AS I stepped upon the platform of the C― railway station, a hand was laid upon my arm, and a voice said, “Norman, is this you?”
I turned and looked at the speaker. It was my old classmate, Richard―, with whom I had agreed to pass a few weeks, and whom I had not seen for years before. After we had pushed our way through the noisy crowd and were seated in his carriage, I looked at him again, and exclaimed, “Richard, how you have altered! How different now from the wild youth of old! “
“Yes, Norman, there have been many changes with me since we parted, but the greatest has been here,” said he, smiling, and gently touching his breast.
“Humph!” was my ejaculation, which elicited no reply.
That evening, as he, his wife, and myself, were walking in the garden, and I was admiring some jasmines, he said to me, “Norman, I have yet a little treasure to show you, and although it is small, it is far greater than all these, almost the greatest one I have. Can you guess?”
When we went back to the room he showed her to me — his beautiful little girl, his only child, his little Bessie! I was not fond of children, at least, I thought so; but strangely did that little maiden win her way to my heart, my old bachelor heart! Eight cloudless summers of her sunny life had passed; and had each one, as it gently glided by, left with her all its charms, she could not have been more beautiful.
That evening, sweet in memory to me, we became firm friends. She loved me because, when she asked Daddy, lie said that he did. She sat with me a little, and I told her an old fairy story which most strangely came to my remembrance, and then, after she, her father, and myself, had had a frolic, she went to bed.
The next day we all went out for a drive, and a delightful one we had. Little Bessie was as bright and beautiful as the day, but there was sometimes a strange thoughtfulness of expression upon her face, which troubled me as being beyond her years. As I was talking with her father, I said something jeeringly about Him who led the only pure life upon the earth. Richard said not a word in reply, but motioned me to look at little Bessie. She was gazing into my face with horror and surprise — an expression such as I never saw before, nor since, and which I shall never forget. She gazed so for a moment. No one spoke. Never had anything before been able to make me feel that religion was above my scoffing remarks; but as I glanced at that little face so earnestly endeavoring to read mine, and saw the little maid burst into tears, uncontrollable tears, I felt a certain shame that, in the presence of one so pure, I should have spoken, what perhaps she had never heard before. Then she looked at me in a sort of pitying way, and said, “I thought you loved my Jesus! Oh! how could you say that of Him?” During the rest of the drive she lay upon her father’s bosom in perfect silence, and no one spoke.
The next day I was alone in my room, thinking of all that had occurred, and a strange and unaccountable feeling of seriousness was creeping over me, a sort of longing to be like her, when suddenly the little maid was at my side. I started as I saw her, and met the tender gaze of love and pity which she bent upon me. Her little hand was laid upon my arm, and for a moment both of us were silent.
Then the silence was broken by the words, “Won’t you love my Jesus?” and she was gone. I could not ridicule that lovely spirit, and yet some demon within me tempted my soul to do so. The next morning, and the next, and the next, the little maiden came in the same way, said the same words, then disappeared. I never answered her, and at no other time did she allude to the subject; but she never failed to come at that morning hour. One morning I said to her, almost unconsciously, as she uttered her never-failing invitation, “Tell me how, Bessie.”
She looked at me a moment, and the next, was seated on my knee. And then, what words flowed — simple childish words, in which she told the story of Christ’s love! Never, never shall I forget them. My eyes were far from dry when she went away, and there was less of sorrow on her face than usual. And morning after morning she came, and seemed never to weary of telling the sweet tale.
But one morning she did not come. I waited a long time, but in vain. No little feet came pattering along the hall. No little hand was clasped in mine. No words of instruction were lisped in my ear. Presently there came a hurried knock at my door. It was opened before waiting for permission, and her father was with me. “Norman,” said he, “she has just waked from a long and heavy sleep, and is fearfully ill. Will you come? Tell me if you know what it is.” I went. There lay the little one, with eyes closed, and in a sort of stupor. I knew at a glance. It was scarlet fever! How I told those aching hearts I know not, but they were wonderfully calm in their anguish. The doctor soon confirmed my statement; but there was so painfully little to be done for the dear sufferer, that those two days almost passed by in silence as we three watched over the precious form.
We knew from the first that she was no longer of the earth, and it was indeed a heavy burden for us to bear, to think that she would not longer be the light of our hearts. I say we, for though I was perhaps mistaken, the little one had so taken possession of my heart, that it seemed to me that she could not be dearer to those who had the first earthly claim upon her affections.
At the end of the second day her life seemed partially to return, and she opened her beautiful large eyes, and smiling a little, said, “Dear Mother! Dear Daddy!” and then looking around, “Dear Uncle Norman! WON’T YOU LOVE MY JESUS? Mother loves Him! Daddy loves Him! and I am going to Him, and want to tell Him that you love Him. Won’t you love Him?”
“Bessie! little Bessie!” said I, “tell Him my heart and life are His for evermore, and may my soul some day be as pure and undefiled as hers who bears the message to Him!”
“Mother! Daddy! O MY JESUS! I am so happy now! Now I come, COME, COME! Even so, come, Lord Jesus!” And the little spirit, so pure, so holy, returned whence it came! God’s little messenger had fulfilled her mission to the earth, had turned a soul to righteousness, and was called home.
Anon.