Mary F. Waterbury
Light for Little Ones
CHAPTER VIII
ALECK GOES HOME
Winter snow gave place to the spring flowers, and now Aleck can go into the yard, with our sturdy Frankie for a support. The boys are together nearly all the time. Aleck, with his gentle ways, to soften the more boyish nature of our robust little hero, and Frankie, with his merry heart, to brighten the life of his suffering friend.
It was Aleck who helped him out of trouble; who urged him to be gentle and forgiving, even to Ben Field; to obey his mother; and to try in every way to please Jesus. It was Aleck who studied the hard lesson first and then helped him, and who sharpened all the slate-pencils; who made the tops and kites and buzz-wheels, and, in short, shared in all of Frankie’s play and work.
But as the summer heat came on, the busy hands grew strangely idle. Mrs. Western noticed the change and tried at first by giving simple tonics, then by employing a physician, to restore his strength, but it was in vain. He would lie for hours on a couch before the open window, dreamily watching the soft summer sky, and listening to the singing of the birds.
He seldom roused from this dreamy state, excepting to listen to the reading of the Bible, or to his favorite hymn, “My Ain Countree.” Two of the verses he would say over and over to himself.
“The earth is flecked wi’ flowers, mony tinted, fresh an’ gay,
The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae;
But these sights an’ these sounds wi’ as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singin’ in my Ain Countree.
“Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wad fain be gangin’ noo unto my Saviour’s breast;
For he gathers in his bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An’ carries them himsel’ to his Ain Countree.”
The time was nearer than they thought when he should go to his “Ain Countree.” Frankie would not believe that Aleck would die. When his mother told him that it must be, he ran at once to Aleck, and, throwing himself on the bed beside him, cried, “O Aleck, you are not going to die. You must get well. Why, you are only two years older than I am. You oughtn’t to die yet.”
“Dinna feel bad, Frankie,” Aleck said, “I am sorry to leave you, but I’m glad to be wi’ mither, an’ O Frankie, think of it, how soon I sha’ see the Saviour. I wi’ wait for you. You wi’ mind a’ our talks about Jesus when I’m gone, Frankie, and try to do something for him every day. There’s Ben, an’ Joe, an’ Willie, an’ a’ the lads—tell them how guid it is to hae sic a friend as Jesus.”
“Yes, I will, Aleck. I’ll try to do better, but I won’t have you to help me, and it seems so easy for me to do wrong.”
“You wi’ hae Jesus. O Frankie, trust in Jesus.”
Thus did the little sufferer, forgetful of self, seek to comfort others. Very tenderly did the Shepherd bear this wounded lamb away from the earthly fold to the shelter of the heavenly,—so quietly that they knew not when he died, but thought he slept. In his sleep he murmured faintly, “Mither,” and again, “Jesus loves me,” and a line of his favorite hymn, “he wi’ carry me himsel’ to his Ain Countree.” Then came a quiet slumber, followed by that sleep whose waking is in heaven.
CHAPTER IX
THE VISIT TO ALECK’S GRAVE. THE FATHER’S RETURN
Frankie missed his friend sadly. He lost all interest in his school, and did not care for kites, or tops, or marbles. He grew pale, and very unlike the once happy little fellow,
“With eyes so full of brightness,
And lips so rosily red.”
One Sabbath morning in the early autumn he went with his mother to the cemetery. There was as yet no stone at Aleck’s grave, but Frankie had planted a white rose-bush, which was then in all its snowy bloom.
“We must take up the rose-bush,” said Mrs. Western. “It is an exotic, and cannot endure our severe frosts and snow.”
“What is an exotic?” asked Frankie.
“A plant that does not grow naturally in our climate. This rose belongs to a warmer climate, and that is why we keep it in the house during the winter. Thus God takes care of his children. Heaven is our home, and when the winds blow too coldly and roughly for us here, God transplants us. He has taken Aleck from all the cold and storms to the heavenly garden. We should not mourn for him, Frankie. Does not our Father know best? Then it will be only a little while before we shall be taken—only a few years before we shall all be transplanted into the garden of the Lord. You must try to be happy, my child. You must not forget Aleck, but remember that you have a work to do for Jesus, and a part of that work is to be cheerful and patient, showing that a little boy who loves Jesus need never be unhappy.”
Frankie listened quietly. His mother’s words made a deep impression, and he tried after that to be cheerful, but it was a long time before his face had its wonted brightness.
Later in the autumn, when the maples were in their gayest colors of crimson and gold, a great joy came to Frankie’s home. A letter was received, saying that the father would be with them at Christmas time.
Oh, the preparations that were made for his coming! Frankie worked with his mother, and before winter fairly closed in everything about the house and yard was in perfect order. Then came the waiting, the most difficult task of all. But the even-footed hours will not hurry their pace, so Frankie tries to be patient, and now the day is at hand.
The whole house is made fresh and fragrant with boughs of pine and fir. Only one more night! The father will be at home in the morning.
Frankie thought he would not sleep a wink for the thought of it, but he did sleep soundly; and when he awoke, the sun was shining into the window; and by the bedside stood his mother, with tears in her eyes, and beside her was the tall man with black hair, and smiling, dark eyes, whom he had seen in his dreams, and whose picture he had kissed and called “papa” even when a baby.
It was indeed a “merry Christmas,” and more than that, a joyous, happy one, full of sweet home pleasures and pleasant memories, sanctified by the thought of the dear Christ, God’s best gift—his Christmas gift to a sinful world.