“Like Snowdrop's mother,” whispered Jill.
“Now, don't keep interrupting, children, or we never shall get on,” said Frank, more anxious to hear about the boys that were than the girl that was not.
“One day, when the princes were out—ahem! we'll say hunting—they found a little damsel lying on the snow, half dead with cold, they thought. She was the child of a poor woman who lived in the forest—a wild little thing, always dancing and singing about; as hard to catch as a squirrel, and so fearless she would climb the highest trees, leap broad brooks, or jump off the steep rocks to show her courage. The boys carried her home to the palace, and the queen was glad to have her. She had fallen and hurt herself, so she lay in bed week after week, with her mother to take care of her—”
“That's you,” whispered Jack, throwing the white carnation at Jill, and she threw back the red one, with her finger on her lips, for the tale was very interesting now.
“She did not suffer much after a time, but she scolded and cried, and could not be resigned, because she was a prisoner. The queen tried to help her, but she could not do much; the princes were kind, but they had their books and plays, and were away a good deal. Some friends she had came often to see her, but still she beat her wings against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and soon her spirits were all gone, and it was sad to see her.”
“Where was your Saint Lucy? I thought it was about her,” asked Jack, who did not like to have Jill's past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not.
“She is coming. Saints are not born—they are made after many trials and tribulations,” answered his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to spin her little story. “Well, the poor child used to sing sometimes to while away the long hours—sad songs mostly, and one among them which the queen taught her was 'Sweet Patience, Come.'
“This she used to sing a great deal after a while, never dreaming that Patience was an angel who could hear and obey. But it was so; and one night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with that song, the angel came. Nobody saw the lovely spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like balm. No one heard the rustle of wings as she hovered over the little bed and touched the lips, the eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew away, leaving three gifts behind. The girl did not know why, but after that night the songs grew gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine everywhere her eyes looked, and her hands were never tired of helping others in various pretty, useful, or pleasant ways. Slowly the wild bird ceased to beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made music for all in the palace, till the queen could not do without it, the poor mother cheered up, and the princes called the girl their nightingale.”
“Was that the miracle?” asked Jack, forgetting all about his slippers, as he watched Jill's eyes brighten and the color come up in her white cheeks.
“That was the miracle, and Patience can work far greater ones if you will let her.”