32. CHAPTER XXXII.
AN OLD BIBLE.
On the morning of the day upon which the events we have
just related occurred, little Redbud was sitting at her window,
reading by the red light of sunrise.
If anything is beautiful in this world, assuredly it is the fresh,
innocent face of a child, flooded with the deep gold of sunrise,
and with cheeks still bathed in the delicate rose-bloom of
slumber.
Morning and childhood go together, as all things pure, and
fresh, and tender do; and in the face of the child, sitting there in
the quiet morning, an imaginative mind might have discerned,
without difficulty, more than one point of resemblance. The
dews sparkling like diamonds on the emerald grasses, were not
brighter or fresher than her eyes;—the merry breeze might have
been gayer, but had not half as much thoughtful joy and tenderness
as her gentle laugh;—the rosy flush of morning, with all its
golden splendor, as of fair Aurora rising to her throne, was not
more air than the delicate check.
In a single word, Miss Redbud—about whom we always grow
extravagant—was a worthy portion of the bright, fresh morning;
and the hardest-hearted individual who ever laughed at childhood,
and innocence and joy, (and there are some, God help
them,) would have thought the place and time more cheerful and
inspiring for her presence.
Redbud had been reading from a book which lay upon the
window-sill. The idle breeze turned over the leaves carelessly,
as though, like a child, it were looking for pictures; and the
words, “From dear Mamma,” were seen upon the fly-leaf—in
the rough uncouth characters of childhood.
This was Redbud's Bible—and she had been reading it; and
had raised her happy eyes from the black heavy letters, to the
waving variegated trees and the bright sunrise, overwhelming
them with its flush of gold. Redbud was clad, as usual, very
simply—her hair brushed back, and secured, after the fashion of
the time, with a bow of ribbon—her arms bare to the elbow,
with heavy falling sleeves—her neck surrounded with a simple
line of lace. Around her neck she wore the coral necklace we
have seen her purchase.
The girl gazed for some moments at the crimson and yellow
trees, on which a murmurous laughter of mocking winds arose
at times, and rustled on, and died away into the psithurisma of
Theocritus; and the songs of the oriole and mocking-bird fluttering
among the ripe fruit, or waving up into the sky, brought a
pleasant smile to her lips. The lark, too, was pouring from the
clouds, where he circled and flickered like a ball of light, the
glory of his song; and from an old, dead oak, which raised its
straight trunk just without the garden, came the quick rattle of
the woodpecker's bill, or the scream of that red-winged drummer,
as he darted off, playing and screaming, with his fellows.
Beyond the garden all the noble autumn forests waved away
in magic splendor—red, and blue, and golden. The oaks were
beautiful with their waving leaves—the little alder tree exquisite
in its faint saffron—the tall, tapering pines rose from the surrounding
foliage like straight spears, which had caught on their
summits royal robes of emerald velvet, green at first, bat, when
the red light fell upon them, turning to imperial purple, as of old,
Emperors of Rome!
All these sights and sounds were pleasant things to Redbud,
and she gazed and listened to them with a species of tranquil
pleasure, which made her tender face very beautiful.
At last her eyes returned to her old Bible, and she began to
read again from the sacred book.
She turned the leaf, and came to a passage around which faint
lines were traced in faded ink;—the words thus marked were
those of St. Paul, so sublime in their simplicity, so grand in their
quiet majesty:
“Having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ.”
These words had been marked by Redbud's mother, and as the
child gazed upon the faded ink, and thought of the dear hand
which had rested upon the page, a tender regret betrayed itself
in her veiled eyes, and her lips murmured, wistfully, “Mamma.”
Her down-cast eyes were veiled by the long lashes; and the
child's thoughts went back to the old happy days, when her mother
had taught her to pray, joining her infant hands, and telling
her about God and all his goodness.
It was not grief which the child felt, as her mental glance
thus went backward to the time when her mother was alive;—
rather a tender joy, full of pure love, and so far separated from
the world, or the things of the world, that her face grew holy, as
if a light from heaven streamed upon it. Oh, yes! she needed
no one to tell her that her dear mother's desire had been fulfilled
—that she was with Christ; and her heart rose in prayer to the
Giver of all good, to bless and purify her, and give her power to
conquer all her evil thoughts—and passing through the toils and
temptations of the world, come finally to that happy land where
her dear mother lived and loved—from which she looked upon
her child. She prayed to be kept thus pure; for strength to resist
her sinful inelinations, ill-temper, discontent and uncharitable
thoughts; for power to divorce her thoughts from the world,
spite of its sunshine, and bright flowers and attractions—to feel
that holy desire to be with the dear Savior who had died for
her.
The child rose with a countenance that was sacred for its
purity, and hopefulness, and trust. She gazed again upon the
brilliant morning land, and listened to the birds, and smiled—for
in the sunlight, and the carol of the bright-winged oriole, and
every murmur of the merry wind, she felt the presence of a loving
and All-merciful Creator, who would bless her, if she loved
and obeyed Him.
And so the tender eyes again beamed with the unclouded light
of childhood, and the lips were again calm and happy. The
child had sought for peace and joy from the great central source,
and found it. Everything was now delightful—all the clouds
had passed—and a bright smile illumined her fresh face, and
made the sunlight envious, as it poured its fresh golden radiance
upon her brow and cheek.
Redbud had just closed her Bible, and was about to put it
away upon the shelf, when a light step was heard in the room,
and a laughing voice cried, “Well, miss!” and two white arms
encircled her neck, two red lips imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.
The arms and the lips belonged to Fanny.
