Bessie on Her Travels

“I wonder what he is reading,” said Bessie to herself, as she sleepily watched him: “it looks like a piece out of an old torn book. Maybe it’s a newspaper, and they have such a very little one this is such a very little place, and there isn’t much to tell about. I shouldn’t think it was very interesting here.”

The last thing she saw before she went to sleep, was the old negro; and the first on which her eyes opened was the white-haired man, still sitting there, poring over his leaf, as if he had not moved from that spot; and yet she felt as if she had taken quite a long, refreshing nap.

She gently turned her head, and looked at her companions. Belle did not appear to have moved, lying fast asleep with her cheek on Maggie’s dress, and her hat over her eyes, just as she had lain down. Mr. Travers sat with his back against a tree, his arms folded, his eyes closed, and bareheaded. Bessie turned a little more, so that she could see Maggie.

Why! was it possible? Yes, surely: watchful Maggie was fast asleep too. The pine-tree against which she leaned did not shoot up with a straight, unbroken trunk, as they generally do, but was a kind of twin tree, parting into two a foot above the ground, and forming a crook or fork. In this fork was the “bad hat,” and on the “bad hat” lay Maggie’s head, as peacefully as though it were the pillow of her own pretty bed at home; and Maggie was as sound asleep as if it were that same familiar pillow. One dimpled hand loosely held Mr. Travers’ pencil, and the paper lay fluttering unheeded on the ground at her feet. Bessie picked it up lest the breeze should blow it away, and Maggie’s precious thoughts be lost. But it was evident that the letter had not made much progress, for Bessie found only these words written: —

“Oh, dear, darling Uncle Ruthven, – Such a horrible, dreadful adventure!”

She would not disturb any of the others, but sat quiet a moment watching them, then turned her eyes again towards the old negro.

“I think I’ll go speak to him,” she said to herself. “He is a great while reading his paper, and I s’pose he can’t make it out very well. Maybe I could help him, and he was very kind to us.”

She rose softly, and walked slowly towards the old man. He looked up and smiled, saying, —

“Little Miss want for any ting ole Joe can do for her?”

“No, thank you,” said Bessie, now feeling rather shy of asking him if she could help him; then after a moment’s pause she added, “You were reading when I went to sleep, and you are reading now.”

“Yes, little Miss,” he answered, “Joe read most all de time when no trains on hand and he work all done up.”

“Is it a little newspaper?” asked Bessie.

“A newspaper?” he answered, spreading the sheet on his knee, and laying his hand reverently upon it. “Yes, Missy, a newspaper what habs great news in it, de best news in de worl’, – de news how de Lord Jesus come down to save sinners, and old Joe among ’em. Do little Miss know dat news?”

“Oh, yes!” said Bessie, simply. “I always knew it. I’m glad you think it’s good news, Joe, then I know you love Him.”

“Sure, Missy,” said Joe, “how I gwine for help love Him when I knows He done such a ting for Joe?”

Feeling on the instant a bond of sympathy between herself and the old negro, Bessie slipped her soft little hand into his hard, black palm, as she said, —

“But some people who know it don’t love Him.”

Joe shook his head sorrowfully.

“Yes, an’ I bery sorry for dem folks; but I bery glad for Joe, and for little Miss too, for I ’spect she love Him by de way she speak, an’ I know de Lord love her.”

“Did you mean that was out of the Bible?” asked Bessie, looking at the printed sheet which she now saw was torn, scorched, and soiled.

“Yes,” answered Joe, triumphantly, “it out ob de Bible;” and he placed it in Bessie’s hand.

Yes, it was out of the Bible, two leaves: one containing the second chapter of Luke, with the account of the Saviour’s birth; the other, part of the fifteenth and the whole of the sixteenth of Mark, relating his death and resurrection.

“I hab de beginnin’ an’ de end,” said Joe, “an’ I hab some more too, some ob my Lord’s own bressed words what He preach to His people;” and he drew from his pocket a single leaf, containing most of the sixth chapter of Matthew.

“Is that all you have of the Bible?” asked Bessie.

“Dat’s all, Missy, but dey’s a deal ob preciousness in it: dey’s words what bears readin’ ober and ober. To be sure, dey’s times when I gets longin’ for more; but I jes says, ‘Come now, old Joe, don’t be so ongrateful. Ef de Lord had meant you to hab more He would ha’ sent it you;’ and I tank Him for not lettin’ dis be burn up an’ for lettin’ me fin’ it ’fore it was blowed away by de wind.”

“Where did you find it, and how did it come so burnt and torn?” asked Bessie.

“Foun’ it ober by Miss Sims’ house. ’Spect she use it for her bakin’, and when de bread done she trow it out, an’ de Lord He let old Joe fin’ it. Bress His holy name.”

“Do you mean she baked her bread on the leaves of the Bible?” asked Bessie, exceedingly shocked.

“’Pears like it, Missy. I ’spect she don’t know its wort’, poor woman!” said Joe, with a pitying thought for the owner of the pretty, comfortable cottage, who was so much poorer than himself.

Bessie stood looking at him with a multitude of feelings struggling for expression on her sweet, wistful, little face. Indignation at the treatment received by God’s Holy Word; pity, respect, and tender sympathy for the old negro, – were almost too much for her, and her color rose, and the tears came to her eyes.

“Little Miss feel so bad ’bout it as did old Joe,” he said, “but, Missy, dat was de Lord’s way to help old Joe. Long time he ben wantin’ a Bible an’ save up he money, and hab mos’ enough; an’ one day a poor feller come along what hab no shoes an’ hab cut he foot awful, an’ he mus’ go on to de city to see his chile what dyin’; an’ de Lord say in my heart, ‘Joe, you gib dat money for shoes for dis poor feller,’ an’ I couldn’t help it no way, Missy, an’ I buys him de shoes out de store. An’ he ain’t gone but little time, an’ I walkin’ roun’ by Miss Sims’ feelin’ down in de mout’ along ob my Bible; an’ a piece ob paper come blowin’ to my feet, an’ I picks him up, an’ ain’t he a bit out my Lord’s book, an’ I sarch roun’ an’ fin’ noder one. Praise de name ob de Lord what sen’ Joe such comfort till he hab more money!”

Bessie still stood silent, her heart too full for words at the simple story of this old disciple’s self-sacrifice. And he had only these three leaves out of God’s precious Book, while at home there were Bibles without number for all who needed them. Oh! if she only had one to give him. But here there was none, – yes, there was too.

Just before they left home, grandmamma had given to each of the little girls a Testament and Psalms bound together. She thought they might be more convenient for daily use in travelling, than the handsomely bound Bibles which they generally used at home; and if they should happen to be lost would not be so much regretted. They had been carried in the little satchels all the way; and now, as usual, Bessie’s satchel hung by her side. The book was not large; but the print was good and clear, far better than that on old Joe’s cherished leaf, and what a world of riches it would hold for him.

“I could give him mine,” thought Bessie, “and he would be so glad. I don’t b’lieve grandmamma would mind if I gave away her present for such a reason as this; and Maggie will let me use hers when I want to read. I think I ought to give it to him, and I know I would like to.”

“S’pose little miss kin read fus’ rate,” said Joe, interrupting her thoughts.

“Mamma says I can read very nicely,” she answered.

“Maybe she wouldn’t min’ readin’ out a piece. Some words most too hard for Joe, but he kin listen fus’ rate.”

Bessie drew her satchel around, and unfastened it.

“Shall I read you some out of my own little Testament?” she said, drawing forth the book.

Joe’s eyes brightened.

“If Missy be so good,” he said, eagerly. “She hab it all dere: all how de Lord Jesus lib an die, an lib again, an’ talk for his people?”

“Yes,” said Bessie. “What would you like me to read?”

“If Missy read where He say, ‘Let not your heart be trouble’; an’ how He go to make a place for dose what follers Him.”

Bessie found the fourteenth of John, and read it carefully and distinctly, the old man listening intently. When she came to the fourteenth verse, he raised his hand and said, —

“I t’ought so. I t’ought dere war a promise like dat. Now I know sure some day He gib me a Bible, I allers do ax it in His name, an’ He promise allers stan’ sure.”

“Yes,” said Bessie, thoughtfully; then added, in a tone of some self-reproach, “but, Joe, I forgot that promise once this morning.”

“But Missy mind it now?”

“Yes,” answered Bessie. “You see we had such a dreadful trouble, Joe, and it’s not quite over yet. Somehow the cars took us away without papa and mamma, and we didn’t know where we were going, and there was no one to take care of us. It was worse than once when I was lost in New York; cause that was my own country where I live, and the policemen were there; and it seemed to me that even our Father couldn’t help us in such a trouble as this. But in a minute I knew that was wrong, and I asked Him to send us help: and right away he did; for a kind gentleman came who we saw in the cars before, and he is taking care of us, and will take us back to papa and mamma. That is the gentleman there by the tree.”

Joe nodded, as much as to say he knew, as indeed he did; for the story of the little wayfarers had come to his ears. Little he thought when he first heard it, what a blessing they had brought to him.

“And, Joe,” continued the child, “I think maybe our Father had a purpose in letting us be run away with, and bringing us to this place.”