Reuben and Mary had come; and glad enough Violet was to see them; but this, like all her days, had been so long that she forgot to say a word about her flowers and the gilded cup; she could not remember back to the morning, until her mother asked if she knew whose birthday this was; and then it all came back, and she gave more thanks and kisses than there had been flowers in the cup.
"But why is it empty?" asked Reuben.
And Violet told about the carriage, and Narcissa, and Toady's misfortune, and the kind doctor, who had waited to mend the mischief his daughter had done, and how he took her violets, leaving money in their stead.
You should have seen the old people hold up their hands when Violet showed them the coin she had only looked upon as so many bright stones.
Their marketing had not sold as well as usual, and the winter was to be a hard one for poor people, every one said; and they had been telling each other, as they came home, that if Providence had not taken care of them so well thus far, they should certainly expect to starve now.
And here stood Violet with six silver dollars! They could hardly believe their eyes. Some fairy must have given it to the child.
True enough, old Reuben—the fairyLove!
The rich doctor might have given six times as much, and never have felt the loss enough to remember it. But I cannot tell you how many comforts his money procured for the poor old people.
Mary had a new warm gown, and Reuben a pair of rubbers and some flannel, and Violet a blanket shawl, and what was left they spent in tea, rice, flour, and molasses.
Every afternoon, when the old lady sat down to sew that winter, feeling warmer than she had for many a cold month, and seeing so beautifully, too, from the light that came in at a new window they had bought for the hut where they lived, Mary would bless the rich man, and the good child God had given her.
And every time Reuben waded through the snow towards town, and did not wet his feet, nor come home with rheumatism, as he used to the winter before, he, too, would think of the rich man, and thank God for his little daughter, and wonder if everanyone had so many blessings as he.
Violet too, with her thick, warm shawl, could go to the district school; and very soon she learned more out of books than Reuben and Mary had known in all their lives.
Violet's years were like her days—busy and joyous; for they were spent in making all about her happy, and in finding new wonder and beauty in the world.
Winter evenings she would sit on her cricket at the old people's feet, and amuse them by telling her adventures on the way to and from school, or the wonderful things she had learned there.
Perhaps it had stormed, and she would describe how beautiful it was to see every thing folded in a mantle of white snow, and to run through the pearly dust, and scatter it far and wide, and to see it gathering like a world of blossoms in the branches of the dark pine trees.
Then she would tell how, when it cleared away, every thing shone, and glittered, and stood so still in the cold, blue air, and she could not hear her own footsteps any more than those of the squirrels that darted along the stone wall, and how she had sung, and shouted, and clapped her hands for company.
Or she had found a half-frozen bird, and, picking it up with her own half-frozen hands, had warmed it to life, while she felt its little frightened heart beating beneath her shawl—that heart and her own the only moving things in the wide, white silence.
And then how glad it made her feel when her bird sprang forth into the sky again, and she watched his shadow circling round and round her, until he alighted in a tree just as she passed underneath, and, with his fluttering wings sent down a shower of snow flakes all over her.
This, she supposed, was the only way he had of telling how well and strong he felt, and how he loved her for what she had done to him.
But Violet could hardly make the old folks believe what she heard at school about far-off countries and strange animals—snakes large enough to crush a horse and rider in their folds, and fishes so huge that half a dozen people could sit inside of them.
Every child knows these things now, and has pictures of them in his books; but when Reuben and Mary were young there were few schools; and they, poor people, had to work instead of study.
On summer mornings, after her work was done, Violet would bring home roots from her favorite wood, and plant them about the house, until you would hardly know it, it was so buried in beautiful green vines.
You could not have made Violet think there was a pleasanter home on earth than hers, when the clematis was starred all over with white blossoms, and the honeysuckle she had trained over the door was full of bright yellow flowers, and the hop vine hung full of its beautiful cones, and among all shone the bright pink wild roses, and the whole air was sweet with her own favorite violets.
Birds built nests within the vine, and hatched their young, and sang loudly and sweetly to their friends in the hut as often as they cared to hear.
Nothing pleased Reuben half as much as to sit in the shadow of the vines, watch the flowers grow, and feel that all this beauty was Violet's work; for the old gardener loved flowers dearly; and when he had grown too old to work himself, he was so glad to feel that his garden pets need not be smothered up in weeds, and die.
So there he sat in the sun day after day, while he grew thinner and more feeble; and one pleasant afternoon, when Violet thought he had taken too long a nap, she went to waken him for fear he might take cold.
But she paused to look at the good old man as he sat there with his hands folded on his bosom, and such a beautiful smile on the wrinkled face, and the wind stirring the gray locks, while his head rested among the fresh summer leaves.
Reuben never awoke; he was dead.
Violet burst into tears, and wished for a moment that she could die herself; but she thought of the mother who was too infirm to take care of herself, and who had lived with Reuben longer and would feel his loss more than she.
Just then a bird flew from his nest in the vine, and soaring slowly, sang low at first, and sweetly, and then louder and louder, till he was lost among the clouds.
And Violet remembered what her father had said so often, that one of these days he should shake off the old aching body, and soar as lightly as any bird, and live as happily, up in that calm heaven.
They buried Reuben under a great elm tree in sight of his own garden, and where he had often rested after his work, and watched the orioles building their nests or teaching their young to sing.
Lonely and sad enough it was in the hut when Violet and her mother went home and saw the old man's empty chair, and his garden tools hanging on the wall.
"It won't be long before I shall follow him," said old Mary, "and then God will take care of our child."
"But I will take care of my mother first, for a great many years," said Violet, drawing closer, and putting her arms around Mary protectingly; for Violet, though still young, was no longer a little child, as when we knew her first. The blue eyes, though, were just as bright and as full of love and tenderness; and the light hair, which was folded now in wavy bands over a calm white forehead, when the light touched it, had the same golden look as of old. She had grown tall too, and healthy, and was graceful as a bird, and had a low, musical voice like the brook, and a smile like sunshine, and, in short, was beautiful as a fairy herself.
While she sat there, with her low, sweet voice, trying to console her mother, and now and then her own sunny smile breaking through even her tears, the door opened, and their landlord entered.
He had sold the pasture and the whole blackberry hill to a rich man who would build there immediately; and they must move this very night, for the hut stood in his way.
Trouble seemed to come all at once; they had no money and no place to store their humble furniture; but Violet always hoped for the best, and only smiled when they began to move the rough chairs and table her father had nailed together.
"There's one comfort," she said; "our things are not so fine that a little dew will hurt them. We may leave them here till we find a better place."
But it did make her heart ache to see the men tear away her vines, even from above old Reuben's seat, and then, with a few axe strokes, batter down the wall, till nothing was left of the dear old home but a little pile of boards.
"We had better go to this rich man and tell our story," said her mother, as they walked sadly out of the pasture for, as they thought, the last time.
"He was boarding," the landlord said, "at a hotel in the village where Reuben had carried his marketing, only three or four miles thence."
So, leaning on Violet's arm, old Mary crept along the dusty road, farther than she had walked for many a day, and was tired enough when they reached the hotel door.
Not so Violet, who was full of hope, and had in her head more plans than one for finding a new home.
They asked for the stranger, Dr. Story, were led to his parlor, and told their simple tale. He was interested at once, and very angry that they had been treated so badly on his account, and offered to give them money, while he hardly took his eyes from Violet's face.
"No," she said, smiling; "we did not come to beg, but thought, as we had lost our home through you, you might be willing to help us find another."
"And how shall I do that?" asked the doctor.
Then Violet told him that she had studied evenings so long it seemed to her she could teach in the village school; but she was poor, and had no friends to speak a good word for her with the committee.
"What is your name?" asked the gentleman, suddenly.
"Violet."
"I thought so; and what has become of Toady?"
It was the doctor who had mended Toady's leg so many years ago, and the young man who sat reading on the sofa was no other than Alfred, his son, with the fairy Ambition still keeping him hard at work, and making him care for little else but books.
He looked up though, and listened to Violet's story, and, as he watched her, actually closed his book, and always afterwards closed it if she entered the room; for fairy Love was stronger than Ambition, and he could no more see in the purple light which fell from her wings than an owl could in broad noonday.
"But where is Narcissa?" asked Violet.
The father's face grew sad as he told how, the very day they were at the hut, in riding home the carriage was overturned, and Narcissa not only lamed for life, but thrown against a tree, one of whose branches entered her eye and put it out.
When Violet heard of this her eyes filled with tears, and forgetting all the unkindness she had received from this girl, she only remembered how handsome Narcissa was, and how happy she seemed as they drove away.
And the fairy Love shed such a beautiful light around the poor berry girl, that Ambition hid in a corner, and Alfred didn't think of his books again that day.
The doctor lent them money enough to hire a pleasant, sunny room in the village street, where her mother could sit and watch the passers by when she was tired of knitting and reading, for she was alone now almost all the day, and Violet was mistress of the village school.
One morning, as Mary sat in her comfortable chair, and was wishing old Reuben could see what a beautiful home she had, a carriage drove to the door below, and then came a knock at her own door, and Dr. Story entered.
"I have come to give you a ride this pleasant day," he said. "We will call for Violet. Wouldn't you like to see how I have improved the old blackberry field?"
Mary was delighted. She had never ridden in a carriage in her life; and to go in that splendid one of the doctor's, with velvet cushions, and footmen behind! She sat very straight, you may be sure, and kept tucking in her gown; for though it was new, she was afraid it might harm the seats, and her wrinkled face was shining all over with smiles.
They met Violet on her way home from school, and she was almost as much pleased as the old lady with her ride.
But what was their surprise to find, instead of the little footpath, a broad avenue through the pasture, with young trees on each side, and the hill where the blackberry vines had been, covered with waving oats, and in front of Violet's own beloved wood a beautiful great house large as a palace!
"But now look on the other side," said Dr. Story.
Where the old hut had stood was the prettiest little cottage you ever saw, with the very clematis, and honeysuckle, and wild roses Violet had planted trained over it; and there was Reuben's garden all in order, just as they had left it; and under the great elm tree there was his grave, with a new white stone at the head, and the old man's name and age cut in it.
They alighted at the cottage door, and Violet noticed how the air was perfumed with her own favorite flowers. While Alfred stooped to gather some of these for Violet, his father said,—
"Do you remember, Mary, whose birthday this is?"
"Sure enough, it's Violet's!" exclaimed the old woman.
"And this," said the doctor, "is Violet's birthday present—this house and garden, and these beds of flowers."
But before they could thank him, he added,—
"In return, you are to give up your school, and teach my own children. Will you do it, Violet? They are so young it will be easy at first, and meantime you shall have teachers yourself."
Pleased as Violet and Mary were, I don't think they were half as glad as Alfred, who threw his book down into the grass so suddenly at his father's speech, I should not be surprised if it broke fairy Ambition's head.
The cottage was all furnished, and had even a foot stove for the old lady, and a soft, stuffed easy chair in the parlor, while on the woodshed wall hung Reuben's tools; and what do you think hopped up from under a board as Violet stood looking at these? Toady, on his three legs, who winked his one round eye at her, as if he would say, "Isn't all this fine?"
Then there was a school room, where Violet's pupils came every morning, and learned to love her as if she were their own sister.
After school she would tell them stories about the birds, and squirrels, and flowers, among which she had lived so long, or take them to walk in the old pleasant places.
They told their sister Narcissa, who, like Violet, was grown to a young lady now, so much about the new teacher, that one pleasant day she went to the cottage with them.
Violet was grieved to see how the handsome face was scarred and spoiled; but Narcissa said,—
"It was the best thing that ever happened to me, Violet—that accident; it cured me of pride and selfishness."
And it had, truly. Narcissa was so gentle and patient, you would not have known her for the same person. She grew as fond of Violet as the children were; and when they were busy in the school room, studying, she would often sit and read to the old lady in the sunny little room where she slept and spent almost all her time. This room looked out towards the violet beds, and over it the vines grew most luxuriantly; their blossoms looked in at her window, and their shadows flickered over the bright-red carpet; while old Mary sat in her easy chair thinking of Reuben, who was dead and gone, and rejoicing that she could live and die where every thing reminded her of him, and be buried by his side.
By his side shewasburied, under the great elm tree, but not until she had lived many years in the cottage with Violet—the happiest years of her life.
Then Violet's friends at the great house said she had better go and live with them, it was so lonely in the old place now; and about this time Alfred came home from India, where he had lived long enough to grow very sickly and very rich.
He told Violet that he had been earning money to take care of her, and now, if she would be his wife, they might still live in the cottage and be happy all their days.
But Alfred's father was proud and ambitious, and would not be satisfied to have his son marry a poor berry girl. This Violet knew well enough; so she never told Alfred that she loved him, but only said "No" to his offers, at which he felt so badly he threatened to shoot himself.
But instead of this, he concluded afterwards to marry some one else—a lady, rich, and accomplished, and gay, who made the great house merrier than it had ever been before she went to it.
There were balls, and parties, and concerts, strangers coming and going constantly; there was no such thing as quiet.
Violet was unwilling to exchange for this her pleasant, sunny little cottage; the vines and the elm tree and crowded garden beds had grown so dear to her, and the very birds and squirrels seemed to know and love Violet, and sing and chip to her, "Dostay."
How could she refuse? Who would take care of poor Toady if she went? and who would feed the old faded cat lying now on the doorstep half asleep, opening half an eye sometimes to watch her kittens play, and then going off into a doze again like a worn-out grandmother, as she had become.
Who will believe it?—she was the same kitten that followed Violet into the wood about the time our story began, and wasn't old enough then to catch a cricket or keep from drowning in the brook.
While Violet sat on the doorstep wondering whether to please Alfred and his father by going to live with them or to stay with her favorites in the cottage, Narcissa came in sight.
She was limping along with her crutches through the grass, and looked very pale and tired; for the walk from the wood to the cottage, which was nothing to Violet, was a great undertaking to the lame girl. She never walked as far in any other direction; but some how the path to Violet's seemed the smoothest and easiest.
Shall I tell you why? Because the fairy Love went before her, picking up every rough stone and bur or brier, and when the sun was hottest, shaded the invalid with her delicate purple wings.
Violet, too, had taught Narcissa how many pleasant things there are in the world even for one who is sick. So, instead of fretting because the way was dusty and the sunshine hot, Narcissa looked up at the cool green leaves which were fanning her, and watched along all the way to see what beautiful flowers the heat and light were opening. She, too, had learned to love the cool song of the brook; to be glad—though she could not follow them herself, poor cripple!—that the butterflies could flutter about and drink honey from all the flowers, and the squirrels could dart away with their nuts, and the birds go sailing and singing up into the far blue sky.
Her old fairy, Envy, was banished forever from Narcissa's heart, and in its place dwelt Violet's fairy, Love, and Contentment, Love's unfailing friend.
The moment these fairies came, her heart began to grow larger and purer; for it only takes a small soul to hold such a miserable little sprite as Envy, who is so mean and poor that he makes every place poor into which he enters, though he looks fine enough in his cloak streaked with purple, gold, and red, like the gaudiest of tulips.
No wonder Narcissa was glad to make the exchange of friends; for Love soon taught her that the way to be happy is to forget all about ourselves, and be glad whenever another is glad, no matter how humble a thing. So when she watched the sunshine creep towards a flower that had been waiting for it in the shade, or when she saw a young bird fly for the first time, or, in frosty mornings that made her sick frame shiver, when she heard the nuts rattle down, and knew the frost had opened their burs, and that the children would be glad, Narcissa's heart would be so full of sympathy that I am not sure but she was the happiest of all.
Violet saw Narcissa's white dress among the trees,—for the young elms in the avenue had grown so high as to meet now overhead,—and ran out to welcome her.
She helped the invalid into her house, brought her mother's easy chair out to the porch, and a footstool and fan, and last of all a little table, upon which she placed fresh flowers and a new book that had been given her, and then hurried away to mix a cooling drink, of which Narcissa was very fond.
"How good you are, Violet," said Narcissa when she came back, "and how little I deserve so much from you! A toad just hopped over the step—the queerest old fellow—looked as if he had been through a dozen wars, with his one eye and a missing leg. I could have laughed, we were so much alike; and yet I couldn't, for he made me think of that first day we came to your father's house, and——"
"O, yes," interrupted Violet; "and only think how much good has come tousfrom that first visit—how comfortably we have lived ever since!—your father was so kind."
"ButIwasn't kind," said Narcissa, looking very sorrowful; "I did you nothing but harm; and think what you have done for me."
"Brought you a chair and a fan," laughed Violet; "wonderful deeds!"
"You may laugh if you will," answered the lady; "but I would not give what I have gained from you in exchange for a hundred times what I ever had before. My beauty only made me vexed if I was not admired; my health and strength made me restless, kept me always in search of what I could not find nor buy. Beauty, and health, and money are good for nothing by themselves. O Violet, you have given health and beauty to myheart, and now I am rich and happy because no living thing can be glad but I grow richer by sharing its joy—those cool cloud shadows flickering over the grass—this sweetness the air has caught from your violet beds; and look how that humming bird enjoys the dew and honey he is drinking out of the roses, hanging among them by his long, slim bill; I can almost taste it with him as clearly as I smell the odor he shakes from the roses with his glittering wings; and I feel, too, the coolness the shadows must bring to the heated grass. For all of this, my friend, I thank you constantly."
Violet was not fond of hearing herself praised; she thought it pleasure enough to help any one; so she changed the subject by offering Narcissa some more of the refreshing drink. She answered,—
"Not now, I thank you; but pray where do you buy this cordial?—it is so much pleasanter to me than the rich wines we have at home, which always make me sick."
When Violet told how she had made the cordial herself from wild raspberries of her own picking, had pressed the juice out with her own white hands, and that the same hands had made the light biscuit she brought with it, and arranged the tasteful bouquet, and nailed up the luxuriant rosebushes, Narcissa was quite enchanted, and wished she could live as independently herself.
"O," she said, "I am so tired of the noise and confusion at home, and so many new faces, such rich food. If I could live here, Violet, with you!"
"Why not make me a visit? and if you are contented with my simple fare, I shall be very glad to have you stay as long as you will. We might have beautiful times together."
"Are you in earnest?" asked Narcissa, eagerly. "I shall be so happy and so independent here! and I won't be in the way either, for you shall teach me to work, and I can paint, and draw, and play on the piano, and read ever so many languages. All these I will teach you." She smiled, and Violet asked why.
"I was thinking that the accomplishment of which I was proudest once must be taught by some one else."
"Why?"
"Every one praised my dancing; but how in the world could I teach you with my wooden leg? I will learn of you to work, to help others, to find out the best things in books, and the most beautiful things every where. Why, we shall be like two fairy queens in our little cottage palace."
Narcissa's father, instead of objecting to this plan, was very much pleased with it—said the change would be better than any medicine for the invalid.
Love and Contentment waved their bright wings now; for the two friends became so fond of each other they were not contented apart. Narcissa even grew beautiful again, there was such a peaceful smile upon her face, and such an earnest, loving look within her eyes.
It was a real pleasure for Violet to comfort and amuse this friend, from whom she was constantly learning some new thing.
Narcissa painted beautifully, and Violet would bring her the freshest and loveliest flowers to copy; so there was hardly a blossom or a green leaf in the neighborhood, from April to November, but you could find it almost living again in their portfolio.
They would watch the birds too, find out all their names, and their different notes, and how they fed and taught their young; and Violet worked in her garden more than ever now, because Narcissa's maid took care of the cottage, and kept it as neat as even its mistress wished.
She had the lawn before the house enclosed in a border shaped like the half of a great ring, and this was planted full of snowdrops, which blossom quite early, you know, and are very delicate and beautiful. It was like a ring of living pearls; and when these wilted, odors began to steal towards the cottage door, which tempted Violet to look under another border thick with green leaves, and there would be more violets than you could count; so the pearl ring changed to one of emerald and amethyst.
Meantime the sweetbrier by the doorway would begin to have pale green buds on its brown stems, and the honeysuckle and bitter-sweet came forth in fresh green shoots, until there were so many new, tender, fragrant leaves, and buds, and blossoms that the birds were sure to select it as the place for their nests.
Narcissa loved to watch them while Violet was busy with her work. A flock of robins would settle upon the plum tree in the garden, peck at the gum, and dig insect eggs out from the bark, and then fly away towards the wood, singing all together; but soon two would steal back to the plum tree, and chirp and twitter to each other, and look at the cottage, and then at the wood, and then at the thickest boughs of the plum.
Presently both would fly together towards the house, one settling on the sweetbrier, and one on the roof, and then on the chimney, and then hop along the porch, and then back both would go to have another talk in the plum tree, and then fly off to find their brothers and sisters in the wood.
But sure as another morning came, back would come the birds too, looking with their little bright eyes all about the cottage, and always settling at last on that one sweetbrier branch.
Then they would begin to bring straws and hair, which they wove together into a soft little nest, working away as busy and happy as birds could be, now and then going back to the plum tree, as if from a distance to admire their tiny home.
Before very long, looking out of the cottage window, you might find the nest full of little cunning eggs; but you could not see these often, for the birds kept them almost constantly sheltered with their own warm breasts, waiting until the little things within should grow strong enough to break and creep out of their shells.
All this time the father bird would bring the mother food—bring her ripe cherries, seeds, buds, and worms; and sometimes he would take her place, letting her fly away for a look at the woods, or a drink from the sparkling brook.
But some bright morning you would hear the old birds twittering so joyfully, you might know something had come to pass; and the first time they flew away, if you looked from the window again, there would be, instead of the eggs, a little heap of the homeliest things in the world, with great eyes, and great legs and claws, and long red necks, and mouths half as large as the bodies, gaping at you—not a feather to be seen except a little down, like whiskers, about their ears.
Birds grow very fast; you would be surprised to find how soon they began to fill, and more than fill, the nest, until some morning one after another would hop out among the sweetbrier stems, and show you their glossy backs and speckled breasts, while the old birds watched so proud and happy, and began teaching them to fly and to sing.
One morning towards the last of May, when Violet was in the garden transplanting her forget-me-nots, and Narcissa, in the porch, sat watching her, enjoying the cool, fresh air, the new life that budded forth from every thing, and the freedom and joy of the golden orioles as they flashed in and out among the elm boughs, and twittered forth their wild and plaintive melodies, her attention was caught by a stir and fluttering in the sweetbrier, and then a song from the larch tree opposite. These sounds came from two yellow birds, a mother and her little one. The young one would go, "Twe-te-twee," timidly and sweetly, with such a tired tremble at the end; then forth poured the old bird a clear, connected strain, half repeated it, and then paused; and the little sweet voice came again, "Pee-te-wee—pee-te-wee—twee-te-wee." It was too cunning, and the old bird took up the trembling, broken strain so clearly, with such ease, "Twitter, witter, witter—wee-te-twee-te-twee—twitter, witter, witter"—"Wee-te-twee," ended the young one, with that same little tremble in the midst, the same baby sweetness, just such as in a child would make you snatch it up and kiss it—"twee-te-wee." Narcissa wondered if there could have been more exquisite music in paradise.
Violet still had her little school of Narcissa's brothers and sisters; but she was so gentle and patient that study was never very hard to them, though the lessons might be long; and then at recess time the boys would go out and pick cherries, or apples, or plums, from the garden, bring them in on fresh green leaves, and they would all sit in the porch and have a little feast together.
Saturday afternoons they would take a walk in the woods; and Violet taught them how to weave oak leaves into crowns, and to make necklaces out of dandelion stems and lilac flowers, and baskets of rushes.
They always took something home to Narcissa, who could not enjoy long walks because of her lameness. One would pick up a pocket full of checkerberries, and one a handful of the young, spicy leaves; and the prettiest branch of hawthorn, the longest-stemmed violets, the largest-leaved bough of oak, were sure to go home for her.
When it grew late in the year, they had such sport gathering chestnuts, hazelnuts, and shagbarks; the boys climbed the trees, and shook or beat them with long poles, and down the nuts would come rattling by baskets full. These were stored away in the cottage; for they all knew that what Violet kept for them was safe.
When they came near the cottage again after one of these excursions, looking so bright, with their rosy cheeks, and flying hair, and laughing faces, Narcissa's smiling face was always at the window watching, and quickly appeared at the door to welcome them. Sometimes they all went home crowned with autumn leaves, sometimes with woodbine or ground pine, and early in spring with bloodroots, violets, or anemones.
But the prettiest crown, and the rarest flower, and the juiciest bunch of berries were always for Narcissa.
In stormy days, or when the ground was covered with snow, Violet still made the holidays pleasant for her scholars; they would play games and sing in the afternoon. She would teach the girls how to dress their dolls, and the boys how to make pasteboard boxes and kites, and how to put puzzles together. Then at evening they would gather around the fireplace, with Narcissa's great chair in the midst of the circle, and she or Violet would tell stories for hours together.
One of these stories Narcissa liked so much that she wrote it down, and after Violet was dead,—for, like the snowdrops and wild roses, our Violet died at last,—she read it to me. I will try and remember it for you; but first I must tell what sorrow there was in the great house on the hill, and not there only, but among all the poor in the neighborhood, when Violet went to heaven.
Under the elm tree they buried her, beside Mary and Reuben; and the orioles she loved to watch still hatch their young and sing sweet songs above her grave.
Alfred wanted to build a great marble monument over her; for he said the whole world did not contain a better or lovelier woman. But Narcissa said,—
"No; she has built her own monument of good deeds, which will last after marble has mouldered away. Let us cover her grave with her own sweet violets, that whenever we pass we may think ofourViolet."
Long afterwards, even to this day, when any who knew her witness a kind action, or meet one with a cheerful, hopeful spirit, and a sunny smile, they say, "It is just like Violet."
So, dear children, let us try to make friends with her fairies, Love and Contentment, and let us remember that whenever the thought of her urgesusto be cheerful, contented, and loving, we, too, shall plant a flower on Violet's grave.
It was a snowy night, and the children, as we gathered around the fire, began to ask for stories. I told them a queer dream of my own, and then they insisted that Violet should give one of her fairy tales.
While she was puzzling her brain for a new one, my little sister Mabel, who had climbed upon the sofa and was nestling close to her, asked,—
"What makes you love violets so much? Here even in winter time you have some in your bosom. Aren't you sweeter than these little homely things?"
"Narcissa," she answered, "has told a dream, and now I will tell one. It's a kind of fairy story besides, and partly true. You must not ask any questions about the little girl, or make any guesses. Her name happened to be just like yours, Mabel."
"Little girl! I thought 'twas adream," said Mabel.
"Listen, then: A little girl went out one day in search of strawberries. She went into a wide green field that was starred all over with dandelions, and clusters of wild lilies hanging like bells around their stems, and violets, and blue-eyed grass.
"There was not a living being in this place except the birds, and little fishes in the brook; for through the long grass all around the field ran a stream of clearest water over a dark-brown, pebbly bed.
"Rising on every side, so as to shut the field in by itself, were hills closely covered with trees and vines. Here birds sang all day long, and flowers bloomed, and nuts and berries ripened; the ground was in some places slippery with fallen pine leaves, and in others soft with a carpet of fresh moss.
"It was shady in these woods, but in the field the sun shone, opened the lilies, ripened the strawberries, and made the little girl feel bright and glad, although it was so warm.
"Strawberries are tiny things to pick; the little girl thought it would take a million to fill her pail; and often she longed to leave them and gather flowers, or play with the fish in the brook, or rest in the cool wood.
"But she had always loved violets, just as I love them; and a gardener's wife had promised Mabel that the first time she brought a pail full of strawberries to her, she should have in return a whole bunch of these fragrant flowers.
"So, stooping among the lilies, which were almost as tall as herself, and picking one by one, one by one, the bright sun pouring its heat down upon her, after a great while her pail was heaped with berries. Almost as fragrant as violets they were, too, and looked, upon their long green stems, like little drops of coral.
"Mabel's work was not over now; she climbed half way up the hill, found a beautiful shady place, where the grass was long, and the roots of a great tree had coiled themselves into a seat, which was cushioned over with moss.
"She threw aside her sun bonnet, and began to pick off the green hulls from her fruit, while the broad oak leaves overhead kept fanning her, and lifting the matted curls from her warm forehead.
"But then came a great mosquito, and then another, and another; they would whirl around her head, buzzing and buzzing, and fly from her forehead to her nose, and from nose to hand, and hand to shoulder, and then creep into the curly hair, and buzz so close to her ear it frightened her.
"Twenty times she had a mind to throw her berries into the brook and run home; but then she thought of the violets—how splendid it would be to have them all to herself; she should not give away one flower, not one, she had worked so hard for them.
"Throwing the stems away lowered the contents of her pail so much that Mabel had to go out in the hot field and pick again, and then back to the wood where the mosquitoes were, and work another hour. She never had such a long, hard task before.
"But the little girl travelled home at last with her pail brimful in one hand, and a splendid great bunch of lilies in the other. This last served as a parasol till she reached the gardener's gate.
"Then, taking her violets, Mabel hurried home. There were more of them, and they were larger and sweeter, than she had even hoped. She hardly took her eyes from them until she reached her mother's door.
"While she was placing her flowers in water, a woman came up the hot, dusty road, with a young child in her arms. She looked tired and warm, and said she had eaten nothing all day long. Mabel looked in the closet; there was plenty of bread, but she dared not give it without her mother's leave. She looked in all the rooms; but her mother was not to be found; and when the poor woman had rested a little, Mabel watched her creep out into the blazing sun again, dragging the little child after her. She could not bear to think that while she had every thing to make her happy, others must go hungry and tired; and 'Suppose it were my mother,' Mabel thought; 'Imustdo something for her; yet I have nothing in the world to give.'
"'Except the violets,' whispered something inside of Mabel's heart. Snatching them from the table, she ran after the beggar, and said,—
"'There, I gave a whole pail of strawberries for these; perhaps you can sell them for a loaf of bread.'"
The poor woman looked so pleased, and thanked Mabel so heartily, that she felt the violets could never have caused her so much joy as it had done to give them away.
"Not many days after these events, Mabel went again to the field where the lilies and strawberries grew, played about in the sun until she was tired, and then seated herself under a shady tree to rest, and hear the birds and rustling leaves, and watch the brook glide through the grass.
"The grass about her was long, and fine, and soft as any bed; it was cool too, and Mabel, listening to the quiet murmur of the brook, fell fast asleep; but all the while she thought herself wide awake, and wondered why the sound of the rippling of water changed to something like the tread of tiny feet; and then there came the sweetest, most delicate music; and all at once—could it be?—she saw a multitude of little beings marching through the very pathway her footsteps had made in the grass, and approaching her. They were hardly taller than a grasshopper would be if he could stand up like a man, and had formed themselves into the drollest little procession.
"First came the musicians; there were flute players, using each a joint of grass stem for instrument, bell ringers, jingling lilies of the valley, and trumpeters tooting through white lilac blossoms. Then came the guards, dressed in uniform, and bearing each a fern leaf for banner at once and parasol. With these leaves they shaded a group of little women, who marched along as dignified as nuns until they came to a bunch of fennel leaves that grew near Mabel's resting-place. Towards this they flew, for the tiny people had wings; they climbed the stems and clung to the feathery leaves, and then all at once, espying Mabel, trooped towards her, and ranged themselves upon a platform of plantain leaves.
"They were funny little women—tall, and prim, and slim, wearing green mantles and such big purple hoods. They were more polite than some larger people, and did nothing but bow, and courtesy, and smile to Mabel, who asked them who they were and whence they came.
"They shook their heads, and laughed, while the air was filled with sweetest odor. At last one said,—
"'We are flower spirits. Every year we come to earth and live in some blossom, which we fill with beauty and fragrance; but when it withers we go back to Fairyland until another spring. We have, besides our fairy queen, a queen whom we choose every year among mortals, and serve her faithfully. We have just returned from working in her service.'
"'Are you not hungry?' asked Mabel. 'I have brought luncheon. Won't you eat some of my gingerbread?'
"The fairies laughed again. 'We live,' they said, 'upon flower dust and dewdrops; we should not relish mortal food.'
"Then they called from the attendants who lingered among the fennel leaves their steward and butler; and it was Mabel's turn to laugh when she saw how queerly they ate.
"Some blossoms from the elder bush, little ivory urns, served them for goblets. These were set upon a mushroom, and some red clover blossoms were rolled around the table for seats. The little men had tried in vain to break these blossoms off; so they caught a caterpillar, whipped him along with grass blades, and made him use his teeth for a knife. Then they had caught a toad, and heaped his round back with the blossoms, which rolled off as fast as they could be picked up again; and by the time they reached their mistresses, the fairy servants were warm and red in the face as any hay makers.
"The fairies grew so hungry with waiting that they even tasted a crumb of Mabel's gingerbread; but not liking this very well, they took out from among the provisions that were packed in a wild rose, the petals nicely fastened together with cobweb threads, some poppy and caraway seeds, upon which they began to gnaw with their little white teeth.
"'You must have lived in violets,' said Mabel. 'Every time you shake your bonnets and laugh, the air is full of their odor. Can't you smell it?'
"'Yes, for we were violets once ourselves, and all blossomed in the same garden; some of us grew from the same root, and a queer life we have led in the last few days. One hot day this very week the gardener's wife picked us in the greatest haste, and tied us together so tightly we were all but smothered for a while. The woman gave us to a little girl, who was just putting our stems in some cool water, and we half dead with thirst, when she must needs give us away to a beggar woman.'
"'Why,' exclaimed Mabel, 'were youmyviolets?'
"The fairies only laughed.
"'The woman held us in her hot hands until we were all but wilted, and she gave one or two of my sisters to the poor tired child that followed her through the dust.'
"'What is the matter?' asked Mabel; 'your eyes are full of tears.'
"'I am thinking of my sisters, whom we shall never meet again;' and the tears ran down the fairy's little cheeks. 'The child was overtired, and so warm that when they came to a resting-place, and she lay down to sleep, she never awoke again. A lady who had taken pity upon her laid the little body out for burial, and finding those few violets still clinched in the dead hand, would not remove them; so my sisters were buried in her grave, and must remain there no one knows how long; for while we live on earth we must take care of these bodies, frail flowers though they be. If we omit this, all our happiness and usefulness are gone. The kind lady who buried the beggar child bought us from the woman, all wilted as we were. In her shady parlor we soon grew refreshed, lifted our heads again, and in gratitude breathed forth odors, till the room was all perfumed. A lovely girl came to visit the lady, and said so much about our sweetness, that, to our joy, we were divided with her. She took us to her home, a splendid place, all light, and gilding, and flowers, curtains, and cushions, and velvet carpets, and marble stands. Upon one of these last we were placed, in a white Parian cup, but hardly had time to regain our breath when one of the maiden's lovers came, selected me from among the rest, and twirled me around his finger as he talked, until my stem was broken, and I all but dead. In a lucky hour he let me fall, and, lame as I was, I caught by the leg of a great fly, who whizzed me out of the window in a second, buzzing so all the while that he almost stunned me. I have just found my friends here, and have not had time to ask about their adventures.'
"The little woman, tired with talking so long, sank into her seat on the plantain leaf, and taking a caraway seed from her pocket, began nibbling, while her companions finished the story.
"'We have had less trouble,' they said. 'The benevolent lady took us to a dismal prison, to be sure, and we were shut up for a while with a man who had murdered another, and was waiting to be hung. He had forgotten his own mother and his early home; but when he looked at us, the past came back to him. He remembered the little garden by his father's house, and felt for a moment like an innocent boy again. From that hour he grew penitent, and he may be forgiven in consequence by God.'
"'But didn't the jailer forgive him?' asked Mabel.
"'No; he was hung. We belonged to no one then, so we caught our withering bodies under our arms, and flew away through the iron gratings of his cell. But, Mabel, what are you thinking about?' ended the fairy.
"'Thinking,' said Mabel, 'how much better it was to give away my violets than to keep them. I little dreamed they would do so much good in the world. But, fairy, what is the name of the earthly queen you told me about?'
"'Mabel,' answered all the little voices; and the fern leaf banners waved, and violet odors filled the air again, while the tiny flutes and trumpets made sweet music at the mention of their queen.
"'Why, that is my name,' said the little girl.
"'And you are our queen,' said the fairies. 'It is a kind and loving heart that gives one power like a fairy wand, and can win all good spirits to serve its owner. This will change selfishness into benevolence, and sin to penitence, and hatred to forgiveness; it will transform—haven't you done it?—a prison into a dewy garden, and put love and penitence into a murderer's heart. Whoever uses us to best purposes is our queen; andthissummer our queen is Mabel.'
"Mabel reached forward to take her little subjects from the leaf; but lo, it was only a handful of violets. In her surprise, she awoke, with a dim feeling still that she had watched the little procession wind away through her foot tracks in the grass, the fern leaf banners waving over it, while mingled with violet odors came back triumphant music from the tiny flutes and timbrels. Low but clear were the fairy voices; and Mabel never forgot the words they sang, which ended,—