Chapter XIII: More About Beppo

Bryda was not allowed to go alone to the village again, since her nurse had told granny she was missing on that unfortunate Sunday afternoon, when the whole household had turned out in pursuit of her. She had therefore promised Beppo to meet him in the church or churchyard at half-past five, and take him to Cousin Salome.

For the second time she found the poor little Italian in bitter grief. It happened that a great dark bank of clouds had covered the sky for a great part of the day, and the church inside was so dark that the sexton thought it well to light up the building before the short service, which was every evening during summer at six, and in winter much earlier.

Tonight the choir were practicing before service, so when Beppo came to the church at half-past five, to meet his little friend, the building was lighted up. He came to see his beautiful angel again to tell her, whom he still thought a great and powerful friend, all that had happened to him. But with the darkness outside and the bright lights within, all the colors had faded out of the window, so that, as any one who goes into a lighted church by night can see, there was only a dark blank space where the beautiful angel had stood. And the passionate little southern boy said to him self that his friend had forsaken him, that she was gone and would never come back again.

Bryda felt that somehow he was quite wrong, but how was she to explain, or to comfort him?

First she told him his angel was not gone, but had only faded from his sight, and that with daylight he would find her again. But as at this he only sobbed afresh, and said she _was_ gone, he could not see her, so she must be gone, Bryda tried to explain that his friend was no real person but only a beautiful picture. This only made him very indignant; he knew angels took care of people, his mother had often told him so; did Bryda mean to tell him there were no angels?

Then Bryda, not knowing how to meet these questions, proposed that he should come with her at once to Cousin Salome; and, hand in hand, the two children went up the long shrubbery walk to find her.

Salome greeted them with her own bright smile, and made Beppo sit on a low stool by her side. Soon the black eyes grew very bright and round, when the child found that this English lady had seen his own beautiful Italy, and seemed to love it nearly as well as he did.

Then, when Cousin Salome began to speak to him in Italian, Beppo fairly jumped off his stool and clapped his hands with delight.

Here was a friend for him! Until one has gone to a strange country and there been very lonely and sorrowful, like poor little Beppo, it is not easy to understand the delight that he felt at hearing his own language spoken again.

After a little time Bryda began to tell Cousin Salome all about Beppo's troubles, and especially the last, which seemed to the poor little boy a very great one.

"No, Beppo, your beautiful angel is not gone," she answered, "she is only hidden from you for a time by the darkness. But I will tell you both, dear children, what this little grief of Beppo's is like; and we can make it a sort of parable. Bryda, you know what a parable is?"

"A story that means something, isn't it?" said Bryda.

"Yes, dear. Well, when we are young, our life is like a bright painted window, very lovely to look at. But supposing our sky gets dark, and some great trouble comes up like the night----"

"Something like your illness, cousin?" said Bryda gently.

Cousin Salome smiled.

"Yes, perhaps, dear. Or like Beppo's great trouble, when his mother told him she must go and be with God, and leave him alone. That makes life seem very dark, doesn't it, Beppo?"

Beppo nodded his head; he could not speak, because a great lump came up in his throat and made him feel as if he must choke.

"Well, when the night is over," went on Salome, "and the kind, bright sun comes back again, our life looks beautiful again. But what do people do when the church gets dark, Beppo?"

"Light de lamps," said Beppo quickly.

"Ah, yes! that is it! Light the lamps, and then we forget all about the darkness outside. Inside there is warmth and light and brightness, and sweet hymns go up to the Great White Throne of God. And life is beautiful after all, though it is a little more sad and solemn, as Beppo feels it now."

Then Cousin Salome went on to talk to Beppo in Italian about a Friend who never would forsake him, and Who was always near, though the dim eyes of men cannot see Him; of One far more lovely and loving than the angels, who were only servants in that great House of the Father's, in which heaven and and earth are contained. Only servants; but He--this Friend Who was willing to be always Beppo's friend, if the child would look to Him and trust Him--He was the Son of the House, and all things were His.

Bryda listened, though she could not understand the language; and as she listened she thought she knew the use of lessons.

"Lessons and doses," she had said, "were supposed to do people good;" and now she saw, at all events, one use of lessons. "If I could talk Italian to Beppo, how nice it would be!"

And to herself she resolved that when the new governess came--it was to be very soon now--she would work harder than ever before, even over lists of dates. After all she might find out some day that there was a use for those, too!

Beppo listened as to one who told him some strange new thing. He had been taught by his mother much about angels watching over him with beautiful shining wings; but very little, almost nothing, about the loving Saviour Who was once a little boy like himself, and Who grew up to be the Friend and Helper of any one who was in distress, and to Whom the little troubles of His little children were as important as the great and bitter griefs that crush the hearts of men.

Poor little boy! he drank in every word, with great eyes fixed on Cousin Salome's face, and it seemed to him, as it had seemed to Bryda while she listened to the vicar's sermon, that there never could be anything half so sweet as trying to please this loving Lord Jesus, Who was such a kind Friend.

But the invalid began to grow tired, and Bryda saw that she could not talk much longer. So she got up suddenly, and carried off Beppo, and Cousin Salome was left to her needful rest.

It was settled first of all, though, that Bryda should give Beppo lessons in reading every day.

"Reading and weeding!" said Uncle Jack. "I have made love to Hayes the gardener, and he has promised to let Beppo come and weed in the garden; and so the little chap can earn something, and not feel quite such a burden on old Roger."

Beppo's mother was not to be long a burden on any one. One night, while Beppo slept, and while it seemed that she slept, too, old Roger, stealing in on tiptoe, found that she was indeed asleep, wrapped in that last long sleep which no evil dreams disturb. She would never be hungry, or thirsty, or tired again, for God had taken His child, who, though ignorant enough, had been faithful to Him, to that rest of which we say, "He giveth His beloved sleep."

Close by that grave, with the one word "Liz," they made another, and on that there was only one word, too--"Speranza."

Very few of the village people knew what Cousin Salome told Bryda, that the beautiful name of the poor Italian meant "Hope."

Old Roger would not part with Beppo. He was a lonesome old man, he said, and it would be a charity to let the boy stay with him. Beppo could weed and learn to read for the present, and as soon as he knew the language better he could go to school in the village. Every one was well pleased with the plan, for, though some of the village people thought old Roger rather odd, from the way he had of talking about heaven as if it were quite near, and of Bible people as if they were still alive, yet no one doubted his goodness; and kind Cousin Salome promised to pay for Beppo's schooling. So it seemed that the poor little boy, after his long wanderings, would have a happy home and kind friends, and would soon forget his troubles. Bryda was at first very patient with her pupil, who, to do him justice, was not stupid; but what puzzled her most was that it did not seem natural to the Italian child to say the English words as she did.

Uncle Jack, coming one day into the room where these lessons were going on, found Beppo with tearful eyes, while Bryda appeared to have at that moment thrown the reading-book to the other end of the room, where it lay looking like a book in disgrace in the corner, gaping wide open, with a leaf or two scattered on the way, for it was an old one.

"What is this noise about?" said Uncle Jack, with a face of amusement; "what's the matter now?"

"Beppo's _too_ stupid, Uncle Jack--and I--I lost patience."

"Lost, a valuable temper," said Uncle Jack, with a serious face; "at least I mean 'Lost, a good temper, of no value to any one but the owner. Is very cheerful, and marked with a capital B. The finder, if poor, shall be handsomely rewarded on bringing it to----'

"_Don't_, Uncle Jack!" Bryda stood on tiptoe and put her hands over his mouth, while Beppo picked up the book and put in the scattered leaves. "But really I can't make him understand some things. He spells c-a-t, and then calls it 'cart,' and when at last I get him to say 'cat,' he goes on m-a-t, 'mart!'

"I suppose Miss Quillnib never had any such worries in teaching Bryda?" said Uncle Jack slyly. Bryda looked a little ashamed.

"But do you know that it is natural to him to say cart and mart instead of cat and mat, and you will have to teach him gradually that English does not sound like Italian, Bryda? Now suppose, by way of variety, that _you_ say this simple little sentence after me:

"'Aldiborontiphoscophornio!--where left you Chrononhotonthologos?" "'Aldiboronti'--I don't know any more!"

"_That's_ not English, Uncle Jack!"

"Well, I assure you it comes out of an English play. So, naturally, the actor has to say it. Try something easier:

"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper;
A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper,
Where's the peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked?"

"Which of us three will say that very fast three times without a mistake?"

They all tried, and all failed, and the lesson ended in such shouts of laughter that both the grannies hobbled in--helping each other--to see what the fun was.