Belle Powers' Locket

I.

BELLE AND HER PAPA

Dear little Belle!

There she sat, upon a low stool, doll and picture-book lying unheeded at her feet, as she watched the slanting beams of light which streamed in between the crimson curtains and poured life and gladness over all within the pleasant room. There she sat, watching them thoughtfully, yet with a half-smile upon her lips, as they travelled slowly and steadily from spot to spot, now over the carpet, now up the table-cloth, now touching the gilded mirror-frame and making it flash with added brightness, and now falling softly on a vase of lovely flowers and bringing out their brilliant colors in new and more perfect beauty. And now in their noiseless but busy march they fell upon her own little self, the brightest and sunniest thing in all the room, to the loving eyes which watched her.

"What is my darling thinking of?" asked Mr. Powers, breaking the stillness.

In an instant Belle was upon his knee and nestling close to him; but she did not answer his question till it was repeated.

"What were you thinking of, my daughter?" he asked again, laying his hand fondly on the little round head, with its short, dark rings of hair.

"About sunbeams, papa," answered the child, turning her eyes again upon the bar of light, which was now quivering and shimmering among and over the prisms of the chandelier above their heads.

"Ay, they are very pretty," said her father.

"But it was not about those sunbeams, papa, though they did make the thinking come into my head. It was about being a sunbeam. I would like to be a little sunbeam, papa."

"And so you may, and so you are, my darling," said the father. "You are papa's little sunbeam, the brightest sunbeam he has on earth; and his way would be very dark and sad without you."

"Yes, papa," said Belle: "you mean I am your comfort, and you are my sunbeam, papa, 'cause you are my comfort; but I was thinking I would like to be a sunbeam to other people too. I wonder if I could. Maggie Bradford says I could."

"I am sure you could, darling."

"Maggie does say such nice things, papa; and so does Bessie; and sometimes when a thing does not seem very pleasant, or as if I would like to do it, they talk about it so that it seems very nice indeed, and so very right that I feel in a great hurry to do it. That is, if I do not feel naughty; for do you know, papa," – and Belle's voice took a mournful tone, – "do you know sometimes I am so very naughty that I feel like doing a thing just because I know I oughtn't. Papa, could you have b'lieved that of me?"

"Yes," said Mr. Powers, smiling: "I could believe that of any one, Belle."

"Could you, papa?" said Belle, solemnly. "Well, that does make me a great relief; for when I used to get good again after I had been so naughty as that, I used to think I must be 'most the wickedest child that ever lived. But one day when I told Maggie and Bessie about it, Maggie said sometimes she felt that way too; and then we made each other promise to keep it a great secret, and never tell anybody."

"And so you keep your promise by telling me," said her father.

"O papa! we didn't mean our fathers and mothers. We don't think you're anybody."

"Thank you," replied her father, taking the compliment as it was meant, though somewhat amused at her way of putting it. "That is right, dear. It is better for little children not to mean their fathers and mothers when they promise not to 'tell anybody.'"

"Yes, papa; and then you see you have nobody but me to tell you secrets, so I would feel too badly not to do it. But I want to know about being a sunbeam, papa; how I can be a sunbeam to 'most everybody, or to a good many people."

"What did Maggie Bradford say about it?" asked Mr. Powers: "let me hear that."

"Why, it was yesterday, when I was spending the day with Maggie and Bessie," answered Belle; "and it was cloudy, and the sun came out from the clouds, and Maggie said – Papa, Maggie is the smartest child; and do you know what I heard Mrs. Norris say about her? She said Maggie had quite a – quite a – a – talent, that was the word, quite a talent for poetry. Are you not very glad, papa, that my in-sep-era-ble has a talent for poetry? Don't you think that is a pretty nice thing for a child to have?"

"Very nice; and I am indeed happy that my Belle has such a talented friend," said Mr. Powers, who knew that he could not please his little daughter more than by joining in the praise and admiration she showered upon her young friends and playmates, Maggie and Bessie Bradford, – "very nice, indeed; but still I do not hear what Maggie said about the sunbeams."

"Well, such a beautiful sunbeam came out of the cloud, papa; and it made every thing look so bright and pleasant, even though the clouds were there yet; and I said if I wasn't myself, I would like to be a sunbeam, 'cause every one was so glad to see it, and it seemed to make things so bright and happy; and then Maggie said we could be ourselves and sunbeams too. Not really, true sunbeams, you know, but like sunbeams, to make all bright and glad about us; and she said we did that when we helped each ofer, or when we tried to make sorry people feel glad, and comforted them, or did a kind thing that made some one feel nice and happy. And Bessie and I were very proud of her for saying such a nice thing as that, papa; and we begged her to make some poetry about it, and she made one verse; and then Bessie said she b'lieved we could be sunbeams for Jesus if we chose, and she coaxed Maggie to make another verse about that, and we learned it. Shall I say them to you, papa?"

"Certainly," said her father; and Belle repeated the following simple lines, which she plainly thought extremely fine: —

"There, what do you think of that, papa?" she asked in a tone of triumph, which showed her own delight and pride in her little friend's composition.

"I think it very fair for a nine-years-old girl," answered her father.

"I think it is be-ew-tiful," said Belle. "Maggie writes lots and lots of po'try, and she copies it all. Some of it is pious po'try, and she puts that in one book called 'Bradford's Divine Songs,' and she puts the unpious in another called 'Bradford's Moral Poems;' and Bessie and I learn a great deal of them. They're splen-did, and she is just the smartest child, – Bessie says she is."

If Bessie said a thing, it must be so, according to Belle's thinking; and her father did not dispute the fact. Belle went on, —

"And that is the kind of a sunbeam I would like to be, papa, 'cause I s'pose that is the best kind, – to have the light and brightness come from Jesus, – and it would make me nicer and pleasanter to every one."

"Yes, my darling."

"But I don't see how I am to be much of a sunbeam to any one but you, papa. Maggie and Bessie seem to know how without any one telling them, but I don't know so very well. They are my sunbeams next to you, I know that: are they not, papa?"

"Yes, indeed, my daughter. God bless them," said her father, speaking from his heart as he remembered all that these two dear little girls had been to his motherless child; what true "sunbeams" they had proved to her, cheering and brightening the young life which had been so early darkened by her great loss. Gay, bright, and happy themselves, they were not only willing, but anxious, to pour some of the sunshine of their own joyous hearts into those of others who had not so many blessings.

All this, and more than this, had her young friends done for the lonely little Belle, not only bringing back the light to her saddened eye, and the smiles to her once pitiful face, but also giving her a new interest by awakening in her the wish to shed some happy rays on the lot of others, and leading her by the shining of their own example to become more obedient, gentle, and unselfish than she had ever been before.

"Daphne told me I'll have a whole lot of money when I am a big lady," continued Belle; "and then I should think I could be a sunbeam to ever so many people, and do ever so much to make them glad and happy. I'll build a room, oh, ever so big! and bring into it all the lame and deaf and blind and poor people, and make them have such a nice time. The good ones, I mean: I won't have any naughty people that do bad things. I shan't be a sunbeam to them, or have them in my sunbeam home; no, nor the disagreeable ones either, who don't have nice manners or be pleasant. I'll take ugly people, 'cause they can't help it; but everybody can be pleasant and polite if they choose, and I shan't help the old things who are not. Ugh!"

"But that is not the way Jesus wants us to feel, dear. When He was here on earth, He taught us that we must try to do good to all, that we might be the children of our Father in Heaven, who, He tells us, 'makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.' Do you know what that means?"

"Um – m – m – yes, papa, I b'lieve so," answered Belle, half unwillingly: "I s'pose it means I ought to try to be a sunbeam to disagreeable people, just the same as if they were pleasant."

"Belle," said Mr. Powers, "do you remember the story Mrs. Rush told you of Lem and Dolly, those naughty, unkind children who treated your little friends so badly; and who were so disagreeable and rude in every way, both in looks and behavior?"

"Oh, yes, indeedy!" answered Belle, in quite a different tone from that she had last used. "I never could forget that story; and now I do see what you mean, papa. Maggie and Bessie were sunbeams to poor Lem and Dolly, for all they were so very naughty to them."

"Yes, dear; and they lighted the path to Jesus so that Dolly found the way to Him before she was taken from this world; and by all that we hear it may be that some ray of light has fallen across poor Lem's way too."

"Yes," said Belle, eagerly; "and the ofer day Maggie and Bessie's papa had a letter from the captain of the ship what Lem is a sailor on, and he said he was a real good boy, and tried to do right all he could. But, papa, you see I don't know any very dirty, ragged, horrid children to be a sunbeam to; so what shall I do? I s'pose when I say my prayers I could ask God to let there be some for me. I'll ask Him to-night to let there be six dirty beggars, three boys and three girls, that I can be good and kind to, and show the way to Him. Wouldn't that be a good plan, papa?"

"Well, I think I would hardly do that," said her father, smiling. "There is quite enough of misery in the world without asking for more only that we may cure it; and some of it is pretty sure to come in your way. But any little child may in her daily life shed light and brightness around her, even though it does not happen to her to find any such special work as was given to your Maggie and Bessie; and with the will and heart to do it, I think my Belle will be a sunbeam indeed to all with whom she has to do."

Now as you may not know the story of which Belle and her father were speaking, you may like to hear something about it; and you shall have it in a few words.

These two little girls, Maggie and Bessie Bradford, the young friends of whom Belle thought so much, went one summer to spend the season among the mountains; and, while there, fell in with two poor, neglected, and wicked children, named Lem and Dolly Owen. From these children, who seemed to love mischief and wickedness for their own sake, and to feel a spite toward all who were better off than themselves, Maggie and Bessie, and indeed all their family, had much to bear. Every petty annoyance and vexation which they could invent was tried by Lem and Dolly to trouble and grieve those who had never injured them. But although it did cost them a hard struggle, the two dear little girls had forgiven all this, and so won upon the miserable outcasts by the sweet, forgiving kindness they had shown, that the latter were at last brought to look upon them as friends, and to feel sorry for all the evil they had done to them. Nor was this all; for by their simple teachings and bright example they had pointed out to poor, sick Dolly the way to Jesus; and before she died she was led to His feet, and knew that He could save her and take her to dwell with Him. So, happy and trusting, she had gone from a world where she had known little but misery, to that other and better home where sin and suffering never come; while Lem, softened partly by his sister's death, had been put under the care of kind Mr. Porter for a while, and was now, as you have learned from Belle's words, gone as a sailor boy with a prospect and promise of doing well.

All this, and much more which it is not necessary to repeat, – since, if you choose, you may learn all about it in a little book called "Bessie among the Mountains," – had been told to Belle by some of Maggie's and Bessie's older friends; and had, if possible, increased her love and admiration for them. She had received such tenderness and affection from them herself, this motherless little one, and their friendship had brought her such new happiness and comfort, that it was not surprising that she did indeed look upon them as her "sunbeams next to papa," and love them with her whole heart.

Whether Belle and her papa would have talked much more cannot be told, for now they were interrupted by a knock at the door; and when Mr. Powers said, "Come in," a waiter obeyed, bringing a note directed to —

"Miss Belle Powers,

Care of her Papa,

In the hottel,

U. S. of America,

New York."

Happily, this note had not gone by post, but had been brought by one servant-man who knew for whom it was intended, and had given it to another, who brought it directly to the young lady whose name it bore. Otherwise, I think it just possible that it might never have reached her.

II.

AN EXCITEMENT

"That is Maggie's writing," said Belle, seizing eagerly upon the note, as the man handed it to her. "I s'pose it's about something nice: Maggie's notes always are, – Bessie's too. Please read it to me, papa."

Mr. Powers did as he was asked; and when Belle had opened the envelope, which was a part of the business she must of course attend to for herself, read aloud these words, written in Maggie Bradford's large, round hand: —

"Oh! my dear, darling Belle, – We are so glad Bessie and I are that your papa has made up his mind not to take you away to your home in the south this winter. And not to have you go in that horrid steamer and sail with monsters of the deep and be seasick, which is such a horrible fate that I could not wish it of my worst enemy of which I hope I have none in this world or that which is to come. And because we are so glad about it we wanted to have a public rejoicing, and mamma says we may, and if you don't know what a public rejoicing is it means when people are very glad about something and want other people to be glad too and so they make a great fuss and have something very nice. And so in the present case mamma says you can come and make the public rejoicing with us to-morrow afternoon and Lily Norris is coming too and Nellie and Carrie Ransom. And mamma is going to let us have a very nice supper and some mottos, of which she knows you are fond as I suppose are all mankind or ought to be if they have any sense, and we think she is the very dearest mamma that ever lived and I hope I shall be her grateful child as I am yours till death and Bessie the same.

"Maggie Stanton Bradford."

"Oh, yes! I'll go, 'course I will," said Belle, clapping her hands, as her father finished reading the note; and too much accustomed to going and coming to and from Mrs. Bradford's house as she pleased to think it necessary to ask permission. "'Course I'll go. And, papa, isn't this a lovely note? and isn't Maggie just the smartest child to write so nicely? I think she writes just as good notes and letters as big people: yes, I think hers are a good deal more interesting than big people's. And she makes me understand every thing too. I'm glad she told me what a public rejoicing was, 'cause I didn't know before; and isn't that nice and pretty about not going away and monsters of the deep?"

"But you must send your answer: Patrick is waiting," said Mr. Powers.

"Oh! to be sure," said Belle. "Please write it for me, papa;" and accordingly her father wrote as she dictated: —

"Dear Maggie and Bessie, – I guess I will; and I thank you very much for making a public rejoicing, and mottoes and all. Your mamma is so good; and I love her and you, and hope I'll be a sunbeam to everybody. Good-by.

On the afternoon of the next day Belle was taken to the home of her young playmates by Daphne, the old colored nurse who took care of her. She was in very good time, you may be sure; for she insisted on going immediately after her own early dinner; and Daphne was too much accustomed to giving her her own way in all things to dream of disputing her wish.

The preparations for the "public rejoicing" were not quite finished, as might have been expected; but that did not much matter where Belle was concerned, for she was so much with the little Bradfords that they looked upon her almost as one of their own family; and she was at once called upon by Maggie to "help with the arrangements," which she was quite ready to do.

"Mamma hasn't had time to buy the mottoes yet," said Maggie, "'cause she couldn't go out this morning; but she is going now and says we are to go with her. Don't you want to come too, Belle?"

Belle was only too glad; and as soon as Mrs. Bradford was ready, the three little girls, Maggie, Bessie, and Belle, set forth with her to make the important purchase.

As they were on their way to the store, Maggie, who had skipped ahead to a corner they had to turn, came running back with face all aglow and eyes full of excitement.

"Oh! mamma!" she said: "there's such a fuss round the corner, and I'm afraid we'll have to pass it."

"What is the trouble?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"I don't know; but there's a crowd, and I saw a carriage, and a policeman; and there's such a fuss."

"Well," said Bessie, who held the most unbounded faith in policemen, "if there's a policeman, I s'pose he'll fix it all right: won't he?"

"But you see we'll have to pass it to reach the candy-store," said Maggie; "and maybe, it's a drunken man, or a carry-on horse, or an animal escaped out of the menagerie, or a mad dog, or some other dreadful excitement;" and she looked quite distressed as she finished the list of horrors she had imagined.

"I think I can take care of you," said her mother; "and if there should be any danger we will stop in at grandmamma's till it is over."

Thus consoled, but still clinging tight to her mother's hand, Maggie thought they might venture to go on; but as soon as the corner was turned, it became quite plain that there was no danger for them, though there was indeed what she called "a fuss."

In the middle of the street was a carriage about which a crowd had gathered, one of the horses having stumbled, fallen, and broken his leg. On the sidewalk stood a lady in deep mourning, with a nurse, and a child about Bessie's age, the latter screaming at the top of her voice, and dancing up and down, seemingly partly in fear, partly in anger; for she would not listen to her mother and nurse when they tried to soothe her, but struck out her hands passionately at the woman when she tried to draw her away from her mother's side, so that the lady might find opportunity to speak to those about her.

"Oh! the poor little girl! just see how frightened she is," said Bessie.

"I am afraid she is a little naughty, too," said her mother, as the child gave another furious scream and stamped wildly with both her feet upon the pavement; while the lady, who was plainly weak and nervous, drew her hand across her forehead as if the uproar her little daughter was making was almost too much for her.

"But I must speak to the lady and see if I can do any thing for her," continued Mrs. Bradford; and stepping up to her, as she stood a little withdrawn from the crowd, she said kindly, "Can I be of any assistance to you?"

"No, thank you," said the lady: "I am not ill, only startled; and – if Mabel would but be quiet and let me speak and think."

Mabel seemed inclined to do this now that she had caught sight of the other children; for ceasing her loud screams, and standing still, she stared open-mouthed at them.

"My house is but a few steps farther on: will you not come in and rest, and compose yourself?" asked Mrs. Bradford of the stranger.

"No, thank you," she answered again: "I believe we have but little farther to go. Is not the – Hotel near here?"

"Only a block or two," replied Mrs. Bradford.

"Then we will walk on," said the lady; and directing the nurse to bring some shawls from the carriage, she thanked Mrs. Bradford for her kindness, and taking the hand of her little girl would have gone on.

But this did not please the child, who now drawing sharply back from her mother, said pettishly, —

"No: I want to go to that lady's house and play with those nice little girls."

"But we're not going home. We are going to the candy-store to buy some mottoes," said Belle.

When Mabel heard this, she said she wanted to go to the candy-store and buy mottoes too; and her mother, who, it was plainly to be seen, gave way to her in every thing, said she might do so.

"But if I go and buy you mottoes, will you be a good girl, and come with me to find your uncle and little cousin?" asked the stranger lady.

Mabel promised, anxious now only to secure the mottoes; and she and her mother and nurse followed Mrs. Bradford and our little friends to the candy-store.

Mrs. Bradford politely waited and let the saleswoman attend to the stranger first, for she saw there would be small chance of peace till the spoiled child had all she desired.

All she desired! There seemed no end to that. Not only Maggie and Bessie, but Belle also, who was accustomed to the most unbounded indulgence, and to have every wish gratified, stood amazed at the number and quantity of dainties which Mabel demanded, and which she was allowed to have. Parcel after parcel was put up for her, till not only her own hands and those of her already well-laden nurse were filled to overflowing, but those of her mother also.

"Now do come, dear," said the latter, when it was impossible that any one of the three could carry another thing: "let us go and see the little cousin, and she shall share them with you."

"No, she shan't," whined Mabel: "I don't want little cousin, and I shan't have her now."

"Well, never mind, then. She is such a nervous child," said her mother, turning to Mrs. Bradford. "She shall not tease you if you do not choose. Come, darling, won't you, with poor mamma?"

But it took so much more promising and coaxing before the unruly child could be persuaded by her weary but foolish mother to go on, that Mrs. Bradford made her purchases and quitted the store with her own little flock, leaving Mabel still whining and fretting, and at the last moment insisting upon having a sugar "Temple of Liberty," which the shopwoman told her was not for sale, but only put there for show.

"That's the spoildest child I ever saw," said Belle, as they turned homewards, each little girl by her own desire laden with a parcel.

"Yes," said Maggie: "she's just the kind of a child to cry for the moon, and get it too, if she could; but she couldn't. I'm glad," she added, with an air of deep wisdom, "that our parents saw the error of their ways and didn't train us up that way. What are you laughing at, mamma?"

But mamma made no answer; the reason of which Maggie took to be that just at that moment she bowed to a gentleman who was passing; and before she could repeat her question Bessie spoke.

"I'm glad enough I'm not her little cousin she is going to see. I'm sorry for her cousin."

"So am I," said Belle. "I wouldn't have such a cousin as Mabel for any thing. She's too horrid."