The Ravens and the Angels Part 32

"But I think I know," said the maiden. "You are my little younger brother who was lost so long ago. I am sure you are!" she added; "for whenever I look at you, my mother's eyes seem looking at me through yours."

And the children hugged each other close, and laughed and wept together.

And the happy Child was long in falling asleep that night, for he had found a sister, and he had learned the blessed Name, and he knew there was One watching over them always, and loving them dearly.

CHAPTER III.

The Child awoke happier than ever, and began to prepare a feast for his little sister; but when he had finished, and stood in the entrance of the cave looking toward the sea, a cold shudder crept over him. Now the waves were sparkling and laughing, and he knew that thousands of happy creatures were busy amongst them; but he could not forget the storm and the wailing voices, for he thought of the tender mother whose kind eyes might have smiled on him, who was lying there. So he turned from the sea, but he could not turn from the thought. And as they were walking again by the green path into the wood, at length he ventured to say,--

"Sister, was our mother with you on that stormy night?"

"Yes," she said, very sorrowfully; "we were all in the ship together."

"Then," he said, "if G.o.d could take care of you, may He not have taken care of her, and be bringing her to us?"

The maiden shook her head and murmured,--

"She is dead, brother; she will never come to us. It is death that keeps her from us."

"What is death?" said the child.

"I do not know," replied the maiden, her tears beginning to flow again; "she is happy with G.o.d; but she will never come to us again."

The Child was silent for some minutes. Then he said,--

"It must be the same that happened to my own dear little bird last winter."

"What little bird?"

"My little bird which used to come and sing to me every day whilst I took my breakfast, and eat from my hand, until one morning I found it lying quite still on the mossy bank. I spoke to it, but it would not open its eyes; and when I took it up, its little breast and wings, which were always so soft and warm, were quite cold. And it never sang to me again."

"Yes," said the maiden softly, "that must have been death."

They walked on some steps without speaking, till the Child said,--

"Why does G.o.d let anything die, when He is so good?"

"My mother said it was not G.o.d who sent death into the world," she replied, "but sin; and G.o.d and sin cannot dwell together."

"What is sin?" asked the Child.

"It is when we are fretful or unkind, or when we are loving ourselves best," she said.

And then she told him all she knew about the beautiful Garden, and the two happy people for whom G.o.d made it all; and of the Enemy who tempted them to distrust G.o.d's love and disobey Him. And since then, she said, sin and death had never left the world.

The Child looked very much perplexed and grieved, and asked if that was the end of all G.o.d had made so good and happy?

Then the little maiden told him another story of wonderful love and sorrow: of One, great and good and glorious above all, who left the happy heavens and came down to bear all the sin; of His poor cradle in the manger, about which the angels came to sing; of His being so poor that He had not where to lay His head; of His walking about teaching until He was weary; of the sick people He healed; of the little dead girl whose cold hand He touched, and she sat up and began to speak; of His taking little children in His arms, laying His hands on them, and blessing them; and then of where the cruel people stretched those kind arms which had been folded so tenderly around their little ones;--until the Child hid his face on the mossy bank where they were sitting, and wept as if his heart would break.

Tears were in the little maiden's eyes also, yet she was frightened to see him sob so bitterly, and tried to comfort him; but he only wept on and sobbed out,--

"O sister! I cannot bear to live, since He is dead!"

Then the maiden's eyes glistened with joy, and she took his hands, and said,--

"He is not dead, brother--He rose from the cold grave where they laid Him, and now He is alive for evermore in heaven; and He loves little children just as He used: and one day He will come and take us up to be with Him."

"_Shall we see Him?_" said the Child, his tears stopping in a moment, as he looked up with a beaming face, "will He speak to us, to _you_ and to _me_?"

The little maiden believed surely that He would.

"And is our mother with Him?" asked the Child.

"I am sure she is; she loved Him so dearly!" the little girl replied.

"Then we must never wish her back, sister," he said; "only think how happy she must be!"

So all day the happy children wandered about the wood, and spoke of the blessed stories the little maiden had heard from her mother or read in the Book, their hearts full of that Name which is above every name. And when evening came, and they had knelt together in prayer, the little maiden began to sing a hymn.

She sang of G.o.d, and of Him who loved G.o.d and loved men, and offered Himself up to keep the holy law, and save lost and sinful men who had broken it. She thanked Him for making everything so good and beautiful; she thanked Him for so loving and redeeming them. The words were very simple, but the things she sang about were very high and deep; and as the Child listened to her, he heard again the old, sweet, solemn Song; sweet and solemn as he had never heard it before. It pealed up from the waves and the countless mult.i.tudes of living creatures who dwelt in them; it streamed from the wood in a thousand tones of joy; it thrilled from star to star through the heavens;--and every silvery note of melody, and every grand burst of harmony, fitted into the words of the little maiden's song, and echoed the sacred Name she uttered.

The Child listened for some time in a trance of speechless joy, till (he scarcely knew how) the love and thankfulness which were in his heart burst from his lips, and he also sang the Words of the Song.

CHAPTER IV.

So the happy days glided on one after another, and bore the busy happy children with them. They disentangled the weeds which twisted themselves too tight around the tender young saplings; they trained back the branches to let the sunbeams through on the flowers which were growing pale in the shade; they raised the drooping heads of many a delicate blossom, and twined their fragile stalks around a stronger stem, till every flower in the wood knew them, and flushed with joy as they pa.s.sed; and the branches bent towards them as willows towards the rivers.

They watched the busy sea-creatures at their work. They saw the sea-birds poise on the wing, dive under the waves, and then soar up again, their b.r.e.a.s.t.s glittering like opals, and the spray raining in sparkling drops from their wings; and the Child climbed the rocks to peep into the nests, whilst his sister watched him from below. Many a stranded anemone expanded its petals gratefully as they laid it in the clear rock-pool; and many a shipwrecked medusa spread its crystal streamers on the waves where they replaced it, thus paying them royal honours.

And as they worked and watched, they and the happy creatures sang together, and the Song was complete.

The little maiden also taught the Child to read the Book; and often the day would pa.s.s so quickly as they read together on the mossy banks, or wandered hand in hand beside the waves or among the trees, talking of all the blessed histories they knew, that morning and evening seemed to touch.

But as they read on, and grew themselves, the Book seemed to grow and unfold before them. They read of a warfare and a race, of crowns to be placed on the heads of those who won, with words of welcome from a Voice they knew. They read of many who suffered and toiled, and of the cup of cold water a child's hand could carry, which should in no wise lose its reward.

They read of a World which G.o.d loved, and of many lost children whom He sought to bring home to Him. And as they often talked about it together, they became sure that the World must be beyond the mountains which rose above the waterfall. Thither, therefore, they would often go; and thence they would follow the little stream across the plain, trying to reach the mountains where it was born. Every time they tried they drew nearer, until one day the creatures in the wood and on the sh.o.r.e lost sight of them, and never saw them more.

But in the land on the other side of the mountains there was found, long afterwards, a strange legend of two children who came from beyond the hills, with a wonderful Book, and a sweet and solemn Song. They went from house to house, reading the Book to all who would listen, and teaching the Song to any who would learn. And it was said that wherever they went, joy and music sprang up in their footsteps.

In homes where jarring voices made sad discord, they read the Book and taught that blessed Song, and voices which joined in it soon lost their harshness and ceased to jar. By sick-beds they sang it, and the voice of patience and peace replaced the murmurs of disease; they taught it in homes of poverty and toil, to little lisping children, to mothers burdened with many cares, to men toiling by the wayside.

In some places the Children met with rough usage, like Him whose Name gave all the power and sweetness to their Song; but nothing could dry up the flood of love and melody in their hearts; and it was believed that although their footsteps had pa.s.sed away from earth, they were still singing the blessed Song in a happy place beyond the heavens.

But the Book remained with the people, and the Song lived in their hearts; and if you go to that country you may hear it now, in palaces and in lowly homes of toil, by beds of sickness, and by the wayside; in happy choruses, or sung by lonely voices, which but for it would have had no music. And trees and flowers, the sea and the stars, streams and busy living creatures, and even rocks and stones, join in it. For the Song is no more without Words.