“Well, I am going to be—did you ever read Cinderella?” he asked eagerly.
“I ain’t had much time for readin’, an’ Bess couldn’t go to school but such a little while.”
“And no one has told you the story?”
There was a curious eagerness in the sort of blank surprise.
“Well, this little Cinderella did kitchen work; and sat in the chimney-corner when her work was done, while her sisters dressed themselves up fine and went to parties. One evening a curious old woman came, a fairy godmother, and touched her with a wand, a queer little stick she always carried, and turned her old rags into silks and satins, and made a chariot for her, and sent her to the ball at the king’s palace.”
“Oh,” interposed Dil breathlessly, “she didn’t have to come back to her rags, an’ chimney, an’ all, did she?”
“She did come back, because her fairy godmother told her to. But the king’s son sent for her and married her.”
“Oh, if she’d only come to us, Dil!” Bess had a quicker and more vivid imagination. She had not been so hard worked, nor had her head banged so many times. “We’d have the char—what did you call it? an’ go to heaven. Then you wouldn’t have to wheel me, Dil, an’ we’d get along so much faster.” She laughed with a glad, happy softness, and her little face was alight with joy. “Say, mister, you must think I’ve got heaven on the brain. But if you’d had hurted legs so long, you’d want to get to the Lord Jesus an’ have ’em made well. I keep thinkin’ over what you told us ’bout your Lord Jesus, an’ I know it’s true because you’ve come back.”
Such a little thing; such great faith! And he had been comparing claims, discrepancies, and wondering, questioning, afraid to believe a delusion. Was he truly his Lord Jesus? The simple belief of the children touched, melted him. It was like finding a rare and exquisite blossom in an arid desert. He wished he were not going away. He would like to care for little Bess until the time of her release came. Ah, would they be disillusioned when they came to know what the real pilgrimage was?
“There ain’t no fairies truly,” said Dil with pathetic gravity. “There ain’t much of anything for poor people.”