hat has become of these two children of mine?” said mrs. wingfield fretfully, as on her return from her neighbour’s she found the cottage empty. “i’m sure such a day of bustle as i have had—scarce out of one trouble before i am into another! well, poor mrs. bright is still worse off, that is one thing. i am glad that the baby has at last dropped asleep.”
it grew darker and darker. mrs. wingfield became uneasy. she stirred the fire, filled the kettle, then with a long weary sigh sat down to rest. she missed minnie and her quiet attentions.
[132]“i suppose that they are still out, searching for little johnny. i fear that there will be rain. i wish that they were back.” mrs. wingfield fancied that she heard a low knock at the door.
“come in,” she said; but no one entered. mrs. wingfield drew her chair nearer to the fire, leaned her head upon her hand, and wished that tom and minnie would not stay out so late.
again the same low knock. she called out louder, “come in,” and the faint light which came through the doorway was darkened by a figure which seemed to linger, as if in fear, on the threshold. then the voice of poor polly was heard—“o mrs. wingfield, can you tell me how baby is?”
“what! polly, is that you? come in, my poor child. all cold and wet with the dew! why don’t you go home?”
“i dare not,” said polly, bursting into tears; “mother forbade me till johnny is found. oh, tell me how baby is. is he[133] better? will he live?”—she could hardly speak through her sobs.
“yes, he is better; that is to say, he is asleep.”
“not dead!” exclaimed polly, alarmed at the word.
“dead! no, child. why, how you tremble! come to the fire; i’ll get you a little tea and toast.”
“i could not eat, it would choke me! oh, that i had never left the children—that i had done my duty as minnie would have done! she—she has been a comfort in her home—but i—”
“come, come,” said mrs. wingfield in a soothing tone, “don’t go breaking your heart in this way; all may come right at last. would not you like to see the baby?”
“oh, if i might only sit up with him all night! but i may not return without johnny.”
“your mother never meant that. come, i’ll take you to her myself. when she sees[134] how you feel all this, i am sure that she will forgive you.”
mrs. wingfield was a kind-hearted woman, and taking polly’s trembling hand within her own, she crossed over the lane to mrs. bright’s. polly shrank back as they reached the door.
“oh, say, do you bring me news of my child?” cried the poor anxious woman from within.
“not of johnny, yet still of your child. there is one here who is afraid to come in. poor thing, she has almost cried herself to death.”
“polly,” murmured the mother, and stretched out her arms. in another moment the poor girl was sobbing upon her bosom.
amidst the troubles of our human friends we must not quite forget those of our little winged ones. the frightened hungry bees, confined in their small prison, passed the long hours in most uncomfortable plight.
[135]“what a bitter thing it is,” cried violetta, sinking exhausted after a last effort to gnaw through the unyielding crockery, “to think of all the joy and happiness left in the world, from which we are shut out for ever. to-morrow the lark will be rising on high, the butterfly flitting over the daisied meadow, your comrades feasting in the dewy flowers, all nature one hum of life!”
“i am glad that they can enjoy still, there is some comfort in that,” said silverwing.
“that is a feeling which i cannot understand,” observed violetta. “it is strange that the very same thought should give pain to me and pleasure to you!”
violetta had had no great experience of life, or she would have known that such is often the case. living by herself as a solitary insect, she had never heard one of the mottoes of bee-land: from the blossom of a comrade’s success one draws the poison of envy, another the honey of delight.
[136]the village church-clock had struck the hour of nine; it was seldom that its sound could be heard in the cottage of mrs. wingfield, but now the place was so still that the breeze bore it distinctly to her listening ear. weary, she lay on her bed, unwilling to sleep till her children should return. the rain was beginning to fall without; the heavy clouds bending towards earth, made the night much darker than is usual in summer. presently a sound was heard at the door.
“minnie, is that you?” cried the mother.
“it is polly,” answered a mournful voice, as the little girl entered the cottage.
“is the baby worse?” asked mrs. wingfield.
“i hope not; but mother is in such a state about johnny. if it were not for baby, she would be wandering all night in the rain. i come to ask if you could kindly give her a little hartshorn—i know that that is what you take when you are poorly.”
[137]“you are heartily welcome to what i have,” replied the cottager; “i daresay that you can find it yourself—i need not rise. snuff the long wick of the candle, and there—don’t put it in the draught—mind you don’t snuff it out—why, how your poor fingers tremble!”
how changed was polly since the morning’s sun had risen! her cheeks pale and haggard, her eyes swollen with weeping, her dress hanging damp around her chill form; who would have guessed that she ever could have been the gayest girl in the village.
“you will find the bottle on the shelf; you can reach it with a chair,” continued mrs. wingfield, raising herself on one arm to watch the proceedings of the girl. “there, do you not see, just behind that mug! why, what have you done?” she cried in a tone of impatience, as something came crashing upon the floor.
what had she done indeed. she had thrown down tom’s mug, and set two little[138] prisoners free. yes, they were free, free as the air which they now joyously beat with their little wings! uttering a loud hum of delight, they flew round the cottage, darted to the door, then drew back, afraid of the damp, and at last both settled sociably under the table, to enjoy together a nice crumb of sugar that tom had dropped on the floor.
at liberty.
oh, if liberty be so sweet, so precious to all, who would deprive even an insect of its birthright! let them spread the free wing, unconfined and happy, and let us find our[139] pleasure rather in seeing them in the position for which providence formed and designed them, than in keeping them as captives, the slaves to our will, deprived of their life’s dearest blessing!
