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"You do not know what I mean?" she said.
"Hardly – "
"I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. It is like what Ican fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient andintelligent thing; – of no use to the branch which holds it – freshnessand power gone – no reason for existence left – its work all done. Only Inever did any work, and was never of any particular use."
"O, you cannot mean that!" cried Lois, much troubled and perplexed.
"I keep going over to-day that little hymn you showed me, that wasfound under the dead soldier's pillow. The words run in my head, andwake echoes.
'I lay me down to sleep,
With little thought or care
Whether the waking find
Me here, or there.
'A bowing, burdened head – '"
But here the speaker broke off abruptly, and for a few minutes Loissaw, or guessed, that she could not go on.
"Never mind that verse," she said, beginning again; "it is the next. Doyou remember? —
'My good right hand forgets
Its cunning now.
To march the weary march,
I know not how.
'I am not eager, bold,
Nor brave; all that is past.
I am ready not to do,
At last, at last! – '
I am too young to feel so," Mrs. Barclay went on, after a pause which
Lois did not break; "but that is how I feel to-day."
"I do not think one need – or ought – at any age," Lois said gently; buther words were hardly regarded.
"Do you hear that wind?" said Mrs. Barclay. "It has been singing andsighing in the chimney in that way all the afternoon."
"It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings so, and I like it. Ilike it especially at Christmas time."
"It carries me back – years. It takes me to my old home, when I was achild. I think it must have sighed so round the house then. It takes meto a time when I was in my fresh young life and vigour – the unfoldingleaf – when life was careless and cloudless; and I have a kind ofhome-sickness to-night for my father and mother. – Of the days sincethat time, I dare not think."
Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in her friend's eyes, slowly andfew, as they come to people with whom hope is a lost friend; and herheart was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet she did not knowhow to speak. She recalled the verse of the soldier's hymn which Mrs.Barclay had passed over —
"A bowing, burdened head,
That only asks to rest,
Unquestioning, upon
A loving breast."
She thought she knew what the grief was; but how to touch it? She satstill and silent, and perhaps even so spoke her sympathy better thanany words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. Barclay felt it so, forshe presently went on after a manner which was not like her usualreserve.
"O that wind! O that wind! It sweeps away all that has been between, and puts home and my childhood before me. But it makes me home-sick,Lois!"
"Cannot you go on with the hymn, dear Mrs. Barclay? You know how itgoes, —
'My half day's work is done;
And this is all my part —
I give a patient God
My patient heart.'"
"What does he want with it?" said the weary woman beside her.
"What? O, it is the very thing he wants of us, and of you; the onething he cares about! That we would love him."
"I have not done a half day's work," said the other; "and my heart isnot patient. It is only tired, and dead."
"It is not that," said Lois. "How very, very good you have been to
Madge and me!"
"You have been good to me. And, as your grandmother quoted thismorning, no thanks are due when we only love those who love us. Myheart does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better go to your aunt'swithout me, dear. I should not be good company."
"But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; and she left her seat andsank upon her knees at her friend's side, still clasping the hand thathad taken hers. "Dear Mrs. Barclay, there is help."
"If you could give it, there would be, you pretty creature!" said Mrs.Barclay, with her other hand pushing the beautiful masses of red-brownhair right and left from Lois's brow.
"But there is One who can give it, who is stronger than I, and lovesyou better."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and areheavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'"
Mrs. Barclay said nothing, but she shook her head.
"It is a promise," Lois repeated. "It is a PROMISE. It is the King'spromise; and he never breaks his word."
"How do you know, my child? You have never been where I am."
"No," said Lois, "not there. I have never felt just so."
"I have had all that life could give. I have had it, and knew I had it.
And it is all gone. There is nothing left."
"There is this left," said Lois eagerly, "which you have not tried."
"What?"
"The promise of Christ."
"Hardly – "
"I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. It is like what Ican fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient andintelligent thing; – of no use to the branch which holds it – freshnessand power gone – no reason for existence left – its work all done. Only Inever did any work, and was never of any particular use."
"O, you cannot mean that!" cried Lois, much troubled and perplexed.
"I keep going over to-day that little hymn you showed me, that wasfound under the dead soldier's pillow. The words run in my head, andwake echoes.
'I lay me down to sleep,
With little thought or care
Whether the waking find
Me here, or there.
'A bowing, burdened head – '"
But here the speaker broke off abruptly, and for a few minutes Loissaw, or guessed, that she could not go on.
"Never mind that verse," she said, beginning again; "it is the next. Doyou remember? —
'My good right hand forgets
Its cunning now.
To march the weary march,
I know not how.
'I am not eager, bold,
Nor brave; all that is past.
I am ready not to do,
At last, at last! – '
I am too young to feel so," Mrs. Barclay went on, after a pause which
Lois did not break; "but that is how I feel to-day."
"I do not think one need – or ought – at any age," Lois said gently; buther words were hardly regarded.
"Do you hear that wind?" said Mrs. Barclay. "It has been singing andsighing in the chimney in that way all the afternoon."
"It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings so, and I like it. Ilike it especially at Christmas time."
"It carries me back – years. It takes me to my old home, when I was achild. I think it must have sighed so round the house then. It takes meto a time when I was in my fresh young life and vigour – the unfoldingleaf – when life was careless and cloudless; and I have a kind ofhome-sickness to-night for my father and mother. – Of the days sincethat time, I dare not think."
Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in her friend's eyes, slowly andfew, as they come to people with whom hope is a lost friend; and herheart was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet she did not knowhow to speak. She recalled the verse of the soldier's hymn which Mrs.Barclay had passed over —
"A bowing, burdened head,
That only asks to rest,
Unquestioning, upon
A loving breast."
She thought she knew what the grief was; but how to touch it? She satstill and silent, and perhaps even so spoke her sympathy better thanany words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. Barclay felt it so, forshe presently went on after a manner which was not like her usualreserve.
"O that wind! O that wind! It sweeps away all that has been between, and puts home and my childhood before me. But it makes me home-sick,Lois!"
"Cannot you go on with the hymn, dear Mrs. Barclay? You know how itgoes, —
'My half day's work is done;
And this is all my part —
I give a patient God
My patient heart.'"
"What does he want with it?" said the weary woman beside her.
"What? O, it is the very thing he wants of us, and of you; the onething he cares about! That we would love him."
"I have not done a half day's work," said the other; "and my heart isnot patient. It is only tired, and dead."
"It is not that," said Lois. "How very, very good you have been to
Madge and me!"
"You have been good to me. And, as your grandmother quoted thismorning, no thanks are due when we only love those who love us. Myheart does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better go to your aunt'swithout me, dear. I should not be good company."
"But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; and she left her seat andsank upon her knees at her friend's side, still clasping the hand thathad taken hers. "Dear Mrs. Barclay, there is help."
"If you could give it, there would be, you pretty creature!" said Mrs.Barclay, with her other hand pushing the beautiful masses of red-brownhair right and left from Lois's brow.
"But there is One who can give it, who is stronger than I, and lovesyou better."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and areheavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'"
Mrs. Barclay said nothing, but she shook her head.
"It is a promise," Lois repeated. "It is a PROMISE. It is the King'spromise; and he never breaks his word."
"How do you know, my child? You have never been where I am."
"No," said Lois, "not there. I have never felt just so."
"I have had all that life could give. I have had it, and knew I had it.
And it is all gone. There is nothing left."
"There is this left," said Lois eagerly, "which you have not tried."
"What?"
"The promise of Christ."
Другие электронные книги автора Susan Warner
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