Tell Me a Story - Mrs. Molesworth

“O no!” said Frank, “you are just as nicely dressed as we are.” And Charlie looked down at his own clothes and Lily’s, and saw to his surprise that both their dresses were of pure shining white, like those of the other children. It puzzled him a good deal, for he felt sure he remembered his nurse putting on his little plaid stuff coat and brown holland pinafore that morning. But a new thought struck him. “Don’t you think, Frank, I had better run home and tell mother, for fear she should not like me to go?”

“O no!” again answered Frank; “she is sure to let you go, for all the boys and girls in the country are coming, and we have several more to call for still; besides the fathers and mothers themselves will soon be coming after us in another procession, so you will see your mother directly.”

Quite happy now, Charlie and Lily joined the children, marching all in twos and twos, keeping time to the music they were singing, which Charlie felt sure was “Jerusalem the Golden,” though Lily would sing “Happy Land,” for all he could say to her. However, it did not matter, for it seemed to do just as well, and all their voices suited beautifully. They went on as happily as could be, not feeling the least tired, though it was a good way. Charlie was turning to ask Frank some more questions about the Prince they were going to meet, when he was startled by some one calling him from behind, “Charlie! Charlie!” the voice sounding rather sharply, and seeming to jar against the sweet singing. He looked round, and there, hastening after him was nurse, with, alas! her old face on, not the pretty new one. She came on quickly, and soon reached him, catching him rather roughly by the arm. Charlie gave a cry of distress, and—woke! to find himself, poor little boy, in his crib on a dull gloomy winter morning, and nurse shaking him a little, to wake him, and speaking very crossly. It was too much. Six years could not bear the terrible contrast, and little Charlie sat up in bed and burst into tears.

“Oh, it’s not true, it’s not true,” he cried, and nurse looked crosser than before.

“The child’s going out of his mind!” exclaimed she, vainly endeavouring to stop his tears. His little heart bursting with sorrow, poor Charlie got slowly out of bed, and sitting down on the floor, shaking with sobs and cold, began to try to put on his socks. But just then a tap came to the door, and a voice said, “Is that my Charlie crying, first thing on a Monday morning?” And Charlie jumped up and ran, all shaking and shivering, to his nice warm mother, who took him in her arms and carried him off just as he was, to dress him in her own room, where there was a beautiful fire; and there poor Charlie told his story. He could not help crying again when he came to the end and tried to describe his bitter disappointment. His mother did not speak, and he began to fear she was displeased; but when he looked up in her face, and saw tears in her pretty kind eyes, he knew she was not vexed with him.

“My poor dear little boy,” she said, and then she comforted him so sweetly that the tears went away. And after breakfast she talked to Charlie again about the Millennium, and explained about it a little more, to him. She said he must not be unhappy because his dream was not true, for she thought it was a beautiful dream, and there was one way in which he might make it true. Little boy though he was, there need be no delay in his welcoming the Prince of Peace into the country of his own heart, and year by year devoting himself more and more earnestly to that blessed service, till in God’s own good time he should be one of the happy dwellers in the “Golden City” above.

So that, after all, Charlie’s wonderful dream did not remain the source of sorrow and disappointment to him. And I think it was one of the things that helped him to grow up a good man, for he never forgot it. One special good result it had, I know. It roused an interest in Black Tom, whom every one had feared and hated, and no one had ever tried to love, which never rested till gradually, and by slow degrees, the poor smith became a very different being from the fierce man who had been the terror of Charlie’s childhood.