THE “LITTLE WIFE.”
“Come hither, Bose,” said Aunt Nyna, shortly after the departure of Mr. Byers, “I am minded to talk with thee.”
The faithful old house dog, who lay dozing in the chimney corner, opened his eyes sleepily and drew a long breath. He rose up, and shaking his rough coat, came and sat down beside his mistress—rested his fore paws upon her knees, and gazed up into her face with a knowing, expectant look.
“I am mindful that thou art but a poor, dumb beast, without a soul,” continued the good lady, “yet nevertheless, as I have no other friend in my loneliness, I would fain speak with thee. Dost thee remember Master Harry, Bose? and dost thee know, too, that here I have a letter from him—the first since he left us three months agone? Look at it, poor creature! It is brim-full of hope and affection, and there are even words of kindly remembrance for thee, which would make thy old heart leap for joy, could they be spoken in his own cheery tone.”
She held the closely written sheet before the face of her faithful companion, but he only winked at it with an unconcerned look, as any dog might be expected to do. Suddenly, however, he started up, wagging his tail, scented the letter keenly, and rubbed his head against it, with a quick, low cry.
“Lord bless his dear old heart,” exclaimed the good lady, with a gush of tears. “He knows all about it. What wonderful gifts the good Lord has bestowed upon his dumb creatures! and she glanced up reverently, with clasped hands, in silent acknowledgment of the wisdom and goodness of the Creator. Again and again did she read over this welcome missive from the only remaining one of the little band which had once gathered around her. Then she placed it once more as a sacred keep-sake between the lids of the Bible, and folding her hands meekly, leaned back in her chair. Her face was turned towards the window, where she could see the clear moonlight falling upon the hills and corn-fields—the locust trees and vines which grew by the cottage waving in the wind, and far out beyond, the village church, with the little grave-yard about it, and the white stones gleaming in the moonlight. Then the faces of her loved and lost, whose mortal remains lay buried there, seemed to look kindly down upon her with the faces of angels, and as they faded away she sank into a deep and quiet slumber. As she sat thus, the door was gently opened, and a young girl entered—a fair, round-faced girl, with rosy cheeks and bright eyes. She wore a checked handkerchief tied over her head—a little brown sack—a short striped dress—blue stockings fitting very closely to her legs, and stout leather shoes. Bose raised his head quickly, but upon seeing who it was, he got up and wagged his tail as if she were an old acquaintance.
“Good evening, aunty,” said the girl in a cheerful tone.
“Bless me!” exclaimed the good lady, starting up—“Why Hesper! is it thou? Verily, I was almost, if not quite asleep. Come to the fire dear child and warm thee. I hope thou hast brought thy work, and will sit with me awhile.”
“No, aunty,” she replied, as she knelt down by the fire and rubbed her little ruddy hands together, “I have come to you in trouble, and must fly away home again as soon as possible.”
“Trouble, Hesper?” repeated the good lady with a look of concern, “what is it?”