frightened, and could see no refuge from the big, bad world but to
get out of it while she was n’t afraid to die. A very old story, my
dear, new and dreadful as it seems to you, and I think it won’t do
you any harm to see and help this little girl, who has gone through
dark places that you are never like to know.”
“I will; indeed, I will do all I can! Where is she now?” asked Polly,
touched to the heart by the story, so simple yet so sad.
“There,” and Miss Mills pointed to the door of her own little
bedroom. “She was well enough to be moved to-night, so I brought
her home and laid her safely in my bed. Poor little soul! she looked
about her for a minute, then the lost look went away, and she gave
a great sigh, and took my hand in both her thin bits of ones, and
said, ‘O, ma’am, I feel as if I ‘d been born into a new world. Help
me to begin again, and I ‘ll do better.’ So I told her she was my
child now, and might rest here, sure of a home as long as I had
one.”
As Miss Mills spoke in her motherly tone, and cast a proud and
happy look toward the warm and quiet nest in which she had
sheltered this friendless little sparrow, feeling sure that God meant
her to keep it from falling to the ground, Polly put both arms about
her neck, and kissed her withered cheek with as much loving
reverence as if she had been a splendid saint, for in the likeness of
this plain old maid she saw the lovely charity that blesses and
saves the world.
“How good you are! Dear Miss Mills, tell me what to do, let me
help you, I ‘m ready for anything,” said Polly, very humbly, for her
own troubles looked so small and foolish beside the stern
hardships which had nearly had so tragical an end, that she felt
heartily ashamed of herself, and quite burned to atone for them.
Miss, Mills stopped to stroke the fresh cheek opposite, to smile,
and say, “Then, Polly, I think I ‘ll ask you to go in and say a
friendly word to my little girl. The sight of you will do her good;
and you have just the right way of comforting people, without
making a fuss.”
“Have I?” said Polly, looking much gratified by the words.
“Yes, dear, you ‘ve the gift of sympathy, and the rare art of
showing it without offending. I would n’t let many girls in to see
my poor Jenny, because they ‘d only flutter and worry her; but you
‘ll know what to do; so go, and take this wrapper with you; it ‘s
done now, thanks to your nimble fingers.”
Polly threw the warm garment over her arm, feeling a thrill of
gratitude that it was to wrap a living girl in, and not to hide away a
young heart that had grown cold too soon. Pushing open the door,
she went quietly into the dimly lighted room, and on the pillow
saw a face that drew her to it with an irresistible power, for it was
touched by a solemn shadow that made its youth pathetic. As she
paused at the bedside, thinking the girl asleep, a pair of hollow,
dark eyes opened wide, and looked up at her; startled at first, then
softening with pleasure, at sight of the bonny face before them,
and then a humble, beseeching expression filled them, as if asking
pardon for the rash act nearly committed, and pity for the hard fate
that prompted it. Polly read the language of these eyes, and
answered their mute prayer with a simple eloquence that said more
than any words for she just stooped down and kissed the poor
child, with her own eyes full, and lips that trembled with the
sympathy she could not tell. Jenny put both arms about her neck,
and began to shed the quiet tears that so refresh and comfort heavy
hearts when a tender touch unseals the fountain where they lie.