Daisy or The Fairy Spectacles Part 11

"But he could not be half so beautiful as the man I saw in that very place," boasted Maud. "I talked with him a while; then I suppose he heard you coming, for he went away."

The old dame's bright, sharp eyes were fixed upon her; and Maud cast her own eyes down in shame, as Daisy continued,--

"The dame's bundle of wood was very heavy, and this little girl dragged so upon my skirts as we toiled on, that I knew she must be tired. I was feeling glad that I happened to meet them, because I am both young and strong, you know, and used to work, when, as I told you, Christ appeared, standing beneath the elm."

[Ill.u.s.tration: AND HE LOOKED INTO MY FACE.]

"How ashamed you must have felt! I suppose he thought you the old dame's daughter, or a beggar, perhaps. I'm glad you did not bring him to our cabin; how it would look beside his palace in the golden city above!

What did he say to you?"

"'Blessed, O Daisy, are the merciful,' he said; 'I was hungry, and you gave me food; thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was sad, and you cheered me; tired, and I rested on your arm.'

"'O, no,' I answered, 'you must be thinking of some one else. I never saw you before, except in my vision once.'

"He took my hand, and looked into my face with such a gentle smile that I did not feel afraid, and pointed at the wood: 'This burden was not the old dame's, but mine; the blood you wiped away was mine; when you fed and comforted this little one, you were feeding and comforting me. You never can tell how much good you are doing, Daisy; poor girl as you are, you may give joy to my Father's angels. Look through your spectacles.'

"So I looked, and there sat the poor little beggar, (see, she has fallen asleep from weariness!) moaning and sobbing in the gra.s.s, as when we found her first; and an angel stood beside her, weeping, too."

"An angel beside _her_?" interrupted Maud.

"Yes, a beautiful angel, with the calm, holy look which they all wear in heaven, but I never saw upon this earth; he wept because she had no friend; and, just then, I was so fortunate as to come past, and, not seeing the angel, I asked her to take my hand, and run along beside me.

"But now I saw that, when the child began to smile, the angel also smiled, and lifted his white wings and flew--O, faster than lightning--over the tree tops, and past the clouds; and the sky parted where he went, until I saw him stand before the throne, in the wonderful city above.

"And Christ said, 'He stands there always, watching her, unless she needs him here; and when her earthly life is over, he will lead her back, to dwell in my Father's house. For the great G.o.d is her Father, and yours, and mine; she is my sister: should I not feel her grief?'"

Maud's heart fell, for she felt that the being whom she had met must also have been Christ, and asked Daisy if he looked sad and tired, and had wounds in his hands.

"O, no--what could tire him, Maud? He looked strong, and n.o.ble, and glad, and seemed, among the dark trees, like a s.h.i.+ning light."

"Alas! then it was I who tired him, and made him sorrowful," thought Maud; then said, aloud, "But, Daisy, are you sure he took your hand?

See, it is smeared with the old dame's blood, and soiled with tears you wiped from the beggar's face, and stained and roughened with hard work: are you sure he touched it?"

"The whole was so strange, that I dare not be sure whether any part of it was real," replied Daisy, who was so modest that she did not wish to tell all Christ had said.

"_I_ am sure, then," outspoke the dame. "He took her hand, and--listen to me, Maud!--he said, 'This blood, these tears, these labor stains, will be the brightest jewels you can wear in heaven; have courage, and be patient, Daisy--for beautiful words are written here, that never will fade away.'"

And when Maud asked what they were, the dame replied sharply, "Exactly the opposite of words that are written on somebody's fine hands: self-sacrifice, and generosity, and faith, and earnestness, and love.

Such words as these make Daisy's rough hands beautiful."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE FACE AND THE HEART.

"Can I give up my beautiful face, and become a poor little drudge, like Daisy?" asked Maud of herself. "No, it's a great deal too much trouble.

I can find plenty of friends at the fair; and so I will forget the sad, sweet face that has haunted me all these months."

So Maud never told that she had looked upon Christ; though every time Daisy spoke of him, she felt it could be no other.

The winter came on; and the report of Maud's beauty had spread so far, that she was invited to b.a.l.l.s in the neighboring towns; and she no longer walked, for people sent their elegant carriages for her.

The dame took care that she should have dresses and jewels in abundance; and Daisy could not but feel proud when she saw her sister look like such a splendid lady; though sometimes she would be frightened by seeing the eyes of a live snake glittering among Maud's diamonds, and something that seemed like the teeth of a wolf glistening among her pearls.

The beauty had many lovers, but she found some fault with each; until, one day, the handsomest and gayest man in all the country round asked her to marry him.

She refused, at first, because he had not quite so much money as the others; but when she saw how many ladies were in love with him, Maud felt it would be a fine thing to humble them, and show her own power.

The old dame could give them money enough; and so she changed her mind, and began to make ready for her wedding.

Then you should have seen the splendid things that the old dame brought, day after day, and poured on the cabin floor--velvets, and heavy brocades, gay ribbons and silks, and costly laces; as for the pearls and diamonds, you would think she had found them by handfuls in the river bed, there were so many.

Meantime Daisy had come across a very different jewel, though I am not sure but it was worth a cabin full of such as Maud's.

Once she was walking with the little beggar girl, whom Daisy called her own child now, and named Susan, after her mother; before them, climbing the hill side, was a man in a coa.r.s.e blue frock, who seemed like a herdsman.

He was driving his cows, and turning back to look for a stray one, Susan chanced to see his face; she broke from Daisy, and with a cry of joy, ran into the herdsman's arms.

His name was Joseph; and Daisy learned that, when the little girl's mother was sick, Joseph had brought her food, and taken the kindest care of her; but his master sent him to buy some cows in a distant town, and before he reached home again, Susan's mother did not need any more charity, and the poor child herself was cast out into the streets.

They sat on the gra.s.s beside Joseph; and Daisy found that, for all his coa.r.s.e dress, he loved beautiful things as well as herself, and had sat there, day after day, watching the river and sky, and finding out the secrets of the birds, seeing the insects gather in their stores, and the rabbits burrow, and listening to the whisper of the leaves.

And, in cold winter nights, he had watched the stars moving on in their silent paths, so far above his head, and fancied he could find pictures and letters among them, and that they beckoned, and seemed to promise, if he would only try, he might come and live with them.

Then, out of some young shoots of elder, Joseph had made a flute; and Daisy was enchanted when he played on this, for, besides that she had never heard a musical instrument before, he seemed to bring every thing she loved around her in his wonderful tunes.

She could almost see the dark pine tops gilded with morning light, and the cabin nestling under them; and then the song of a bird, and of many birds, trilled out from amidst the boughs, and the little leaves on the birch trees trembled as with joy, and her rabbits darted through the shade.

Again, she saw the wide river rolling on, the sky reflected in it, and the flowers on its banks just lifting their sweet faces to the sun, and every thing was wet with dew, and fresh, and silent.

And then he played what was like a storm, with lightning, and huge trees cras.h.i.+ng down, and the old dame seated before her fire in the cave, and Daisy herself creeping alone through the dark, tired, and drenched with rain.

Daisy told her new friend that she lived in the wood, and what a beautiful sister she had at home, and how she wished that Maud could hear his music.

But Joseph seemed contented to play for her, and could not leave his cows, he said, to look upon a handsome face; he did not care so much for bright eyes and pretty lips as for goodness and gentleness, that would make the ugliest face look beautiful to him.

CHAPTER XXIII.

JOSEPH.

What with Joseph's music, and all he had to say to them, Daisy and Susan sat for hours on the hill side, and promised, at parting, to come very soon again.