Paula the Waldensian Part 23

"I'm sure I don't know," Paula would say sadly, and would take up the work once more with such sweet resignation that Teresa, moved with compa.s.sion, would take the work from her hands saying--"There! There! Run outdoors now for a bit of fresh air."

Then away Paula would go into the garden or under the trees that lined the village street. Soon she was back with such a happy smile that Teresa forgave her completely.

Once however Teresa lost all patience with her, exclaiming, as she saw the strange ragged ends she had left in her sewing, "Drop that work, and go where you please; but remember this, never will you be called a 'Dorcas.'

Never will you be able to sew and provide garments for the poor. It's not enough to tell them you love them, you must show it by your works--and the best way to do that would be to learn to be useful to them."

Paula sat back stiff and straight in consternation. "Oh, Teresa, I never, never thought of that!" she said in a tone of greatest remorse, "Oh, please let me go on! I will try to do better!"

But Teresa had taken away the work, and was not inclined to be easily persuaded. "No, not now! Another time perhaps you may show what you can do."

Paula therefore had to submit; but that was the last time that Teresa had any reason to complain. That afternoon Paula had gone straight to her room, and I followed soon after to comfort her, but I found her kneeling by her bedside pouring out her heart in true repentance to Him who was ever her unseen Companion. I closed the door gently behind me and stole away.

Later Paula said to me, "Oh, Lisita, I'm surely bad indeed. One thing I've certainly hated to do, and that is to sit down and learn to sew, especially in fine weather like this. I seem to hear a thousand voices that call me out-of-doors. I never could see any earthly reason why I should have to learn how to sew, and so I never even tried to please Teresa in that way.

But now she tells me that if I go on like this I shall never be able to sew for the poor. I never thought of that! I wonder what the Lord Jesus must think of me. He gave His life for me, and here I am not willing to learn something that would help me to put clothes on poor folks! Oh, I must! I must learn to sew, no matter what it costs."

That was it--to do something for others, that was the princ.i.p.al thing in all her thoughts.

In school Paula never did win prizes--nor did I. Both of us were generally about on an equal level at the bottom of our cla.s.s.

About a year after our first visit to Mademoiselle Virtud's house, Madame Boudre had moved us up to the Third Grade. Teresa made a magnificent apple-cake as a sign of her pleasure. My father also showed his great satisfaction, and in fact everybody rejoiced to see that at last we were both making progress. In spite of all, however, there was one great heavy weight on my heart, and I cried myself to sleep that night I think Mlle.

Virtud also felt badly that we were leaving her, but she made us promise to come and visit her. "You are no longer my pupils," she said, "but you are still, and will be always, my dear friends."

Gabriel was so glad to see us that it was always a joy to go and play with him on our Thursday half-holidays. Paula always told him Bible stories, for that seemed to be his chief pleasure, and I taught him to read. Victoria's mother used to bring her work over to Mlle. Virtud's room and heard the stories with great delight.

"If I had been able to leave my Victoria in school she would have become as wise and learned as you, Mesdemoiselles," she would say a bit sadly at times. "But there, I can't complain; what would we have done without the money she earns at the factory?"

One afternoon we said good-bye to Gabriel and mounted the stairs to visit the blind girl. Left alone for most of the day, she pa.s.sed the long hours knitting. She was about the same age as our Catalina, but she appeared to be much older. The first time we had visited her, she had hardly raised her head from her work, and showed but little interest in the stories that her mother had asked us to read to her. It was not so much indifference as an apparent incapacity to comprehend the meaning of what she heard. But on this particular afternoon Paula started singing a hymn. The poor girl suddenly dropped her work in her lap, and listened with rapt attention.

When Paula had finished she exclaimed "Oh, mamma! mamma! Tell her to please sing again."

Mme. Bertin could not suppress a cry of delight as she said, "Dear Mademoiselle Paula, please sing another song! Never have I seen my Marguerite so happy." And so Paula sang hymn after hymn. As Paula at last stopped singing, for the time had come to go home, poor Marguerite stretched out her arms as if groping for something.

"Please do not be offended, Mademoiselle Paula," implored Madame Bertin; "she wants you to come nearer that she may feel your face. The blind have no other eyes." Paula kneeled at Marguerite's side and the blind girl pa.s.sed her hands gently over the upturned face, pausing an instant at the broad forehead, then on over the beautiful arched brows and long eyelashes and the delicately-fas.h.i.+oned nose and lips, that smiled softly as she touched them.

"You have not seen her hair," said the mother, as she guided the girl's hands upward and over the waves of light brown hair that seemed like an aurora fit for such a face, and then finally down the long braids that extended below Paula's waist Then with one of those sudden movements characteristic of the blind, she carried the s.h.i.+ning braids to her lips and kissed them as in an ecstasy. Then, just as suddenly, in confusion she dropped them and buried her own face in her hands.

At this Paula sprang to her feet and put her arms about the poor girl, and murmured in her ear, "We do love you so, Marguerite!"

After that visit, little by little Marguerite began to love to hear us speak of the Saviour. Her indifference and sadness disappeared, giving place to a quiet peace and joy that was contagious for all who came in contact with her. Mme. Bertin no longer called her "My poor daughter," only "My Marguerite." For the next two years she became our constant delight.

Teresa at times gave us clothes but slightly worn to take to her, which gave us almost as much joy as we carried them to Marguerite as she herself felt on receiving them.

One day Gabriel came running to tell us that Marguerite was quite ill, and we lost no time in going to see her. With painful feelings of presentiment we mounted the steep stairs to her room.

As we entered, Madame Bertin came toward us with her ap.r.o.n to her eyes and Mile. Virtud made signs for us to come over to the bed, as she slightly raised the sick girl's head.

"Dearest Marguerite," said our teacher; "Here are Paula and Lisita."

"May G.o.d bless them both," and Marguerite spread out her ams toward us, adding, "Oh, Paula, please sing again, 'There's no night there!'" And Paula sang once more the old hymn.

"In the land of fadeless day Lies the city foursquare; It shall never pa.s.s away, And there is no night there.

"G.o.d shall wipe away all tears; There's no death, no pain, nor fears; And they count not time by years, For there is no night there.

"Oh, how beautiful!" And it seemed as if the poor blind girl were straining those sightless...o...b.. for a glimpse of the Beautiful City. "Don't cry, mother," she said as she caught a low sob from the other end of the room.

"I am so happy now to go to be with Jesus in His City." The poor mother put her face close to her daughter's lips so that she might not lose a word.

"One regret only I have, Mamma," Marguerite said; "and that is, that I have never seen your face. Oh, that I might have seen it just once."

"In Heaven," interrupted our teacher, "your eyes will be open forever."

"Oh, yes," said the dying girl. "There perhaps I will see Mamma and Victoria. Will you please give Victoria a kiss for me when she comes home from the factory tonight Tell her I'm so grateful; she has worked so hard for us!" Then suddenly--"Paula!" she called--"Paula!"

"Here I am, Marguerite," and Paula came closer, taking her hand.

"Ah, you are here. Thanks, dear Paula," she gasped. "Many thanks for telling me about Jesus and His love for me. Sing--"

The sentence was never finished, but Paula's sweet voice rose, as once again she sang the sublime words:

"There is no night there."

"Is she dead?" I said, as we looked down on the still white face.

"Her eyes are open now," said Mlle. Virtud tenderly, "in the City where there is no night!"

CHAPTER TWO

THE BRETON

It was a snowy, bl.u.s.tery day. It is always a source of pleasure to see the drifts beginning to bank against the houses across the street On this afternoon the bushes and roofs were already crowned in white, and all the trees were festooned as if for a holiday. The smaller objects in the garden had disappeared under this grand upholstery of nature, and the rattle of the carts and other ordinary sounds of the village were m.u.f.fled in the mantle of snow. To be sure Paula dampened my pleasure a bit by reminding me that there were many people who were in great suffering on account of the storm, without proper food, warm clothing, or fire in their houses.

It had been a hard winter. Many of the factories in town had had to discharge their workers on account of lack of orders. Happily, Teresa with Catalina's help had done all she could to aid the poor folks in our neighborhood. Paula had sewed incessantly. Her st.i.tches were pretty uneven and the thread frequently knotted in her nervous hands, but Teresa said that the mistakes she made were more than made up by the love that she put into her work.

I read to Paula while she sewed, and we were certainly happy when at last the mountain of old clothes which had been gathered for the poor had been made over and finally distributed to the needy ones.

I remember especially one poor woman to whom Teresa had sent us with a package of clothes, who received us with tears of grat.i.tude.

And now, as I sat looking out at the gathering drifts, I heard Catalina remark in a relieved tone, "At last that's finished!"

"What's finished?" I asked. "My old dress," she said. "Who would have thought I could do a job like this! But there it is turned and darned and lengthened. Happily, I don't believe that poor Celestina Dubois will be very difficult to please"--and Catalina pulled a comical smile.

As one looked at that peaceful, beautiful face it was hard to realize that it could belong to the poor, miserable, complaining invalid of a short time before!

"What a shame that it's still snowing so hard," she said, "I would have liked to have sent it over to Celestina today. Teresa says the poor woman needs it badly. But I suppose we'll have to wait till morning."

"That won't be at all necessary," said Paula, "We're not afraid of a little snow; are we, Lisita? If you only knew how I love to go out into a snowstorm like this!"

"You must be like the mountain goats of your own country," said Catalina with a laugh. "To think of getting any pleasure in going out in a snowstorm!"