Bessie in the City. Mathews Joanna Hooe
find them troublesome; but we seldom or never hear of a lamb getting into mischief or naughty ways. So when a child is obedient and gentle, we say it is like a little lamb."
"Mamma taught us such a pretty hymn last week about a lamb," said Bessie.
"Can't you let me hear it?" said grandpapa. So Bessie repeated these verses: —
"Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and gave thee feed,
By the stream, and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight, —
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice.
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
"Little lamb, I'll tell thee!
Little lamb, I'll tell thee!
He is callèd by thy name.
For He calls Himself a lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I, a child, and thou, a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!"1
She said them slowly and carefully, not missing one word, and grandpapa was much pleased.
"That is indeed pretty, my darling," he said, "and grandpapa is much obliged to you. What a dear, good mamma you have, always teaching you something useful or pretty."
"Oh, yes!" said Bessie, "she is just the most precious mamma that ever lived."
Grandpapa looked down as if he thought the dear mamma's little daughter was rather precious, too; but he did not say so.
"I never saw such a good helper as our mamma," said Maggie. "She always can tell us how to do things."
Then Maggie told how mamma was helping them to buy the library, and of all their little plans. Grandpapa listened, and seemed very much interested; and by the time the story was finished, they had reached the river.
Mr. Duncan led them through a grove of locust-trees, and just beyond was the pretty sight he had brought them to look at. This was a pond into which the water flowed by a narrow canal cut from the river. Upon it were floating two beautiful white swans. The children had never seen them before, for the pond had been made, and the swans brought there, since their last visit to Riverside. Over the canal was a pretty rustic bridge, and below it a wire fence, which allowed the water to flow in, but through which the swans could not pass. On the other side of the pond was a little house, made, like the bridge, of boughs twisted together.
"Oh, grandpapa," said Maggie, "what beautiful birds! How did they come there? And that water, too? It did not use to be there."
"No," said Mr. Duncan. "The pond was made this summer, while you were at Quam Beach. Those birds are swans."
"And is that their little house?" asked Bessie.
"Yes," said grandpapa; and then taking from his pocket a couple of crackers which he had brought for the purpose, he gave one to each of the children, and told them they might feed the swans. The birds were not at all afraid of the little girls, and came swimming up to where they stood, arching their graceful necks as if they quite expected to receive something nice to eat. Indeed, they were so tame that when the crackers were broken up, they took pieces from the children's hands as if they had known them all their lives. Maggie and Bessie were delighted, and Maggie thought she would like to stay by the pond all day; but now Mr. Duncan said it was time to go back to the house, so they bade good-by to the swans.
By this time Flossy was tired, and was quite willing to let Maggie take him up in her arms and carry him. Before they reached home he was asleep, and Maggie laid him in a corner of the sofa in the hall, and covered him up with a shawl. After a while, Bessie seeing him, thought she was tired too, so she climbed on the sofa, took Flossy in her arms, nestled down on the cushions, and in five minutes she, too, was fast asleep. There Maggie, who had been down in the kitchen, begging the cook for some milk for the puppy, found her. She stood looking at her for a moment, then ran into the library where her father and Uncle John were sitting.
"Oh, papa," she said, seizing his hand, "come and see the prettiest thing you ever saw. Come, Uncle John, do come; but do not make any noise."
Papa and Uncle John followed the eager little girl, who led them to the sofa where Bessie and Flossy lay.
"Isn't she sweet?" whispered Maggie. "Isn't it just like a picture?"
It was indeed a pretty sight. The sleeping child in her white dress, with her curls falling over the red cushions, and the little dog clasped in her arms, his face cuddled up against her shoulder. But Mr. Duncan and Mr. Bradford thought that not the least pretty part of it was the affectionate little sister standing by, looking at Bessie with so much love in her eyes. Her father could not help stooping to kiss her. Just then Aunt Helen passed through the hall.
"Come here, Helen," said Mr. Duncan.
"Isn't that a pretty picture, Aunt Helen?" said Maggie, as her aunt paused to look. "I am going to call mamma."
"No, no," said Mrs. Duncan, "do not call her. You have given me an idea, Maggie. Can you keep a secret?"
Maggie promised, and her father said he thought she might be trusted.
Now Aunt Helen could draw and paint very beautifully, and her "idea" was to make a little picture of Bessie as she lay sleeping, and to give it to her mother as a Christmas gift. She ran to her room, and bringing paper and pencils, began to sketch her little niece.
Mr. Bradford looked over her shoulder.
"Could you not put the other one in?" he whispered, looking at Maggie, who still seemed as if she could not take her eyes from her sister. "We never separate them, you know, and it will be a double pleasure to Margaret."
So Mrs. Duncan drew Maggie, too, though Maggie did not know this, for her aunt said she should not let her see the picture until it was quite finished.
"And mind," said Uncle John, "if you say a word about it, I shall look at you with both my eyes, and put your nose between your ears."
Maggie laughed, and promised to be very careful; and now, as Bessie began to stir, Aunt Helen ran away with the picture.
Flossy was taken home in the carriage that afternoon, and I must say, he behaved very badly all the way. He was not used to riding, and he did not like it at all. On the first half of the road, he whined and fretted all the time; and when he became a little accustomed to the motion, he would not keep quiet; and either scrambled all about the carriage, or if Maggie or Bessie took him upon her lap, put his head out of the window and barked at every person he saw, so that his little mistresses were quite mortified.
"Mamma," said Bessie, "please don't think he's the troublesomest little dog you ever saw. We will teach him to behave better. If you hadn't teached us, maybe we would have been as full of misfit as he is."
Mamma said she did not doubt that Flossy would learn better in time, and she would have patience with him.
V.
THE COLONEL'S STORY
ON Sunday morning Maggie and Bessie were made ready, and taken over to Mrs. Rush's rooms at nine o'clock, as had been arranged. As Maggie had told Mr. Hall, Mrs. Rush could not leave the colonel to go to the church school; but she was very anxious to do something for the lambs of the Good Shepherd, who had so lately brought her dear husband into the fold, and so she had begged that these little ones might come to her. Mrs. Bradford was very glad to have her children go. Bessie had never been to Sunday-school, and her mother thought the walk too much for her on a cold day; but Mrs. Rush's rooms were so near their own home that she could
William Blake.