Bessie in the City

by Joanna H. Mathews

Bessie looked at him very wistfully.

"Well, what is it, my pet?" he asked.

"Don't you think you'd be more comfor'ble if I was on the sofa by you?" she asked. "I am sure I would."

"Indeed, I should," he answered, holding out his hand with a smile, and in a moment she was in her favorite seat beside him.

He told the others to stand around him, and commenced his story.

"A little child sat upon a green sunny bank, singing to himself in a low, sweet voice. It was not easy to understand the words of the song; indeed, there did not seem to be much wisdom in them. It was as if he were only pouring out in music the joy of his own young, happy heart.

"It was a lovely place. The bank on which the child rested was covered with a soft green moss, while around him bloomed sweet flowers, blue violets peeping up from their nest of leaves, and filling the air with their delicious scent, pure lilies of the valley with their snowy bells, and the pale pink primroses. Overhead grew tall trees, shading him from the rays of the sun which might else have beat too strongly on his tender head; and among their branches the soft winds whispered and the birds sang joyfully. At the foot of the bank was a path bordered with lovely ferns and grasses and flowers, such as grew above; and beyond this again ran a little stream sparkling in the sunlight, and gurgling and rippling over and around the stones and pebbles which lay in its way. And all—the boy, the birds, the whispering leaves, the sweet flowers, the running brook—seemed joining in one hymn of praise to Him who made them and gave them life.

"On the other side of the brook, and in a line with the narrow path, ran a broad road, on which also grew flowers gayer and brighter than those whose home was upon the bank or on the path; but when one came nearer, or tried to pluck them, they were found to be full of thorns, or turned to dust and ashes in the hand.

"Both road and path seemed to lead to the mountains, which lay in the distance; but it was not really so. There were many windings and turnings in both, so that one who travelled upon them could not see far before him. Sometimes they would lead over a hill, sometimes around its foot, sometimes through a forest, sometimes through a bog or stream. Those who became puzzled upon the broad road would lose their way and could seldom find either track again; for there was nothing to guide them, and they would go deeper and deeper into the dark woods or the treacherous bog, or perhaps fall into some deep pit, and so they were never seen again. But if one who travelled upon the narrow path was in doubt whether he were right or no, he had only to lift his eyes, and the true way would be pointed out to him; for all along were guide-posts, and upon them were golden letters which shone so brightly that he who ran might read; and they told him which turning he must take. By the side of the path there ran also a silver thread, and he who kept fast hold of this could seldom or never go astray; for if he was about to turn aside, fine points or thorns would rise up in the thread and, pricking him, bid him take heed to his steps. But however the path might wind, in and out, now here, now there, it still led onward to the mountains whose tops were to be seen in a straight line with the child's home; and he who followed it could not fail to come there.

"The child was still singing, when a stranger came up this path. He stood still and looked at the boy with a smile, as though the simple song pleased him.