She had a fashion, this child, in whom the simplicity
of practical life and the poetry of imaginative life
were curiously blended,—she had a fashion
of going to her window every night when the moon or
stars were shining to look out for a minute or two
before she went to bed; and sometimes the minutes
were more than any good grandmother or aunt would
have considered wholesome for little Fleda in the fresh
night air. But there was no one to watch or reprimand;
and whatever it was that Fleda read in earth or sky,
the charm which held her one bright night was sure
to bring her to her window the next. This evening
a faint young moon lighted up but dimly the meadow
and what was called the “east-hill,” over-against
which the window in question looked. The air was
calm and mild; there was no frost to-night; the stillness
was entire, and the stars shone in a cloudless sky.
Fleda set open the window and looked out with a face
that again bore tokens of the experiences of that day.
She wanted the soothing speech of nature’s voice;
and child as she was she could hear it. She did
not know, in her simplicity, what it was that comforted
and soothed her, but she stood at her window enjoying.
It was so perfectly still, her fancy presently went
to all those people who had hushed their various work
and were now resting, or soon would be, in the unconsciousness
and the helplessness of sleep. The helplessness,—and
then that Eye that never sleeps; that Hand that keeps
them all, that is never idle, that is the safety and
the strength alike of all the earth and of them that
wake or sleep upon it,—
“And if he takes care of them all, will he not
take care of poor little me?” thought Fleda.
“Oh how glad I am I know there is a God!—How
glad I am I know he is such a God! and that I can
trust in him; and he will make everything go right.
How I forget this sometimes! But Jesus does not
forget his children. Oh I am a happy little girl!—Grandpa’s
saying what he did don’t make it so—perhaps
I shall die the first—but I hope not, for
what would become of him!—But this and everything
will all be arranged right, and I have nothing to
do with it but to obey God and please him, and he
will take care of the rest. He has forbidden us
to be careful about it too.”
With grateful tears of relief Fleda shut the window
and began to undress herself, her heart so lightened
of its burden that her thoughts presently took leave
to go out again upon pleasure excursions in various
directions; and one of the last things in Fleda’s
mind before sleep surprised her was, what a nice thing
it was for any one to bow and smile so as Mr. Carleton
did!
Chapter III.
I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle or bushy dell of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood.
