Dreamland

by Julie M. Lippmann

THE WHITE ANGEL

Once upon a time there lived in a far country a man and his wife, and they were very poor. Every morning the man went his way into the forest, and there he chopped wood until the sky in the west flushed crimson because of the joy it felt at having the great sun pass that way; and when the last rim of the red ball disappeared behind the line of the hills, the man would shoulder his ax and trudge wearily home.

In the mean time the wife went about in the little hut, making it clean and neat, and perhaps singing as she worked,—for she was a cheery soul.

Well, one day—perhaps it was because she was very tired and worn; I do not know—but one day she sat down by the door of her hut, and was just about to begin sewing on some rough piece of hempen cloth she had in her lap, when, lo! she fell asleep.

Now, this was very strange indeed, and even in her dream she seemed to wonder at herself and say: "I have never slept in the daytime before. What can it mean? What will Hans think of me if he should come home and find me napping in the doorway and his supper not ready for him, nor the table spread?"

But by and by she ceased to wonder at all, and just sat leaning against the door-frame, breathing softly, like a little child that is dreaming sweet dreams.

But presently the trees of the forest began to bow their heads, and the wind chanted low and sweet, as though in praise; the sun shot a golden beam along the foot-path, and made it glitter and shine, and then a wonderful silence seemed to fall on the place, and before her stood an angel, white-robed and beautiful. He said no word, but stretched out his arms to her and would have taken her to his heart, but that she cried out with a great fear,—

"Ah, no! not yet; I cannot go yet. I am young, and life is sweet. I cannot give it up. Do not take me yet!" and she fell at his feet.

The angel smiled sadly and said: "Be it so, then. I will not take, I will give. But bemoan thou not thy choice when the life thou deemest so sweet seems but bitter, and thy load more heavy than thou canst bear. I will come once again;" and smiling down upon her, he was gone.

With a great cry she rose; for the light that shone all about the angel seemed to make many things clear to her, and she would have been glad to do his will, but it was now too late.

The tree-tops were motionless again, the wind had ceased its chanting, the sun had withdrawn its wondrous light, and along the worn little foot-path came Hans with his ax upon his shoulder. She said nothing to him about her dream, for she was afraid; but she got his supper for him, and when the stars had slipped out from behind the spare clouds, he had dropped to sleep and left her to lie awake gazing at them silently until each one seemed to smile at her with the smile of an angel, and then it was morning, and she had slept, after all, and the sun was shining.

After that Christina was always busy preparing for the gift the angel had promised her, and she sang gayly from morning till night, and was very glad.

So the months rolled along, and the memory of her dream had almost faded from Christina's mind. Then one day a strange sound was heard in the little hut,—the sound of a baby's crying. Hans heard it as he came along, and it made his eyes shine with gladness. He hastened his steps, and smiled to himself as he thought of his joy in having a little child to fondle and caress.

But at the door he paused, for he heard another sound besides that of the baby's voice. It was Christina's, and she was weeping bitterly.

In a moment he was beside her, and then he knew. There he lay,—their little son. The angel's gift,—a wee cripple. Not a bone in all his little body was straight and firm. Only his eyes were strangely beautiful, and now they were filled with tears.

"It were better he had died, and thou, also, Christina," sobbed Hans. "It were better we had all three died before this sorrow was brought upon us." But Christina only wept.

So the years went by, and the baby lived and grew. It was always in pain, but it seldom cried; and Christina could not be impatient when she saw how uncomplaining the little child was.

When he was old enough she told him what she never told any one before,—the story of the angel; and his eyes were more beautiful than ever when she wept because she could not suffer it all alone, but must see him suffer too. And while Hans scarcely noticed the boy, Christina spent all her time thinking of him and teaching him, and together they prayed to the white angel to bless them.

But as the years went on many men came to the forest and felled the trees, not with axes but with huge saws; and so Hans was turned away, for no one wanted a wood-chopper now. And so they were in great trouble; and Hans grew rough and ill-tempered, and did not try to use the saw, nor would he ask the men to let him work. He would only stand idly by, and often Christina thought the blessings she prayed for were turned to curses; but she never told the child her sorrow, and still they prayed on to the white angel to bless them. When Christina saw Hans would really do no work, she said no more, but sewed and spun for the men about who had no wives, and in this way she earned enough to buy food and wood. It was very little she could earn, and she often grew impatient at the sight of Hans smoking idly in the doorway; but when she said a hasty word the boy's eyes seemed to grow big with a deep trouble, and she would check herself and work on in silence. But the more she worked, the idler grew Hans and the more ill-tempered; and he would laugh when he heard them pray to the angel to bless them. Instead of blessings new sorrow seemed to be born every day; for Hans was injured by a falling tree, and was brought home with both his legs crushed, and laid helpless and moaning on the rough bed.

These were weary days for Christina; but she did not rebel, even when Hans swore at her and the child, and made the place hideous with his oaths.

"You brought us all these troubles, you wretched boy!" he would say. "Don't talk to me of patience. Why don't you pray to your angel for curses, and then we may have some good luck again? As it is, you might as well pray to the Devil himself."

But the child only drew Christina's head closer to his poor little misshapen breast, and whispered to her, "It is not so, is it, little mother?"

And she always answered: "No, dear heart. They are indeed blessings if we will only recognize them. It we prayed only for happiness, we might think the white angel heard us not; but we pray for blessings, and so he sends us what we pray for, and what he sends is best."

Then again the boy's eyes shone with a great light, and there seemed a radiance about his head; but Christina was kissing his shapeless little hands and did not see.

One day Christina was returning with a fresh bundle of work in her arms, when, just as she came in sight of the hut, she saw a pillar of smoke rise black and awful to the sky from the rude roof of the place.

In a moment she felt a horrible fear for Hans and the child. Neither of them could move; and must they lie helpless and forsaken in the face of such a fearful death? She ran as though her feet were winged. Nearer and nearer she came, and now she saw the flames rise and lick the smoky column with great lapping tongues of fire.

Nearer and nearer she came, and the crowd of men about the hut stood stricken and dared not venture in.

"It is of no use," they screamed. "We did not know soon enough, and now it is too late; we should smother if we tried to save them."

But she tore her way through the crowd and flung herself into the burning place.

Hans, writhing and screaming, had managed to drag himself near the door; and thinking, "The child is more fit for heaven, I will save Hans first," she lifted him in her arms and carried him outside. It was as though some great strength had been given her, for she carried him as if he had been a little child. Then into the hut she went once more, and to the bed of the child. But now the flames were licking her feet, and the smoke blinded her. She groped her way to the bed and felt for the boy, but he was not in his accustomed place; and she was about to fling herself upon the little couch in despair, when a great light filled the place,—not the red light of the flames, but a clear white flood such as she had only seen once before.

There stood the white angel, radiant, glorious; and looking up she saw him smiling down at her with the eyes of the boy.

"I am come again," he said. "When you would not give me your life, I gave you mine, and it was spent in pain and torture. Now that you would gladly give yours to spare me, you are to taste the sweetest of all blessings. The lesson is over; it is done." And he took her in his arms and she was filled with a great joy, for she knew the angel had answered all her prayers. She remembered the words: "He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it."

The men outside waited in vain for Christina, and when she did not come they shook their heads and some of them wept. They did not know.