II
DROOPING WINGS
It was December, ten years later.
Carol had seen nine Christmas trees lighted on her birthdays, one afteranother; nine times she had assisted in the holiday festivities of thehousehold, though in her babyhood her share of the gayeties wassomewhat limited.
For five years, certainly, she had hidden presents for Mamma and Papa intheir own bureau drawers, and harbored a number of secrets sufficientlylarge to burst a baby brain, had it not been for the relief gained bywhispering them all to Mamma, at night, when she was in her crib, aproceeding which did not in the least lessen the value of a secret inher innocent mind.
For five years she had heard "'Twas the night before Christmas," andhung up a scarlet stocking many sizes too large for her, and pinned asprig of holly on her little white nightgown, to show Santa Claus thatshe was a "truly" Christmas child, and dreamed of fur-coated saints andtoy-packs and reindeer, and wished everybody a "Merry Christmas" beforeit was light in the morning, and lent every one of her new toys to theneighbors' children before noon, and eaten turkey and plum-pudding, andgone to bed at night in a trance of happiness at the day's pleasures.
Donald was away at college now. Paul and Hugh were great manly fellows,taller than their mother. Papa Bird had gray hairs in his whiskers; andGrandma, God bless her, had been four Christmases in heaven.
But Christmas in the Birds' Nest was scarcely as merry now as it used tobe in the bygone years, for the little child, that once brought such anadded blessing to the day, lay month after month a patient, helplessinvalid, in the room where she was born. She had never been very strongin body, and it was with a pang of terror her mother and father noticed,soon after she was five years old, that she began to limp, ever soslightly; to complain too often of weariness, and to nestle close to hermother, saying she "would rather not go out to play, please." Theillness was slight at first, and hope was always stirring in Mrs. Bird'sheart. "Carol would feel stronger in the summer-time;" or, "She wouldbe better when she had spent a year in the country;" or, "She wouldoutgrow it;" or, "They would try a new physician;" but by and by it cameto be all too sure that no physician save One could make Carol strongagain, and that no "summer-time" nor "country air," unless it were theeverlasting summer-time in a heavenly country, could bring back thelittle girl to health.
The cheeks and lips that were once as red as holly-berries faded tofaint pink; the star-like eyes grew softer, for they often gleamedthrough tears; and the gay child-laugh, that had been like a chime ofChristmas bells, gave place to a smile so lovely, so touching, so tenderand patient, that it filled every corner of the house with a gentleradiance that might have come from the face of the Christ-child himself.
Love could do nothing; and when we have said that we have said all, forit is stronger than anything else in the whole wide world. Mr. and Mrs.Bird were talking it over one evening, when all the children wereasleep. A famous physician had visited them that day, and told them thatsome time, it might be in one year, it might be in more, Carol wouldslip quietly off into heaven, whence she came.
"It is no use to close our eyes to it any longer," said Mr. Bird, as hepaced up and down the library floor; "Carol will never be well again. Italmost seems as if I could not bear it when I think of that loveliestchild doomed to lie there day after day, and, what is still more, tosuffer pain that we are helpless to keep away from her. Merry Christmas,indeed; it gets to be the saddest day in the year to me!" and poor Mr.Bird sank into a chair by the table, and buried his face in his hands tokeep his wife from seeing the tears that would come in spite of all hisefforts.
"But, Donald, dear," said sweet Mrs. Bird, with trembling voice,"Christmas Day may not be so merry with us as it used, but it is veryhappy, and that is better, and very blessed, and that is better yet. Isuffer chiefly for Carol's sake, but I have almost given up beingsorrowful for my own. I am too happy in the child, and I see too clearlywhat she has done for us and the other children. Donald and Paul andHugh were three strong, willful, boisterous boys, but now you seldom seesuch tenderness, devotion, thought for others, and self-denial in ladsof their years. A quarrel or a hot word is almost unknown in this house,and why? Carol would hear it, and it would distress her, she is so fullof love and goodness. The boys study with all their might and main.Why? Partly, at least, because they like to teach Carol, and amuse herby telling her what they read. When the seamstress comes, she likes tosew in Miss Carol's room, because there she forgets her own troubles,which, Heaven knows, are sore enough! And as for me, Donald, I am abetter woman every day for Carol's sake; I have to be her eyes, ears,feet, hands,--her strength, her hope; and she, my own little child, ismy example!"
"I was wrong, dear heart," said Mr. Bird more cheerfully; "we will trynot to repine, but to rejoice instead, that we have an 'angel of thehouse.'"
"And as for her future," Mrs. Bird went on, "I think we need not beover-anxious. I feel as if she did not belong altogether to us, but thatwhen she has done what God sent her for, He will take her back toHimself--and it may not be very long!" Here it was poor Mrs. Bird's turnto break down, and Mr. Bird's turn to comfort her.