Part 42

“Yes,” rejoined Ann, “nobody ever says anything about being good, in the way you do, Uncle Tommy; except in Sunday School, and in Church; and somehow it don’t seem just the same as when you talk. Oh, Uncle Tommy, I believe we should always be good children, if you could only be along with us all the time.”

“So do I!” “And I!” was heard from the little circle.

“Dear me!” cried Nelly, impatiently, “how I do wish we had a great big world, all our own, with nobody ugly to plague us; only just for Uncle Tommy and us to live in. Then we’d be good as could be. Don’t you wish so, dear Uncle Tommy?”

“No, dear children, I wish for no better, or bigger world to live in, than this. Our Father put us here, and put it in our own power to be happy; that means, to be good; and if we don’t make out to do what He wants us to do here, I don’t believe we should find it half as easy in a world such as folks dream about. It’s a wrong notion, to my thinking, to s’pose we could behave better in some other place than in the one where our lot’s cast in life, or at some other time than the present time going over our heads. Remember this, dear little people, when you grow up, and don’t wish for anything it isn’t God’s will you should have. Try all you can to mind the Lord, who loves you so well; and if trouble and sorrow come to you, as they do to every human cretur, and you can be sure it’s not your own doing, then patiently trust in our Father, and remember what the dear bells say:--

‘For God doth prove Our constant friend; His boundless love Will never end.’

You’re little and young, and full of health now, so you don’t know what I mean, as you will by and by, when you grow older; but you can remember, if you can’t quite take it in, that I tell you, after trying it for a good many years, I know our happiness depends a deal more on ourselves than on other people; and it’s only when we’re lazy, and don’t want to stir ourselves, that we think other people have an easier time than we do. B’lieve me, dear children, everybody has the means of being happy or unhappy in their hearts; and these they must take wherever they go; and these make their home and their world.”

The bell for school began to ring, and the children sprang to their feet instantly, saying, “Good by, Uncle Tommy! It’s school-time now!” “Good by, little ones,” said he. “You go to one school, and I’ll go to another, among the dumb children of our Lord!”

Nelly and Ann lingered after the others a moment. “Uncle Tommy,” said Ann, “we will try to do as you want us to, and remember what you say.”

He laid his hands upon their heads, and, looking up to Heaven, said, “May the Spirit of the dear Lord be with ye, and guide your tender feet in the narrow way of life! Bless them, Father, with thy loving presence through their unending life!”

There was a moment’s pause; then Ann said earnestly, “I love dearly to have you bless me, Uncle Tommy”; and with a “Good by,” off she ran to school.

Nelly stopped a moment. She had nestled close to the old man’s side without speaking, and now, throwing her arms around his neck with a real overflowing of her young heart, she kissed his cheek, and then darted off to join her companions in school. Uncle Tommy was surprised, for Nelly did not often express her affection by caresses, as most children do, but by kind deeds.

The action, slight though it was, touched a long silent chord in the old man’s memory. The curtain veiling the past seemed withdrawn, and again he was a child. There was the path from the village across the church-yard, just as it was when first his mother had led him to church, a tiny thing clinging to her skirts. He was the youngest of seven, and the pet; O so long ago! He saw again before him his young brothers and sisters, full of healthful glee; then other forms of long-parted ones joined the procession of years; his sisters’ and brothers’ children; his own cherished wife and much-loved boys and girls: all gone, long, long years ago; and he alone, of all that numerous company, remained. “Thou, Father, hast ever been on my right hand and on my left; very safely hast thou led me on through joy and sorrow unto this shining day; blessed be thy holy name!”

So prayed the old man his last earthly thanksgiving. When the people were dispersing to their homes after service, one, seeing him sitting there in the sheltered nook, came to say “Good morning”; and receiving no answer, he touched his hand. It was cold. There he sat in the glorious sunshine, his old brown hat by his side, wreathed with fresh grass and flowers, as was his custom; but the freed spirit had gone to the Father he so lovingly worshipped.

They made his grave in the sunniest part of the church-yard, where an opening in the trees afforded a lovely view of the village and the meadows, with the gentle flowing river, along whose peaceful banks the old man had loved to wander, gathering flowers and leaves and grasses, and throwing crumbs to the birds, who knew him too well to fly from him. Here they laid him, at the last, and, instead of monument or headstone, the children brought sweet flowering shrubs, and wild brier from the lanes or fields, to plant around his quiet grave.

“Uncle Tommy is not there,” said the children. “He has gone home. This is only his poor body, here in the ground!” Thus did the influence of his bright, ever-young spirit remain with the “little people” long after Uncle Tommy had ceased to talk with them.

SITTING IN THE SUN.

When Hope deceives, and friends betray, And kinsmen shun me with a flout; When hair grows white, and eyes grow dim, And life’s slow sand is nigh run out, I’ll ask no boon of any one, But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.

When memory is my only joy, And all my thoughts shall backward turn; When eyes shall cease to glow with love, And heart with generous fire to burn, I’ll ask no boon of any one, But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.

When sounds grow low to deafening ears, And suns shine not as once they did; When parting is no more a grief, And I do whatsoe’er they bid, I’ll ask no boon of any one, But sing old songs, and sit i’ the sun.

Then underneath a spreading elm, That guards some little cottage door, I’ll dance a grandchild on my knee, And count my past days o’er and o’er; I’ll ask no boon of any one, But sing old songs and sit i’ the sun.

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

How far from here to heaven? Not very far, my friend; A single hearty step Will all thy journey end.

Hold there! where runnest thou? Know heaven is in thee! Seek’st thou for God elsewhere? His face thou’lt never see.

Go out, God will go in; Die thou, and let Him live; Be not, and He will be; Wait, and He’ll all things give.

I don’t believe in death. If hour by hour I die, ’Tis hour by hour to gain A better life thereby.

ANGELUS SILESIUS, A. D. 1620.

AUNT KINDLY.