When the king had returned to his palace the night of the last decisive victory—after he had thrown aside his golden armor, though weary from the conflict, he paused not a moment to rest till he had summoned his young daughter to his presence, and thus made known to her his will.
“To-morrow, my child, put on thy most beautiful and radiant garments, and let the bright smile come back once more to thy face, for I have work for thee to do. I have subdued the army of King Winter, and now it shall be thine to make joy in the place where he has sown desolation. It is thine, to restore order and comfort and happiness and beauty in the dwelling place where he reigned in such a rude, uncivilized, mobocrastic manner. Ah! that light in thine eye tells me it is no ungrateful task I set for thee! it is very plain now, the cause of all thy sighing and tears for so long back; the old bloom will revisit thy cheek again I see. But remember, thy mission is one all-important. Do all things well, and nothing hastily—and now to rest! This shall be no gala-night, thou needest all thy strength for thy work; so haste to thy couch, and be stirring early in the morn.”
When the maiden was thus assured of the fulfillment of her greatest hope, she bended down at the king’s feet and said, joyfully, “Oh, my father, I bless thee for thy goodness. The dear earth, she shall swiftly know thy mercy, and array herself in glorious garments in which to honor her deliverer! To-morrow, to-morrow shall see that if thou, my father, art strong to make free, thy daughter is loving, and patient, and full of good-will to help and adorn the miserable captives thou hast delivered from bondage.”
And early the next morning the lovely princess went forth alone, rejecting all offers of a body-guard, a most devout and devoted missionary, whose end and aim was to make glad the waste-places, and to cause the wilderness to blossom.
There were as yet, here and there, stubborn patches of snow on the ground, and a vindictive, sharp-voiced wind, a wounded straggler belonging to the white king’s retreating army, and his chief object seemed to be to exhaust the patience of all who were within hearing wherever he moved, by his rude insulting speeches. But totally unmindful of him, and maintaining a most dignified silence, Sunlight passed by him, well knowing that he too would speedily be compelled to follow whither his master had gone.
Sometimes dark, threatening clouds would flit before her eyes, for a moment totally obstructing her vision, but a brave heart was that maiden’s, and when these petty annoyances were passed, she continued on her way patiently and hopefully as before. An apparently hopeless and endless task was that Sunlight had undertaken. She must, as it were, perform the part of resurrectionist. She must breathe life into a breathless body, and call the seemingly dead forth from their graves. The labor seemed too vast for her gentle hand, it appeared almost impossible that she should accomplish it. She was alone, too, in a strange, unpleasant kind of silence. There was not the voice of even a bird to cheer her on, and stiff and mute the brooklets lay in their coffins of ice.
But she is very far from despairing. And her strength is, indeed, perfectly wonderful. Stealing with quiet steps along the banks of the little streams, she speaks to them some words apparently powerful as the “open sesame,” for the waters begin to open their eyes, faintly the pulse begins to throb, and the heart to beat, and ere long they have wholly thrown off that cold shroud which enveloped them, while it in turn becomes part and parcel of their own rejoicing life. Then they set forth rejoicing in their strength, and glorying in their newly-gained liberty, careering through the just awakening fields, and astonishing them by the beautiful soft songs of thanksgiving they unremittingly sing. The princess is not alone then—one class of prisoners she has released, and their glad voices cheer and encourage her in her work of love.
Day after day she returns unweariedly to the great field of her pleasant labor, and day by day perfects the evidence of her progress. A most efficient co-worker whom she arouses and entices to join her in her work, is the gentle spirit of the summer wind. Encouraged and excited by her smile, he takes the oath of fealty, and heartily strives to aid his mistress. From the brow of earth he wipes away the tears the stars have wept, and multitudinous are his kind unceasing offices, for she has promised him a dominion which shall spread over many rejuvenated forests, and freshly garmented fields!
In the old woods she lays her hand upon the myriad branches, and on the softening ground beneath which lie the buried roots. From every bough she calleth forth the tender buds, and ere long she spreads with kindly hands a rich, green mantle over all the forests. And in those “leafy-pavilions,” the returning birds she has summoned from the south, build their nests, and sing merrily through the long, happy days.
Quickened into life by her presence and word, over all the barren fields the soft and tender grass springs up; the moss becomes aspiring, too, even the humble moss, and disowning its gray garments, it dons the more beautiful and universal green livery. A thousand thousand insects spring into sudden existence—the voice of the croaking frog is once more found in tune. Violets bud and blossom, the air grows increasingly more mild; even the wind learns a sweeter song; the heavens finding it impossible to resist the general rejoicing which follows the most successful labor of the missionary, put on a brighter and a more resplendant garment, and the dear Sunlight is filled with unfeigned rejoicing when she sees how speedily the regenerating influences of her glance are recognized.