VIC'S LILIES.
School was dismissed, and the boys and girls came rushing out with merry shouts and laughter. The voices had a musical ring and the intonation peculiar to uncultivated colored lads and lassies. They were a comely, thrifty-looking set, and the instinctive hopefulness of their race looked from the bright eyes and shone in the cheery faces. Life had gone hard with some, but had failed to quench their faith in the good time yet to come.
As they neared the corner of the street and came in sight of a large, handsome white house, a girl's voice called, "Hush! hush!"
"Lor', now, Vic!" her brother Phil remonstrated, "what nonsense!" But in spite of the remonstrance every voice took a lower tone, and the house was passed almost in silence. The blinds of the house were closed, and from the door-knob hung the black-and-white token of mourning. Vic was saying, "Yes, sick jest two days; taken Sunday and died this morning. When I tol' teacher, she said, 'Death loves a shining mark.'"
"I'm awful sorry," said Nan; "he was a mighty peart little 'un, and he al'ays looked up and smiled when we passed. But if I'd knowed he was really goin', I'd sent a message to sister Fan. Don't you think she'd like to know about the Christmas tree, Vic?"
"You're a green un," said Phil. "You don't s'pose that little pink and white chap has gone to our heaven, do you? He'll see Fan a heap sight! She's off in a little cubby-hole with all the rest of the darkies. All the first-class 'commodations b'longs to the white peoples, ye know."
"Hush, Phil," said Vic; "you shan't stuff Nan so. Everything will be all right, honey, when we gets up dere. Shouldn't be s'prised if Fan knew all 'bout the tree. And p'rhaps the good Lord will let her help take care of the little fellow till his po' mother comes. Ole Dinah says she's awfully cut up—his mother, you know. You see they're strangers here, came for the mammy's health; and Frankie, he was the only chile. 'Pears like I want to comfort the po' mammy. My lily has three blossoms. I mean to take them all to her."
"'Pears like you'd better min' your own business. She may be a dog-on white lady, if she do come from the Norf. Like as not she'd turn up her nose at your lilies. I'll 'low the little un was a brick, but you'd better let his mother 'lone." This was Phil's advice.
But although Victoria Porter had a black skin, she had a tender, loving heart, and she had pored over the Christ-life until she had unconsciously imbibed its spirit. She was always yearning to comfort some one. Later in the day she stood at the door of the white mansion, holding her precious lilies. "They're for his mother," she said to Dinah. "Tell her we chil'ens loved Frankie, and we're all mighty sorry."
It was a simple message and a simple offering, and the giver was a poor little black girl; but behind the gift was sincerity and love, and the heart of the poor, sorrowing mother was touched and comforted.
And Vic's lilies had a mission of which she knew not. They preached a lovely sermon on the high privilege and duty of comforting others. We may be poor, and very humble may be our station in life; but if we try, we may make life brighter and sweeter to someone. What a glad surprise it will be to Vic when the Saviour honors her many kind acts by the words—"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me."
E. E. B.