Part 8.
Katie is seated at the open window of the old nursery at Silversands. You will almost need an introduction to her now, for she is no longer the little girl who played with Geraldine. All her curls are gone, and instead of them, dark coils adorn the pretty head; yet it is the same bright face. Ten years make a great difference in us all.
“I am eighteen today,” she is saying to herself; “nothing is changed here; waves and rocks and flowers all the same; only I am different, and somehow many things are different,” added she, shading her eyes with her hand.
And the face grows graver, and thoughts flit back through long years into the buried past. She stands in spirit beside a well-known and oft-visited little grave, in a sheltered corner of the cemetery at home. She sees the green grass, and the pure white marble cross, with its beautiful device of a dove nestling on it, and the golden words beneath the still cherished name, “He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom.”
As memory brought back to her the great grief of her childhood tears filled her eyes, for though time has softened the sorrow, and loving friends have been found to fill the void, still Geraldine will ever hold in Katie’s heart her own sacred spot, till they meet again, together with their Saviour.
I must ask my readers to peep over Katie’s shoulder, into the garden below, and then they will be able to supply for themselves the broken links in my story.
On the rustic seat looking toward the sea are seated old Doctor and Mrs. Rutherford. Time has aged them both, and they have come to the peaceful eventide of life. The burden and heat of the day are over for them; they have reached, so to speak, the hour of prayer before taking the “sleep of the beloved”; they are waiting for an entrance into the everlasting kingdom; awaiting with reverend feet and earnest hearts the call to “come up higher.”
Four children cluster round their knees, making the garden resound with silvery laughter and merry words; they are calling Barbara “Mamma,” but she looks the least changed of any, as she stands, not far off, taring to a lady in deep mourning, whose half-averted face is surrounded by a widow’s cap, which will not, however, prevent your recognizing Lady L’Estrange. Her face is not much changed, but the calm that follows conflict is written there; the sad and restless expression of former days is now succeeded by a chastened look of heavenly joy and peace, for she has found the hidden strength she sought.
We must not forget Mary Keats; the children are now running towards her, and they have never known any other nurse. The home in the little court is broken up now, for her mother is dead and Willie is footman at Dr. Gray’s.
One, however, stands there, a stranger to us, though evidently not so to the well-known group; a son indeed to the aged couple, who have the satisfaction of seeing their work for Christ in the village thoroughly carried on through his unwearied efforts, and in perfect trust and love they have resigned their beloved daughter to his care.
Katie glanced down at the bright moving group below. ‘How happy they all look,” she said, half aloud; “if it were not for myself I could fancy those two dear little namesakes were the Katie and Geraldine of long ago; we must have looked like that then.”
And with a sigh she turned and unlocked a drawer. One by one all the treasures are unfolded and touched; a box of shells, some seaweed, a few little pencil notes, a bunch of withered flowers, and a long, bright, golden curl.
And now, dear children, my story is done, but I hope you will not forget what I have been telling you. This is a true story, and I want you to learn a great many things from it.
You may be very young, but you are not too young to die. I should like you to be as happy as Katie and Geraldine, so that if Jesus calls you away early, it may be to take you to Himself; or if left here, it may be to spend your life in His service.
He has promised a crown of life to all who love Him, and those who wear it “Shall shine as the stars forever and ever.”
The same Saviour that called these dear children and made them His own, now calls you. Oh! give your harts to Him, and He will wash away your sins in His precious blood, and give you a robe pure and spotless, “whiter than “snow.”
ML 02/27/1916