"My dear Little Maggie:—"I cannot tell you how pleased I was toreceive the very nice letter which you and Bessie sent me. I have put it in a safe place in my writing desk, and shall keep it as long as I live. As you wrote it together, perhaps you expected that I would make one answer do for both; but I thought you would be better pleased if I sent a letter for each one."I am glad to hear that you like Quam Beach so much; but you must not let it make you forget dear old Riverside. I am fond of the sea myself, and do not know but I may take a run down to see you some day this summer. Do you think you could give a welcome to the old man? and would Mrs. Jones make him such a famous turnover as she made for you?"I went this morning to see your friend Jemmy, for I thought you would like to hear something about him. He was out in the little garden, on the shady side of the house, sitting in his chair with his books beside him, and a happier or more contented boy I never saw. He was alone, except for his dog andrabbits, for his mother was washing, and Mary was out. Mrs. Bent brought me a chair, and I sat and talked to Jemmy for some time. I asked him which of all his books he liked best. 'Oh, my Bible, sir,' he said. 'I think it is with the Bible and other books, just like it is with people, Mr. Duncan.' 'How so?' I asked. 'Why, sir,' he answered, 'when Mary and mother are away, the neighbors often come in to sit with me and talk a bit. They are very kind, and I like to have them tell me about things; but no matter how much they make me laugh or amuse me, 'tain't like mother's voice; and if I am sick, or tired, or uncomfortable, or even glad, there ain't nobody that seems to have just the right thing to say, so well as her. And it's just so with the Bible, I think; it always has just the very thing I want: whether it's comfort and help, or words to say how happy and thankful I feel. The other books I like just as I do the neighbors; but the Bible I love just as I do mother. I suppose the reason is that the Bible is God'sown words, and he loved and pitied us so that he knew what we would want him to say, just as mother loves and pities me, and so knows what I like her to say.' Happy Jemmy! he knows how to love and value God's holy book, that most precious gift, in which all may find what their souls need. May my little Maggie learn its worth as the poor lame boy has done."I really think your chair has done Jemmy good. He looks brighter, and has a better color and appetite since he has been able to be out of doors so much. I do not suppose he will ever be able to walk again, but he does not fret about that, and is thankful for the blessings that are left to him. If you and Bessie could see how much he enjoys the chair, you would feel quite repaid for any pains you took to earn it for him. And now, my darling, I think I must put the rest of what I have to say, in your little sister's letter. Write to me soon again, and believe me"Your loving grandpapa,"Charles Duncan."
"My dear Little Maggie:—
"I cannot tell you how pleased I was toreceive the very nice letter which you and Bessie sent me. I have put it in a safe place in my writing desk, and shall keep it as long as I live. As you wrote it together, perhaps you expected that I would make one answer do for both; but I thought you would be better pleased if I sent a letter for each one.
"I am glad to hear that you like Quam Beach so much; but you must not let it make you forget dear old Riverside. I am fond of the sea myself, and do not know but I may take a run down to see you some day this summer. Do you think you could give a welcome to the old man? and would Mrs. Jones make him such a famous turnover as she made for you?
"I went this morning to see your friend Jemmy, for I thought you would like to hear something about him. He was out in the little garden, on the shady side of the house, sitting in his chair with his books beside him, and a happier or more contented boy I never saw. He was alone, except for his dog andrabbits, for his mother was washing, and Mary was out. Mrs. Bent brought me a chair, and I sat and talked to Jemmy for some time. I asked him which of all his books he liked best. 'Oh, my Bible, sir,' he said. 'I think it is with the Bible and other books, just like it is with people, Mr. Duncan.' 'How so?' I asked. 'Why, sir,' he answered, 'when Mary and mother are away, the neighbors often come in to sit with me and talk a bit. They are very kind, and I like to have them tell me about things; but no matter how much they make me laugh or amuse me, 'tain't like mother's voice; and if I am sick, or tired, or uncomfortable, or even glad, there ain't nobody that seems to have just the right thing to say, so well as her. And it's just so with the Bible, I think; it always has just the very thing I want: whether it's comfort and help, or words to say how happy and thankful I feel. The other books I like just as I do the neighbors; but the Bible I love just as I do mother. I suppose the reason is that the Bible is God'sown words, and he loved and pitied us so that he knew what we would want him to say, just as mother loves and pities me, and so knows what I like her to say.' Happy Jemmy! he knows how to love and value God's holy book, that most precious gift, in which all may find what their souls need. May my little Maggie learn its worth as the poor lame boy has done.
"I really think your chair has done Jemmy good. He looks brighter, and has a better color and appetite since he has been able to be out of doors so much. I do not suppose he will ever be able to walk again, but he does not fret about that, and is thankful for the blessings that are left to him. If you and Bessie could see how much he enjoys the chair, you would feel quite repaid for any pains you took to earn it for him. And now, my darling, I think I must put the rest of what I have to say, in your little sister's letter. Write to me soon again, and believe me
"Your loving grandpapa,
"Charles Duncan."
Just as mama was finishing this letter, the train came in sight, and she said she must leave Bessie's letter till they were at home. In a few minutes they saw their dear father coming towards them, and a man following with his bag and a great basket. Then papa was in the carriage, and such a hugging and kissing as he took and gave. Franky came inside that he might have his share, too; and baby woke up, good-natured as she always was, and smiled and crowed at her father till he said he really thought she knew him, and was glad to see him. Mamma was quite sure she did.
When they had all settled down once more, and papa had asked and answered a good many questions, he said, "Maggie and Bessie, I met a very curious old gentleman to-day; what strange question do you think he asked me?"
The children were sure they did not know.
"He asked me if there were any little girls down this way who wrote letters to old gentleman?"
Maggie and Bessie looked at each other, and Maggie shook her head very knowingly; but they waited to hear what papa would say next.
"I told him I thought I knew of two such young damsels, and what do you think he did then?"
"What?" asked both the little girls at once.
"He handed me these two parcels and told me if I could find any such little letter-writers, to ask them if they would prove useful."
As Mr. Bradford spoke, he produced two parcels. Like the letters, they were directed one to Miss Maggie Bradford, and the other to Miss Bessie Bradford. They were quickly opened, and inside were two purple leather writing cases, very small, but as Bessie said, "perfaly pretty." They had steel corners and locks, and a plate with each little girl's name engraved upon her own. In each were found a small inkstand, a pen, and two pencils, two sticks of sealing wax, and best of all, tiny notepaper and envelopes stamped M. S. B., and B. R. B.
It would have done Grandpapa Duncan good to have seen his pets' pleasure. Maggie fairly screamed with delight. "Oh, such paper, such lovely stamped paper."
"And suchembelopes," said Bessie, "with our own name letters on them."
"I am going to write to every one I know in the world," cried Maggie.
"Mamma," said Bessie, when they had looked again and again at their beautiful presents, "I do think God has made all my people the very best people that ever lived. I don't think any little girls have such people as mine."
"I suppose every other little girl thinks the same thing, Bessie."
"Mamma, how can they? they don't have you, nor papa, nor Maggie, nor Grandpapa Duncan, nor grandmamma;" and Bessie went on naming all the people whom she loved, and who loved her.
Papa asked if they had not each had a letter from Grandpapa Duncan. The writing cases had almost made them forget the letters; but now they showed them to papa, and he told Bessie he would read hers. He let her open it herself, and taking her on his knee, read:
"My dear Little Bessie,—"Maggie will tell you how much I was pleased with the letter you both sent me, but I must thank you for your share in it. Your old grandpapa is very happy to know that his little pets think about him, and care for him when they are away. I am glad to hear that you are better, and hope you will come home with cheeks as red as Maggie's."We are all well here except poor little Nellie, who is cutting some teeth which hurt her very much, and make her rather fretful. She has learned to say two or three words, and among them she makes a curious sound which her mamma declares to be a very plain grandpapa; as she looks at me every time she saysit, I suppose I must believe it is so; but I must say it does not sound much like it to my ears. However, she loves her old grandpapa dearly, which is a great pleasure to me."Your little dog Flossy is growing finely. He is very pretty and lively, and will make a fine playmate for you and Maggie when you come home. I went down to Donald's cottage the other day and found all four of the puppies playing before the door while Alice sat on the steps watching them. She says they are growing very mischievous and have already broken two or three of Donald's fine plants, so that when she lets them out for a play, she has to keep her eye on them all the time. Alice asked about you and Maggie, and I could not help wishing with her that you were there to see your little doggie. It will be pleasant to have you at Riverside again in the autumn. Send me another letter, if you wish to please"Your loving grandpapa,"Charles Duncan."
"My dear Little Bessie,—
"Maggie will tell you how much I was pleased with the letter you both sent me, but I must thank you for your share in it. Your old grandpapa is very happy to know that his little pets think about him, and care for him when they are away. I am glad to hear that you are better, and hope you will come home with cheeks as red as Maggie's.
"We are all well here except poor little Nellie, who is cutting some teeth which hurt her very much, and make her rather fretful. She has learned to say two or three words, and among them she makes a curious sound which her mamma declares to be a very plain grandpapa; as she looks at me every time she saysit, I suppose I must believe it is so; but I must say it does not sound much like it to my ears. However, she loves her old grandpapa dearly, which is a great pleasure to me.
"Your little dog Flossy is growing finely. He is very pretty and lively, and will make a fine playmate for you and Maggie when you come home. I went down to Donald's cottage the other day and found all four of the puppies playing before the door while Alice sat on the steps watching them. She says they are growing very mischievous and have already broken two or three of Donald's fine plants, so that when she lets them out for a play, she has to keep her eye on them all the time. Alice asked about you and Maggie, and I could not help wishing with her that you were there to see your little doggie. It will be pleasant to have you at Riverside again in the autumn. Send me another letter, if you wish to please
"Your loving grandpapa,
"Charles Duncan."
OONE morning Bessie was sitting on a large rock on the beach, looking at the waves as they rolled up, one after another, and listening to the pleasant sound they made. The other children and Jane were playing a little way off.
Presently a lady and gentleman came walking slowly along the beach. The gentleman used crutches, for he had only one foot. They stopped at the rock where Bessie sat, and the lady said, "You had better sit down, Horace, you have walked far enough."
The gentleman sat down beside Bessie, who looked at him for a minute and then got up.
"I'll sit on that other stone," she said, "and then there'll be room for the lady: that is big enough for me."
"Thank you, dear," said the lady; and the gentleman said, "Well, you are a polite little girl."
Bessie liked his looks, but it made her sorry to see that he had only one foot. She sat opposite to him looking at him very gravely; and he looked back at her, but with a smile. Now that Bessie had given up her seat to the strangers, she felt they were her company and she must entertain them, so she began to talk.
"Is your foot pretty well, sir?" she said.
"Which foot?" asked the gentleman.
"The one that is cut off."
"How can it be pretty well if it is cut off?" he said; "you see it is not here to feel pretty well."
"I mean the place where it was cut off," said Bessie.
"It pains me a good deal," he said. "I am a soldier, and my foot was hurt in battle and had to be cut off, but I hope it will feel better one of these days. I have come down here to see what the sea air will do for me."
"Oh, then you'll feel better, soon," said Bessie. "I used to feel verymisable, but now I am most well."
"Why, is your foot cut off, too?" asked the gentleman.
"Oh, no; don't you see I have both my two?"
"So you have," said the gentleman, laughing as she held up two little feet; "but there is not half as much in those two tiny feet, as there is in my one big one."
"I had yather have two little ones than one big one," said Bessie.
"So would I, but you see I cannot choose, and all the sea air in the world will not bring me back my other foot."
"Don't you like the sea, sir?" asked Bessie, "I do."
"Why do you like it so much?"
"Because I like to see the waves, and I think it sounds as if it was saying something all the time."
"What does it seem to say?"
"I don't know, sir. I listen to it a great deal, and I can't find out, but I like to hear it for all. I think it must be telling us to yemember our Father in heaven who made it."
"What a strange child," the gentleman whispered to the lady; "who is she like?"
"I do not know, but she is lovely;" said the lady; "I should like to take her picture as she sits there."
"What is your name, fairy?" asked the gentleman.
"Bessie," said the little girl.
"Bessie what?"
"Bessie Bradford."
"Bessie Bradford! and what is your father's name?"
"His name is Bradford, too."
"But what is his first name?"
"Mr." said Bessie, gravely.
The gentleman laughed. "Has he no other names?"
"Oh, yes;" said Bessie, "all his names are Mr. Henry, Lane, Bradford."
"I thought so," said the gentleman, "she is the very image of Helen Duncan. And where is your father, Bessie?"
"Up in the house, yeading to mamma," said Bessie, looking away from him to the lady. She was very pretty and had a sweet smile. Bessie liked her face very much and sat gazing at her as earnestly as she had before done at the gentleman who presently said, "Well, what do you think of this lady?"
"I think she is very pretty," said Bessie, turning her eyes back to him.
"So do I," said the gentleman, "do you think that I am very pretty, too?"
"No," said Bessie.
"Then what do you think about me?"
"I think you are pretty 'quisitive," said the little girl, at which both the lady and gentleman laughed heartily; but Bessie looked very sober.
"Will you give me a kiss, little one?" asked the stranger.
"No," said Bessie, "I had yather not."
"Why, you are not afraid of me?"
"Oh, no!" said Bessie, "I am not afraid of soldiers; I like them."
"Then why won't you kiss me?"
"I don't kiss strangers, if they're gentlemen," said Bessie.
"And that is very prudent, too," said the soldier, who seemed very much amused; "but then you see I am not quite a stranger."
"Oh, what a—I mean I think you are mistaken, sir," said Bessie.
"Don't tease her, dear," said the lady.
"But, little Bessie," said the gentleman, "do you call people strangers who know a great deal about you?"
"No," said Bessie; "but you don't know anything about me."
"Yes, I do; in the first place I know that you are a very kind and polite little girl who is ready to give up her place to a lame soldier. Next, I know that your father's name is Mr. Henry, Lane, Bradford, and that yours is Bessie Rush Bradford, and that you look verymuch like your aunt, Helen Duncan. Then I know that you have a little sister, whose name is—let me see, well, I think her name is Margaret, after your mother; and you have two brothers, Harry and Fred. There is another little one, but I have forgotten his name."
"Franky," said Bessie; "and we have baby, too."
"Ah, well, I have never made baby's acquaintance. And this is not your home, but you live in New York, at No. 15 —— street, where I have spent many a pleasant hour. And more than all this, I know there is a lady in Baltimore named Elizabeth Rush, who loves you very much, and whom you love; and that a few days since you wrote a letter to her and told her how sorry you were that her brother who was 'shooted' had had his foot cut off."
While the gentleman was saying all this, Bessie had slipped off her stone and come up to him, and now she was standing, with one little hand on his knee, looking up eagerly into his face.
"Why, do you know the lady whom I call my Aunt Bessie?" she said.
"Indeed I do; and now if you are so sorry for Aunt Bessie's brother, would you not like to do something to help him?"
"I can't," said Bessie; "I am too little."
"Yes, you can," said the colonel, "you can give me a kiss, and that would help me a great deal."
"Why," said Bessie, again, "do you mean that you are Colonel Yush, dear Aunt Bessie's brother?"
"To be sure I am," said the colonel; "and now are you going to give me the kiss for her sake?"
"Yes, sir, and for your own sake, too."
"Capital, we are coming on famously, and shall soon be good friends at this rate," said the colonel as he stooped and kissed the rosy little mouth which Bessie held up to him.
"Will you tell me about it?" she said.
"About what?"
"About how you was in that country, calledIndia, which papa says is far away over the sea, and how the wicked heathen named, named—I can't yemember."
"Sepoys?" said the colonel.
"Yes, Sepoys: how the Sepoys, who you thought were your friends, made a great fight, and killed the soldiers and put the ladies and dear little babies down a well. And how brave you was and how you was fighting and fighting not to let the Sepoys hurt some poor sick soldiers in the hospital; and the well soldiers wanted to yun away, but you wouldn't let them, but made the Sepoys yun away instead, and went after them. And then they came back with ever so many more to help them, and you and your soldiers had to go away, but you took all the sick men with you and did not let them be hurt. And you saw a soldier friend of yours who was dying, and he asked you not to let the Sepoys find him, and you put him on your horse and carried him away, and the Sepoys almost caught you. And how the very next day there was adreadful, dreadful battle when more soldiers came, and your foot was shooted and your side; and your foot had to be cut off in the hospital, and would not get well for a long, long while. And how there was a lady that you wanted for your wife, and you came to our country to get her—oh, I guess that's the lady!" Bessie stopped as she looked at the pretty lady, and the colonel smiled as he said,—
"You are right, Bessie; and what more?"
"And when you were coming in the ship, there was a little boy who fell in the water and you forgot your lame foot and jumped in after him, and your foot was hurt so much it had to be cut off some more. So please tell me all about it, sir."
Bessie said all this just as fast as her little tongue would go, and the colonel sat watching her with a very amused look on his face. "Upon my word, you are well posted, little one. I do not know that I could tell the story better myself; how did you learn so much?"
"Oh, Aunt Bessie put it in the letters she yote to mamma, and mamma told us about it, and Harry yeads and yeads it; and Maggie made a nice play about it. Harry gets on the yocking horse and plays he is Colonel Yush, and Fred is the soldier that you helped."
"Very good," said the colonel, "and what are you and Maggie?"
"Oh! we are Harry's soldiers, I meanyoursoldiers, and Franky is, too; and we have the nursery chairs for horses, and our dolls for sick soldiers, and we have the pillows for Sepoys, and we poke them; and nurse don't like it, 'cause she says we make a yumpus and a muss in the nursery."
"I should think so," said the colonel, laughing heartily.
"Will you tell me the story?" asked Bessie.
"I think I had better tell you another, since you know that so well," said Colonel Rush; "I will tell you one about a drummer boy."
But just as he began the story Bessie sawher father coming towards them, and in another minute he and the colonel were shaking hands and seeming so glad to see one another. Then Mr. Bradford turned and looked at the pretty lady, and the colonel said, "Yes, this is the lady of whom you have heard as Miss Monroe, now Mrs. Rush. She has taken charge of what is left of me."
"Isn't sheperfalylovely, papa?" asked Bessie, as Mr. Bradford took off his hat and shook hands with the lady, and she saw a pretty pink color come into her cheeks which made her look sweeter than ever. Papa looked as if he quite agreed with his little daughter, but he only smiled and said, "My Bessie speaks her mind on all occasions."
"So I see," said the colonel, looking very much pleased.
"Did I talk too much, sir?" asked Bessie, not knowing exactly whether he meant to find fault with her, for she was sometimes told at home that she talked too much.
"Not one word," he answered; "and I hopeyou will often come and see me at my rooms in the hotel, and talk to me there. I am very fond of little children."
"If mamma will let me," said Bessie; "but I can't comeveryoften, 'cause I don't want to be away from Maggie."
"Oh, Maggie must come, too," said the colonel.
"Maggie is shy," said Bessie.
"Well, you bring her to my room, and we will see if I have not something there that will cure her shyness."
But papa called Maggie to come and see Colonel and Mrs. Rush, and when she heard that this was the brave English soldier about whom she had made the famous play, her shyness was forgotten at once, and she was quite as ready to be friends as Bessie, though she had not much to say.
"You know, Bessie," she said afterwards, "we're so very acquainted with him in our hearts, he is not quite a stranger."
The next morning, Mrs. Bradford went tothe hotel to call on Mrs. Rush, taking Maggie and Bessie with her; and from this time the little girls and the colonel were the best friends possible, though Bessie was his particular pet and plaything, and she always called him her soldier. When he felt well enough, and the day was not too warm, he would come out and sit on the beach for an hour or two. The moment he came moving slowly along on his crutches, Bessie was sure to see him, and no matter what she was doing, off she would run to meet him. As long as he stayed she never left him, and her mother sometimes feared that the colonel might grow tired of having such a little child so much with him, but he told her it was a great pleasure to him; and indeed it seemed to be so, for though there were a great many people at Quam Beach who knew him and liked to talk to him, he never forgot the little friend who sat so quietly at his side, and had every now and then a word, or smile, or a touch of his hand for her.
Bessie had been taught that she must notinterrupt when grown people were speaking; so, though she was a little chatterbox when she had leave to talk, she knew when it was polite and proper for her to be quiet.
If the colonel could not come down to the shore, he was almost sure to send for Maggie and Bessie to come to his room, until it came to be quite a settled thing that they were to pass some time there every day when he did not go out, and many a pleasant hour did they spend there. He told them the most delightful and interesting stories of people and things that he had seen while he was in India, being always careful not to tell anything that might shock or grieve them, from the day that he was speaking of the sad death of a little drummer boy, when, to his great surprise and distress, both children broke into a violent fit of crying, and it was some time before they could be pacified. Then such toys as he carved out of wood! He made a little boat with masts and sails for each of them, which they used to sail in the pools that were left by the tide;and a beautiful set of jack-straws, containing arrows, spears, swords, trumpets, and guns.
One day he asked Harry to bring him some sprigs from the spruce tree, and the next time Maggie and Bessie came to see him, there was a tiny set of furniture,—a sofa and half a dozen chairs to match, all made of those very sprigs. He used to lie and carve, while Mrs. Rush was reading to him; and sometimes he worked while the children were there, and it was such a pleasure to watch him. Then he had some books with fine pictures, and oh! wonder of wonders, and what the children liked best of all, such a grand musical-box, they had never seen one like it. Mamma had a small one which played three tunes, but it was a baby musical-box to this, which was so very much larger, and played twenty. They never tired of it, at least Bessie did not; and she would sit looking into it and listening so earnestly that often she seemed to see and hear nothing else around her. Maggie was fond of it, too, but she could not keep quiet so long as Bessie,and often wanted to be off and playing out of doors long before her sister was ready to go.
There were many days when the colonel was suffering too much pain to talk or play with them, and they had to be very still if they went into his room. Then Maggie never cared to stay very long, nor indeed did the colonel care much to have her; for though she tried her best to be gentle and quiet, those restless little hands and feet seemed as if they must be moving; and she was almost sure to shake his sofa, or to go running and jumping across the room, in a way that distressed him very much, though her merry ways amused him when he was able to bear them. Quiet little mouse of a Bessie went stealing about so softly that she never disturbed the sick man; and so it came about that she spent many an hour in his room without Maggie. Maggie never half enjoyed her play, if her sister was not with her; but she was not selfish, and did not complain if Bessie sometimes left her for a while.
OONE afternoon when the children had gone over to the hotel to see grandmamma, a basket of fine fruit came, from Riverside. They had not been to the colonel's room for two or three days, for he had been suffering very much, and was not able to see any one. When the fruit came grandmamma put some on a plate, and sent Bessie with it to the colonel's door, but told her that she must not go in.
Bessie went to the door, and, putting her plate down on the hall floor, knocked very gently. Mrs. Rush came and opened the door, and, taking up her plate again, Bessie handed it to her, gave her grandmamma's message, and was going away, when she heard the colonel's voice. "Is that my pet?" he said.
"Yes, sir; and I love you very much, and I am so sorry for you; but grandmamma said I must not come in."
"But I want to see you," said the colonel.
"You can come in, darling," said Mrs. Rush; "he is better this afternoon, and would like to see you."
"But I better mind grandma first; bettern't I?" said Bessie. "I'll yun and ask her, and if she'll let me, I can come back."
Mrs. Rush smiled, and said, "Very well;" and the obedient little girl ran to ask her grandmamma's permission.
Grandmamma said, "Certainly, if the colonel wanted her."
"Didn't he invite me?" said Maggie, with rather a long face.
"No," said Bessie. "Would you yather I would not go? I'll stay with you, if you want me."
"I guess you had better go, if he wants you," said Maggie; "but don't stay very long, Bessie; it's very sorrowful without you."
"Poor Maggie," said Walter, who was standing by at the time; "it is very cruel in the colonel not to ask you. Never mind, you shall come and take care of me when I lose my foot."
"Oh, no, it's me you ought to call cruel," said Maggie, in a very doleful voice; "you know I am such a fidget, Walter, and I can't help it. The other day the colonel was so sick, and I meant to be so quiet, and yet I did two shocking things."
"What did you do?" asked Walter.
"I knocked over a chair, and I slammed the door; and so mamma said I must not go again till he was better."
"But what do you do without Bessie, when she goes?" said Walter; "I thought you two could not live apart."
"We can't," said Maggie; "but then, you see, the colonel is a sick, lame soldier, with a foot cut off and a hole in his side; so, if he wants Bessie, I ought to make a sacrifice of myself and let her go."
The boys laughed; but Tom said, "That is right, little woman, do all you can for the soldiers; they have sacrificed enough for us." And Bessie kissed her sister and ran back to the colonel's room.
"Why, is he better?" she asked, as Mrs. Rush lifted her up to kiss him. "I think he looks very worse. Oh, how big his eyes are!"
The colonel laughed. "I am like the wolf in Red Riding-Hood; am I not, Bessie?" he said.
"No," she answered, "not a bit; you are just like my own dear soldier, only I wish you did not look so white."
"I think he will look better to-morrow, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush. "He has suffered terribly the last two days; but he is easier now, though he is very tired and weak, so we must not talk much to him."
"I wont talk a word, only if he speaks to me," said Bessie; and she brought a footstool and sat down by the side of the sofa. The colonel held out his hand to her, and she puther own little one in it and sat perfectly quiet. He lay looking at her, with a smile, for a few minutes, but presently his eyes closed, and Bessie thought he was asleep. He looked more ill when his eyes were shut than when they were open; his face was so very, very pale, and his black hair and beard made it look whiter still. Mrs. Rush sat by the sofa fanning her husband, while the little girl watched him with earnest, loving eyes.
At last she whispered, "If he dies, he'll go to heaven, 'cause he's so very brave and good; wont he?"
Mrs. Rush did not speak, but Bessie did not need any answer. She was quite sure in her own mind; for she never imagined that this brave soldier did not love his Saviour. "He could not be so brave and good if he did not love Jesus very much," she said, looking up at Mrs. Rush. She could not see the lady's face very plainly, for she was bending it down almost close to the pillows. Bessie went on very softly and gravely: "I supposethat's the yeason he's so patient too. Papa says he never saw any one so patient; and I guess he's like lame Jemmy. Jemmy said he couldn't help being patient when he thought how much his Saviour suffered for him, and I guess the colonel is just like him; and he was so brave in the battles, 'cause he knew Jesus loved him and would take him to heaven if he was killed. He would have been afraid, if he didn't know that. And I suppose when he was hurt in that battle and lay on the ground all night, and his own soldiers didn't know where he was, but thought the Sepoys had him, he thought about Jesus and his Father in heaven all the time, and yemembered how Jesus died for him, and kept saying his prayers to them; and so they took care of him, and let his own soldiers come and find him. Oh, I know he must love Jesus very much. And don't you think Jesus took such care of him so he could love him more yet?" Mrs. Rush's face was quite down on her husband's pillows now, and Bessie looked backat him. He had turned his head, and she could not see his face either, but she felt the hand, in which her own was lying, moving a little uneasily.
"I'm 'fraid I esturb him," she said; "I mustn't whisper any more."
She kissed his hand very gently, and laid her head on the sofa beside it. The room was rather dark, and very still, and in a few moments she was fast asleep. After a while the colonel turned his head again, opened his eyes and looked at her. Then Mrs. Rush lifted up her face.
"Were you asleep, Horace?" she asked.
"No," he said, rather crossly, and moving his head impatiently; "I wish you would take her away."
Mrs. Rush was glad that Bessie did not hear him; she knew that this would have grieved her. She lifted the little darling in her arms, and carried her across the floor to her grandmamma's room. Mrs. Stanton herself opened the door; there was no one else in the room.
"This precious child is asleep," said Mrs. Rush, in a low voice. "Shall I leave her with you?"
Mrs. Stanton asked her to lay Bessie on the bed. She did so, and then bent over her for a moment, and when she raised her head, Mrs. Stanton saw how very pale and sad her sweet face was.
"What is it, my child?" asked the kind old lady, taking her hand. Mrs. Rush burst into tears.
"Is your husband worse? Do you think him in danger?"
"Not for this life, but for that which is to come," sobbed Mrs. Rush, laying her head on Mrs. Stanton's shoulder.
"My poor child! and is it so?" said grandmamma.
"Yes, yes, and he will not hear a word on the subject; he has forbidden me to mention it to him. And if he would let me, I do not know how to teach him. I am only a beginner myself. These things are all so new tome; for it was not until I feared that I was to lose him that I felt my own need of more than human strength to uphold me. Bessie, dear little unconscious preacher, has just said more in his hearing than he has allowed me to say for months. God, in his mercy, grant that her innocent words may touch his heart. Dear Mrs. Stanton, pray for him and for me."
Mrs. Stanton tried to comfort her, and then the old lady and the young one knelt down together, while little Bessie slept on, knowing nothing of the hopes and fears and sorrows of those who prayed beside her.
N"NURSEY," said Bessie, the next morning, as nurse was putting on her shoes and stockings, after giving her her bath, "I can't think how it is."
"How what is, dear?"
"About the Trinity."
"Well!" said nurse. "The Trinity! and what put that into your head?"
"It's not in my head," said Bessie; "I can't get it there. I try and try to think how it can be, and I can't. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, three Persons and one God," she repeated, slowly; "how can it be, nursey? I know the Father means our Father in heaven, and the Son means Jesus, and the Holy Ghost means Heavenly Spirit; but there's only one God, and I don't understand."
"And wiser heads than yours can't understandit, my lamb," said nurse; "don't bother your little brains about that. It's just one of those things we must take upon faith; we must believe it without understanding it. Don't you think about it any more till you are older."
But Bessie did think about it; and her thoughtful little face looked more grave and earnest than usual all that day. Mamma wondered what she was considering, but said nothing, for she was sure that Bessie would soon come to her if she was in any difficulty.
"What are you thinking about, Bessie?" asked the colonel that afternoon, when she was in his room. He was much better, and was sitting up in his easy-chair.
"What is faith?" asked Bessie, answering his question by another, and turning her great serious, brown eyes on his face. The colonel looked surprised.
"Faith?" he said. "Why, to have faith in a person is to believe in him and trust in him."
Bessie did not look satisfied.
"When you first went in bathing," said the colonel, "did you not feel afraid?"
"No, sir," answered Bessie.
"Why not? Did you not fear that those great waves would wash you away and drown you?"
"No, sir; before I went in, I thought I would be very 'fraid; but papa said he would carry me in his arms, and wouldn't let me be drownded."
"And did you believe him?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie, opening her eyes very wide at this question; "my father don't tell stories."
"And you were not afraid when he carried you in his arms?"
"No, sir."
"That was faith,—faith in your father. You believed what he told you, and trusted in his care."
Bessie still looked puzzled.
"Well," said the colonel, "don't you understand yet?"
"I don't know how it is about things," said the little girl.
"What things?"
"Things that I don't know how they can be."
"Do you mean, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush, "that you do not know how to have faith in what you do not understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"See here, little old head on young shoulders," said the colonel, drawing Bessie closer to him, and seeming much amused, "when I told you that this box would make sweet music, did you believe me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you understand how it could?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know what this paper-knife is made of?"
"No, sir."
"It is made of the shell of a fish; do you believe it?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie.
"But you did not see it made; how can you believe it?"
"'Cause you tell me so."
"Well, then, that is faith; you believe what I say, even when you cannot understand how it is, because you trust me, or have faith in me, for you know I never tell you anything that is not true. If I sometimes told you what is false, you could not have faith in me; could you?"
"No," said the little girl, "but you never would tell mefalses."
"Indeed, I would not, my pet," he said, smiling, and twisting one of her curls over his finger.
She stood for a few minutes, as if thinking over what he had told her, and then, her whole face lighting up, she said, "Oh, yes, I know now! I believe what papa tells me when he says he'll take care of me, 'cause he always tells me true, and I know he can do it; and that's faith; and I believe what you tell me, 'cause you tell me true; and that's faith; andwe believe what God tells us, even if we can't understand how it can be, 'cause he tells us what is true; and that's faith. Now I know what nursey meant."
"What did nurse say, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush.
"She said we must have faith about three Persons in one God, and believe what we could not understand; but I think I do understand about that too. I thinked about it when I was sitting on the yocks this morning, and I am going to ask mamma if it is yight."
"And what do you think about it, Bessie?"
"Why," said Bessie, holding up her little finger, "don't you know I have a silver three cent piece? Well, there's three pennies in it—mamma said so,—but it's only one piece of money, and I suppose it's somehow that way about three Persons in one God,—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,—three Persons in one God."[A]
If the colonel had looked surprised before,he looked still more so now, while Mrs. Rush laid down her work and gazed at the child.
"Who told you that, Bessie?" she asked.
"Oh, nobody," said Bessie, innocently; "I just thinked it; maybe it is not yight. I couldn't ask mamma about it all day, 'cause she was busy, or some one came to see her; and I don't like to ask her things when somebody is there."
Mrs. Rush looked out of the window by which she sat, and seemed to be watching the sea; and Bessie stood, softly patting the colonel's knee with her hand, while for a moment or two no one spoke. Suddenly Bessie looked up in the colonel's face.
"Colonel Yush," she said, "don't you have a great deal of faith?"
"In some people, Bessie," he answered. "I have a great deal of faith in my little wife, and a great deal in my pet Bessie, and some few others."
"Oh, I mean in our Father," she said. "I should think you'd have more faith than 'mostanybody, 'cause he took such good care of you in the battles."
"What?" said the colonel, "when my leg was shot off?"
Bessie did not know whether he was in earnest or not, but she did not think it was a thing to joke about, and he did not look very well pleased, though he laughed a little when he spoke.
"Oh, don't make fun about it," she said, "I don't think He would like it. He could have let you be killed if He chose, but He didn't; and then He took such care of you all that night, and let your men come and find you. Don't you think He did it 'cause He wanted you to love Him more than you did before? Oh, I know you must have a great deal of faith! Didn't you keep thinking of Jesus all that night, and how he died for you so his Father could forgive your sins, and take you to heaven if you died?"
"I was very thankful when I heard my men coming, Bessie; but I was too weak to thinkmuch," said the colonel. "Come, let us wind the box and have some music; hand me that key."
"But you think a great deal about it when you don't feel so bad; don't you?" persisted the child, as she gave him the key of the musical box.
"Pshaw!" said the colonel, throwing it down again on the table; "what absurdity it is to fill a child's head—"
"Horace!" said Mrs. Rush, in a quick, startled voice.
The colonel stopped short, then taking up the paper-cutter, began tapping the table in a very impatient manner. "I am sick of the whole thing," he said; "there seems to be no end to it. Wife, sister, and friend, from the parson to the baby, every one has something to say on the same subject. I tell you I will have no more of it from any one. I should have supposed I would have been safe there. And my own words turned into a handle against me too." And he looked at Bessie,who had drawn a little away from him and stood gazing at him with fear and wonder in her large eyes. She had never seen him angry before, and she could not think what had made him so now.
"Am I naughty?" she asked.
"No, darling," said Mrs. Rush, holding out her hand.
Bessie ran over to her. Mrs. Rush lifted her up in her lap.
"Did I talk too much?" asked Bessie. "I did not mean to tease him."
"See that steamship coming in, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush, in a voice that shook a little. "I think it must be the 'Africa,' which is to bring Gracie Howard's father. Will she not be glad to see him?"
"Yes," said Bessie; but she did not look at the steamer, but watched the colonel, who still seemed vexed, and kept up his tattoo with the paper-cutter.
Nobody spoke again for a few moments, and Bessie grew more and more uncomfortable.Presently she gave a long sigh, and leaned her cheek on her hand.
"Are you tired, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush.
"No," said Bessie, "but I'm so uncomf'able. I think I had yather go to mamma in grandmamma's yoom."
Mrs. Rush put her down, and was leading her away, but when they reached the door, Bessie drew her hand from hers and ran back to the colonel. "I am sorry I teased you," she said. "I didn't know you didn't like people to talk about that night; I'll never do it any more again."
The colonel threw down the paper-cutter, and catching her in his arms, kissed her heartily two or three times. "You do not tease me, my pet," he said; "you did not know how cross your old soldier could be; did you?"
"You was not so very cross," she said, patting his cheek lovingly with her little hand. "Sick, lame people can't be patient all the time, and I do talk too much sometimes; mamma says I do. Next time I come, I'll be soquiet." Then she ran back to Mrs. Rush, who took her to her grandmamma's room and left her at the door.
Bessie went to mamma, and tried to climb upon her lap. Mrs. Bradford lifted her up, but she was talking to her mother, and did not notice her little girl's troubled face till Mrs. Stanton signed to her to look at Bessie. Then she asked, "What is it, dearest?"
"I don't know, mamma," said Bessie.
"Has something troubled you?" asked mamma.
"Yes," said Bessie; "I teased the colonel."
"Oh!" said Maggie, "did you slam the door?"
"No, I talked about what he didn't like," said Bessie, with a quivering lip; "I talked about that night, and it teased him. I didn't know he didn't like to hear about it, mamma. I s'pose it's because he suffered so much he don't like to think of it."
Mamma had no need to ask what night she meant; ever since Bessie had heard of theterrible night when the colonel had lain upon the battle-field, faint and almost dying from his dreadful wounds, thinking that he should never see his home and friends again, the story had seemed to be constantly in her mind; and she spoke of it so often that her mother knew quite well what she meant. "What did you say about it, dear?" she asked.
Bessie could not remember all, but she told enough to let her mother see what had displeased the colonel. But Mrs. Bradford did not tell her little girl, for she knew it would distress her very much to know that the brave soldier of whom she was so fond did not like to be reminded, even by a little child, of his debts and duty to the merciful Father who had kept him through so many dangers and who had sent his dear Son to die for him.