Yes, high above her, restlessly hovering, wringing its hands, she now could just see her guardian child, white as the winter moon when the sun is still shining. Its lips moved, but she could not hear what it said. The wool in her ears made her deaf to the sound of its voice.
With a tug Kitty pulled out the horrid, clinging cotton-wool; then she heard the voice of her guardian child, crying, “Don’t turn away the cripple!” and with that voice back came the old sound, like a familiar song, sad and gay, crooning in her ear, and the clamp of a little crutch, telling a pitiful story of tiny feet that would never run or dance.
The cripple grasped his crutch and was hurrying away, when Kitty ran to him, took his thin hand, and led him back to the mossy seat. She kissed the pale, thin face, and her tears dropped upon it, and down came the guardian child on her shoulder, more beautiful than ever, its wings like pink flowers, its hair like a crown of light. In another moment the naughty sprite had dropped its arms from Kitty’s neck, and out pealed the distant Christmas bells.
“Oh, I never thought I should have been so selfish!” sobbed Kitty; “and the child was a cripple like Johnnie.”
The hot tears blinded her, but the guardian child dried them as they fell with his bright wings. Never had he looked so sweet, so good, so bright, so like a tiny angel Johnnie. Kitty stretched out her hands; she would have liked to press him to her heart, but the guardian child shook his head. “Wait, wait! The journey is not over yet,” he murmured.
“It is so long, so difficult!” cried Kitty as once more she stood upon the narrow path, and the star moved above it, seeming more than ever like a bird of fire winging its fearless way. “I shall not fall into another temptation. I shall not listen to what any one says whom I may meet. I shall do just what you tell me, you darling, pretty Johnnie spirit.”
The way lay now through a lovely bit of country; the honeysuckle twined above, the soft grass was thick with flowers. A little breeze carried the sweetest, quaintest perfumes; it was as if everything was rejoicing and in amity with her. The path seemed to be growing less difficult; it ascended with a pleasant easy swell. Kitty now went merrily along; the hard journey must be near its close. The guardian child fluttered hither and thither, sometimes hiding among the flowers and laughing at her through the petals. The sprite remained silent and quiet.
All at once the guardian child flew back to its post on Kitty’s shoulder; the self-sprite picked up its pointed ears.
“Something is going to happen,” thought Kitty; “but I shall be wise, I shall not talk to any one, however beautiful or comical.”