if the chance never came."

X.
THE BANANAS

"MADDIE," said Frankie, running up to his sister the next morning with a pair of worsted reins in his hands, "will oo fis my weins?"

"Pretty soon, Frankie: I'm busy now," answered Maggie.

"Oo're not: oo're doin' nossin' but sittin'," said the little boy. "Do it now."

"Yes; I am in a meditation, and you must not interrupt me," said Maggie, with a solemn, important face.

Frankie walked round and round her on every side, looking curiously at her, and peering down at her; then said, —

"I don't see it, Maddie."

"Don't see what?" asked Maggie.

"Dat sing oo are in," replied Frankie.

"He means that meditation you said you were in," said Bessie.

At this Maggie laughed merrily, and all her meditations were put to flight.

"O foolish child!" she said. "I s'pose he thought a meditation meant a kind of a thing you could see."

"Maggie," said Bessie gravely, "if you laugh at Frankie, you'll have to laugh at me too, 'cause I don't know what a meditation means either."

"It means," said Maggie, arranging Frankie's reins for him, "to be thinking about whether a thing is right or wrong, and to be trying to make up your resolution to do something that you know you ought to do, but that you don't want to do."

"Oh!" said Bessie in a very satisfied tone; "then I know what you was having a meditation about. And how did you make up your resolution, Maggie?"

"Oh! just to forgive Lem and Dolly without any more fuss about it," said Maggie. "But for all that, Bessie, I would like never to hear or see or think or know or dream any thing more about those two children."

"Who would like to go and play in the woods?" asked Harry, coming out to them. "Mamma says we may all go if we choose."

"I will."

"And I."

"I too," came from his two sisters and Frankie.

"Who is going to take care of us?" asked Bessie.

"Jane and Starr," said Harry. "Fred and I could do it well enough; but mamma is afraid of those two ragamuffins, and the Colonel said they would not dare to trouble us if Starr was with us, and he could very well spare him."

"Hurrah!" cried Fred, rushing out of the house. "Papa, Uncle Ruthven, Aunt Bessie, and Aunt Annie are going with us, and we are going to have a grand corn-roasting up in the woods; hurrah! hurrah!" and Fred tossed his cap in the air, and turned two or three somersets on the grass, which Frankie immediately tried to imitate, but only succeeded in tumbling over on his side. He was quite contented with his own performance, however, and said, with a self-satisfied shake of his head, "I somersat mysef fee times."

The party were soon ready, and started off, grandmamma and mamma, Colonel and Mrs. Rush promising to follow by and by when the fire should be made, and the roasted corn nearly ready for eating.

Butter and salt were packed in a tin pail by Mrs. Porter and carried by Hafed, while Starr brought a basket with plates and knives. The corn was to be plucked from a cornfield which they would pass on their way. The spot chosen was at some distance from the house, up in the woods, where a pure, bright spring bubbled up from the rocks, and then went rippling and singing away in one of those hundred mountain streams. Here was a little cleared space among the trees, and a broad flat stone on which the fire was to be built; while two or three great trunks and stumps formed excellent seats, – excellent, that is to say, for those people who had both their limbs left to them, – but the Colonel did not find them quite so comfortable; so Starr slung a camp chair over his arm to have it ready for his master's use when he should come.

When they came to the cornfield, to reach which they had to take rather a roundabout path, each child loaded itself with as many ears of corn as it could carry. Papa and Uncle Ruthven each took an armful too; so, when they were all laid together, there was quite a pile.

"We will want a pretty large fire to roast all that corn," said Bessie; "we'll have to pick up a great many sticks."

Picking up sticks for the fire was not thought hard work, however, but famous fun; and the little ones began to gather them up with a good will. This was by no means the first fire they had built on this very convenient stone: it had seen many a potato-roast and candy-boiling, though this was the first corn-roasting they had had.

But here quite a misfortune happened to Bessie. As she was coming towards the fireplace, with her hands full of dry branches, she tripped and fell her full length directly in the ashes of the old fires. Her father and other friends could not be thankful enough that the match had not yet been put to the sticks which lay ready for lighting; for if the fire had been burning, she must have fallen into the flames and been badly burned.

But her arms and knees were somewhat bruised on the hard rock, and her white dress and apron sadly soiled and black from the ashes.

Now Bessie was a very neat child, – particular about her dress, – and could not bear to have any thing near her that was not quite clean. The little knees and arms could be washed in the stream, and dried on the towel which had been brought; but there was no way of cleansing the blackened clothes, and Bessie was distressed at the thought of passing the whole morning in such a condition.

"Come then, Miss Bessie," said Starr, "I'll just take you over home, where you may have clean clothes put on, and bring you back before the others know you have gone."

Bessie thanked him, and said she would be very glad; and taking her up in his arms, so that they might get over the ground in short time, the good-natured soldier strode away with her.

Mamma was a good deal surprised, and a little startled, to see her Bessie coming back so soon in Starr's arms; but it was presently explained, and the little girl made quite neat and clean again. She was about leaving the house once more with Starr, when she heard Colonel Rush calling her, and ran back to his room.

"Bessie," said the Colonel, "here are half a dozen bananas, – one a-piece for each of you children, – yourself and Maggie, your three brothers and Hafed. Would you not enjoy them up in the woods?"

"Yes," said Bessie; "but we will save them till you all come, so all our big people can have some too."

"Oh, no! keep them for yourselves," said the Colonel; "your big people all had enough last night, and I kept these out for you, knowing how fond you and Maggie were of them."

Bessie thanked and kissed him, and ran off, giving her prize to Starr to carry for her.

"There's a way by which I can take you back quicker, if you didn't mind being lifted up a steep place in the rocks. It's quite safe: would you like it, Miss Bessie?" said Starr.

Bessie said she would rather go by the shortest way; and Starr struck into a path, if path it could be called, which was quite new to her. But he carried her safely over the rugged way, while she chatted merrily to him.

"Starr," she said, "I'm going to give you a piece of my banana, 'cause you're so very kind and good to me."

"Thank you kindly, miss," said the man; "but I never eat them, not if a shipful was before me."

"Don't you like them?" asked the little girl.

"No, miss."

"Oh! I like them better than any thing, – I mean better than any thing else to eat," said Bessie; "and I was very much pleased when the Colonel gave me these, 'cause I didn't have one since I came to Chalecoo."

"Then I am glad, too, miss," said Starr, who in the city had often been sent by his master to buy bananas to indulge this favorite fancy of Bessie's. "Now, Miss Bessie, I am just going to put you on top of this great stone, and climb up myself afterwards, and then we'll be but a few rods from where the ladies and gentlemen are."

Just before them was a mass of rock, four or five feet high, which seemed to bar the way; but lifting Bessie as high as he could, Starr set her safely upon the top, then handing her the bananas began to clamber up himself.

At that moment a slight rustle made Bessie turn her head, and she found herself face to face with Dolly Owen. Before she had time to utter her astonishment and alarm, Starr stood beside her, and he was the first to speak.

"So, you're there, are you?" he said, sternly. "What wickedness are you up to now, I'd like to know?"

Dolly made no answer, but sat with her eyes fixed upon Bessie, or rather upon the tempting bunch of bananas she held in her small hands. The girl was half lying, half sitting upon the ground, her head and shoulders resting against the trunk of a large tree, her face drawn as if she were in great pain. It seemed as if she must have crept into this nook as a hiding-place, for on all sides, save the one by which Starr and Bessie had come, was a thick growth of underbrush, with only a narrow outlet where the bushes had been partly broken down. From beyond this came the sound of gay voices and merry laughter, showing, as Starr had said, that the rest of the party were not far distant. Very lonely and dreary the wretched child looked, lying there with those happy sounds ringing in her ears, telling that others were so much better off, so much happier than she was.

"What's them?" she asked, looking greedily at the bananas.

"Now are you not ashamed to be speaking to the little lady after what you've done?" said Starr. "Those are not for such as you, and you needn't be asking what they are. And look you here, young one, you let me catch you a step nearer the gentlefolks, and I'll let you hear something you won't like. My patience is about come to an end."

Still Dolly took no notice of him. Instead of running away, or cowering in fear of punishment, as she generally did when any grown person came near her, she remained crouched, without moving, upon the ground.

"Gi' me one," she said to Bessie.

"Did I ever hear such impudence!" exclaimed Starr, roused out of his usual stiffness; "well, you are the most graceless creature I ever did see. Come on, Miss Bessie, if you please."

But Bessie gently put aside Starr's hand, as he would have led her away.

"Please wait a minute, Starr."

"I say, gi' me one," said Dolly again; "I aint eat nothin' to-day nor yesterday, and Lem's gone away."

It was, indeed, a bold thing for Dolly to ask any thing of one whom she had injured so much; but she was ravenous with hunger, and having no shame, she had no thought save how she might satisfy it.

Bessie stood looking from her to the bananas. Should she give Dolly her own or not? She wanted it very much herself; but she had asked her Father in heaven to let her find some way to be kind to Lem and Dolly, and now was He not answering her prayer? It had been very pleasant to think of sharing the delicious fruit with her own dear friends whom she loved so much, or even of giving a piece to Starr, who was always so kind and good to her; but to give it all to this bad girl who had done so much cruel mischief to her and hers, was another thing.

Perhaps strong, healthy children, who can enjoy whatever is set before them, can have little idea what a piece of self-denial this was to Bessie. She was a delicate child, with a slight appetite which needed some coaxing, and, as she had said to Starr, if there was any one thing which she liked particularly, it was a fine banana.

Yes, she wanted it very much; but there was poor Dolly who wanted it very much too, – who said she had had nothing to eat all day yesterday, who probably had never tasted such a fruit; for she had asked what they were when she saw them, – who, even Bessie's innocent eyes could see, looked very ill. Was not here a chance to "render good for evil;" to do the kind thing she had said she would do if she could but find the way?

She had a moment's struggle with herself; then, breaking one of the bananas from the stem, she went a little nearer to Dolly and held it out at arm's length, for she feared the mischievous girl too much to go very close to her.

Dolly raised herself slowly and clutched at the banana, but sank back again with a cry of pain.

"Have you hurt yourself, Dolly?" asked Bessie, gently.

Dolly made no answer, but stretched out her hand again for the fruit.

Bessie went a little nearer, and timidly placed it in her hand.

"That's not the way," she said, as the girl greedily bit into the close, tough skin. "You must peel it. I will show you."

Dolly held fast to the banana for a moment, as if she feared Bessie was about to take it back; then, with a wondering look into the sweet, pitiful little face, gave it up.

"Now, don't you be waiting on her, Miss Bessie," said Starr; "you've done more than enough already, to give her your banana. Will you come, miss, and just leave that girl to herself?"

"I think I'd better fix it for her, Starr. She don't know how, and I think there's something the matter with her," said Bessie: and, stripping the peel from the fruit, she placed it once more in Dolly's hand.

"Does something hurt you?" she asked, as the girl moaned again when she moved.

"Yes, I hurts all over," answered Dolly.

"Did you fall down?"

"No, I didn't," mumbled Dolly, with her mouth full.

"Then how did you hurt yourself so much?"

"Dunno," said Dolly, sullenly. But she did know; she knew right well that those terrible racking pains came from that night spent in the Ice Glen. She had a feeling as if Bessie must know it too. "Now just you and that man clear out. I came here first," she muttered.

"Don't fret yourself: your company's not so pleasant, nor your talk so sweet, that the little lady need want more of it," said Starr. "Miss Bessie, my dear, won't you come?"

"Yes," said Bessie, "in a moment," and then, turning again to the girl, – "Dolly, I am very sorry for you."

"Humph," said Dolly, in a tone as if she could not believe this.

"Don't you think I am?" said Bessie.

"I knows better," was the answer she received.

"But I am, Dolly, really. I am very sorry for you, 'cause you have that pain, and 'cause you don't have any one to love you, and take care of you, and teach you. Wouldn't you let me be a little kind to you?"

"If you're so sorry, give me another of them," said Dolly again, looking at the bananas with a greedy eye. She had never tasted any thing so delicious in her life, and the one which Bessie had given only made her more anxious for a second.

Bessie gave a little sigh.

"I would if they were mine," she said; "but they are not, and so I cannot give them to you."

"Be off then. You're glad I ache so; I know you are 'cause I plagued you so."

Starr's patience was at an end; and, lifting his little charge in his arms, he plunged through the opening in the bushes.

"Miss Bessie," he said, "you ought to let that girl alone; she's not fit for you to care for, and it's all kindness thrown away."

Bessie looked very grave and thoughtful.

"Starr," she said, presently, "if she is fit for Jesus to care for, she must be fit for us to care for."

Starr was silenced: he had not another word to say.

When Bessie reached her playfellows, the fire was burning famously; but they had waited to husk the corn till she should come to have her share in that pleasure.

"But where is your banana?" asked Maggie, when her sister divided the Colonel's gift.

"It is gone," answered Bessie.

"Oh!" said Maggie, "why, didn't you wait to eat it with the rest of us? But never mind, you shall have half of mine."

"Let's husk the corn now," said Harry; "we'll have the bananas by and by."

The ears were soon stripped of their green dress and silken tassels, and laid round the fire to roast. Then Bessie told Maggie she wanted to tell her a secret, and drew her a little aside from the others.

"Maggie," she said, "I did not eat my banana; I gave it away."

"Did you?" said Maggie. "That was very good of you, 'cause you're so fond of them. Who did you give it to?"

"To Dolly," answered Bessie.

"To Dolly! that bad thing!" exclaimed Maggie; "where did you see her?"

Bessie told how she and Starr had found Dolly, and of what had passed, ending with, —

"I would have given her another banana if any of them had been mine, Maggie; and I thought you would have given her yours too, to show her you wanted to be kind to her, if you only knew about it."

"So I would," said Maggie, "and I wouldn't have cared if you had given it to her. I will let you do just what you choose with any thing of mine, Bessie, and not be a bit provoked."

"But it was not mine, you see," said Bessie, "and I didn't think it would be right when you did not tell me to."

"I'd give it to her now, if I was to see her," said Maggie; "but then we couldn't go and find her, you know. She might do something to us."

"I don't think she could very well," said Bessie. "It hurts her so to move; and her speaking sounds like mine when I have the croup. Starr said he thought she looked very sick. She's just over behind those bushes, and some one could go and take care of us. I think she would be sure we are sorry for her if we took it to her. Shall we ask papa about it?"

Maggie agreed, and papa was called and told the whole story, and of their wish to take the second banana to Dolly.

He thought it over for a moment or two, and then said he would let them take it, and would go with them to see that no harm befell them at Dolly's hands.

XI.
"GOOD FOR EVIL."

DOLLY was found lying in the same spot, and almost in the same position, in which Bessie and Starr had left her; but now she was half asleep.

Thinking she might receive the children's kindness in a better spirit, if there was no older person to look on, Mr. Bradford helped his little daughters through the screening bushes, and then drew back a few steps where he might still watch them, and hear all that passed, but where Dolly could not see him.

At the rustling of the children's footsteps upon the dry leaves and branches, Dolly started and opened her heavy eyes, to see Maggie and Bessie standing hand in hand before her. The old, fierce, defiant look flashed into them for one moment, then died out again before timid Maggie had time to start back and draw her sister with her.

"My Maggie came to bring you her banana," said Bessie, gently. "I couldn't give it to you, 'cause it was not mine; but when I told her you didn't have any thing to eat for 'most two days, she was sorry for you, and said you should have it."

"It's good. I like it," said Dolly, as Maggie, summoning all her courage, stepped slowly towards her and gave her the banana.

"Dolly," said Bessie, "will you believe now that we are sorry for you, and want to be kind to you?"

"I s'pose so," answered Dolly, gruffly, as if she were still half unwilling or unable to believe that they meant what they said.

They stood in silence, watching the half-famished creature as she eat her fruit, then Bessie said, —

"Dolly, why don't you go home?"

"No, I shan't neither, I aint goin' to stir," she answered snappishly, with one quick, suspicious glance at the children, and another towards the trunk of the old tree against which she leaned. "I've got a right here, if I've a mind to stay. 'Taint your ground nor Porter's neither."

"Oh, no!" said Bessie, "I did not mean that, only you have such a bad cold, and it hurts you so to move, and these rocks are so hard, I should think you'd be more comfortable in your bed at home."

"Guess my home's a sight more comfortable than these rocks, aint it?" said Dolly, with a grin. "One's about as good as t'other."

"Poor Dolly!" said Bessie, "I wish you had a better home, and some one to care for you and Lem."

"What for? I s'pose you think I wouldn't bother you then."

"I hope you wouldn't," said Bessie; "but I was not thinking about that. It was only 'cause I am so sorry that you don't have a nice home and plenty to eat, and people to love you. But, Dolly, you know Jesus loves you."

"No, he don't neither," was the answer.

"But he does, indeed he does," said Bessie, earnestly; "he loves you all the time, and it makes him sorry when you are naughty; but if you won't do so any more, but will try to love him, he will be glad, and then you will be his own little child, 'cause he says, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' and he means all children. Mrs. Rush taught us that one Sunday."

"I say," said Dolly, "I could ha' plagued you last Sunday if I'd had a mind to. The old dog wasn't there."

"No: Buffer was sick last Sunday afternoon," answered Bessie. "Did you come by our Sunday bower?"

"I came by the place where you go of Sundays," said Dolly; "but I didn't do nothin', 'cause I had a mind to hear you singin'. It sounded nice: I liked it."

"Will you come next Sunday?" said Bessie, eager for the slightest chance of doing Dolly good. "Mrs. Rush and the Colonel would let you, I am sure; and they'll tell you about Jesus a great deal better than I can, and how he loves you, and will take you to heaven, if you will only be a good girl and love him. Wouldn't you like to hear about it?"

"Dunno," said Dolly; "I like to hear you sing. Jesus is God, aint he?"

"Yes," said Bessie, coming closer to the poor girl, and drawing Maggie with her. "He is God's Son, and he came away from his heaven to die for us, so we could go there, and live with him, if we would only love him and do what he tells us. And heaven is such a beautiful place! Dolly, the angels are there; and every one will be so happy; and no one will be hungry or sick or tired there; and Jesus will take care of us always, always. Wouldn't you like to go there, Dolly?"

"I'd like to go somewhere," said Dolly wearily; "I'm about tired of this. I'd like not to be hungry, nor to have this pain no more. But 'taint likely your Jesus wants me in his beautiful place. I s'pose he wants clean folks with nice clothes, not old dirty rags like mine."

Maggie was beginning to feel braver as she saw that Dolly was quiet and not in a mood for mischief, and now she spoke.

"Jesus won't mind about rags if you only have a heart that loves him," she said. "He loves you just as much in your rags, as he loves some other little girl who is dressed nicely."

"How do you know he loves me?" asked Dolly.

"'Cause the Bible says so," said Maggie; "so it must be true, 'cause the Bible is God's word. And besides, Dolly, if Jesus came to die for you, so you could go to heaven, don't you think he must love you? When a person does a very kind thing for you, don't that make you think they love you?"

"Did you give me them goodies 'cause you loved me?" said Dolly.

Maggie was rather disturbed at this question, and did not know how to answer it; but Bessie, seeing her trouble, spoke for her.

"Why, no, Dolly," she said, "I'm 'fraid we don't love you very much; you know you couldn't 'spect us to: but we wanted to be kind to you, and to make you know we wanted to forgive you for troubling us so."

"You was real good to give me them things," said Dolly; "they was first rate. And you was good to get Lem let out too; he told me. But I say," – and Dolly really looked half ashamed, – "'twant him did that."

Bessie thought she was speaking of the cup.

"I don't believe very much that he did," she said. "Mr. Porter thinks maybe the pedler-man took it, 'cause he went to Farmer Todd's house, and after he was gone some spoons were lost; and they think he stole them, so maybe he has my cup too."

"I didn't mean that," answered Dolly, slowly. "I meant 'twant Lem spiled your gardens, but – I am sorry I done it – there now. And Lem aint got your cup; you can just know it."

"We try to believe he didn't," said Bessie. Then she added, with a quiver of her lip and a tear or two gathering in her eyes, "I don't think any one could have taken it if they had known how very fond I was of it. You see, Dolly, I had that cup a great, great many years, ever since I was a little baby; and I always had my drink out of it, so you see we grew up together, and I don't know how I can bear never to see it again. I was pretty much troubled to lose my cup and my garden too."

Dolly looked uneasily at her, moved restlessly on her hard bed, and sank back again with another moan.

"I guess we'll have to go now," said Maggie.

"Will you come next Sunday and hear Mrs. Rush tell about Jesus and how he loved you?" said Bessie. "Or papa and mamma would tell you about it if you liked. They can do it a great deal better than we can."

"No," said Dolly, "I don't want to hear big folks. I don't mind your speaking to me if you choose. But, I say, don't you never sing but on Sundays?"

"Oh, yes!" said Bessie, "we sing every day and sometimes a good many times in the day."

"I like music," said Dolly. "Lem whistles fustrate."

"Yes, we know it," said Maggie. "Once we heard him when we couldn't see him, and we asked Mr. Porter who it was, and he told us it was Lem; and we listened as long as we could hear him: it sounded so sweet and clear. I never heard any one whistle like that."

"Yes," said Dolly, looking pleased; "nobody can beat him at that. S'pose you couldn't sing me a tune 'fore you go, could you? It's so lonesome, lying here."

"Why, yes: we will if you want us to," Bessie answered readily, though she as well as Maggie was much surprised at the request. "We'll sing, 'I want to be an angel.'"

So they stood, these two "ministering children," and sang; their young voices rising sweet and clear amid the solemn stillness of the grand old woods; for very still it was. As the first notes arose, the friends whom they had left, hushed laughter and merry talk that they might not lose one of the sweet sounds. They only knew that Maggie and Bessie had wandered off with papa, and thought this was meant as a pleasant surprise for them.

But it was a higher, greater Friend, – a "Friend above all others," – whom our little jewel-seekers were just then trying to please; and, although they might not know it, they had that day taken up the first link of the golden chain, by which poor Dolly's soul was to be drawn out of the clouds and darkness in which it had lain, up into the light and sunshine of his glorious presence. A very slight and fragile link it might seem, but it was doubtless very precious in the eyes of the heavenly Father, whose hands could make it strong and lasting, and fit to shine before him in the "day when he shall make up his jewels."

Very precious it was, too, in the eyes of the earthly father, who watched the scene, and looking from his own tenderly cared for, daintily dressed darlings, to the forlorn, ragged outcast, thanked God that for all three alike had the blessed words been spoken, "Suffer little children to come unto me."

"Is that place the song talks about that heaven you was telling about?" asked Dolly when the children had finished "I want to be an angel."

"Yes," said Bessie. "You do want to go there; don't you, Dolly?"

"'Taint no use wantin," said Dolly. "I'll never get there, nor Lem neither. Sing some more."

"We'll sing 'Rest for the weary,' 'cause she said she was so tired," said Maggie.

When they were through, Mr. Bradford stepped from behind the bushes which had hidden him until now.

Dolly started when she saw him, and the old look, half guilty, half defiant, came back to her eyes. But she soon found she need not be afraid; for, bending over her, he said, kindly, —

"My poor girl, you are in great pain, I fear. How did you hurt yourself?"

"Didn't hurt myself," grumbled Dolly, still suspicious, and shrinking from that grave, steady look.