Salome's burden

by Eleanora H. Stooke

"God is very merciful," he added softly, as though speaking to himself; "we are too apt to forget that He never sends a cross without its compensation."

Salome was perfectly happy sitting there under the lilac tree, though she felt all the while as though she must be in a wonderful dream. Mrs. Fowler, in her light summer dress, with her fair hair and her lovely blue eyes, looked like a queen, she thought. Salome was more and more impressed with her grace and charm on every fresh occasion on which she saw her. How proud Miss Margaret must be of her mother! And how happy Miss Margaret must be in such a beautiful home, with kind parents, and everything that heart could desire! And yet, what was the meaning of that wistful look on her face; and why was Mr. Fowler's countenance so grave, and almost stern in expression at times? Salome's eyes were remarkably shrewd. She noticed how attentive Mr. Fowler was to his wife, almost seeming to anticipate her wishes and read her thoughts; and she was surprised when he was called away for a few minutes to see that Mrs. Fowler talked with greater freedom in his absence, as though his presence put a restraint upon her.

As soon as all had finished tea, Margaret took Salome around the gardens, and afterwards led the way into the house. She showed Salome her own room, the walls of which were crowded with pictures and knickknacks. The lame girl had never seen such a pretty bedroom before as this one, with its little white-curtained bed, and white-enamelled furniture. Then Margaret opened a velvet-lined jewel case, and took out a small, gold brooch in the shape of a shell, which she insisted upon fastening into the neck of her visitor's gown.

"It is for you," she said, "I bought it with my own money, so you need not mind taking it. I told mother I was going to give it to you. I want you to wear it for my sake, Salome."

"Oh, Miss Margaret, how kind of you! Thank you so much. But ought I to take it? Are you sure Mrs. Fowler—"

"Oh, yes!" Margaret interposed eagerly. "Mother would like you to have it. She said she thought it would be a very suitable gift for you. It is pretty, isn't it?"

"It is lovely!" was the enthusiastic reply. "I shall value it always, Miss Margaret, for your sake," and there were tears of pleasure and gratitude in Salome's brown eyes as she spoke.

"I am so very glad you like it," Margaret said earnestly; "but now, come downstairs to the drawing-room."

Greystone appeared quite a palatial residence to the simple village girl, accustomed to her cottage home. She noticed how soft and thick were the carpets, how handsome was the furniture; and how everything in connection with the house had been done with a view to comfort. A sense of awe crept over her, as she cast one swift glance around the spacious drawing-room. Miss Conway was at the piano, but she ceased playing as the little girls entered; and Mrs. Fowler, who was standing by the open window conversing with her husband, turned towards them immediately and requested Salome to sing.

So Salome stood, leaning upon her crutches, in the centre of the room, and lilted, without accompaniment, a simple little song she had often heard from her dead mother's lips. It was a lullaby, and she sang it so sweetly and unaffectedly that her listeners were delighted, and Mr. Fowler was surprised at the beauty of the voice which had had so little training. She gave them several other quaint west-country ballads; and then, at Mrs. Fowler's request, sang, "Abide with Me."