In Wild Rose Time. Douglas Amanda M.
your mother?” he ventured, dreading the reply.
“She goes out washin’. ’Tisn’t so very bad, you see,” returned Dil, with a certain something akin to pride. “Beggin’s worse.”
He had finished the sketches, – there were several of them, – and he began to gather up his pencils.
“Now that the work is done, we must have a picnic,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll find a fruit-stand somewhere. Keep right here until I return.”
The children gazed at each other in a sort of speechless wonder. There were no words to express the strange joy that filled each heart. Their eyes followed him in and out, and even when he was lost to sight their faith remained perfect. Then they looked at each other, still in amazement.
“It’s better’n Cunny Island,” said Bess. “I’ve wisht we could go sometime when mother’s startin’ out. But if she’d been good an’ tooken us, we wouldn’t a’ seen him. But I’m kinder sorry not to start right away, after all. Only there’s the cold, an’ I ain’t got no clo’es. Mebbe he knows best. An’ he’s so nice.”
“It’s curis,” Dil said after a long pause. “I wisht I could read quick an’ had some learnin’. There’s so many things to know. There’s so many people in the world, an’ some of thim have such nice things, an’ can go to places – ”
“Their folks don’t drink rum, mebbe,” returned the little one sententiously.
“I don’t s’pose you can get out of it ’cept by goin’ to heaven. But then, why – mebbe the others what’s havin’ good times don’t care to go. Mebbe he won’t,” drearily.
He soon returned with a bag of fruit. Such pears, such peaches, and bananas! And when he took out his silver fruit-knife, pared them, and made little plates out of paper, their wonder was beyond any words.
Dil eyed hers askance. She was so used to saving the best.
“Oh, do eat it,” cried Bess. “You never tasted anything like it! O mister, please tell her to. She’s alwers keepin’ things for me.”
“There will be plenty for you to take home. I must find you some flowers too. And this evening I am going to start on a journey – to be away several weeks. I’m sorry to lose sight of you, and I want to know how to find Barker’s Court. When I come back – would your mother mind your posing for me, do you think?”
“Posing?” Dil looked frightened.
“Just what you did this afternoon. Being put in a picture.”
It had suddenly come into his mind that he could lighten Dil’s burthen that way. He wanted to keep track of them.
“And what do you do with the pictures?”
“Sell them” – and he smiled.
“You couldn’t sell me; I’m not pritty enough,” she said, with the utter absence of all personal vanity, and a latent sense of amusement.
“When I come back we will talk about it. And I will bring you the book. You will learn more than I can tell you. I used to read it when I was a boy. And then we will talk about – going to heaven.”
He colored a little, and his heart beat with a new and unwonted emotion.
“You’re quite sure we can go nex’ spring?” queried Bess. “Do many people live there?”
“The Lord Jesus Christ and all his angels,” he answered reverently. “And the saints who have been redeemed, little children, and a multitude no man can number.”
A perplexing frown settled between Dil’s eyes.
“Seems as if I couldn’t never get the thing straight ’bout – ’bout Jesus Christ,” and a flush wavered over her face. “When the people in the court get drunk and fight, they swear ’bout him. If he jest gives people strength to beat and bang each other, how can he help ’em to be good? Maybe there’s more than one. An’ why don’t the one who lives in the beautiful heaven have a different name. I ast the Mission teacher once, an’ she said I was a wicked girl. Mammy said there wasn’t any God at all. How do you know?”
There was a brave, eager innocence in her eyes, and a curious urgency as well.
“’Cause,” she subjoined, “if God lives in heaven and keeps it for people, if there wasn’t any God, there couldn’t be any heaven. Some folks in the court have the Virgin Mary, but I never see God.”
There was no irreverence in her tone, but a perplexed wonder. And John Travis was helpless before it. How did the missionaries who went to the heathen ever make them understand? They had their idols of wood and stone, and had prayed to them; but this child had no God, not even an idol, though she loved Bess with every fibre of her being.
And he had almost said in his heart, “There is no God.” A first great cause, an atom rushing blindly about the darkness for another atom, a protoplasm, a long series of evolutions – how complacent he had been about it all! Could he teach these children science? He had heard the talk of the slums occasionally, blood-curdling oaths, threats, wishes, curses hurled at one another. These two little girls lived in it. Could any one enlighten them, unless they were taken to a new, clean world? Yet their souls seemed scarcely soiled by the contact, their faces bore the impress of purity.
Was it thus when the Lord came in the flesh, when the wickedness of the world was very great, its hopelessness well nigh fatal? He found many ignorant souls; but they learned of him and believed, and went forth to convert the world. Was it so much more wicked now?
“Let me tell you about the true Jesus,” he said in a soft, low tone, almost afraid to bear witness, he was so ignorant himself. “Long ago, when people were full of sorrow and suffering, and had forgotten how to be good to each other, God, who lived in this beautiful heaven, sent his Son down to teach them. He came and lived among them and helped them. Why, my little Dil, it’s just like your caring for Bess. She can never do anything to pay you back. She cannot sweep the house, nor tend the babies, nor sew, nor earn money. But you do it because you love her, and you only want love in return. She gives it to you.”
Dil stared stupidly. “I don’t want her to do nothin’,” she said, with a quivering lip.
“But you want her to love you.”
“How could I help it?” cried Bess.
“No, you couldn’t. And when the Lord found people ill and lame and blind, he cured them – ”
“O mister!” interrupted Bess, with her face in a glow of wonderful light, “do you s’pose he could have cured my poor hurted little legs so’s I could walk on ’em agen?”
“Yes, my child. He would have taken you in his arms and laid his hand on you, and you would have been strong and well.”
“And where is he now?” she asked eagerly.
“He went back to heaven – to his Father.” Ah, how could he explain to their limited understanding the sacrifice that had redeemed the world. He began to realize that faith for one’s self was easier than giving a reason for one’s faith. “He told people how to be kind and tender and loving, and to care for those in pain and sickness. He begged them to do it because he had loved them. That was all he wanted back. But there were ungrateful people, and those who were eager to fight and destroy each other, and they would not listen to him. But when he went away he left others, teachers, and they go on telling people – ”
How could he make it simple enough for their comprehension? He was in despair.
“Then he called those together who loved him and were willing to be good and kind, and said to them, ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions – I go to prepare a place that you may be with me’ – ”
“And that’s heaven,” interrupted Bess, her eyes shining and her lips pink and quivering. “O Dil! that’s where we are to go. I can’t hardly wait till spring. An’ soon’s we get there, I’ll ast him to cure my poor little legs poppy