Sally was not able to rise from her bed the next morning. She had taken a serious cold, and one of her lungs was badly congested. Her fever was raging for several days, and the doctor pronounced her a very sick child; and mamma thought the time had come when her little daughter would be called to rest above, and she and papa would be left here below to listen for the sweet voice that would surely speak to their hearts through the dimness.
There were moments when Sally’s mind wandered; but it always dwelt upon the beautiful things of nature. She spoke of the pretty blossoms, and of the birds and butterflies, and of God’s goodness in making such a bright world for us to live in; and it taught her parents the value of a pure and healthful training which would never lose its hold on the mind and spirit, though one had no control over one’s brain. It was very sweet to listen to the child’s words, as she lay at twilight with her burning hand clasped in her mother’s cool, soft palm.
“Are you an angel?” she asked, as the face of love bent gently over her. “How white and beautiful your forehead is! and you have blue eyes like the sky! Can you sing that song which the shepherds heard when the child Jesus was born at Bethlehem? It begins:—
‘Glory be to God on high;’”
and then the little voice sang, tremblingly, the first faint strain. Mamma had to join, though she was almost choking with grief; for she thought, “Surely, my little daughter is going away from me to the world of light and joy!”
To the world of light and joy! and yet, sad, O mother, that seems so strange!
When some familiar tone made the little sick child say “mamma,” there was such a thrill of delight in Mrs. Reed’s heart! It was sweeter to be mamma than to be even an angel. Mothers will understand that well,—such mothers as feel the majesty and worth of the little immortal spirits that have been sent to them to nurture for God.
Thanks to the great Physician, and to the good doctor, and to mamma’s faithful nursing, little Sally was not long in bed; but was out very soon again with Ben and Gill, to learn something more in this lower world before she would be ready for the higher life and the higher teaching.
She seemed so happy to be able to breathe with free lungs, and to feel no pain. Every thing looked new and charming to her, and her feet were so light, that she almost flew over the meadow to greet Brindle and Flash. She carried her doll wherever she went, and shared with it every pleasure,—there had been such a long separation, almost a week, when she had taken no notice of her pet.
“Jennie has not forgotten me,” she said to Lucy, as she hugged her baby to her breast. “The little creature put out her arms at once when she saw me, though I had grown so thin and pale. It takes a great change to make babies forget their mothers, does it not, Lucy?”