But suddenly One stood by his side invisible to mortal eyes, and there came into his heart, like a soft, sweet strain of heavenly music, these words, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."
Great tears came to his relief, and softened the fierce pain at his heart; and now, with deep-drawn sighs, he entered first a neighbor's house to seek that sympathy which his sorely stricken soul had before refused, and which would give him strength to enter the home where they were not.
His friends met him with extended hands and glad voices, exclaiming, "Oh, how glad we are that you have come! We rejoice with you that your dear ones are safe."
"Safe—SAFE?" he cried, "do you mock me in my misery?"
"Why," they answered, "do you not know that they have returned, and are safe in your house?"
With a cry that rent the air, Maggie's father rushed out of the door and into his own house, and in a moment his wife and his dear little child were clasped tight in his arms—his shrieks of hysterical laughter, mingled with the great sobs that convulsed his frame, showing, too plainly, alas! that joy had finished what grief began; for now he had indeed lost his senses. The sudden revulsion had been too much; but, after a while, the gentle soothings of his wife and the loving caresses of Maggie restored him to himself; and soon he was ready to listen to the wonderful account of their escape—many times interrupting the narrative to fold his little Maggie, with tears, to his breast, and to thank God again and again for the blessing of such a child.
And now, dear little reader, Maggie has grown up to be a young lady. She has the same dark, thoughtful eyes and transparent purity of complexion. She flits about her father's house like a sunbeam, bringing joy and delight into his heart, and her voice issues from her beautiful mouth so sweet and clear that it seems like the singing of a lark. With the thrilling memory of the past ever before him, her father oftentimes gazes into her sweet young face with an earnest tenderness impossible to describe.
I wish every girl and boy that will read this could have known Maggie when she was a child; they would have wondered how such a delicate little creature could have shown so much courage and endurance. It seems incredible, and yet every word I have written is true.
I also wish that I could tell them her whole name; but I promised, when permission was given me to write this account of heroism, I would not tell her name, or even where she lived. But I will tell this much: She lives, at this very moment, on a beautiful island, very near the city of New York; and she is so modest and retiring that her very next-door neighbor does not suspect he is living close to THE CHILD HEROINE!