“O Bess, I c’n hardly wait for him to come! Seems as if I must fly away to where you be, but Patsey an’ all the boys are so good to me. Seems if I never had such lovely quiet, an’ no one to scold ner bang my poor head. But I want you so, Bess—”
She stretched out her hands, but the sweet form seemed to float farther off.
“O Bess, don’t go away,” she pleaded.
If the seers and the prophets saw heaven in their rapt visions, why not this poor starved little one whose angel always beheld the face of the Father in heaven. She was too ignorant to seize upon the truths of immortal life, but they thrilled through every pulse. She had no power of grasping any but the simplest beliefs, but she knew some love and care had sheltered Bess. The dawning of a knowledge that held in its ineffable beauty and sacredness the truths of resurrection penetrated her in a mysterious sense, aroused a faith that she could not yet comprehend; but it gave her a strange peace.
Her life had been a little machine out of which so much work must be steadily ground. It had needed all her attention. And Bess had taken all her love. But in the solitude and sense of loss she was learning to think.
Dil was startled when she saw the boys straggling along irregularly. How large and strong Patsey was growing! And how nice Owen looked in his clean summer suit! Oh, where was little Dan? She hoped he was happy, and had enough to eat and some time to play.
They were a hungry lot. The great pile of sandwiches disappeared in a trice. And the cake that an artist in cook-books might have disdained, the boys believed beat anything the best baker could turn out. There had never been any treat quite up to the cake. Of course the stew was more “fillin’” when one was tearing hungry, and cake was a luxury to their small income, but, oh, what a delight!
“You don’t eat nothin,” said Patsey, studying Dil anxiously.
“But I’ve rested so much. And I feel so happy.”
There was a divine light shining in her eyes, and it touched the boy’s soul.