THE LOAF AND FLASKthe loaf and flask.
It was a heavier load for the little girlthan her father's basket had been; but she had a strong heart, if her hands were weak. She ran along, trying to get before the light, that was always just in front of her, and singing the merriest songs she knew, so as not to hear the wind nor think about the faces on the wall.
She reached home safely, but could not open the door; for the latch was high, and the dame had gone fast asleep. Daisy thought she must wait until daylight out there in the cold, and sat on the step, feeling disappointed and sad enough.
But one of her tame rabbits, awakened, perhaps, more easily than the dame, hopped out of his burrow, and nestled in Daisy's lap, and looked up at her with his gentle eyes, while she warmed her hands in his fur, and did not feel so much alone.
At last the old woman started from her sleep, and wondering what had become of Daisy, went to look for her.
She seized the bread with a cry of joy, and breaking a morsel, ate it eagerly, as she led Daisy towards the fire, which she had built up again.
"Now, see the difference between your food and mine." As the fairy spoke, Daisy looked up, and saw, to her surprise, the wrinkles smooth away, and a beautiful light break over the old brown face, the wide mouth shrink to a little rosy one, all smiles, and pearly teeth inside. The fairy's eyes grew brighter than ever; but the dreadful glittering look had gone, and they were full of joy, and peace, and love.
"Wait, now, till I take my medicine." Her voice had changed to the softest, most silvery one that Daisy ever heard.
And when she had tasted the drink, her poor old crooked hands grew plump and white, her bent form straightened, and, what made Daisy wonder more, even her clothes began to change.
First they looked cleaner, then not so faded, then the rags disappeared, and they seemed new and whole; and then they began to grow soft and rich, till the ragged cotton gown was changed to velvet and satin, the knotted old turban to delicate lace, that hung heavy with pearls, but was not so delicate and beautiful as the golden hair that floated about the fairy wherever she moved.
"Poor child!" she said; "you are tired and cold; come, rest with me;" and taking Daisy in her arms, began to sing the sweetest songs, that seemed to change every thing into music, even the wailing tempest and her mother's sobs.
And all the while that tender, loving face bent over her, and the gentle hands were smoothing her wet hair, and folding her more closely to the fairy's heart.
Upon this pillow our tired Daisy fell asleep.
Strange and pleasant dreams came to Daisy as she slept; and in all of them she could see the beautiful fairy floating over her head, and her father walking by her side.
It seemed to her that, as she watched the lightning, the sky really broke like a dome of glass, and came shattering down, and that after it floated the loveliest forms, and odors and music came pouring down, and light which was far clearer, and yet not so dazzling as the light of earth.
The clouds came floating towards her, and all their golden edges were bright wings, that waved in time with the music; then came falling, falling slowly as snow flakes, what seemed little pearly clouds, but blossomed into flowersand then changed into sweet faces, that all smiled on her as they passed by.
Among these the little girl searched eagerly for her father's face, when all at once he took her in his arms, and said, "Ha, my Daisy! is it you?" in his own merry, pleasant way.
This startled her so much that she awoke, only to fall asleep again, and dream another dream as wonderful.
But at length the morning sun had crept around the side of the cottage, found its way through the window, and fell so full on Daisy's face, that she could dream only of dazzling, dazzling light, which seemed burning into her eyes, and made her open them wide, at length.
And then, alas! how every thing was changed! Her first thought was of the fairy; but she had gone, and Daisy had been sleeping in her mother's easy chair, and felt cold and lonely as she looked around upon the silent room.
No music there, no flowers and angelic faces, and clouds like chariots of pearl, with golden wings to hurry them along; no father to take her in his arms, and call her his little Daisy.
She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep again, for it seemed to her a great deal better to dream than to be awake in such a dreary little world as that. But suddenly Daisy thought of her mother, and almost at the very moment was aroused by a moan from another part of the room.
She ran to Susan's side, and found her sick, and wretched as she was the night before; so Daisy bathed her head, and brought her some fresh water from the spring; and when she could not comfort her in any other way, began to tell her dreams, how she had seen her father again, and felt sure he must be still alive.
As Susan listened, she dried her tears, and kissed Daisy so fondly that the little girl no longer wished to be asleep, but was glad thatshe had power to run about, and prattle, and amuse her lonely mother.
For she remembered Peter's last words now, that she must be a good girl, and help, not herself, not sit still and have pleasant dreams, but help her mother.
And this Daisy felt resolved to do, if only for his sake.
As soon as her mother smiled once more, Daisy asked her what had become of the splendid fairy, and when she would be back again, and how it happened that the light and music had gone with her from their home.
Susan had seen no fairy, and could not believe that Daisy was thinking of the poor old wrinkled dame. When she told the story of her journey to the cave, and the loaf of fairy bread, and the old dame's sudden change, the mother stroked Daisy's hair, and said that this was only another of her wonderful dreams, and that, instead of going to the rain, the rain had come to her, pelting upon the window so hard, it had, perhaps, sprinkled her face—that was all; and the light of the fairy was,she supposed, the light of the morning sun, that had pried her little sleepy lids apart, at last.
Daisy felt bewildered and sorrowful at this, for she did not like to give up her new friend; but her mother told her how long she had known the dame; how she had put her hand in Peter's, years ago; and afterwards put Daisy in his arms, a little thing, no larger than her wooden doll, that could only lie in the grass or swing in its nest among the boughs, and look up at the sky.
Daisy thought, if she could have such another dear little thing to play with, and love, and tell her stories to, she should be contented with her home, and willing to wait for her father, and forget the vision of the fairy that had folded her so tenderly in her arms.
So she went on asking questions about the dame; and then her mother remembered the gift of the iron spectacles. Of course Daisy wished to see them; but where they were noone knew. And Susan consoled her by saying they were but homely and worthless things.
"All things are worthless unless we make use of them," said the shrill voice of the dame, who in her sudden way appeared all at once in the room.
"I only wonder that I don't grow tired of helping you," she said; "for you give me nothing except ingratitude. Here, take this, and see what fault you can find with it."
She tossed a bundle into Susan's arms, put a loaf on the table, and pointed Daisy to the rubbish heap outside the door; then frowning angrily at Susan, "Pretty extravagance! to make believe you are poor, and throw away what is worth more than all the gold on earth. Why didn't you make the child wear my gift?"
"She was homely enough, at first, without it," Susan answered; "and after she grew better looking, why should I waste my time looking up those old rusty spectacles, to make her a fright again?"
"You will have no such trouble with the other one." As the fairy spoke, a lovely little face peeped out from the bundle in Susan's arms. "Now, tell what I shall give her, with her name."
Susan had never seen such a beautiful child, and, poor as she was, felt grateful to the dame for this new gift; but she begged for leave to name the little one herself.
"I will call it Peterkin, after my husband. Ah, how the dear man would have loved it!" And Susan began to cry.
"Then her name will not match her face; if you want a Peterkin, I will bring you one instead of this; but her name must be Maud."
So Susan gave up the name for the sake of the child's good looks, and begged the dame to keep her always so beautiful, and to make her rich.
"That's easy enough; you should have asked me, Susan, to make her heart rich and beautiful. Yet rich she shall be; and no one inall the earth shall have so handsome a face. But, remember, it is on one condition I promise—that Maud and Daisy shall always live together, rich or poor; that they shall never spend a night apart, until Daisy goes to live with her father again."
Susan promised, and was thanking the dame with all her heart, though looking at the lovely little face that nestled in her bosom, when Daisy flew into the room.
"O mother, mother! I've seen her again, and prettier than she was at first. She smiled at me, and stroked my hair, and then went floating off among the trees, like all the faces in my dream."
"Then she and the dame are not one; for, look!"
"Look where? Has the dame been here again?"
"To be sure; I was talking with her when you came; and the door has not been opened since."
But no old woman was in sight; Daisy looked under the table, and in the closet, and every dark corner; but she was not there; and the little girl told her mother that she must have been dreaming, now.
But Susan showed her what the dame had brought, and even put the little thing in Daisy's arms. It was hardly larger than a bird, and pretty as a flower, and as helpless, too.
And Daisy almost forgot the fairy in this new delight; she thought that all the visions in the air were not so sweet and lovely as her sister's face. She could not look at it enough; and at length taking out from her pocket a pair of spectacles, gravely put them on, and looked at her sister again.
Susan laughed; she couldn't help it, Daisy looked so drolly. She saw that the spectacles were the very ones the dame had brought; for she thought there could hardly be another pair so old and rusty in the world.
The little girl said she had found them ina dust heap, where Susan remembered that she had emptied the rubbish from some old boxes, the day before. Daisy had but just cleaned the glasses with her apron, and was holding them up to find if they were clear, when she saw, through them, the beautiful fairy floating by, and smiling on her as she passed.
She thought, after all, it might have been the glasses that had changed the sour old woman into a smiling fairy; but when she looked at her sister's sweet little face through them, it was not half so beautiful—it seemed cold and hungry, and the smile was gone.
Susan felt very sure that the dame was real, for all about her were the care and trouble she had brought; and had she not dragged her on through cruel storms, and scolded her when she was trying to do her best? And if the beautiful smiling vision was real, why did it always float away?
Susan forgot that the dame, too, floated away when her errands were done.
So Daisy did not know but she had been dreaming again, though with her eyes wide open; and yet she could not forget how softly she had been folded once in the fairy's arms.
Perhaps it was because the little girl believed in her, and was always watching and hoping to see her again, that the beautiful bright form sometimes floated past her eyes.
After a great many days of rain, the storm ceased; and glad enough was Daisy, for she had grown tired of staying in the house, or of being drenched and almost blown away when she ventured out of doors.
The sun came out, one morning, and did not hide in clouds again, as usual, but poured its beautiful beams down on the earth, till the dark forest trees seemed touched with gold, and the little drooping flowers lifted up their heads once more.
Daisy, as she looked from the cabin window, and saw and heard the raging storm, had often wondered what would become of her friends the birds—if their nests would not be shaken from the trees, and their little unfledged youngones would not shiver with cold. Then, too, the butterflies, she feared, would have their bright wings washed away or broken; and the flowers would have their petals shaken off, and be snapped from their slender stems.
But we are apt to dread a great deal worse things than ever happen to us; and though Daisy did find some fallen nests and dead birds scattered on the ground, she could see that the storm had done more good than harm.
For every bird there were hundreds of insects lying dead—not bees and butterflies, but worms and bugs, that bite the flowers, and make them shrivel up and fade, and that gnaw the leaves off the trees and all the tender buds, and sting and waste the fruit.
The toads were having a feast over the bodies of these little mischief makers; and the birds were swinging on the tips of the leafy boughs, and singing enough to do your heart good; bees came buzzing about as busily as though they meant to make up for all the time theyhad lost; and a beautiful butterfly, floating through the sunshine, settled upon a flower at Daisy's feet, and waved his large wings, that looked soft and dry as if there had never been a drop of rain.
Then the trees were so bright and clean, with the dust all washed away, and fresh as if they had just been made; they waved together with a pleasant sound, that Daisy thought was like a song of joy and praise; and every little leaf joined in the chorus, far and wide, stirring, and skimming, and breathing that low hymn of happiness.
The wood was fragrant, too; and in all its hollows stood bright little pools, that reflected the sky, and sparkled back to the sun; the grass and flowers had grown whole inches since Daisy saw them last, and the mosses were green as emerald.
Quite near the cabin, though hidden from it by the trees, was a wide river, that had swollen with the rain, and was rushing on witha sound so loud that it shook the leaves, and seemed like a mighty voice calling to Daisy from a great way off.
So she found her way to its shore, and saw that the bridge across it had been swept away; and as it went foaming and tearing along, whole trees, and boats, and rafts were whirling in the tide that was rushing on, on, on, she wondered where.
Then the little girl remembered how long she had been away from home, and hurried back to tell her mother about the bridge, stopping now and then to snatch a flower as she passed. Her hands were full when she bounded into the cabin; and she looked as bright, and fresh, and full of joy as any thing out doors.
But her mother sat in a corner, feeling very sad, and hardly looked at Daisy's flowers, and said it was nothing to her how bright the sun shone so long as it never could rest again on Peter's face.
"Why," said Daisy, "I thought father was happy in heaven, and where he did not have to work so hard, and there were never any storms, and the flowers were prettier than these."
"That is true enough," Susan answered; "but it will not keep us from being lonely, and cold, and hungry, too, sometimes."
"But we are not hungry now, and perhaps the queer old dame may bring us some more of her bread, or else I'm pretty sure the fairy will take care of us. Who feeds the flowers, mother?"
"God."
"What, ours—up in heaven?"
"There is only one God, Daisy; he gives us meat and milk, and gives the flowers dew and air."
"Then I suppose they were thinking about him this morning."
"Why?"
"Because, when I first went out, they seemedas if they were dreaming—just as I felt when I dreamed; so that I wondered if they hadn't seen the fairy pass, or if their eyes were sharper than ours, and they could see faces floating in the air when there were none for us. It was damp, at first, and there were great shadows; but presently the sunshine poured in every where, and still they kept looking straight up into the sky—a whole field of them, down by the river bank; and, do see! even these I've brought you are looking up now at our wall as if they could see through it. If God can see through walls, can't we, when we are looking after him?"
"I don't know but we might, Daisy. You ask strange questions."
"Just answer one more, mother. If the flowers have the same God with us, why do they always look so happy, and beautiful, and young? Does he think more of them than he does of us?"
"No, child—not half so much. We sufferbecause God made us wiser than the flowers."
"Why, they get trampled on, and beaten in the wind, and have their stems broken, and have to stay out doors in the cold all night, (Daisy was thinking of her midnight walk,) and sometimes they don't have any sunshine for a week: we should call that trouble, and I know what I think about it."
"Tell me."
"Why, you see, the flowers are always looking at the sky, and don't mind what is happening around them, nor wait to think who may step on their pretty faces. Suppose we are wiser; why can't we live as they do, mother, and think about God and heaven, instead of always ourselves?"
"I know a little girl who lives very much like them now," said Daisy's mother, kissing her. "But, my dear child, how strangely you have looked ever since you put on those old spectacles!"
"Why, am I not the same Daisy? Am I changing to a fairy, like the dame?"
"I fear not; they leave a sort of shadow on your face, and make you homely. It seems to me, Daisy, I'd throw the old things away."
"O, don't say that—not if they make me like the old woman herself. I guess it doesn't matter much how we look down here."
"Down where?"
"Why, on the earth; for you know father was not handsome; and when I saw him in heaven, in my dream, O, he had such a beautiful face!"
So Daisy went on prattling about her father until Susan dried her tears; for when she thought of Peter now, it was not the poor crushed body in the wood, which she had wept about, but the beautiful, smiling angel in paradise.
And when cares gathered thicker about her, and want seemed so near that Susan grew discouraged, Daisy would bring her flowers;and the mother would remember then how they were always looking up to the kind God, and so look up herself, and thinking about him, forget her sorrows and her cares.
The little Maud grew more beautiful every day; she was fair as a lily, except that you might think rose leaves had been crushed to color her cheeks. Her bright eyes were shaded by long, silky lashes; and her pretty mouth, when it was shut, concealed two rows of delicate, pearly teeth. Her hair hung in a cloud of dark-brown curls, touched on the edges with a golden tinge.
The old dame took care that her dress should be always fine; and while she gave Daisy the coarsest woollen gowns, brought delicate muslins for Maud.
But Daisy did not mind this; she was glad to see her beautiful sister dressed handsomely; and, besides, how could she crowd through thebushes by the river bank, or sit on the ground looking at grass and flowers through her spectacles, if her own dresses were so frail?
It was not, after all, so very amusing as Daisy had hoped, to take care of Miss Maud, when she began to run about and play. She did not dare to go in the wood, for fear of bugs and snakes; she did not like to sail chips in the river, and make believe they were boats; she tossed away Daisy's wooden doll, and called it a homely thing; she pulled up her sister's flowers, and always wanted to go in a different place and do a different thing from her.
The little girl found it hard to give up so many pleasures; but she kept thinking that Maud would be older soon, and would know better than to be so troublesome.
And Maud was no sooner large enough to run about than Daisy wished her young again; for she took pains to tread on the prettiest flowers, and call them old weeds, and would chase every butterfly that came in sight, andtear his wings off, and then laugh because he could not fly; she pinched the rabbits' ears until they grew so wild they were almost afraid of Daisy, and seemed to have no pleasure except in making those about her very uncomfortable.
Yes, Maud had one other pleasure—she loved to sit beside the still pools in the wood, that were like mirrors, and watch the reflection of her handsome face.
But after this, she was sure to go home peevish and discontented, telling her mother and Daisy what a shame it was to live in such a lonely place, and have no one admire her beauty; and to be so poor, and depend on the charity of "that hag," as she called the dame.
Then she loved to tell Daisy what a common-looking little thingshewas, and how the mark of those ugly spectacles was always on her face, and every day it grew more homely and serious, and as if she were a daughter ofthe dame. "As for myself," Maud would end, "I am the child, I know, of some great man; the dame has stolen me away from him, I feel sure, and then thinks I ought to be grateful because she brings me these clothes."
At this, Daisy would look up through her spectacles, and say, meekly, "It doesn't matter much who is our father here; for God, up in heaven, is the Father of us all, and gives great people their fine houses, just as he gives these flowers to you and me; for mother told me so."
Then Maud would toss her head, and ask, "What is mother but an old woodcutter's wife, that has worked, perhaps, in my father's kitchen?"
"God doesn't care where we have worked, but how well our work is done," said Daisy.
"O, nonsense! Who ever saw God? I want a father that can build me a fine house, all carpeted, and lighted with chandeliers, and full of servants, like the houses mother tells us about sometimes."
"Why, Maud, what is this world but a great house that God has built for us? All creatures are our servants; the sun and stars are its chandeliers; the clouds are its beautiful window frames; and this soft moss is the carpet. Look, what dear little flowers grow among it, and gaze up as if they were saying, 'Yes—God made us all.'"
"Who wants a house that every one else can enjoy as much as we, and a father that is not ashamed to call every dirty beggar his child?"
Daisy thought her home all the pleasanter for this, and loved her heavenly Father more, because he had room in his heart for even the meanest creature; but she could not make her sister feel as she did, nor try, as Daisy tried, to be patient, and gentle, and happy.
Ashamed as Maud was of her mother, she found new cause for unhappiness, when, one day, Susan died.
"Who is there, now," asked the beauty, "to make my fine dresses, and keep them clean, and to pet me, and praise my beauty, and carry me to the fair sometimes, so that every one may look at my face, and wish hers were half so handsome?"
"Poor, dear mother, your hard work is done," said Daisy, in her gentle way, bending over the dead form that Susan had left. "You will never see the old dame's face again, nor hear the wolves growl in the wood, nor tire yourself with taking care of us."
The corpse's hands were hard and rough, butthey had grown so with working for her children; and Daisy kissed them tenderly, and filled them with fresh flowers, and bore her mother's body far into the still wood, and buried it under the same great tree that lay still, like a tombstone, across Peter's grave.
Though Daisy was no longer a child, she could not have done this without fairy help. All the way, she felt as if other arms than hers were bearing her mother's form, and as if new strength were in her own when they handled the heavy spade.
As Daisy worked there alone in the wood,—for she could not see the fairy, who was helping her,—the little birds sang sweet and tender songs, as if they would comfort their friend.
For Daisy had loved her mother dearly, and remembered her loving, parental care, and could not but be sorrowful at losing her, even for a little while.
Yet she tried to calm her aching heart, because Maud, she knew, would need all her care now, and must be served, and entertained, and comforted more carefully than ever, so that she might not constantly miss her mother, and spend her days in weeping over what could not be helped.
The young girl did not think how much more toil, and care, and unhappiness was coming to herself; for it was always Daisy's way to ask what she could do for others, and not what others might do for her.
And, children, if you want your friends, and God himself, to love you, depend upon it there is no way so sure as this—to forget yourselves, and think only whom you can serve. It is hard, at first, but becomes a pleasure soon, and as easy and natural as, perhaps, it is now for you to be selfish.
You must not be discouraged at failing a few times; for it takes a great deal of patience to make us saints.
But every step we move in the right way,you know, is one step nearer to our home in heaven—the grand and peaceful home that Christ has promised us.
We left Daisy in the wood, with the birds singing above her, as she finished her pious work; perhaps, with finer ears, we might have heard angels singing songs of joy above the holy, patient heart that would not even grieve, because another needed all its strength.
But the birds' songs ceased; they fluttered with frightened cries, instead; the wind rose, and the boughs began to dash about, and the night came on earlier than usual. Daisy saw there was to be another fearful storm; and her first thought was of Maud, alone in the lonely wood.
How she wished for wings, like the birds, that she might fly home to her nest! But, instead, she must plod her way among the underbrush, which grew so thick in places, and the wind so tangled together across the path, that she went on slowly, hardly knowingwhether she were going nearer home or deeper into the wood.
"Silly girl, where are your spectacles?" said a voice by Daisy's side; and the old woman seized her arm, and dragged her over the rough path, as she had done once before.
"There is no need of them, now I have your lamp," said Daisy in a sad voice; for she was thinking of dear faces that her eyes would never rest upon again.
"That's as much as you know. But you cannot cheat me, Daisy. Have my glasses been of so little use that you put them in your pocket, and choose rather to look through tears?"
"I did not mean to cry; but how can any one help it when——"
"I know—I know; you needn't tell me of your sorrows, but take out the spectacles."
So Daisy did as she was told, and never had the glasses seemed so wonderful; for, besides that now the old dame's lamp gave a clearer light,something made Daisy lift her eyes, and, instead of two poor bodies lying asleep in the storm, she saw a splendid city far, far up upon the tops of the tallest trees, and Peter and Susan walking there, hand in hand, and smiling upon her as Peter had smiled in her dream.
"Well," said the shrill voice of the dame, "will you give me back my glasses now, and keep your tears?"
"O, no!" and Daisy seized the old woman's withered hand, and turned to thank her; but she was not there: one moment Daisy felt the pressure of a gentle hand in hers, and then the beautiful fairy floated from before her sight, far up above the trees, and stood, at last, with her father and mother. All three were smiling upon her now, and pointing upwards to the trees, whose leaves were broader and more beautiful than any in the wood.
But the young girl stumbled, and fell among the thorns, and seemed all at once to awake from a dream; for, the dame's lamp gone, herpath had grown narrow and dark again; and she found it would not do to look any more at the city of gold, until she should find her own poor cabin in the wood.
At length Daisy knew that her home was near; for, above all the howling of the storm, she heard her sister's sobs and frightened cries.
Very tired she was, and cold, and drenched with rain, and sad, besides, for she could not enter the door without thinking of the burden she had borne away from it last.
But, instead of rest and comforting words, Maud ran to meet her with whining and bitter reproaches, and called her cruel to stay so long, and foolish to have gone at all, hard-hearted to neglect her mother's child, and would not listen to reason nor excuse, but poured forth the wickedness of her heart in harsh and untrue words, or else indulged her selfish grief in passionate tears and cries.
Alas! the wolves and snakes that Susan kept away from the cabin had entered it now, and our poor Daisy too often felt their fangs at her sad heart.
She gave her sister no answering reproaches back, and did not, as she well might, say that it was Maud's own fault she had been left alone; for she had refused, when Daisy asked her help in making their mother's grave.
When we see people foolish and unreasonable, like Maud, we must consider that it is a kind of insanity; they don't know what they are saying. Now, when crazy people have their wild freaks, the only way to quiet them is by gentleness; and we must treat angry people just the same, untiltheirfreaks pass.
You would not tease a poor crazy man, I hope; and why, then, tease your brother or sister when their senses leave them for a little while?
As soon as Maud would listen, Daisy beganto tell about the beautiful city she saw through her spectacles, and how the dreadful old dame had changed to a graceful fairy, and floated up above the trees.
But her sister interrupted her, to ask why she had never told before of the wonderful gift in her spectacles, and called her mean for keeping them all to herself.
She knew very well that the reason was, Daisy had never found any one to believe in what she saw, and that even her mother laughed at her for wearing such old things.
Maud snatched them eagerly now from Daisy's hand, but said, at first, she could only see the lightning and the rain, and then suddenly dashed them on the ground, with a frightened cry.
For she had seemed, all at once, to stand out in a lonely wood, by night, and to look through the ground, at her feet, and see as plainly as by daylight the dead form of her mother, with the rain drops, that pelted everywhere, dripping upon the flowers which Daisy had put in her folded hands.
Maud would not tell this to her sister, but said peevishly, "Your old glasses are good for nothing, as I always thought; and you only want me to wear them so as to spoil my beauty, and make me as homely as you. Tell me again about the place you saw our mother in, though I don't believe a word of what you say."
Daisy knew better, and answered, "It was a more beautiful city than any we ever thought about in the world. This earth seemed like its cellar, it was so dull and cold here after I had seen that glorious light; the trees looked in it as if they were made of gold."
"O, you are always talking about light and trees; tell me about the people and the houses."
"The houses were so bright, I cannot tell you exactly how they looked; the foundations of them were clear, dazzling stones, of every color; even the streets were paved with glass;and the walls were gold, and the gates great solid pearls!"
"What nonsense, Daisy! Didn't the shop-keeper tell us, at the fair, that one little speck of a pearl cost more than my new gown? Now, what of the people?"
"You didn't look at the houses, after once seeing them; they had such lovely faces, and such a kind, gentle look, I could cry at only thinking of them now."
"Don't cry till you've finished your story. Were any of them handsomer than the rest? And what kind of dresses did they wear?"
"Their clothes were made of light, I should think; for they were softer than spider webs, and kept changing their shape and color as the people moved about."
"How could they?"
"Why, all the light poured from one place, that I could not look into; and even the heavenly people, when they turned towards it, folded their wings before their faces."
"That is where I should build my house."
"O, no, my sister; that is where our heavenly Father has built his throne; and it is the light from him that makes the whole city splendid, without any sun or moon. You cannot tell what a little, dark speck I felt before God: I trembled, and did not know where to turn, when one of the people came and took my hand."
"How frightened I should have been! Did he have wings?"
"I can't remember; but he moved—all in the heavenly city move—more quickly and more easily than birds. They want to be in a place, and are there like a flash of light; and they can see and hear so far, that the beautiful man who spoke to me said he saw me kiss our mother's hands, and put flowers in them, and carry her into the wood."
"Did he say any thing about me?"
"Yes—that some time you would love him better than any one else. And he told mewhy the people's clothes kept changing: when they went nearer our Father, their faces, and every thing they wore, became more splendid and lovely, but as they moved away from him, grew darker and coarser; and yet, Maud, the commonest of all the people there is beautiful as our fairy, and wears as splendid clothes."
"What was the man's name? I hope he was not common, if I must love him."
"No, he was the greatest in heaven; all the men and angels bowed to him, and they called him Christ."
"O, I would give every thing to see him; you never shall go through the wood alone, Daisy, for fear he will come again when I'm away."
"He could come to our house as well as to the grave. And I'll tell you another strange thing about the city, Maud: some of the roads, you know, are glass, and some are gold; and there is a beautiful river, like crystal, shadedwith palm trees, and sweeping on till it is lost in the great light."
"I don't see any thing wonderful in that, if the rest of your story be true."
"I have not finished: these broad roads ended in narrow paths; and from the river trickled tiny streams, that somehow came down over the golden walls of the city, and over the clouds, and the tops of trees, into this very earth we are standing on."
"O Daisy! are you sure? Could I find one of the paths, and so climb up to heaven, and find the beautiful Christ I am to love?"
"Yes, he told me so himself, and pointed to all the people on earth that were in those paths; and I saw a brightness about them, and a calm look in their faces, such as God's angels have. And then Christ told how all who tasted of the streams grew strong; beautiful, and glad; sick people, that stepped into them, were healed; and those who washed in the water were never unclean again."
And Daisy did not tell, because she feared it might make her sister envious and sad, that the Beautiful One had kissed her forehead, and said, "Daisy, you have picked many a flower beside these streams, and they have soothed your father's weariness, and healed your mother's aching heart; and when you come to live with me, and I place them all on your head in a wreath that shall never fade, no angel in heaven will wear a more beautiful crown."
Daisy looked up at him then, and asked, "But will you take them away from my mother? And shall not Maud have some? Only let me live near you, and give her the crown."
Christ smiled, and then looked sad, and said, "It will be long before your sister is willing to walk in such straight, narrow paths, and dwell beside such still waters, as she must in order to find these flowers; but you will always be pointing them out to her; and, inthe end, she will love me better than she loves any one else. I would gladly help her, Daisy, for your sake; but only they who love can dwell with me."
So tired was Daisy, after all the labor and excitement of the day, that as soon as she had finished her story she fell asleep. Maud tried until she was tired to arouse her sister, and make her talk some more; but Daisy, except for her quiet breathing, was like one dead.
Maud could not sleep; she listened to the howling of the storm, and then remembered the grave she had seen through Daisy's spectacles, out there in the night; and then her sister's vision of the beautiful, shining city, whose people were clothed in light, and thought of the highest among them all, the King, who waited for her love.
"He will not care for Daisy, with her wise little face, when once he has seen mine," thoughtMaud. "I shall wear my finest garments, and put on my most stately and haughtiest look, to show him I am not like common people. I hope he does not know that every thing I have comes from that wretched old dame."
Here there sounded a rattling at the door latch, as if some one were coming into the cabin. Maud's heart beat loud and fast for fright; she imagined that dreadful things were about to happen, and scolded poor Daisy, as if she could hear, for pretending to be asleep.
Then came quick flashes of lightning, that made the room like noonday for one instant; and then thunder in crashing peals, that sounded more dreadful in the silent night; and then a stillness, through which Maud could hear the voices of the wolves, and the heavy, pelting drops.
Sometimes she thought the river would swell, and swell, till it flooded into the cabin, and drowned them both; sometimes she thought the lightning would kill her at a flash, or thewolves would break through the slender door, and eat her up, or the wind would blow the cabin down, and bury her.
Wasn't it strange that the thought never came to her, as she lay there trembling, what a poor, weak thing she was, and how good the fairy had been to keep all mischief from her until now?
She did think of the fairy, at length, and resolved to call her help, if it were possible. She lighted a lamp, and held it so near Daisy's eyes as almost to burn the lashes off; this she found better than shaking or scolding, for Daisy started up from her pleasant dreams, and asked where she was and what was happening.
"That!" said Maud, as a still sharper flash of lightning ran across the sky, and then thunder so loud that it drowned Maud's angry voice.
Daisy covered her face, for the lightning almost blinded her, and then first found that she had fallen asleep with the fairy spectacles on.
"Come, selfish girl," said Maud, "look throughyour old glasses; and if they are good for any thing, you can find what has become of the dame, and if she is still awake and watching over us."
Then Daisy told how she had been once to the old woman's cave; and if it were not for leaving her sister alone, would go again to-night.
Maud would not listen to this at first, but told Daisy that she was deceiving her, and only wanted to creep off somewhere and sleep, and leave her to be eaten by the wolves. As she spoke, Daisy's face lighted all at once with the beautiful smile which Peter saw, the day that she was born.
"O Maud, listen, and you will not be afraid," she said in her gentle voice. "I seemed to see, just now, the night, and the storm, and our cabin, and myself asleep—all as if in a picture. The lightning flashed and thunder rolled; the wolves were creeping about the door, and sniffing at the threshold, and the cabin rocked in the wind like a cradle.
"But just where you are standing, Maud, was an angel bending over me, and shading my eyes from the dazzle with her own white wings. She had such a quiet, gentle face as I never saw any where except in my vision of our Father's house."
"Were her eyes black, or blue like mine? I wonder if Christ ever saw her."
"I do not remember the color; but her eyes were full of love, and pity, and tenderness; and when I seemed to awake, and look up at her, she pointed out into the night."
"And there, I suppose, you will pretend that you saw something else very fine—as if I should believe such foolish stories! But talk on, for it keeps you awake."
"No, Maud, nothing seemed beautiful after the angel's face; but I saw a strong city, with walls, and towers on the walls, and with watchmen walking to and fro to keep robbers away. And I saw a great house, as large as a hundred of ours, with heavy doors, andbolts, and locks, and many servants—strong men, sleeping in their beds, for it was night.
"And in one of the inmost rooms, where all was rich and elegant, and the carpet was soft as moss, and the muslin curtains hung like clouds, lay a girl about my age, but a great deal more beautiful, asleep."
"Was she handsomer than I?" interrupted Maud.
"I had not time to ask myself; for, as I looked, the door opened softly, and two thieves crept in, and snatched the jewels that lay about the room, and then, seeing a bracelet on her white arm, went towards the bed.
"I was about to scream, when the fairy softly put her hand before my mouth, and pointed again.
"As soon as the thief touched her arm, the girl awoke, and shrieked aloud; and, when they could not quiet her cries, the men struck at her with their sharp knives, and left her dead.
"Then the angel whispered, 'Daisy, there is only one hand that can save; there is one eye that watches, over rich and poor, the crowded city and the lonely wood, alike. That eye is God's; unless he keep the city, the watchman walketh in vain.'
"So, Maud, the angel will take care of us, if we only trust in her."
Maud's fears were quieted so far by Daisy's words, that she urged her sister now to go and seek the dame, and leave her there alone.
The truth was, Maud had a feeling that, if poor little Daisy had an angel to watch over her, she, who was so much more beautiful, could not be left to perish. Perhaps, even the glorious Christ would come; and if he did, she would rather not have her sister in the way.
The old dame had built a fire in the corner of her cave, and sat, alone, watching the embers.
Presently she heard a sound unlike the storm—a parting of the bushes outside, a crackling of dry sticks upon the ground; and, all at once, Daisy's bright face appeared, seeming to bring a sunshine into the gloomy den.
Daisy was dripping with rain, and felt a little afraid that the dame would scold her because her feet made wet tracks on the floor.
But the fairy seemed in a merry mood to-night—perhaps she was glad of some one to keep her company. She laughed till the old cave rang again, when her visitor told that she had been frightened by the storm; for she saidit was music in her ears, and ought to be in the ears of every one.
So she drew a stool before the fire for Daisy, and, while wringing the dampness from her dress, asked what had become of the spectacles.
"O, they are safe enough," answered Daisy. "I know now how much they are worth, and what a splendid present you gave me, though it seemed so poor. You are very good to us, dame."
"Better than I seem—always better than I seem," she muttered, looking into the fire still. "Now, if you think so much of your glasses, put them on."
Daisy wiped the water from them on a corner of the fairy's dress, for her own was too wet, and did as she was told.
And, down, down miles beneath the cave, she saw fires burning, blazing, flashing, flaming about, and filling the whole centre of the earth; beside them the lightning was dull, and the old dame's fire seemed hardly a spark.
She saw whole acres of granite—the hard stone that lay in pieces about the wood, half covered with moss and violets; acres of this were rolling and foaming like the river in a storm, melted and boiling in the fiery flames.
"Why, in a few minutes, the cave itself, and all the earth, will melt, and we shall be burned up," said Daisy, alarmed.
"O, no," laughed the fairy. "The fire was kindled thousands of years before you were born; and the granite your violets grow upon has boiled like this in its day; but we are not burned yet, and shall not be. There's a bridge over the fire."
And, surely enough, when Daisy looked again, she saw great cold ribs of rock rising above the flames and above the sea of boiling stone, up and out, like arches on every side. Upon this rock the earth was heaped, layer above layer, until on its outside countries, and cities, and great forests were planted, and fastened together, it seemed, by rivers and seas.
In the beds of rivers, in crevices of rock, in depths of the earth, were hidden precious stones and metals; and where the rocks rose highest, they formed what we call mountains, that buried their soaring heads in the sky, and stretched along the earth for many hundred miles.
"What can this rock be made of?" asked Daisy. "Look!" and, to her wonder, she saw that it was all little cells, crowded with insects of different kinds. She asked the dame how many there were in one piece of stone which she picked up, and which was about an inch square.
"About forty-one thousand millions of one kind, and many more of another," she answered carelessly.
"You could not make Maud believe that," thought Daisy; and the dame, as if seeing into her mind, continued,—
"But it is only the one little world we live in which you have seen thus far: look above."
The roof of the cave seemed gone; and Daisy beheld the stars, not far off and still, as they had always seemed, but close about her, whirling, waltzing, chasing each other in circles, with such tremendous speed that it made one dizzy to watch.
And they were no longer little points of light, but worlds like ours—many of them larger than our earth, which was whirling too, and seemed so small that Daisy hardly noticed it amidst the beaming suns.
There were no handles, no fastenings, no beams, or ropes, or anchors to those flying worlds, that dashed along at such mad speed; she wondered they did not strike against each other, and shatter, and fall.
"O, no," said the dame; "the Hand which made these worlds can keep them in their places. But how many stars do you suppose there are?"
"O, I could not count them in a week."
"No, nor in a lifetime. It takes more thanthat to count one million; and there are more than twenty million worlds."
"There will be no use in telling that to Maud," thought Daisy; "she'll never believe me."
And again the fairy saw into her heart, and answered, "Only the pure in heart can see God, and believe in him. Maud thinks there is no truth, because her weak mind cannot grasp it.
"Now, Daisy, think that all these worlds are God's—made, and watched, and loved by him. You see in many of them mountains such as the piece of stone you looked into; you see rivers, earth, and sky; and I tell you the truth when I say, that all of these are crowded, fuller than you can dream, with creatures He has made. And cannot He who made the lightning govern it? So, do not fear the howling of the storm again; it is your Father's voice."
"How great he is! I am afraid of him!" said Daisy.
"You may well be afraid to offend him, but only that; for God is a gentle, loving Father. He feels when the tiniest insect in this stone is hurt; and the same mighty Hand that guides the stars, and roofs over the fires that might burn up our earth,—the same Hand led you through the storm to-night, or, Daisy, you would not have found my cave."
The dame's last words reminded Daisy that she had left her sister alone; and though Maud had surprised her by saying that she need not hurry back, Maud might have changed her mind, and complain of the very thing she asked an hour before.
She flew home, therefore—falling many a time, and wounding her hands with the sharp sticks in her path. Great trees were torn up by the roots, and came crashing down, in the dark, scattering earth and pebbles far and wide; but Daisy walked among them all unharmed, and was not even frightened; for she knew some kind hand must be guidingher, and thought of the Watchman who never sleeps.
Reaching the cabin, she found Maud in a quiet slumber; and, lying down beside her, Daisy was soon dreaming over again all she had seen through the spectacles.
The sisters lived together comfortably enough in the wood, for the old dame still supplied their wants; and Daisy grew so accustomed to Maud's complaints and reproaches, that she did not mind them so much as at first.
Then it was such a joy when, sometimes, Maud would be pleased and satisfied, and speak a kind word or two, that her sister forgot all the rest.
The fairy had been in the habit, after Susan's death, of taking Maud to the fair sometimes, where she could see the people, and choose handsome gowns for herself, and hear what was going on in the world.
Meantime Daisy would remain at home, cleaning the house and washing Maud's dresses, andbaking some nice thing for her to eat when she should come home tired from the fair.
You may think this hard for Daisy; but you are mistaken, this time, for she was never so merry as when working thus alone. There was no one to meddle and complain when she was trying to do her best. Let Maud depart, and all was peace in Daisy's home.
Maud seemed to think that Daisy was made for her servant; and when she wished to enjoy herself alone, or to do some kind deed,—for other people lived, now, in the neighborhood of the cabin,—her sister would always interfere, and complain and whine so grievously that Daisy yielded to her.
But Maud away, and her work all finished in the house, Daisy would clap on her spectacles, and then such a wonderful world as stretched around her! Nothing was common, or mean, or dead; all things were full of beauty and surprise, when she looked into them.
The insects that stung Maud, and made herso impatient, would settle quietly on Daisy's hand, and let her find out how their gauzy, glittering wings were made, and see all the strange machinery by which they could rise and fly, and the little beating hearts and busy heads they had.
Then they would go slowly circling to their homes; and Daisy would softly follow, and find how they lived, and what they ate, and what became of them in winter time, and all about their young.
The birds, meantime, would come and sing to her about their joy, their young, their fairy nests, their homes among the shady summer leaves; the poorest worm, the ugliest spider, had something in him curious and beautiful.
Then she would study the plants and trees, see the sap rising out of the ground, and slowly creeping into every branch and leaf, and the little buds come forth, and swell, and burst, at length, into lovely flowers.
She would sit upon the mossy rocks, andthink how far down under the earth they had been, and how full they might be of living creatures now; and then bending over the violets that had grown in their crevices, would count their tiny veins, and find how air and sunshine had mixed with the sap to color and perfume them.
All these works of his hands made Daisy feel how near the great God was to her, and that she could never go where he had not been before, and where his eye would not follow her.
And then, amidst her troubles and toils, she had but to think of the beautiful city above, where Peter and Susan were waiting for her, where the spirits clothed in light would be her teachers and friends, and she would see as far, perhaps, as they, and learn more a thousand times than even her wonderful spectacles could teach her now.
But, one day, the dame took a fancy in her head that she was too old to go to the fairagain, and, in future, Daisy must go instead, and take care of Maud.
This pleased neither of the sisters; for Daisy now must lose her only hours of quiet; and Maud, instead of the old crone who had passed for her servant, must appear with the shabby little Daisy, of whose meek, serious face, and country manners, she was very much ashamed.
Then there was the mark of the spectacles to attract attention, and make every one ask who it could be that had such a wise look on a face so young.
But the two sisters started, one morning, for the fair, on the selfsame road on which Peter had met his wife, and along which he had led her home, to make his cabin such a happy place.
It was not so bad for Maud to have Daisy with her as she had feared; for the good natured sister carried all her parcels, found out cool springs where they could drink, and pleasant spots where they could sit in the coolgrass and rest sometimes, instead of hurrying on through the dust, as the dame had always done.
Then Daisy had a cheerful heart, and was pleased with every thing she met, and so full of her stories and cheerful songs, that the way seemed not half so long to Maud as when she went with the dame.
Ah, but Maud didn't think how much shorter and brighter her sister's path through life would have been hadshe, instead of her selfish temper, a good and gentle heart like that which was cheering her now.
Daisy took her spectacles along, you may be sure; and besides that she saw through them many a flower, and bird, and stone, and countless other things to which her sister was as good as blind, Maud found them very useful at the fair.
For the glasses showed things now exactly as they were—in the rich silk, rough places or cotton threads; calicoes, gay enough to thenaked eye, through these looked faded and shabby. Was any thing shopworn, moth eaten, or out of fashion, the spectacles told it as plainly as if they had spoken aloud.
And just so, seen through these magical glasses, the people changed. A man with a smiling face and pleasant words would appear dishonest and cunning, when Daisy put on her spectacles. A maiden with a proud and beautiful face looked humbled, all at once, and sad, and dying of a broken heart. People that walked about in splendid clothes, and looked down on the others, seemed suddenly poor beggars, hiding beneath their garments as if they were a mask.
The dame would never carry bundles for Maud, nor allow herself to be hurried or contradicted in any way; but Daisy bore all the burdens of her own accord, and yielded to Maud's caprices, however foolish they might be, if they troubled no one except herself.
But on their way home, something occurredin which Daisy resolved to have her own way; and Maud was so angry that she would not walk with her sister, and hurrying on, left her far behind.
It was the old dame that caused the sisters' quarrel. A few miles from the cabin she appeared, creeping through the dusty road, with a bundle of sticks three times as big as herself on her head.
"Pretty well!" exclaimed Maud. "The old creature could not find strength enough to walk a little way with me; but she can pick up sticks all day for herself, and carry home more than I could even lift."
The dame made no reply; perhaps she did not hear the beauty's words; but Maud was so vexed that she brushed roughly past, and upset all her sticks, and the poor old dame in the midst of them.
The fairy lifted her wrinkled arm, which wascovered with bleeding scratches, and shook her finger angrily at Maud, who only laughed, and said, "It is good enough for you; take care, next time, how you stand in my way. I am the one to be angry, after you've scattered your sharp old sticks all over the road to fray my new silk stockings. Come, Daisy, make a path for me through them."
Daisy helped the dame to her feet again, and wiped away the dust and blood, and bound the arm up with her own handkerchief, and then began patiently to pick up all the sticks, and fasten them in a bundle.
She did this while Maud and the fairy were quarrelling and reproaching each other. We could often make up for a fault or accident in the time which we spend mourning over it and deciding whose was the fault.
Maud, in her heart, was not sorry for what her sister had now done, because she feared the fairy, and knew, if she went too far in offending her, that she might never appearagain; and then Miss Maud would eat coarse food, and wear shabby clothes, like her sister Daisy.
Still she pretended to be angry, and scolded Daisy well for undoing what she had done, and comforting the old woman when she chose to punish her.
Yet more vexed was she when Daisy took the sticks on her own head; for the dame seemed tired and faint, and trembled like a leaf from the fright and pain of her fall.
Maud drew herself up haughtily, and asked if she was expected to walk in a public road in company with a lame old hag and a fagot girl. Her eyes flashed, and the color glowed in her delicate cheeks, as she spoke; Daisy thought she had never seen her sister look so beautiful, and even took out the glasses that she might look more closely at the handsome face.
Alas, what a change! Serpents seemed coiling and hissing about Maud's breast; her eyeswere like the eyes of a wolf; the color on her cheeks made Daisy think of the fires she had seen burning so far down in the centre of the earth; and the ivory whiteness of her forehead was the dead white of a corpse.
It was not strange that, Maud's beauty gone, her sister grew less submissive; for Daisy, even with her spectacles, had found nothing except beauty to love in her sister. She thought a lovely heart must be hidden somewhere underneath the lovely face.
But now she had looked past the outside, and all was deformed and dreadful.
"I should like to know if you mean to answer," said Maud pettishly; "I told you either to throw down the sticks, or else I would walk home alone."
"I must help the poor dame; and as for our walk, we both know the way," was Daisy's quiet answer.
So they parted; and Daisy began to cheer the dame, who groaned dreadfully, by tellingof all the fine things at the fair, and the use she had made of her spectacles, and how grateful she must always be for such a wondrous gift.
It pleased the dame to have her glasses praised; and so she forgot to limp and grumble about her wounds, and walked on gayly enough by Daisy's side, telling sometimes the wisest, and sometimes the drollest, stories she had ever heard.
But their mirth was interrupted by the sound of sobs; and Daisy's quick eyes discovered, sitting among the bushes by the way, a little girl, all rags and dust, crying as if her heart would break.