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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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The Wide, Wide World
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"My dear bairn, there is Ane abuve wha disposes a' things for us; and He isna weel pleased when His children fash themselves wi' His dispensations. He has ta'en and placed you here, for your ain gude I trust, – I'm sure it's for the gude of us a', – and if ye haena a' things ye wad wish, Miss Ellen, ye hae Him; dinna forget that, my ain bairn."
Ellen returned heartily and silently the embrace of the old Scotchwoman, and when she left her, set herself to follow her advice. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts and smooth her ruffled feelings, in using this quiet time to the best advantage. At the end of half-an-hour she felt like another creature; and began to refresh herself with softly singing some of her old hymns.
The argument which was carried on in the parlour sank at length into silence without coming to any conclusion.
"Where is Miss Ellen?" Mrs. Lindsay asked of a servant that came in.
"She is up in her room, ma'am, singing."
"Tell her I want her."
"No, stop," said Mr. Lindsay; "I'll go myself."
Her door was a little ajar, and he softly opened it without disturbing her. Ellen was still sitting on the floor before the window, looking out through it, and in rather a low tone singing the last verse of the hymn "Rock of Ages: " —
"While I draw this fleeting breath, —
When my eyelids close in death, —
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne, —
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee."
Mr. Lindsay stood still at the door. Ellen paused a minute, and then sang "Jerusalem, my happy home." Her utterance was so distinct that he heard every word. He did not move till she had finished, and then he came softly in.
"Singing songs to the moon, Ellen?"
Ellen started and got up from the floor.
"No, sir; I was singing them to myself."
"Not entirely, for I heard the last one. Why do you make yourself sober singing such sad things?"
"I don't, sir; they are not sad to me; they are delightful. I love them dearly."
"How came you to love them? it is not natural for a child of your age. What do you love them for, my little daughter?"
"Oh, sir, there are a great many reasons, I don't know how many."
"I will have patience, Ellen; I want to hear them all."
"I love them because I love to think of the things the hymns are about; I love the tunes, dearly; and I like both the words and the tunes better, I believe, because I have sung them so often with friends."
"Humph! I guessed as much. Isn't that the strongest reason of the three?"
"I don't know, sir; I don't think it is."
"Is all your heart in America, Ellen, or have you any left to bestow on us?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not very much?"
"I love you, father," said Ellen, laying her cheek gently alongside of his.
"And your grandmother, Ellen?" said Mr. Lindsay, clasping his arms around her.
"Yes, sir."
But he well understood that the "yes" was fainter.
"And your aunt? – speak, Ellen."
"I don't love her as much as I wish I did," said Ellen; "I love her a little, I suppose. Oh, why do you ask me such a hard question, father?"
"That is something you have nothing to do with," said Mr. Lindsay, half laughing. "Sit down here," he added, placing her on his knee, "and sing to me again."
Ellen was heartened by the tone of his voice, and pleased with the request. She immediately sang with great spirit a little Methodist hymn she had learned when a mere child. The wild air and simple words singularly suited each other.
"O Canaan – bright Canaan —
I am bound for the land of Canaan.
O Canaan! it is my happy, happy home —
I am bound for the land of Canaan."
"Does that sound sad, sir?"
"Why, yes, I think it does, rather, Ellen. Does it make you feel merry?"
"Not merry, sir, it isn't merry; but I like it very much."
"The tune or the words?"
"Both, sir."
"What do you mean by the land of Canaan?"
"Heaven, sir."
"And do you like to think about that? at your age?"
"Why, certainly, sir! Why not?"
"Why do you!"
"Because it is a bright and happy place," said Ellen gravely; "where there is no darkness, nor sorrow, nor death, neither pain nor crying; and my mother is there, and my dear Alice, and my Saviour is there; and I hope I shall be there too."
"You are shedding tears now, Ellen."
"And if I am, sir, it is not because I am unhappy. It doesn't make me unhappy to think of these things – it makes me glad; and the more I think of them the happier I am."
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Удивительная книга. Как никогда актуальна сегодня. Язык и стиль автора настолько тонок, лёгок и изыскан, что легко поведёт читателя в мир героев, кото...
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