Bessie on Her Travels

“Don’t you live here, ma’am?” asked Bessie.

“Here? yes, here in Savannah, but not in the hotel; and I want you to come to my house. By the way, where is Maggie? I thought you were always together.”

“Most always,” said Bessie; “but Maggie and the other children went with Mr. Powers and papa to see a cotton-press; and mamma thought I was too tired, so I told Maggie she need not mind leaving me. And now I am glad I did not go.”

“And I am sure I am glad,” said Mrs. Gordon, as she kissed Bessie for good-by, and once more told her she should be sure to see her the next day, and would arrange with her mamma the time when she and Maggie might come and spend the day with her.

Bessie was very anxious to know what Mrs. Gordon could have to tell her which was to interest her so much, and which seemed in some way to concern Lucy Waters; but she was a little doubtful regarding the prospect of spending the whole day with her old enemy “Miss Adams,” not feeling at all sure that she would like it, or that she might not fall into some trouble, in spite of the very evident and pleasing change in that lady.

Maggie was not at all doubtful, and positively declared that she would not go on any account; and she tried to persuade Bessie to join her in begging their mother to refuse Mrs. Gordon’s invitation to them.

“For Bessie,” she said, “you know a ‘bird in the hand is worth two in the bush;’ and so, even if Miss Adams is so much better than she used to be, it is wiser to stay away from her, and not give her the chance of being disagreeable if she wanted to be.”

Maggie had been much given to the use of proverbs lately, as you will have perceived; and if one could possibly be fitted to her purpose, it was made to serve, as on this occasion.

But Bessie did not feel as if they had any excuse for refusing the invitation so kindly given, nor did mamma when she was appealed to.

“You certainly need not go if you do not wish it, my darlings,” she said; “but do you think it likely, Maggie, that Mrs. Gordon would invite you to her house, and then treat you unkindly? She must be a good deal changed, it seems to me; and would it not look as if you were unforgiving, if you refuse her kindness?”

“Oh! I forgive her, mamma,” said Maggie, “though it was my own Bessie she plagued so, but then I thought her old habits might be too strong for her, and break out again.”

“You forgive, but don’t forget, eh, Maggie? Suppose you were Mrs. Gordon, how would you like Miss Adams’ faults to be treasured up against you, and allowed to stand in the way when you wished to show good-will and kindness?”

“I wouldn’t like it at all, mamma; and I suppose it’s not very Golden Ruley for me to say I won’t go; so, if she asks us, I’ll make up my mind to it.”

Mrs. Gordon came the next day, according to promise, to call on Mrs. Bradford; and invited not only Maggie and Bessie, but also Belle and Lily, to spend the whole of Friday with her, promising to call for them in the morning and bring them back at night.

But perhaps you will find it more interesting to read Maggie’s own account of this visit, which she wrote to Colonel Rush.

“Dear Uncle Horace, – Things are so very surprising in this world that you never quite know how they are going to turn out, of which the case is at present, Miss Adams or who was Miss Adams but now Mrs. Gordon and you will remember her at Quam Beach but under unpleasant circumstances to which we will not refer but forget as well as forgive as mamma reminded me. But you would be surprised to see how much she is improved and so different to what she used to be which was greatly to be desired of all her friends and a pleasure to all who wish her well. So seeing she wished to make up for past offenses we went to spend the day with her and she was very horspitable. She came in her carriage to take us to her house which is most handsome with roses and flowers of many kinds of which she brought mamma a whole lot at the same time and invited all the big people to dinner the next day. I think all this shows she repents sincerely and is not the same woman but much changed and ought to be encouraged to keep on doing well. She has a nice husband named Dr. Gordon, but sober which is not his own fault if he was born so and I pity him. And a sweet baby boy named Aleck and crows and laughs with pleasure at us. But I hope by no means you think we think him so sweet as May Bessie which he is not and May Bessie is so near to us, which also he is not and we love her far the best. Miss Adams was very kind to us all day, indeed quite fond but most of all to Bessie, and she played with us and amused us and I was glad I did not let the devil which is a word that is not best to write unless it is necessary get the upper hand and make me stay away out of revenge or being shy.

“But the most surprising and best thing of all, Uncle Horace is what she is going to do with some of her money. You know in those days of which we will not speak she had a great deal more than she knew what to do with. Well, now she has found a good use for some of it in a way well pleasing to God and men. But I am too tired to write more to-day and will finish it to-morrow – Well, to return on this day to Miss Adams and her good works which shows she has read her Bible which urges to repentance of sins and prophets by it which is a sight to make the coldest heart to rejoice. She has a house not very far from her own where she lives and she is going to have six little girls there in the care of a nice, kind lady. And these little girls are not to be happy children with mothers to take care of them, but orfuns or without mothers or teaching or training in the way they should go. For Miss Adams says she knows what it is to be without a mother or some wise person to guide her, and now that God has been so good to her she wants to give a helping hand to some little girls who would be left too much to themselves and not properly taught. She does not mean to have very poor children, and if their friends wish it they may pay a little money for them but the contrary if they do not, and prefer charity though she does not think it such and would like them to come without any pay. And here they will have a happy home and be taught to be desirable women fit for teachers or other good things and so it will be their own fault if they don’t do it. And she has chosen four girls who are to come in the fall when Miss Adams comes back from the north because things cannot be quite ready till then, as the lady has a sailor son who is to go to sea which I think a hard case for his friends to have him leave his native land. And then the house will be ready and the lady will go and the children will come and Miss Adams is going to see if Lucy Waters’ father who you know I told you about in my last will let her come too. I think if he does not he will be much wanting in sence and proper behaviour, but I think he will dont you? Miss Adams, Mrs. Gordon I mean but I always forget to put her wedding name says she feels so sorry for all little motherless girls, and I am glad of it are not you? And so is Bessie and we think the reason Miss Adams takes so much trouble for these little girls is because she is afraid that if they do not have good care they may grow up to be such women as she used to be when we knew her before but which is not to be mentioned in these pages and now she is quite ashamed of it. We cannot tell just yet if Lucy’s father will let her come, but papa and the doctor are going to the steamer this evening to ask him and when we know Bessie will write and tell you all about it. And Bessie and I have quite made up our minds to take Miss Adams for one of our friends because we find her most sencible and kind and so changed from her old ways which we will not remember if we can help it.

“And dear Uncle Horace and Aunt May we wish you were here ’cause we are having such a nice time and I wrote such a long letter I am afraid you will be tired of it but such an interesting subject my brains were quite full and I had to and you must excuse it. We send two kisses for May Bessie and four for you and hope to see you once more in the future when we come home. And we send a great deal of love from your loving

“Maggie and Bessie.”

“P. S. Savannah is such a fine city and so many trees and roses that it seems strange to me that Alexander the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte did not try to take it, being both men who never minded their own business but always trying to take what did not belong to them, speshally the latter whom in my heart I heartily despise because he never did as he would be done by.”

V

BELLE’S HOME

You may be sure there was not much trouble in gaining the consent of Lucy’s father to the plan proposed for her welfare. He was only too glad and thankful to feel that his motherless little daughter would be placed where she would have a kind and prudent eye to oversee and guide her; and where she would have the opportunity of growing up into a useful and steady woman. This he knew she could not do in the unsettled life she now led on board ship with him, and he had long been considering what he should do with her.

Lucy, though thankful, was not as much pleased, and shed some bitter tears over the prospect. The poor child wanted to learn, and was glad to have a settled home; but she dreaded the thought of parting from her father, who would only be able to see her at such times as his vessel should be at the port of Savannah, and who was the only person whom she had to love her. But, in a day or two after, when she had seen Mrs. Gordon, and heard her talk so kindly of all the pleasures and comforts she would find in this promised home, she became more reconciled to it, especially as the autumn still seemed a long way off to her, and she had all the summer to go back and forth with her father on the sea.

So she told her troubles to her doll; and the steady, blue eyes, which never winked or softened, brought comfort to her, and seemed to give her the assurance that she need not be parted from her, even to go to her new home. If she had not had this beloved companion, it would have gone much harder with poor little Lucy.

Our little girls did not see her again; but last autumn, when they were settled once more in their city home, after all their summer wanderings, Mrs. Gordon wrote to them, saying that Lucy was quite contented and happy under her care; and that she was a very good child, being trustworthy and obedient, and showing a great desire to learn.

So there we will leave her, hoping that she will, as Maggie says, “prophet by all that is done for her and make a useful and happy woman.” The doll went with her; and all the other toys and amusements which were provided for her never made her tired or forgetful of this, her first love, or of the dear little girls who had taken so much interest in her.

Our party did not remain long in Savannah, for the weather was becoming warm and oppressive; but before they went away, they all spent a day on Mr. Powers’ plantation.

This was several miles from the city; and starting in the morning, soon after breakfast, they drove out in the cool of the day. Their way lay through dense pine woods; tall, stately pines, with long, straight trunks; shooting upwards, without leaf or branch, for many a foot, till they neared their height, when they put forth their dark-green crowns, which cast such a sombre shade below. The shade was no objection on this warm day, and a light breeze was stirring, which was very refreshing; but it sounded rather mournful to Maggie and Bessie, as it moaned through the mighty stems, and rustled the thick, fragrant leaves overhead. It has a strange, peculiar sound, the wind in those dark, pine forests of the South, – a sound rather saddening to any listener.

Maggie did not like it at all, and said so, which rather displeased Belle, who, in her delight at returning to her beloved Southern home, found every thing there perfect. However, as they drove on, both Maggie and Bessie spied out so many objects which called forth their surprise and admiration, that she was presently consoled, and concluded that they “liked her own country pretty well, after all.”

Here and there was a magnolia with its magnificent cream-white blossoms, their delicious perfume mingling with the fragrance of the pines; there a group of scarlet cardinal flowers, or a little pool bordered with bright blue flags and spotted tiger-lilies; while through the deep stillness of the woods came the sweet notes of the blue-jay and mocking-bird. Once, as they were passing over a bridge which crossed a marsh, Maggie called the attention of the others to two turtles, great big fellows, larger than any the children had ever seen at the North; “swamp turtles” Belle said they were. They scuttled out of the way in their clumsy fashion, diving out of sight into the mud; and Bessie said she thought they must be some of the unclean animals spoken of in the Bible, since they liked to live in such a dirty place.

The entrance to the plantation was through an avenue of magnificent live-oaks, some of them so large that two or three men could not have encircled them with their outstretched arms; and these splendid trees were studded all over the lawn, spreading far and wide their branches, which, unlike their neighbors the pines, they sent out very low, – so near the ground in fact, that even Bessie could reach the gray Spanish moss which hung over them in long festoons and wreaths. The children had seen this curious moss before in the beautiful old cemetery of Bonaventure, where the oaks are perfectly clothed with it; and Bessie had admired it so much, that Maggie had taken up the idea of carrying home enough to make “a bower” for her in their own little room. But she thought it best to gain the consent of her father and mother to this arrangement; not only because it was right, but also because nurse was rather apt to call such things “truck and trash,” and to put them out of the way as fast as possible. If papa and mamma said they might have it, nurse might call it what she pleased, but she could not throw it away.

Mr. Powers stood awaiting them on the steps of the veranda, for he had been at the plantation for three or four days, while Belle and Daphne had been left in Mrs. Bradford’s charge at the hotel; for he did not think it best for Belle to sleep on the plantation at that time of the year.

She shrieked with delight when she saw him; and, in her hurry to reach him, had nearly thrown herself from Daphne’s lap underneath the carriage-wheels. There would have been an end to the day’s pleasure then; but Daphne’s hand grasped her skirts, and saved her from a terrible death.

As it was, the whole party were startled; and her father’s face had lost its smile of welcome, and looked rather pale as he came down the steps and took her in his arms.

“My pet!” he said, “always in too much of a hurry. This would have been a sad meeting for papa, if you had fallen; but a good God took care of you for me.”

Belle clung about his neck and did not speak; for whether it were the fright, or the sight of her father, or the return to the old home which she had left at such a sad time, or perhaps all three, her feelings took a sudden turn, and when Mr. Powers had brought his friends in and welcomed them, and raised the little face to kiss it again, he found it drowned in tears.

“Why! my darling,” he said, “were you so frightened?”

“I don’t know, papa,” sobbed the excitable little thing; “but, this is home – only – only – mamma is not in it.”

Tears, or something very like them, came to the eyes of all, even of Mr. and Mrs. Norris, who had never known Belle’s dead mother; and Mr. Powers turned hastily away, and stepped with her out on the veranda.

“Only mamma was not in it!” Ah, yes! that was the only that made all the difference in the world, so that home did not seem like home any longer.

It was some few moments before either of them were composed enough to return; and when Mr. Powers came back he was alone, and told Bessie that Belle wanted her to go to her.

Bessie went out upon the veranda, which ran on all four sides of the house, and around the corner she found Belle curled up on a settee where her father had placed her. She stretched out her arms to Bessie when she saw her, saying, —

“Bessie, I do remember mamma so much in my home, and you are a comfit. You are my next best comfit to papa, ever since the first day you spoke to me in school.”

This was a pleasant thing for Bessie to hear; but she put aside her own pleasure for the present, and thought only of being the “comfit” her poor little friend called her. I wonder if there was any one among all the people who knew her, who could have said that our dear Bessie was not more or less of a comfort to them.

Her sweet sympathy and gentle tenderness soon did Belle good, and Bessie let her talk on about her mother as long as she would.

Belle had been very bright and cheerful lately, – thanks to the friends with whom she had been so much thrown, – and it was a good while since she had had a fit of longing for her mother; but the coming to her home had brought her great loss back to her, and just now she could think of nothing else.

“Do you know where they put my mamma before she went to heaven?” said Belle.

“No. Where?” answered Bessie.

“Do you see those high trees over there, Bessie? They put her where little brother and sister are, and ever so many grandpas and grandmas.”

“But they didn’t put her soul there,” said Bessie.

“No,” said Belle, “’cause that was God’s part, and it went to him. And then she couldn’t speak or hear me or see me, but was all deaded away; and so they put the rest of her over there, and put a great many flowers over her. But that was a long, long while ago, before I went away to the North, and I didn’t see where they put mamma this ever so long. Maybe the flowers are all faded. Will you come and see, Bessie?”

“We must ask mamma or your papa first,” said Bessie.

“They would let us,” said Belle: “it’s a very safe place. I used to often go there when mamma was alive, to be by little brother and sister, and she is there now. There couldn’t any danger come to us where mamma is: could there, Bessie?”

“No: I guess not,” said Bessie. “I s’pose mother-angels take care of their little children. I’ll go with you, Belle dear, if you’re quite sure your papa will let us.”

“I know he would, Bessie; and I’d just as lief ask him; only then Maggie and Lily will come too. I’d like Maggie to come, but Lily laughs so much. I love Lily; but I don’t want any one to laugh where my mamma is dead.”

“No,” said Bessie, with the most caressing tenderness of tone and manner, “they shan’t; and I’ll go, Belle.”

With their arms about one another’s necks, the two little things ran down the piazza steps, and the shady path, through which Belle led the way; but as they came near the small burying-ground, their steps grew slow and more reverent.

It was an exquisite spot. An iron railing enclosed it, but the rails were hidden by the green vines which overran them, and within it was beautifully sodded; the green broken here and there by the white marble monuments and slabs which marked the resting-place of Belle’s relations. Flowers of the loveliest kinds were blossoming over and around them, and all showed the utmost care and loving remembrance. Over the entrance was an arch, also of white marble, and on the stone were cut the words, “He giveth His beloved sleep.”

“How sweet it is!” exclaimed Bessie, struck at once with the lovely quiet and peace of the place; and then she looked up and spelled out the letters on the arch.

“Sleep! that was what mamma said: it was only like a sleep if we loved Jesus and tried to do what He wanted us to, and I think it must mean Him when it says, ‘giveth His beloved sleep.’ What dear words! are they not, Belle?”

“Yes,” said Belle, but without paying much attention to what Bessie was saying, for her eye had caught sight of a new object in the enclosure.

“See!” she went on, catching Bessie by the arm: “there’s a stone there where they put mamma;” and drawing Bessie with her, she pushed open the light gate.

It swung easily back, for it was unfastened. There were none here to intrude, no one came here who would not guard with the greatest love and reverence the little spot sacred to “His beloved.”

“His beloved!” For of those who lay there, not one but had closed their eyes in the full faith that they should open them again upon the brightness of His face. Truly that was “God’s Acre.”

The “stone” which had attracted Belle’s attention was a shaft of pure white marble upon her mother’s grave. The centre had been cut away so as to leave four small arches, one on each side, and beneath there was a cross, with the letters “I. H. S.;” before that an open Bible, with the words, “I will not leave you comfortless.”

The sculptor had done his work perfectly; and the snowy marble showed in beautiful contrast with the dark, glossy leaves of the bay tree which spread its arms above it.

“Papa put it there, I know he did,” said Belle, after she and Bessie had stood looking at it in silence for a moment or two.

“Yes: I s’pose he did,” said Bessie: “let’s see what these words are, Belle.”

By standing on tiptoe, the little ones could manage to see the letters carved upon the book; and Bessie read them out as she had done those over the gateway.

“‘I will not leave you comfortless,’” Belle repeated after her. “Why! mamma said that herself a little while before she went to heaven. Maybe that was why papa put it there.”

“And Jesus said it,” replied Bessie. “It’s in the Bible, in a chapter I’ve heard very often. Don’t you remember, Belle? It begins, ‘Let not your heart be troubled;’ and Jesus said it Himself. Perhaps the reason He told people not to be troubled was He was going to promise to comfort them when they had something very bad to bear. It’s the best comfort to know He loves you and will take you to heaven to see your mamma some day: isn’t it, Belle?”

“He will if I’m good,” passing her little hand slowly and caressingly over the marble; “but then I’m not always good.”

“No,” said Bessie, “not always; but mamma said you was not near so spoiled as you used to be. I think you’re pretty good now, Belle.”

“I slapped Daphne’s face this morning,” whispered Belle, remorsefully.

“Oh! did you?” said Bessie. “Well, Belle, I used to slap people sometimes, even when I had mamma to teach me better, and there was no excuse for me.”

“But my own mamma did teach me better, Bessie. I slap Daphne pretty often, but she never tells papa; and I promise myself I’ll never do it again, and then I just do.”

“Did you ever promise Jesus and ask Him to help you not to do it?” asked Bessie.

“No,” answered Belle. “I didn’t think of it. I could do it now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes,” said Bessie.

They knelt down together side by side, and Belle said in a soft but steady voice, for her tears had now ceased, —

“Dear Jesus, I promise not to slap Daphne any more, or not to be naughty any more if I can help it; and you will help me to be good. Amen.”

Then pressing her lips to the cold stone, as if it were the warm, living cheek she had once caressed, she said in a pleading, pathetic whisper, —

“Dear mamma, your little Belle will try to be just as good as you would want her to be if you were here wif her.”

Will any doubt that the “mother-angel” heard and rejoiced over the simple promise uttered by her little one’s trusting lips?

“Do you think it really makes Jesus glad when I’m good?” asked Belle, when they had risen from their knees.

“Oh! to be sure it does,” answered Bessie.

“And He did leave me some comfit: didn’t He, Bessie? He left me papa, and He gave me you and Maggie too; and your mamma is a great comfit too.”

“Mamma’s the best comfort of anybody,” said Bessie.

“Oh, no, Bessie! oh, no! Papa best – you next.”

Bessie did not contradict her, though she thought it a very strange opinion for Belle to hold, and was not at all convinced herself.

“I wish papa was here to stay with me by mamma a little while,” said Belle, presently.

“Shall I go ask him to come?” asked Bessie.

“Yes,” said Belle. “Do you know the way?”

“Oh, yes! It’s right up that path, isn’t it?”

Then she kissed Belle and left her, turning back as she passed through the gate, to look at her little playmate sitting by her mother’s grave and leaning her head pensively against the monument. But Belle smiled as she met Bessie’s eye, and the little girl felt that she had not been left quite “comfortless.” Her own heart was very full of love and sympathy.