Chapter V: Part III

The little boy's prayer was answered. On the following day, the doctor told the anxious watchers in the sick-room that he hoped that the worst was over. A night of deep, quiet sleep succeeded, and on the Tuesday morning Miss Lee awoke quite free from fever, but so weak and low, that she could not turn in her bed.

From that hour, the lady's recovery was steady, though slow. It was not till the middle of April that the invalid was permitted to leave her room, and any occupation that could tire either body or mind was strictly forbidden. Miss Lee was, however, able to enjoy sitting in an easy-chair by the open window, as the days grew warm and long. Every morning, she found on the sill a few wild flowers; she did not know who had placed them there, but perhaps my readers may guess.

But Miss Lee only looked upon rest as a preparation for work; her life had not been prolonged to be spent in luxurious ease. As soon as the lady felt that a little strength was restored to her, she began thinking how she could best set about doing her heavenly Father's business.

"I have been able to take a little walk in the garden every day this week," said Miss Lee to herself one evening towards the close of May. "I think that I may take up my work again next month,—at all events, I will try." The lady opened her desk, and with her thin, wasted hand wrote a note to her Vicar to say that on Sunday week she hoped to meet her Bible-class in the schoolroom.

"It will be an effort, a very great effort," thought poor Miss Lee, as soon as she had sent off the note. "When I remember all the weariness and the worry that I had to bear through the winter, I can scarcely help hoping that Seth Rogers at least may have been withdrawn from my class. But oh, how this shows my want of faith and of love! Have I not prayed—prayed often both before and during my illness for the soul of that motherless child, and may not my poor stray lamb be given to me at last!"

The appointed Sunday arrived, and the first to meet his teacher at the door of the schoolroom was Seth. Miss Lee's first glance at the face of the boy raised her hopes that he was changed and improved; and her hopes were not to be disappointed. The prayers of teacher and pupil for each other had been abundantly blessed. Seth Rogers became the most steady and obedient boy in the class; it was he who most watched his teacher's eye, and most earnestly heeded her words. Of him, Miss Lee was wont to think as her "joy and crown of rejoicing;" for Seth was the first of her pupils whom she was permitted to look upon as the fruit of her labours of love. Often the sight of the boy recalled to the teacher's mind that day when she had seen the poor lamb saved from perishing; and a silent thanksgiving arose from her heart, "Heaven be praised, I did not let him go!"

XI. THE WHITE DOVE.

A PARABLE.

ERNST SEELE was a ruined man, there could be no doubt of the fact. For years he had pursued his trade as a dairyman in a wasteful and careless way, spending much more than he earned, seeming to be prosperous while his affairs were getting into a terrible state of disorder.

Ernst owed no less than three years' rent for his comfortable dwelling to its owner, the absent lord of the manor, and Seele had not laid by a single farthing with which to pay that rent. The foolish and improvident dairyman, with thoughts of debt and difficulty ever preying upon his mind, was like a tree which looks fair at a distance, but which is quite decayed at the core, so that the first strong blast must lay it in dust.

That blast of misfortune came suddenly upon Seele. A disease swept away every one of his cows, upon which he depended for bread. The lord of the manor returned to his castle and claimed his due—the rent which his thriftless tenant had for so long neglected to pay. Ernst Seele was indeed a ruined man; there seemed to be nothing before him but a prison, and for his wife and family the workhouse.

Grace, the youngest child of Seele, was but a little child; but she saw and shared the troubles of her parents. She marked how bitterly her mother wept, and how her father would stride up and down the room, groaning aloud in his anguish of soul. Grace, young as she was, learned to know what is meant by that terrible word ruin.

"O Heartslove!" said Grace softly to her white dove, as she fondled it in her arms, and her tears dropped fast on its feathers, "poor, poor father will be taken away and shut up in the dreadful place, and we shall have to leave this home, and everything that we care for! I must lose you, my own little pet Heartslove. Some stranger will have you, who may be cruel to you, and kill you. I shall never hear your soft coo in the morning; I shall never stroke your white feathers again!"

Seele was almost in despair. He knew that it was not only misfortune that had brought him to this depth of distress, but that he had been careless, wasteful, and dishonest; for it is dishonesty to run up debts when we know that we are not likely ever to be able to pay them.

"I might have struggled through my difficulties," muttered the unhappy debtor, "but for that crushing sum for rent which I owe to the lord of the manor."

Little Grace turned from the window at which she had been standing with Heartslove, her white dove, in her arms. "O father," said she, "could you not go to the great lord, and tell him of your misfortunes, and ask him to forgive you your debt?"

The suggestion was a very simple one. The same thought had often arisen in the minds both of Seele and his wife, but they had not acted upon it, until it was expressed by the lips of their little daughter. Seele rose hastily from his seat.

"Yes, I will go at once to the Castle," he said, "and try to move the pity of my lord. This is my last chance, my last hope. If he do not show mercy to-day, I shall be in a prison to-morrow."

Very anxious and very sad was Seele's wife during his absence. She could settle to no occupation, but sat weeping and wringing her hands, as if her husband were already carried off to a prison. She was so fretful in her misery that she could scarcely bear to have even her children near her; only Grace softly stole up to her once, and whispered, "Let us hope on, dear mother; perhaps the great lord will have pity when he sees in what trouble poor father is now."

At last the sound of rapid steps was heard on the road—steps that quickened into a run. Seele's wife looked up eagerly, for she knew that her husband was approaching, and that he would have come more slowly and sadly had he been bringing evil tidings. Seele burst into the cottage, his face, lately so careworn and gloomy, beaming with hope and delight.

"Give me joy, wife!" he cried, breathless with running and with excitement. "My lord has forgiven me all—"

The wife uttered a loud exclamation of pleasure.

"Nay, more than this," continued Seek, "he has not only allowed me to stay in my home, but has offered to advance me money sufficient to start me in business again!"

Seele's wife threw her arms round his neck, and cried and sobbed with delight. The children, who had crowded round their parents to hear the news, jumped and clapped their hands. Past sorrows seemed at once to be almost forgotten; Seele and his wife thought now of nothing but pleasant plans for the future.

But little Grace thought of something besides. Her heart was indeed very full of joy, but there was in it room for gratitude also. She went to her own little chamber, and there on her knees returned thanks to the Giver of good. Grace then went and threw open her window to let in Heartslove, who was tapping on the glass with her bill.

"Have you come, my pretty one," said Grace, "to share in our pleasure! I shall not have to part with you now, my darling." Tenderly the little girl kissed and fondled her pet. "Oh, that dear, dear lord, that most generous friend, how good he has been to us all! I do love him, though I never have seen him. Oh, how I wish that I could do something, were it ever so little, to show him how very, very thankful I am."

The desire to show her gratitude in something more than words had taken strong hold of the loving heart of the child. Grace sat for more than an hour thinking and thinking what she—even she—could do for the merciful lord of the manor.

"I should like to make him a nosegay of all the best flowers in my garden; I would strip off every blossom," said the child to herself. "But flowers die so soon; and then the gardens round the Castle hold flowers a hundred times prettier than mine. I am afraid that the rich master would scarcely look at my nosegay. I should like to work from morning till night to make something fit to give him; but I am little, and cannot work well;—I do not see what I could make. But oh, I must find some way of letting the generous lord know how grateful I am for his goodness!"

In the midst of her perplexity, the eye of little Grace rested on her white dove. This was her greatest treasure, the one thing which she valued beyond all others.

"I wonder if the great lord would accept Heartslove," murmured the child. "I should not indeed like to lose my dear dove; but I have nothing else worth offering to the friend who has saved my father. The bird is my own, my very own; I may give it to any one that I please; and shall I grudge it to him to whom we owe everything that we have?"

There was a little struggle in the mind of the child, but it ended in her resolving to offer her pet bird to the lord of the manor.

Full of her grateful design, Grace put her dove into a little woven basket, with open work on the lid, and lined the basket with moss, that her favourite might take no harm by the way. Grace then wont and asked her father to carry her dove to the great and good lord at the Castle.

"I am far too busy to do any such thing," said Seele, who was just about starting off to make a new purchase of cows for his dairy, with the money advanced by his kind benefactor. "Go you up to the Castle, child, and take your present yourself."

Grace was afraid to go up to the Castle, though she knew the road to it perfectly well, for she had often gathered acorns under the great oaks of the park while the lord of the manor had been absent. But though feeling timid and shy, Grace was too anxious to offer her humble gift to be easily put aside from her purpose.

"I will just venture as far as the outer gate," she said to herself, "and give the basket to one of the servants, and beg him kindly to take it to the generous lord."

So Grace put on her little bonnet and cloak. In vain she tried to get one of her brothers or sisters to go with her—they too said that they were too busy: not one seemed to think that it was in the least needful to show gratitude, or even to feel it.

So Grace set out quite alone. Ofttimes on her way, she raised the lid of the basket a little to take a last peep of her pet.

"I shall miss you, but I do not grudge you, my little beauty!" said the child. "I am sure that so kind a lord will be gentle and good to my bird. He will not despise or hurt you; and when he hears your soft note in the morning, he will know that you are cooing the thanks of a little child for what he has done for us all."

But when Grace reached the large gate beside which hung the great iron bell, she had hardly courage to ring it. After all, thought she, might not so grand a nobleman think it presuming in her to come even to offer a gift? Was the bird, though it was her all, worthy to be placed before him? Should she not rather carry Heartslove back to her home?

While Grace stood hesitating and doubting, with her small hand raised to the bell handle, which she did not venture to pull, a man of a noble appearance, who was walking within the Castle grounds, came up to the gate.

"What do you want, little girl?" he inquired in a tone so gentle, that even timid Grace was not afraid to reply to the question.

"O sir, I am the child of Ernst Seele," she replied with a blush. "The lord of the Castle has been good, oh, so very good to my father, and I want to give him my dove, just to show how thankful I feel."

"Do you think that the lord of the Castle would value your bird?" asked the stranger, smiling kindly down on the child.

"I dare say that he has many more, and perhaps prettier birds," said poor Grace, and she looked wistfully at her covered basket as she spoke; "but Heartslove is so tame, so gentle—she will come at my call, and eat crumbs from my lips—he cannot have a more loving little dove. And then, sir, she is all that I have to give; so, perhaps, the great lord will not despise her."

"No; I will answer for it that the lord of the Castle will prize your bird dearly," answered the stranger, and his voice sounded so tender and loving that it seemed to Grace as if a father had spoken. "Give me your basket, my child; I will see that the dove reaches safely him to whom you would give it—he will most surely accept and value it for your sake."

Grace opened the basket, and pressed down her rosy lips to give one parting kiss to her Heartslove. She then closed down the lid, and with simple trust handed the basket to the stranger, who had opened the gate to take in her little present. The child then, after thanking him and dropping a curtsey, turned away from the gate.

Grace felt pleased to think that she had done what was right, that she had at least proved her wish to be grateful; and the remembrance of the noble stranger's smile lay warm at the little girl's heart. She liked to recall his words, "I will answer for it that the lord of the Castle will prize your bird dearly."

During the rest of that day Grace never spoke of her dove, though she thought of it often. Her parents were far too much occupied with their business to think of it at all, and, what was far more strange, not a word of gratitude towards their most generous benefactor was heard either from Seele or his wife. In the greatness of his gift, they seemed quite to have forgotten the giver. Grace alone resolved in her heart that not a morning or evening should pass without her blessing the name of the friend who had saved them all from ruin; and she smiled to herself as she thought of her gentle white dove nestling upon his bosom.

On the following day, as the family sat round the table at breakfast, talking over the purchases which Seele had made through the help of the lord of the manor, there was heard the tap of a bill at the window.

"Oh! It's my dove—it's my own Heartslove; she has flown back again to her old home!" exclaimed Grace, starting up from her seat, and running to open the window.

The child took the bird in, kissed and fondled it. Pleasant it was to her to stroke again the downy plumage, and to hear the coo of her pet.

"Look there, Grace!" exclaimed her father, "There seems to be something white tied under the wing of the bird."

There was indeed a small strip of paper, fastened with a bright thread of gold. Grace very eagerly untied it, wondering what kind of message her bird could have brought.

"There is something written, but I cannot read it. Please, father, tell me what it is!" cried Grace.

There was silence round the table, as Seele read aloud the contents of the paper to the circle of curious listeners. The writing was as follows:

"The child who gave this dove will be welcomed,
if she come alone to the Castle at noon."

Grace to go to the Castle—Grace to be expressly sent for by the lord of the manor! Father, mother, brothers, and sisters all wondered at the message sent to the child. There could be no mistake about it; the lord's own signature was at the end of the note. It was read and re-read a dozen times over. Grace said less than did any one else, though she thought far more than them all.

"Won't you be afraid to go alone into the presence of the lord of the manor?" asked one of her sisters.

"I should be very, very much afraid," she replied, "only he has invited me to come."

"And what will you do when you see him?" inquired a brother.

"I will just give back Heartslove to her master," simply answered the child.

But very fast beat the heart of Grace, and her courage almost failed her when she had to pass alone the great iron gate, and walk up the stately avenue to the marble steps that led up to the Castle. She wished that she could have held her father's hand, or had her mother beside her. One thought, however, gave her strength to go forward. "The master has written that I—even I—shall be welcome. I have his own express invitation, so why should I fear to appear before him!"

So, with Heartslove, not now in a basket, but held in her bosom, the poor little grateful child drew nigh to the lord's magnificent home.

Grace was met by a kind-looking servant. "My lord has sent me to bring you to him," said the man. "Do not tremble, little one; my lord is very fond of children. See! He is coming down the marble staircase to receive you himself."

Grace eagerly, though timidly, raised her eyes to catch the first sight of her great benefactor, the mighty lord of the land. She had felt afraid to enter his presence, but all her fear passed away when she saw in the form advancing towards her, the same gentle stranger who had met her before at the gate, and who had taken charge of her dove.

"Did I not tell you that the lord of the Castle would prize your bird dearly?" he said, as he stooped and lovingly laid his hand on the head of the child.

Grace was then led by him through the Castle, its splendid galleries, its beautiful halls, where there was everything that could delight the eye of the beholder. In one apartment, she found a new dress awaiting her, spotless and white. She was left alone for awhile to put on the dress, and was then called to a rich feast spread out in a lofty hall. Grace, poor child as she was, then was allowed to sit down with the lord at his table, and to be helped to whatever she liked by his own princely hand.

Nor was her friend's kindness to end here. That most happy hour was but the first of many which Grace was to pass in that beautiful place. With the full consent of her parents, the lord of the Castle adopted the little girl as his own, and brought her up as his daughter. He lavished freely upon her every token of love, gratified every wish, and made the life of Grace so joyful, that every day seemed more bright than the last. And much did the lord value the bird which had been her first token of grateful affection; of all his treasures, none was more prized than the Heartslove of the child.

Shall I leave my young readers to find out for themselves the meaning of my little parable, or help them to trace out the lesson which it contains?

There is not one of them that has not a great Benefactor, to whose free bounty they owe a million times more than Grace and her family owed to the lord of the manor. Have they received all His benefits without a word of thanks, without a thought of grateful devotion? Have they offered nothing to their Heavenly Lord, who has freely forgiven them all their great debt, and loaded them with blessings day after day?

But perhaps a child may reply, "I have nothing to give to the Lord, no money with which to help His poor, no power of working for Him." This may be so, but oh, remember that you have still one offering which you can make; you have your Heartslove to lay at the feet of your Heavenly Friend. Be assured that the Lord will prize your love dearly, far, far more than all the earth's treasures of silver and gold. No being that has offered Heartslove in simple, grateful homage to his Saviour, but will be welcomed by Him to a glorious home in heaven, not to be received as a passing guest, but as a dearly beloved child, adopted into His family, and made happy for ever and ever with Him!