Daisy: or, The Fairy Spectacles

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FAIRY'S LAST GIFT

Maud went home to the lonely cabin; there was no one to make a fire, and dry her wet clothes, and comfort her. When little Susan heard what had happened, she ran away to live with the mother of Joseph; and Maud was left alone.

Wearied with fright, and trouble, and remorse, the beauty sank upon her bed and fell asleep.

But hardly were her eyes closed, when she seemed in a damp, cellar-like place herself, but, looking upward, saw the glorious golden city Daisy told her about, with its pearly gates and diamond foundations, and the river shaded by beautiful palms, and throngs of angels walking on its banks.

The ranks of angels parted, and she saw among them the Beautiful One, who had met her in the wood – only he was bright and joyous now, and his wounds shone like stars; and – could it be? yes – he was leading Daisy and Joseph, not a poor drudge and humble herdsboy now, but, like the other angels, clothed in light, crowned with lilies, and Joseph's harp of reeds changed to a golden harp, on which he still made music.

She saw two other beautiful ones come forward and embrace her sister: one, she felt, was the father she had never seen, and one was Susan, the good and humble mother of whom Maud had been ashamed.

Then she awoke, to find herself alone in the cabin, which was damp and dark as she had dreamed; and she could only hear the night wind sighing, and the voices of the wolves and snakes.

As soon as morning came, she hurried to the river bank, in hopes, thus late, to save her sister, or to hear, at least, some news from her. But she saw only floating logs and blocks of ice jarring and whirling down the river.

And from that hour Maud believed herself a murderer, and would gladly have given her own life to forget the dreadful scene, which kept rising before her, of the good, gentle sister drowning in the flood, and the sound of the dame's shrill voice asking, "Now, are you satisfied?"

But Daisy did not drown. When Joseph saw her danger, though almost dead himself, he took fresh courage, and made such bold, brave efforts that both he and Daisy reached the shore.

Long, happy days they spent together on the earth. Determined that she should have no more trouble with her sister, Joseph took his wife over the sea to a pleasant island, where she had a happier, if not so splendid a home as Maud.

When he opened the door to show Daisy her beautiful little house, who should stand within but the fairy, all dressed in her velvet and pearls, and looking as bright as if she too were glad that Daisy's life was to be so happy now.

Many a gift the fairy brought them: little Peters, and Susans, and Daisies came in her arms, to play before their door, and make the cottage merry with their songs, before our Daisy went to wear her crown in heaven. And many a pleasant tune Joseph played to his wife and children on the home-made harp of reeds, before it was changed to a harp of gold, and chimed in with the angels' music, in our Father's home above.

When packing her things, to leave the cabin, Maud left Daisy's dresses, as they were not fine enough for her, and also some little things which her sister had treasured – among them, the spectacles.

But once in her fine new home, and the wedding over, the first things she found, hanging in the fringe of her shawl, were Daisy's spectacles.

So she thought how queerly Daisy used to look in them, and put the glasses on, to amuse her husband; but what was her surprise to find she could see plainly through them now!

And, alas! the first thing they told her was, that this man, for whom she had left all her rich suitors, did not love her, but her money; despised her because her mother was so poor, and was much fonder of one of the ladies whom he had forsaken than of her.

She told him this angrily; but he only laughed, and said she might have guessed it without spectacles, and asked how he could love any one who thought only of herself.

She hoped he might be jesting, yet his words were soon proved true; for he not only neglected, but treated her harshly, and when she was saddest, dragged her to the balls which she no longer enjoyed, and laughed about her spectacles, which began to leave their mark upon her handsome face.

"At least," thought Maud, "I am very rich; there is no end to my jewelry. I will find out all its value through the spectacles."

But though there were pearls and diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, set in heavy gold, they seemed only a handful through the glasses; while she saw whole heaps of finer pearls lying neglected under the sea, and rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds scattered about on the sands, or in the heart of rocks, enough to build a house. Melted along the veins of the earth she discovered so much gold, too, that her own didn't seem worth keeping; for Maud only valued things when she thought others could not have so fine.

Do you remember what the dame said, when she placed the spectacles on little Daisy's breast? "Take care of her heart, now, Peter, and this gift of mine will be a precious one."

Here was the trouble: Maud, with all her beauty and wealth, had not taken care of her heart; and so, when Daisy saw bright, and wise, and pleasant things through the glasses, Maud saw only sad and painful ones.

The beauty grew tired of life; her husband was so jealous that he would not allow any one to admire her; and she found the palace did not make her any happier than the cabin had done, nor did the open country seem any brighter than the wood.

For it isn't whether we live in a palace or a cave, but whether our hearts are cheerful palaces or gloomy caves, that makes the difference between sad lives and merry ones.

So, one day, when the dame appeared with her gifts, Maud said, "O, take them away – take back all the beauty, the power, and money you ever brought, and give me a heart like Daisy's."

"Pretty likely," said the dame. "You asked for money – you and your mother, both; now make the most of it."

But the old woman had hardly left the house when one of Maud's servants brought her in, wounded, and weeping bitterly, for a wagon had run over her.

"Carry her home to her cave; why did you bring her to me?" said Maud.

But just then she seemed to see the cold, bare cave that Daisy had told her about, with nothing except wooden stools and a smoky fireplace – no soft bed, no child to watch over and comfort the poor old dame.

So Maud called the servants back, and had the woman placed in her own room, and watched with her, and bathed her limbs, and though she was fretful, did not once neglect her through a long and tedious illness.

At last, the dame felt well enough to go home, and bade good by to Maud, who begged her not to go; "for," she said, – and the tears came into her eyes, – "you make me think of dear Daisy, the only one that ever loved me, with this selfish heart."

"No, no; I cannot trust you," said the dame, and disappeared.

But she came back, with such a bundle in her arms as she had brought to Susan once; and when Maud looked up to thank her, lo! the dame had changed to a lovely fairy, with a young, sweet face – the same that Daisy used to talk about.

Bending over Maud, she wiped the tears from her face, and put the bundle in her arms, and disappeared.

And when the little child learned to love her, Maud forgot her fears and cares, her cruel husband and her selfish self, and found how much happier it makes us to give joy than to receive it.

The little girl was named Daisy, and grew up not only beautiful and rich, but wise and good; she spent her money nobly, and gained the love and added to the happiness of all her friends.

But the one whom she made happiest was her own mother – Maud.

CHAPTER XXVI.

WHAT IT ALL MEANS

Now, dear children, I suppose you have guessed all my riddles, for they are not hard ones; but I will tell you the meaning of one or two.

Life is the old fairy, that comes sometimes frowning and wretched, sometimes smiling and lovely, but always benevolent, always taking better care of us than we take of ourselves.

We should be silent, helpless dust, except for Life; and whether we be great or humble, rich or poor, she gives us all we have.

Though she may seem to smile on you and frown upon your sister, be sure it is not because she loves you best; the fairy may yet change into a wrinkled dame, or the dame to a beautiful fairy.

When you remember her, beware how you grieve or slight any one. If you are passing some poor beggar in the street, think, "Had I on Daisy's spectacles, I should see under all these rags a child of the great God, travelling on, as I am travelling, to live with him in the golden city above. While this man seems humble to me, angels may bow to him as they pass invisibly; for all the titles in this world are not so great as to be a child of God."

When you are tempted to vex or laugh at some old woman, think, "Under these wrinkles, lo! the great fairy, Life, is hid; and she can curse or bless me, as I will."

The old dame's lantern, and the light in his breast by which Joseph saw, were Instinct; which, if we could but keep it undimmed by the dust of earth, would always light our pathway.

And the fairy bread is Kindness, which alone can comfort the poor and sorrowful. They may use what we give in charity, and still be poor and sad; but an act of kindness makes them feel that they too are children of the same great God, and are therefore happy and rich, though they must walk about for a little while in rags.

For they remember how, like us, they have a glorious home awaiting them in the city whose streets are gold; and then it doesn't seem so hard that they have less than we of the poor gold of earth.

The spectacles are Wisdom, which shows us all things as they are, not as they seem – which we may learn, like Daisy, from insects, trees, and clouds, or, easier still, from words that the wise have written.

Believe me, this wisdom, which may seem but a tedious thing, will show any of you as wonderful visions as those I have told you about.

So, when your lessons are hard, and you long to play, and wonder what's the use in books, think, "They are Daisy's wondrous spectacles, that change our dull earth into fairy land."

Wearing these, you need never be lonely or afraid, but will feel God's strong and loving arm around you in the dreariest place. The sun will seem his watchful eye, the wind his breath, the flowers his messages. You will know that all good and lovely things are gifts from him.

And you will not forget that the fairy, Life, is still on earth, and, if we ask her, will lead us all to the wonderful city which Daisy saw far up above the pines – where you, too, may be good and peaceful, like the rest, and wear a crown of lilies and a robe of light.