KATIE is seated at the open window of the old nursery at Silversands. You will almost need an introduction to her now, for she is no longer the little girl who played with Geraldine. All her curls are gone, and instead of them dark coils adorn her head; yet it is the same bright face.
Ten years make a great difference in us all.
“I am eighteen to-day," she is saying to herself; "nothing is Changed here; waves and rocks and flowers all the same; only I am different, and somehow many things are different," added she, shading her eyes with her hand.
And the face grows graver, and thoughts flit back through long years into the buried past. She stands in spirit beside a well-known and oft-visited little grave, in a sheltered corner of the cemetery at home.
She sees the green grass, and the white marble cross, with it's beautiful device of a dove nestling on it, and the golden words beneath the still cherished name, "He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom.”
The scent of the roses planted on the grave seems to come over her, unlocking all "the dear recollections pressed in her heart like flowers within a book;" recollections of sunlight rippling over floating golden curls; of the shell-strewn beach and daisied meadows where they had played together beside the tiny stream which had gradually widened into the river of death, and they were divided.
I must ask my readers to peep over Katie's shoulder into the garden below, and then they will be able to supply for themselves the broken links in my story.
On the rustic seat looking towards the sea are seated old Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford. Time has aged them both, and they have come to the eventide of life. The burden and heat of the day are over for them; they are waiting an entrance into the everlasting kingdom of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. (2 Peter 1:22Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord, (2 Peter 1:2))
Four children cluster round their knees, making the garden resound with their silvery laughter and merry words; they are calling Barbara "Mamma," but she looks the least changed of any, as she stands, not far off, talking to a lady in deep mourning, whose half averted face is surrounded by a widow's cap, which will not, however, prevent your recognizing Lady L'Estrange. Her face is not much changed, but the calm that follows conflict is written there; the sad and restless expression of former days is now succeeded by a chastened look of joy and peace, true of those only who have Christ in them, the hope of glory. (Col. 1:2727To whom God would make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles; which is Christ in you, the hope of glory: (Colossians 1:27).)
The home in the little court is broken up now, for Mary Keats' mother is dead, and Willie is footman at Dr. Gray's.
One, however, stands there, a stranger to us though evidently not so to the well-known group; a son, indeed, to the aged couple, who have the satisfaction of seeing their work for Christ in the village thoroughly carried on through his unwearied efforts, and in perfect trust and love they have resigned their beloved daughter to his care.
“I wish papa and mamma, and Edith and the brothers were there," thought Katie; "but I shall see them all again soon," and then she glanced again at the bright, moving group below.
“How happy they all look!" she said, half aloud; if it were not for myself I could fancy those two dear little namesakes were the Katie and Geraldine of long ago; we must have looked like that then.”
And with a sigh she turned from the open window, and unlocked a drawer. One by one all the treasures are unfolded and touched; a box of shells, some sea weed, a few little pencil notes, a bunch of withered flowers, and a long, bright, golden curl.
And now dear children, my story is ended, but I hope when you close this book you will not forget what I have been telling you.
This is a true story, and I want you to learn a great many things from it.
You may be very young, but you are not too young to die. I should like you to be as happy as Katie and Geraldine, so that if Jesus calls you away early, it may be to take you to Himself; or if left here, it may be to spend your life in His service.
He has promised a crown of life to all who love Him, and those who wear it “shall shine as the stars forever and ever.”
The same Savior that called these dear children and made them His own, now calls you; oh, come to Him, and He will cleanse you from all your sins in His own precious blood, and make you whiter than snow. He will come soon and take all that are made white by His precious blood to dwell with Him in glory forever.
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