Chapter X: Beppo's Friend

Away went Miss Bryda, with her head full of Liz and her charms, the flowers in her hand, to the churchyard.

It was peaceful there in the quiet September sunshine, and Bryda felt sorry to think that the dead people could not see how pretty their resting-place looked. It was a large churchyard, with some old vaults, and white crosses over newer graves; indeed, many generations of old and young were asleep there. It was a city of rest, with the gray old church for its temple in the middle; and its streets were mossy paths, as unlike as possible to the great, noisy, restless streets of the big towns of the living.

Bryda put her green wreath with its purple and yellow stars on the humble grave where there was no grand inscription like that to Sir Jocelyn de Wraymont close by, with all his virtues in capital letters after his name; but only that one word "Liz."

Then she went and tried the door of the old church. It was open; the vicar never allowed the building to be closed, unless there was some urgent reason, so that any one who wanted to think or to pray quietly might come in there. At first the village people thought this an odd idea, but after a little time first one and then another found out this quiet refuge and slipped in. There was always service morning and evening for those who could spare time to attend; and though the worshipers were always few, yet, as the vicar said, "they could pray for everybody, and the Father was so gracious that if only two or three were met together it would please Him."

When Bryda went in there was nobody in the building but an old man, who had just risen and was going out on tiptoe, with the sunshine from a painted window on his bent, white head. Bryda felt sorry for him, he seemed so old and feeble; she would have been still more sorry had she known that it was the evil doing of his two sons, and even of his daughter (for he was Moll Dawson's old father), that made him look old and bent before his time; sounds of quarreling were so often heard from the uncomfortable cottage he called home that he often escaped to the quiet church. There he would sit by the hour, sometimes with tears rolling slowly down his furrowed cheeks, and then go home very weary, for when we are young we are not much the worse for "a good cry," but old people's tears are few and bitter.

Bryda watched this old man go out, and then stood still, wondering whether she should go in herself, when her attention was attracted by a low sound, like that of some one sobbing quietly. She listened; the sound stopped a moment, then began again. It was certainly someone crying, and for a moment she felt half-frightened, for she could not see any one.

Then a better thought came. Perhaps she could try and comfort some one who was unhappy, and that might be a little bit of the "Lord's work." She had once heard her mother say that a child was sometimes the best of all earthly comforters.

So very quietly she stole up the side aisle, and there, behind a pillar, she found--Beppo!

Yes, poor little Beppo! Crouched on the ground, half-kneeling, leaning against the cold pillar, the poor child with passionate sobs seemed to be pouring out all his heart. His great black eyes were fixed on a beautiful painted window opposite. This window had been put in to the memory of a very good and charitable young lady, whose early death had been deeply mourned by every one who knew her, and it showed a lovely figure, with angel's wings, and a face of pity, gently raising a sick child, and looking at him tenderly.

Poor little Beppo, alone and lonely, had crept into the church, and gazing long on the beautiful window, had presently thought the kind face was watching him with pity.

He was in bitter grief, for his dearly-loved mother had been trying to tell him she would soon go away never to return. She had succeeded only too well, for the poor child, when at last he understood, brushing past kind old Roger, rushed from the house to the church where he could be alone. In his own country the church is a refuge for the sorrowful, always open for any one who will enter; so in this strange land he naturally sought the old gray building.

Poor little boy! he was very young and very ignorant, and he had been taught to ask for, and to hope for, the help of saints and angels. The doctor could do little for his mother; Roger, kind as he was, could not save her; and poor little Beppo, wild with grief, and in the midst of strangers who could scarcely understand what he said, threw himself before this lovely figure in the window, and thought that at last he had found a friend to help him.

All this Bryda learned, but really it was rather difficult. She could not "make up" Italian that Beppo would understand, in the easy way in which she and Maurice Grey made up Latin to talk to each other when they played at Charon's boat.

Then Beppo's English was very odd, and his story was so often interrupted by sobs, that quite a long time had passed before the little comforter was able to make out the younger child's trouble, and to understand that he had been talking to the angel in the beautiful window when she found him.

Little Bryda was sadly puzzled. How was she to comfort Beppo? What could she say?

She could not tell him to hope his mother would get better. That the doctor said could never be. Could she comfort Beppo with a lie? No, never!

She could not say the angel would do the poor dying woman good. The angel was very beautiful, but after all she was only made of glass and paint.

So, after looking sadly at Beppo's tear-stained face and little drooping figure, all she could, say was:

"Oh, Beppo! I am so sorry!"

And with that she threw her arms round him, and together the two children cried, till Beppo's sobs came more gently. This little English girl was sorry because he was unhappy. After all he was not so lonely!

"Children!" said a voice near them, so near that both started and looked up. Bryda sprang to her feet, and held Beppo by the hand, feeling as if they were both likely to be scolded for making the church a place to cry in.

But there was no anger on the loving, kind face of the old vicar, who stood before them, only great pity for whatever trouble had caused these tears. The Good Shepherd, his Master, cares as much for the pains of His lambs as for those of His most prized sheep, and His messenger would give as much care to these two children as to the greatest people in the land.

Beckoning them to follow, he went quietly down the aisle and out into the churchyard; there, taking a hand of each, he led them to a seat that was placed under a spreading tree among the graves.

"Now tell me all about it," he said kindly; and Bryda forgot to be shy as she looked into his face, and soon told all Beppo's story while the little boy looked with wide black eyes, that had no tears in them now, at his new friends, the old clergyman and the little girl.

"I see, I see!" said Mr. Joyce, for that was the vicar's name.

"And now, Beppo, can you understand if I speak English? because then, if I talk to you, this young lady will understand too."

Beppo nodded his head.

Mr. Joyce went on: "There was once a little boy, no matter how long ago, whose little sister was very ill--so ill that the doctor said there was no hope that she could live many days. Now in the country where these children lived it was always believed that if any mortal could get one leaf from the Tree of Life, that grew in the garden of God, every illness would be cured at once. But no one had ever tried to get this leaf, because the journey was steep and rough to the gates of the garden, and because an Angel stood there to keep the gate and would let no one pass. But this little boy loved his sister so well--as well, I think, as Beppo loves his mother."

Beppo's dark eyes filled with tears again, and the vicar laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

"So well that he could not have loved her more if he had tried with all his might. And, when all other hope seemed gone, he said, 'I will go, I will beg of the Angel at the gate to let me in for one moment, or to give me a leaf, only one leaf, from the Tree.'

"So he went by the long, rough way, till in the golden sunset he stood before that great Angel, and trembling made his request.

"'None can enter this garden but those children of the King for whom He has sent, that they may be with Him. I can let no other enter,' answered the Angel.

"'But one leaf,' prayed the child, 'one little leaf to cure my sister. The King will not be angry!'"

"And as he spoke he could hear, though he could not see into the garden, the Tree rustling gently, and the birds among the branches warbling the praises of the King of Glory.

"Only one leaf, and there were so many on the tree! 'The King, the loving Father, cannot wish that my poor little sister should have to suffer so, and then die and leave me all alone! Have pity upon me, great Angel, it is such a little thing I ask!' entreated the child.

"But the Angel looked down upon him with deep love and pity in his eyes.

"'The King has sent my brother, the Angel of Death, to bring your sister to Him. She shall dwell forever in the light of His smile. If you are allowed to keep her, will you promise me to take care that she shall never again lie tossing on a sick bed?'

"'How can I?' said the child, wondering. 'Not even the wisest physicians can always heal diseases at once.'

"'Then will you promise that she shall never be unhappy? never do wrong, and suffer shame and sorrow? never be cold, hungry, tired? that no one shall speak to her harshly?' asked the Angel.

"'Not if I can help it,' answered the child. 'But perhaps I could not always make her happy, even when I am grown up.'

"'Then the world where you want to keep her is rather a sad place,' the Angel said gently. 'Now I will open the gate a little, and you shall look in for a moment, and if you still wish it, my child, I will ask myself that you may have a leaf from the Tree of Life, that your sister may stay upon earth with you.'

"So the Angel who kept the golden gate opened it a very little way, and as the mighty door rolled back for a moment, the child could see into the Land where by the river stands the Tree of Life, and where those who are counted worthy walk forever in white--where they need no candle, neither light of the sun, because the smile of God is the light of that wonderful place, and His servants shall serve Him, and no tongue can tell the happiness that is theirs forever and ever."

"Did the little boy see right into heaven?" asked Bryda, in a low tone. "Oh, do tell us what he saw!"

"I cannot tell you what he saw," answered the vicar; "you and I, little Bryda, have to wait awhile, it may be for me a very little while, trusting that the Father will in His mercy, for His Son's sake, give us a place there. But this I will tell you, that the child turned toward the beautiful Angel with eyes full of wonder and surprise.

"'I will not ask it now,' he said; 'I think there is no friend so kind as the Angel of Death, who seems to us so dreadful. Oh, I wish he would take me, too!' And the Angel answered:

"'When all the lessons which the Father desires you to learn in His school, which is called the Earth, are learned; when the little piece of His great work that is meant for your hands is finished, then the Angel will come for you too, my child, if only you are true and faithful.'

"And the child turned away and went back under the stars, that were like eyes of angels watching him, back from the golden gates to his home in the world. And as he went a golden ray shot once across his path, and brought a sound of wonderful music, such as he had never heard. And he knew that the golden gates had opened, and his sister had passed in. On a little bed at home lay her body, white and still, but he knew that it was only the dress she had worn in the world. And the child was comforted."

And Beppo was comforted too. As the vicar spoke, he imagined a country more beautiful than his own Italy, where golden oranges hang in the dark-green leaves, and the wonderful blue sea sleeps under the blue sky, but where people are sick and sorrowful as they are everywhere in the world. His dear mother would go to that wonderful place, so beautiful that even this wise gentleman could not tell him exactly what it was like. She would never cough, nor be tired nor hungry again!

But the bells began to ring for service.

"Come, Beppo, I will take you home," said Mr. Joyce; and Bryda said good-by to both, and went slowly home along the shrubbery path.

This has been a sad chapter; but you see there are sad parts even in the lives of children; and if Bryda was not in quite such wild spirits as usual, she certainly did not feel unhappy that evening, when, sitting by Cousin Salome's couch, she told her all that had happened.

"Don't you think," said kind Salome, "that if you were to bring Beppo here in the afternoon, Bryda, you and I could teach him a little about a better Friend than his angel in the window, a Friend Who can and will help him, and Who will never die and leave him, never change and forget him?"

And Bryda very gladly promised to bring Beppo next day.