A Little Girl in Old Salem Part 19

When he returned Cynthia was standing by his table, white as a little ghost. He almost dropped into the chair.

"Was I dreaming, or did that man say my father couldn't come back to Salem, that he--that he was----"

She swayed almost as if she would fall. He drew her down on his knee and her head sank on his shoulder. She was so still that he was startled.

How many times he had wondered how he would get her told. Perhaps it had been wrong to wait.

"My little girl! My little Cynthia----"

"Wait," she breathed, and he held her closer. He had come to love her very much, though he had taken her unwillingly.

"Is it true? But no one would say such a thing if it were not. I had been asleep. I woke just as he said that. Perhaps I had been dreaming about our being together. And it seemed at first as if my tongue was stiff and I couldn't even make a sound. Did he go to heaven without me?"

Oh, what should he say to comfort her! She had so many feelings far under the surface.

"My little dear," and his voice was infinitely fond, "I want to tell you that he loved your mother tenderly. No one could have been better loved.

In the course of a few hours she was s.n.a.t.c.hed away from him. You were so little--five years ago. I doubt if there was ever a day in which he did not think of her. When you are grown and come to love some one with the strength of your whole heart, you will understand how great it is. And when the summons came for him his first thought was that he should see her, and with the next he must find a new home for his little girl, so he gave you to me. It is very hard just now, but you must think how happy they are together. Perhaps they both know you are here, where you will be cared for and made happy, for we all love you. Every one has not the same way of showing love, but Cousin Elizabeth has done everything she could for you this winter. And we don't want to lose you. You won't grudge them a few years together in that happy place?"

"Oh, are you quite sure there _is_ a heaven?"

Oh, Cynthia, you are not the first one who has asked to have it certified.

"Yes, dear; very sure," in the tone of faith.

"He loved mother very much?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence. He felt the slow beating of her little heart.

"Then I ought to be content, since he gave me to you, when he knew he was going away."

"It would have been very sad if you had been left alone there. Out of his great love he planned it this way, thinking the tidings would not come so hard after a while. And now you can always recall him as you saw him last and just think, in a moment of time G.o.d called and he stepped over the narrow s.p.a.ce that seems such a mystery to us and met _her_. I wish we didn't invest death with so much that is painful, for it is G.o.d's way of calling us to a better land where there are no more partings. Sometime you and I will go over to them."

"I shouldn't feel afraid with you," she commented simply.

When the tea bell rang she asked to be carried to her room and laid on Rachel's little bed. He kissed her gently and turned away.

The next was his day in Boston. But late in the afternoon, after Miss Eunice had been visiting her an hour or so, she went to the study and sat by the window, where she could see him come. He glanced up and she waved her hand daintily. All day he had been wondering how he should find her.

"I haven't coughed but a very little to-day," she exclaimed. "Cousin Elizabeth made some new syrup. And the doctor was in. He said I was a little lazy, that I must be more energetic."

"I've been ordering a new carriage to-day. The old one was hardly worth repairing. And when you are stronger I think I'll buy a gentle pony and we can go out riding. You would not be afraid after a little?"

"Not with you."

Her confidence was very sweet.

"I'm going down to tea to-night. I was down at noon."

"Oh, you are improving. I hope there will come some warm weather and balmy airs."

"It was beautiful last spring. You know I never saw a real spring before."

She was bearing her loss and her sorrow beautifully. All day she had been thinking of the joy of those two when they met on the confines of that beautiful world. It made heaven seem so near, so real. Sometimes the tears came to her eyes. She was Cousin Chilian's little girl, so why should she feel lonely!

Once in a number of years spring comes early. It did this time, at the close of the century. People shook their heads and talked about "weather-breeders," and mentioned snow as late as May, when fruit trees had been in bloom. But nature had turned over a bright, clear leaf, that made the book of time fairly s.h.i.+ne.

The carriage came and Cynthia was taken out. Miss Elizabeth wrapped her up like a mummy, and would put a brick, swathed in coverings, in the bottom for her feet. He had taken the ladies out occasionally, but of late years the sisters had been so busy they had little time for pleasure, they thought.

They crossed North Bridge and went up Danvers way. Oh, how lovely it was with the trees in baby leaf, and some wild things blossoming. And even then industry had planted itself. There on the farther bank of Waters River was the iron mill, where Dr. Nathan Read invented his scheme for cut nails. And he built a paddle-wheel steamboat that was a success before Robert Fulton tried his. And they pa.s.sed the Page house, where General Gage had his office, and Madam Page had tea on the roof, because they had promised not to use tea in the house.

That amused Cynthia and he also told her of the woman, when tea first came to the country, who boiled the leaves and seasoned them, pa.s.sing them around to her guests, who didn't think they were anything much in the vegetable line and too expensive ever to become general.

Birds sang about them, flocks of wild geese had started on their northward journey. What a wonderful world it was! And her father had been a boy here in Salem village, had lived in Cousin Chilian's house in the father's time, and her mother had been married in the stately parlor. Why, she could dream of their being real guests of the place.

How odd she should come to live here. The life in India would be the dream presently.

She was very tired when Chilian lifted her out of the carriage and took her upstairs. Rachel put her to bed for a while and gave her a cup of hot tea--mint and catnip--which was a great restorer, or so considered, in those days. She came down to supper and was quite bright.

Every day she improved a little. Eunice said she was getting 'climated.

Elizabeth wondered if she had any deep feeling. She had expected to see her "take on" terribly. Chilian begged her not to disturb the child's faith that both parents were in heaven.

"Letty Orne, that was, might have been one of the elect, but sea captains are seldom considered safe in the fold, as children of grace. I never heard that he had any evidence. And 'tisn't safe to count on meeting them unless you've had some sign."

"We must leave a good many of these things to G.o.d. His ways are better than our short-sighted wisdom."

Elizabeth was never quite sure of Chilian. So much study, and reading, and college talk, and the new theories, and what they called discoveries, were enough to unsettle one's faith, and she feared for him. Younger children than Cynthia had gone through the throes of conviction--she had herself, and she longed to see her in this state.

But the child was quite her olden self. What with the change of climate and her illness she was many shades fairer, and her hair was losing its queer sunburned color. Her thin frame began to fill out, her face grew rounder, and her smile was sweetness itself.

"But she hasn't grown a mite since she came. Leverett people are all of a fair size. I don't know a little runt among them," persisted Elizabeth.

"I wish I could grow," she sighed in confidence to Chilian.

"Never mind. Then you will always be my little girl," he would answer consolingly.

CHAPTER IX

LESSONS OF LIFE

Even Chilian wondered that the little girl took the death of her father so calmly. Elizabeth called it unnatural and questioned whether the child had any deep feeling.

"I don't believe she's shed a tear. And, Eunice, the child ought to go in black."