"For our Maggie and Bessie, the dear little workers in the garden of the Lord, who tended the Christian plants of patience, kindness, and forbearance, till their lovely blossoms overranthe evil weeds of malice and ill-will, and sowed the seeds of that which brought forth fruit for the glory of God."
"For our Maggie and Bessie, the dear little workers in the garden of the Lord, who tended the Christian plants of patience, kindness, and forbearance, till their lovely blossoms overranthe evil weeds of malice and ill-will, and sowed the seeds of that which brought forth fruit for the glory of God."
"I don't understand it," said Maggie. "Does it mean the canary is for Bessie and me?"
"Of course," said Harry.
"But I am sure we ought not to have any credit about the marigolds," said Maggie, still wondering. "If there is any, it is Dolly's or Lem's."
"And Harry," said Bessie, "the marigolds are pretty ugly. I don't much think we ought to have a prize, even if we had grown them up."
"Dolly left you the marigolds," said Harry; "so, if they win a prize you ought surely to have it, and I am glad of it,—that I am. But I don't quite think it was these poor little scrubs that had that honor."
"But, O Maggie! just to think of that lovely, darling, little birdie being for us," said Bessie, pleasure beginning to have its way over surprise; "and we never 'spected a thing 'cause we had no flowers."
"Yes," said Maggie, now in great delight as she began to understand how it was, "and we would rather have had it than any thing else."
Never was a birdie coaxed with more pretty names than was this one during the next ten minutes; and he seemed to like them well, for, after answering with one or two more half-timid "cheeps," he broke into a soft trill, which soon swelled into a clear, sweet song of joy.
Maggie and Bessie were in ecstasies, and Cousin Alexander certainly had reason to think his kindness had given all the pleasure he intended it should.
This was the last day they were to spend at the homestead, and the children made the most of it. Every nook and corner was visited, and all kinds of odd traps were dragged to light, and presented by the young cousins to be kept in memory of the old place, "family relics," Maggie called them; and very curious "family relics" some of them were. Among other things were two or three peacock feathers, a turkey wing, some pebbles from the brookwhere papa used to sail his boats when he was a boy, a piece of rusty tin pipe, which, because it looked black and smoky, and came from the field where the burnt barn had stood, they persuaded themselves must be a part of the very leader down which papa slid when he ran for the ladder to save his little brother,—all these, and other treasures of like value, were carefully collected and stowed in the wagons, to be carried to the Lake House, and thence to the city.
But at last the busy, happy day came to an end, and farewell had to be said to the dear old homestead and the kind family there.
Birdie did not like his ride up the mountain at all, but chirped in a very miserable, beseeching manner all the way; and, when he was safely at the Lake House and hung up out of the reach of Mrs. Porter's old pussy cat, tucked his head under his wing, and went to sleep at once, as if he were glad to forget all his troubles.
But he was bright enough the next morning;for he woke the little girls with his song some time before the hour at which they were accustomed to rise. Bessie, always a light sleeper, was the first to be roused by his sweet notes, that soft, half-doubtful little trill with which he began; but, as it rose into a gush of joyous music, Maggie, too, stirred, and opened her eyes. She listened a moment, then turned towards Bessie, who lay with her eyes fixed on the bird with a dreamy, thoughtful look.
"What are you thinking of, Bessie?" she asked, softly.
"I was thinking," said Bessie, "that it seemed as if our Father was letting the jewel of forgiveness sparkle a little for us here before we carried it over the river to Him."
"Yes," said Maggie, "I was thinking something like that last night, but I did not put it in such nice words; and I am just going to put in the Complete Family, that B. Happy said it. And perhaps, Bessie, if we had not taken up the jewel of prayer, and asked ourFather for help, we might never have found the other jewels."
"Or, if He had not helped us very much, we might not have taken them up, when we did find them," said Bessie. "It was pretty hard work to take up that first one of giving the banana to Dolly; and, Maggie, do you know I did such a very naughty thing as 'most to wish He did not give me the chance I had asked for: but, after that, all the rest were very easy to take up, and I did not find it at all hard to forgive Dolly every thing she had done."
"Yes," said Maggie: "I guess that's always the way, and after all, I did not have to forgive Lem and Dolly near so many times as 'seventy times seven.' Oh, yes, you darling birdie! do you want to say you know all about it? Bessie, let's think the canary is a kind of keepsake from Dolly, 'cause you know it seems as if it came by her, and mamma says it is of no use to take the marigolds to town, for they will be quite dead in a few weeks."
"Yes, so we will, Maggie, and that's a verynice idea of you; and then we might call our birdie 'Marigold,' for memory of the poor little plants as well as Dolly."
"Oh, yes!" said Maggie; "that's lovely, so we just will."
So from this day the canary was called Marigold, nor was it long before he knew his name, and would answer with a chirp when it was called.
In two or three days more, they said good-by to Chalecoo and all its pleasures. The parting was a hard one on all sides, especially for Mr. Porter's family, who knew how much they would miss the sweet childish voices, the merry laughter, and patter of little feet, which had made the old house so gay and bright through all the long summer.
As for poor Lem, he was in despair. He had begged hard to go with Mr. Stanton, promising the best of behavior if he were only allowed to do so; but the gentleman did not think the city was the best place for a boy like Lem, and thought it wiser to leave him in thecare of Mr. Porter, who promised to keep him for the winter, and give him work if he would try to do well, and be honest and industrious. In the spring, if Mr. Porter could give a good account of him, Mr. Stanton meant to send him out to sea, with some good, careful captain who would try to do well for the boy. Lem had such a fancy for a roving life, that this was thought the best thing for him; but just now even this promised pleasure was lost sight of in his grief at the loss of his kind friend. His father had never come back; and, from all that could be learned, it was believed that he had gone to a far-away country, leaving his poor children to shift for themselves.
All agreed that it was better so. A heavenly Father had cared for these poor desolate ones, and sent them help in the time of their greatest need. One had no longer need of earthly care, but was safe with Jesus in that home which He had bought for her with His precious blood; and for the other, there was much to be hoped. A strong desire to pleaseMr. Stanton, and a fear of doing what would have grieved Dolly, kept him from much that was wrong; and he could scarcely be known for the same boy, who a few months since had been a terror to every small child and harmless animal, and a torment to every farmer and housekeeper in Chalecoo.
"Good-by! good-by! good-by!" The words, so hard to say, were spoken; and dear old Mrs. Porter stood upon the piazza steps, wiping her eyes with her apron, as she watched the wagons going slowly past the lake, and carrying our friends down the mountain for the last time.
"Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer," she said to Dolly and Fanny, who stood beside her, feeling almost as mournful; "if I'd known I'd feel so bad to part with them, I don't know as I could have made up my mind to take them: but those dear little ones have just taken the heart right out of me. Well, God bless them, wherever they may go."
"As He does," said Fanny, "for surely theyhave brought a blessing here this summer. Who would have thought such little things could do a bit of good to those two?" and she looked at Lem, who lay with his face buried in the grass, trying to hide his tears; "and yet see what they've been the means of bringing to them."
"Ay, Fanny," said her mother, "little hands may do God's work, if they but take it up in His strength and with His help."
"Well," said Mr. Porter, when he had taken the homeward-bound party safely to the place where they were to take the boat down the river, "I reckon one of the best jobs I ever did was to take you up Chalecoo mountain for the first time, and one of the worst to bring you down for the last."
"But you can findconsolementto think we are coming back some other time," said Maggie; "and we thank you very much for letting us have a nice time this summer, Mr. Porter."
"Yes," said Bessie, "we had a lovely, happytime among the mountains, even if the sea was not there."
And now as we leave our Maggie and Bessie, are there not some little friends who will say that they have spent a useful as well as a happy summer among the mountains?
THE END decorative end capTHE END
THE END
Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and Son.
Transcriber's NotesThe cover image, added by the transcriber, is a copy of the title page which is in the public domain.Minor punctuation typos have been silently corrected.Retained both spellings of "Fanny" and "Fannie."Page41: Changed "eat" to "ate."(Orig: cracked and eat his almond.)Page354: Retained original sentence, but Dolly was dead.(Orig: "Well, I hope we may see them all back another summer," she said to Dolly and Fanny, who stood beside her,)