The bird was silent. Presently it hopped out of its cage—perched upon her finger—kissed her on the lips—and passed its little bill up and down her cheek, in such a fondling way, that she felt tears of love and tenderness in her eyes. She caressed the little bird, and thought no more of the rain; and she made up her mind, that happen what might, rain or sunshine, disappointment or not, she would leave off her murmuring. So, with a calm bright countenance, she went about all her duties; and little Johnny, touched by her kindness, and amused by her playfulness, grew quite content to have the promised visit to auntie’s put off for a little while.
The whole week continued showery. Some days there were several hours of sunshine, which seemed to give promise of brighter weather; then came an hour of rain, which drenched the gardens and the roads, and made play out-of-doors impossible. But now, it had no effect on the temper of little Mary. She would have liked fine weather better than wet, a great deal better indeed; but she was gradually learning to bear disappointment; the inward sunshine was brightening in her heart. One day, when there had been a good many intervals of sunshine, and the showers had passed over quickly, she was playing with little Johnny in the parlour, when she suddenly heard her bird singing loudly, and calling to her with his “swe-et! swe-et!”
“Ah! my pretty one! I am coming! Darling has got something to say to me!”
She hurried up to her room, and the bird sang:—
“See where hope and beauty glow,
Dancing down the bending bow.”
She opened the window, and looked out over the landscape. There was a most lovely rainbow in the skies. It arched over a broad heaven, and the green earth beneath it sent up a grateful fragrance, and all the flowers looked up lovingly at the rainbow, and gave it smile for smile. Water-drops twinkled like stars among the green leaves of the gently waving trees; and, as the sunbeams glistened on the gilt vane of the distant church-spire, it gleamed in the air like a tongue of golden flame. What a chirping from the green boughs and the hedge-rows! The lark in the sky sent messages of love down to the linnet in the brushwood, and the robin on the thorn. The breeze sprung up, and sang through the leafy boughs of the Poplar and the Elm, and light and music mingled together, as if nature had clustered her beauties and joys for a service of thanksgiving. Far and wide, and upward, spread the various melody. It seemed as if every voice had wings, fluttering with delight, and bearing away into the blue air the silent gratitude of the flowers, and the prayers of all beautiful though voiceless things. Mary sat at the window, and with cheek resting on her hand, she looked over the beautiful scene. The beauty-drops all around trickled to the very roots of her affections; her heart throbbed, her eyes glistened, and the breathing of her bosom heaved it as gently as if the waves of some soft music-stream were flowing there. She saw that all was good—storm and calm, rain and sunshine, summer and winter—all was good; and her young spirit hallowed it, and rested in a sabbath of calm. Presently the rainbow melted away, the clouds fell to the horizon, and the sun spread his bright beams over a broad, blue sky. Mary put on her little straw-hat, and went down into the garden. Near the steps was a large flower-pot, with a rose-tree in it. It was half-blown; the rain-drops were glistening in its leaves; its fragrance was passing into the air, and making it delicious and sweet; its blushing tints were exquisitely lovely; the mere looking at the rainbow seemed to have increased its beauty. Mary took the flower in her hand—smelled it—kissed its leaves—and then a pulse of music throbbed at her heart, and the little maiden sang:—
“I dream of my Rose when the spirits of light
Dance on the beautiful margins of night,
And the mists of the morning unclose;