"He will not come to me, but I shall go to him," seemed to be thethought that sustained her, and those who loved her saiddespairingly to one another: "Her heart is broken: she will notlinger long."But one woman wise in her own motherliness always answeredhopefully: "Don't you be troubled; Nater knows what's good for us,and works in her own way. Hearts like this don't break, and sorreronly makes 'em stronger. You mark my words: the blessed baby that'sa comin' in the summer will work a merrycle, and you'll see thispoor dear a happy woman yet."Few believed in the prophecy; but Mrs. Wilkins stoutly repeated itand watched over Christie like a mother; often trudging up the lanein spite of wind or weather to bring some dainty mess, someremarkable puzzle in red or yellow calico to be used as a patternfor the little garments the three women sewed with such tenderinterest, consecrated with such tender tears; or news of the warfresh from Lisha who "was goin' to see it through ef he come homewithout a leg to stand on." A cheery, hopeful, wholesome influenceshe brought with her, and all the house seemed to brighten as shesat there freeing her mind upon every subject that came up, from thedelicate little shirts Mrs. Sterling knit in spite of failingeyesight, to the fall of Richmond, which, the prophetic spirit beingstrong within her, Mrs. Wilkins foretold with sibylline precision.

 

　　She alone could win a faint smile from Christie with some oddsaying, some shrewd opinion, and she alone brought tears to themelancholy eyes that sorely needed such healing dew; for she carriedlittle Adelaide, and without a word put her into Christie's arms,there to cling and smile and babble till she had soothed the bitterpain and hunger of a suffering heart.

 

　　She and Mr. Power held Christie up through that hard time,ministering to soul and body with their hope and faith till lifegrew possible again, and from the dust of a great affliction rosethe sustaining power she had sought so long.

 

　　As spring came on, and victory after victory proclaimed that the warwas drawing to an end, Christie's sad resignation was broken, bygusts of grief so stormy, so inconsolable, that those about hertrembled for her life. It was so hard to see the regiments come homeproudly bearing the torn battle-flags, weary, wounded, butvictorious, to be rapturously welcomed, thanked, and honored by thegrateful country they had served so well; to see all this and thinkof David in his grave unknown, unrewarded, and forgotten by all buta faithful few.

 

　　"I used to dream of a time like this, to hope and plan for it, andcheer myself with the assurance that, after all our hard work, ourlong separation, and the dangers we had faced, David would get somehonor, receive some reward, at least be kept for me to love andserve and live with for a little while. But these men who havemerely saved a banner, led a charge, or lost an arm, get all theglory, while he gave his life so nobly; yet few know it, no onethanked him, and I am left desolate when so many useless ones mighthave been taken in his place. Oh, it is not just! I cannot forgiveGod for robbing him of all his honors, and me of all my happiness."So lamented Christie with the rebellious protest of a strong naturelearning submission through the stern discipline of grief. In vainMr. Power told her that David had received a better reward than anyhuman hand could give him, in the gratitude of many women, therespect of many men. That to do bravely the daily duties of anupright life was more heroic in God's sight, than to achieve in anenthusiastic moment a single deed that won the world's applause; andthat the seeming incompleteness of his life was beautifully roundedby the act that caused his death, although no eulogy recorded it, nosong embalmed it, and few knew it but those he saved, those heloved, and the Great Commander who promoted him to the higher rankhe had won.

 

　　Christie could not be content with this invisible, intangiblerecompense for her hero: she wanted to see, to know beyond a doubt,that justice had been done; and beat herself against the barrierthat baffles bereaved humanity till impatient despair was weariedout, and passionate heart gave up the struggle.

 

　　Then, when no help seemed possible, she found it where she leastexpected it, in herself. Searching for religion, she had found love:

 

　　now seeking to follow love she found religion. The desire for it hadnever left her, and, while serving others, she was earning thisreward; for when her life seemed to lie in ashes, from their midst,this slender spire of flame, purifying while it burned, rosetrembling toward heaven; showing her how great sacrifices turn togreater compensations; giving her light, warmth, and consolation,and teaching her the lesson all must learn.

 

　　God was very patient with her, sending much help, and letting herclimb up to Him by all the tender ways in which aspiring souls canlead unhappy hearts.

 

　　David's room had been her refuge when those dark hours came, andsitting there one day trying to understand the great mystery thatparted her from David, she seemed to receive an answer to her manyprayers for some sign that death had not estranged them. The housewas very still, the window open, and a soft south wind was wanderingthrough the room with hints of May-flowers on its wings. Suddenly abreath of music startled her, so airy, sweet, and short-lived thatno human voice or hand could have produced it. Again and again itcame, a fitful and melodious sigh, that to one made superstitious bymuch sorrow, seemed like a spirit's voice delivering some messagefrom another world.

 

　　Christie looked and listened with hushed breath and expectant heart,believing that some special answer was to be given her. But in amoment she saw it was no supernatural sound, only the south windwhispering in David's flute that hung beside the window.

 

　　Disappointment came first, then warm over her sore heart flowed thetender recollection that she used to call the old flute "David'svoice," for into it he poured the joy and sorrow, unrest and pain,he told no living soul. How often it had been her lullaby, beforeshe learned to read its language; how gaily it had piped for others;how plaintively it had sung for him, alone and in the night; and nowhow full of pathetic music was that hymn of consolation fitfullywhispered by the wind's soft breath.

 

　　Ah, yes! this was a better answer than any supernatural voice couldhave given her; a more helpful sign than any phantom face or hand; asurer confirmation of her hope than subtle argument or sacredpromise: for it brought back the memory of the living, loving man sovividly, so tenderly, that Christie felt as if the barrier was down,and welcomed a new sense of David's nearness with the softest tearsthat had flowed since she closed the serene eyes whose last look hadbeen for her.

 

　　After that hour she spent the long spring days lying on the oldcouch in his room, reading his books, thinking of his love and life,and listening to "David's voice." She always heard it now, whetherthe wind touched the flute with airy fingers or it hung mute; and itsung to her songs of patience, hope, and cheer, till a mysteriouspeace carne to her, and she discovered in herself the strength shehad asked, yet never thought to find. Under the snow, herbs of gracehad been growing silently; and, when the heavy rains had melted allthe frost away, they sprung up to blossom beautifully in the sunthat shines for every spire of grass, and makes it perfect in itstime and place.

 

　　Mrs. Wilkins was right; for one June morning, when she laid "thatblessed baby" in its mother's arms, Christie's first words were:

 

　　"Don't let me die: I must live for baby now," and gathered David'slittle daughter to her breast, as if the soft touch of the fumblinghands had healed every wound and brightened all the world.

 

　　"I told you so; God bless 'em both!" and Mrs. Wilkins retiredprecipitately to the hall, where she sat down upon the stairs andcried most comfortable tears; for her maternal heart was full of athanksgiving too deep for words.

 

　　A sweet, secluded time to Christie, as she brooded over her littletreasure and forgot there was a world outside. A fond and jealousmother, but a very happy one, for after the bitterest came thetenderest experience of her life. She felt its sacredness, itsbeauty, and its high responsibilities; accepted them prayerfully,and found unspeakable delight in fitting herself to bear themworthily, always remembering that she had a double duty to performtoward the fatherless little creature given to her care.

 

　　It is hardly necessary to mention the changes one small individualmade in that feminine household. The purring and clucking that wenton; the panics over a pin-prick; the consultations over a pellet ofchamomilla; the raptures at the dawn of a first smile; the solemnprophecies of future beauty, wit, and wisdom in the bud of a woman;the general adoration of the entire family at the wicker shrinewherein lay the idol, a mass of flannel and cambric with a bald headat one end, and a pair of microscopic blue socks at the other.

 

　　Mysterious little porringers sat unreproved upon the parlor fire,small garments aired at every window, lights burned at unholy hours,and three agitated nightcaps congregated at the faintest chirp ofthe restless bird in the maternal nest.

 

　　Of course Grandma grew young again, and produced nurseryreminiscences on every occasion; Aunt Letty trotted day and night togratify the imaginary wants of the idol, and Christie was soentirely absorbed that the whole South might have been swallowed upby an earthquake without causing her as much consternation as theappearance of a slight rash upon the baby.

 

　　No flower in David's garden throve like his little June rose, for nowind was allowed to visit her too roughly; and when rain fellwithout, she took her daily airing in the green-house, where fromher mother's arms she soon regarded the gay sight with suchsprightly satisfaction that she seemed a little flower herselfdancing on its stem.

 

　　She was named Ruth for grandma, but Christie always called her"Little Heart's-ease," or "Pansy," and those who smiled at first atthe mother's fancy, came in time to see that there was an unusualfitness in the name. All the bitterness seemed taken out ofChristie's sorrow by the soft magic of the child: there was so muchto live for now she spoke no more of dying; and, holding that littlehand in hers, it grew easier to go on along the way that led toDavid.

 

　　A prouder mother never lived; and, as baby waxed in beauty and instrength, Christie longed for all the world to see her. A sweet,peculiar, little face she had, sunny and fair; but, under the broadforehead where the bright hair fell as David's used to do, thereshone a pair of dark and solemn eyes, so large, so deep, and oftenso unchildlike, that her mother wondered where she got them. Evenwhen she smiled the shadow lingered in these eyes, and when she we............