Her parents exchanged glances of surprise, and the mother asked, “How dost thou know that little children have wings in heaven?”
“Because I saw them,” she replied. “They wear white gowns, and they are the children of my donny. My donny lives in the little meeting-house in Camillo’s garden. She’s the mother of Christ that loved little children so much; but she never said any thing to me. The birds call me lady-bird, in heaven.”
Her mother looked very sober. “She gets her head full of strange things down there yonder,” said she. “I tell thee, Joseph, I don’t like to have the children playing together so much. There’s no telling what may come of it.”
“Oh, they are mere babes,” replied Joseph. “The my donny, as she calls it, and her doll, are all the same to her. The children take a deal of comfort together, and it seems to me it is not worth while to put estrangement between them. Divisions come fast enough in the human family. When he is a lad, he will go away to school and college, and will come back to live in a totally different world from ours. Let the little ones enjoy themselves while they can.”
Thus spake the large-hearted Friend Joseph; but Rachel was not so easily satisfied. “I don’t like this talk about graven images,” said she. “If the child’s head gets full of such notions, it may not prove so easy to put them out.”
Truly, there seemed some ground for Rachel’s fears; for whether Alice walked or slept, she seemed to live in the neighbour’s garden. Sitting beside her mother in the silent Quaker meeting, she forgot the row of plain bonnets before her, and saw a vision of winged children through a veil of vines. At school, she heard the old green parrot scream, “Lady-bird!” and fan-tailed doves and Java sparrows hopped into her dreams. She had never heard a fairy story in her life; otherwise, she would doubtless have imagined that Camillo was a prince, who lived in an enchanted palace, and had some powerful fairy for a friend.
* * * * *
It came to pass as Joseph had predicted. These days of happy companionship soon passed away. Camillo went to a distant school, then to college, and then was absent awhile on the Continent. It naturally happened that the wealthy Catholic family had but little intercourse with the substantial Quaker farmer. Years passed without a word between Alice and her former playfellow. Once, during his college life, she met him and his father on horseback, as she was riding home from meeting, on a small gray mare her father had given her. He touched his hat and said, “How do you do, Miss Goodman?” and she replied, “How art thou, Camillo?” His father inquired, “Who is that young woman?” and he answered, “She is the daughter of Farmer Goodman, with whom I used to play sometimes, when I was a little boy.” Thus like shadows they passed on their separate ways. He thought no more of the rustic Quaker girl, and with her, the bright picture of their childhood was like the remembrance of last year’s rainbow.
But events now approached, which put all rainbows and flowers to flight. A Rebellion broke out in Ireland, and a terrible civil war began to rage between Catholics under the name of Pikemen, and Protestants under the name of Orangemen. The Quakers being conscientiously opposed to war, could not adopt the emblems of either party, and were of course exposed to the hostility of both. Joseph Goodman, in common with others of his religious persuasion, had always professed to believe, that returning good for evil was a heavenly principle, and therefore safe policy. Alice had received this belief as a traditionary inheritance, without disputing it, or reflecting upon it. But now came times that tested faith severely. Every night, they retired to rest with the consciousness that their worldly possessions might be destroyed by fire and pillage before morning, and perhaps their lives sacrificed by infuriated soldiers. At the meeting-house, and by the way-side, earnest were the exhortations of the brethren to stand by their principles, and not flinch in this hour of trial. Joseph Goodman’s sermon was brief and impressive. “The Gospel of Love has power to regenerate the world,” said he; “and the humblest individual, who lives according to it, has done something for the salvation of man.”
His strength was soon tried; for the very next day a party of Pikemen came into the neighbourhood and set fire to all the houses of the Orangemen. Groans, and shrieks, and the sharp sound of shots, were heard in every direction. Fierce men rushed into their peaceful dwelling, demanding food, and ordering them to give up their arms.