LITTLE ALICE’S PALACE; or, THE SUNNY HEART.

LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

1872.

p. 5CHAPTER I.

The rain was pattering, pattering steadily upon the roof of a little brown cottage that stood alone by the country roadside.

There had been a long and dreary winter, and now the bright spring was coming, with its buds and leaves and flowers, to gladden the earth, that had all the time seemed to be dead.

As the shower came down, the little green blades of grass sprang up to catch the drops; and they seemed p. 6almost to laugh and sing, so full of joy were they when they could lift their heads from the dust.

It was so much sweeter to be out once more from their prison-house and to exult with all God’s fair creation; so they bathed themselves in the falling shower, and made themselves fresh and clean; and nobody would ever have believed that they came out from their dark beds in the earth.

Little Alice looked out of the windows of the brown cottage, and saw them nodding gaily to her as they were taking their bath; and so she smiled back again, and talked to them from her perch in the window-seat as if they were brothers and sisters, with eyes and ears to see and hear, and hearts to return her love. Indeed, there was no one else to whom she could talk the livelong day. No father, for he was dead; no living p. 7brothers and sisters; no mother at home, for they were very poor, and her mother must be gone at early dawn to labour for their food and clothing and shelter;—and so Alice had to make companions of the blades of grass that nodded at her through the drops.

“Oh, you beauties!” said she gladly; “and I know who made you, too, and what a great, good God he is to send you here—bright little creatures that you are. How pleasant it will be down by the brook-side when the sun comes out, and you and I and the blue violets and the dandelions have our visiting-time together! Never a little girl had such joy as I have!” And Alice put her face close to the pane, and looked up into the sky to thank her kind heavenly Father for sending her such blessings. It seemed as if she could see him bending p. 8graciously down towards her, as her Sunday-school teacher had often represented him to her; and then she thought of Him who was upon the earth, and who took up little children in his arms and blessed them; and she put out her hands towards the heavens, saying earnestly, “Me, too, dear Saviour: bless me too!”

So absorbed was she that she didn’t hear anybody enter the room until a timid voice said,—

“Who were you speaking to, Alice?”

There was such a woful figure by the door as she turned her head—no bonnet, no shoes, and a tattered frock, all draggled with dirt and rain, and the long, uncombed locks straggling about the child’s shoulders, and such a blue, pinched look in the thin face!

“Oh, it’s you, Maddie, is it?” said Alice, jumping from the window and p. 9taking the hand of the new-comer. “But it was a pity to get so wet. I’m glad you’ve come. We’ll keep house together till it clears away, and then maybe we’ll have a nice walk. First we must dry your clothes, though.” And she put some sticks in the fireplace, and putting a match to them, stationed Maddie before the blaze, while she held the skirt out to dry.

“Isn’t it pleasant here?” asked Alice, with a beaming smile.

Maddie looked around, with a half shrug, upon the cheerless room, with its bit of a table and the one chair and the low, curtainless window, and then her eyes fell upon the scantily-clad little girl by her side; and then she shivered, as the dampness of her clothes sent a creeping chill through her frame; but she didn’t say it was pleasant.

“Aren’t you afraid to stay here so p. 10much alone, Alice?” she asked, giving another glance about the room.

“But I never stay alone, Maddie!” answered the dear child. “I have plenty of company—‘Tabby,’ and the flies, and now and then a spider, and everything that goes by the door, and the clouds and the sunshine and the leaves and the—oh dear! so many things, Maddie, that I can’t begin to tell you.” And she stopped short for want of breath.

“And somebody you were talking to. Who was that?” asked Maddie.

“Ah, yes, best of all! Don’t you know, Maddie?” said Alice, sinking her voice to a whisper, and gazing earnestly at her young companion. “Miss Mason told me how He is everywhere, and sees and hears us, and that he loves us better than our mother or father can do, and watches over us and keeps us from all harm. p. 11If you go to the school with me you’ll learn all about it, Maddie dear. No, no; I’m never alone though mother is gone all the long day.”

“Do you see Him, Alice?” asked Maddie earnestly.

“Not as I see you, Maddie,” returned her companion with reverence; “but when I look up into the sky, and sometimes when I sit here by myself and speak things that I have learned from my Bible, I seem to feel some strange brightness all above and around me; and it’s so real to me that it’s just like seeing with these eyes. Miss Mason says ‘it’s my soul that sees.’ Whatever it is, it’s very beautiful, Maddie.” And Alice clasped her hands in a sort of ecstasy, and drew near to the window to look up once more into the heavens, whither her eyes and her heart so continually turned.

p. 12CHAPTER II.

The shower did not last long, and the warm sun melted the diamonds from the grass, so that it was soon fit for the little girls to go out into the freshness and enjoy the pleasant air.

“Don’t you think this a pretty cottage?” asked Alice, as they stepped outside and stood looking upon her home. “See the moss all over the shingles; how velvety it is! Tabby goes up there to sleep on the soft cushion in the sun. And here’s where I put my convolvuluses, and they climb up and run all over the window and make such a nice curtain, with the pink and blue and white and purple mixed with the green; and they reach up to the very chimney, Maddie, and hug it round, and then trail down upon the roof. Oh, I think it’s elegant! And here’s my p. 13flower-bed, right under the window, where mother can smell the blossoms as we sit sewing when she has a day at home. We take real comfort here, mother and I, Maddie.” And so the little blithesome child prattled about her humble home, while her companion looked in astonishment upon her, wondering why it was that Alice always seemed so happy, while she was so miserable.

“We’ll go down by the brook-side now,” said Alice. “There’s my grand palace. Such hangings! all blue and gold and crimson; and carpets that your feet sink into; and a great mirror, such as the richest man couldn’t buy. Don’t you know what I mean, Maddie?” And Alice laughed gleefully as they reached the brook-side, and pointed to the heavens above, so brilliant in the sunny radiance, and down to the green and flowery turf p. 14beneath their feet, and to the clear stream that reflected all things, like the purest glass. And she said, “Now, don’t you like my palace, Maddie?”

“Yes, it’s very pretty here,” said Maddie; but she didn’t seem to feel about it as Alice did, who was in such good spirits that she could keep neither her feet nor her tongue still, but frisked about the green like a young deer, and chattered like a magpie, only in far sweeter tones.

“This is my bower,” said she, lifting up the drooping branches of a willow and shutting herself and Maddie within. “Here I come for a nap when I am tired of play; and the leaves rustle in the wind, making a pleasant sound, and the birds sit on the boughs and sing me asleep, and I dream always happy dreams. When awake, I think about the pure river that my Bible p. 15speaks of, and the tree of life that is on either side, and the beautiful light that isn’t like the sun, nor the moon, nor the blaze of a candle, but comes from the face of God, and is never hidden from us to leave us in darkness.”

Maddie sat down upon a large stone that Alice called her throne, and looked eagerly up at her companion for more; for Alice’s words seemed to her like some beautiful story out of a book.

“Did you ever go into any great house, Maddie?” asked Alice.

“No, never,” said Maddie. “I passed by Mrs. Cowper’s one day, and looked in at the open door when somebody was coming out, but I couldn’t see much.”

“That’s just where I went with mother,” said Alice; “and little Mary took me into a high room, the walls p. 16all velvet and satin and gold, so that my eyes ached for looking; and there were such heaps of pretty things on the tables and all about the place; but it didn’t make me feel glad as I do when I get out here in my grand palace with these living, breathing things around me. O Maddie, there isn’t anything on earth so beautiful as what God has made!”

“Do you stay out here always?” asked Maddie.

“Oh no,” said Alice; “that would be idle. When mother has work I stay at home to help her. I’ve learned to sew nicely now, and can save mother many a stitch. To-day’s my holiday, and I can play with you as long as you please. I’ve brought some dinner, and we’ll set a table in my dining-hall.” And she took from her pocket a little parcel, and led Maddie from the bower to a hollow p. 17near the brook, where was a flat rock, and there she spread her frugal fare.

There were two pieces of homemade bread and a small slice of cold bacon, which she put upon leaves in the middle of the rocky table; and gathering some violets, she placed them in bunches here and there, till the table was sweet with their delicious fragrance.

Just as the children were about to help themselves to the food, there came some little tired feet over the grass; and a more forlorn figure than Maddie’s stood a few yards off, looking shyly, but wistfully, at them.

“Now, Lolly, you may just run home again as quick as you can,” said Maddie sharply. “We haven’t enough dinner for Alice and me. Go, now!” And she went towards her and gave her a slight push, at which the p. 18child cried, but without turning away or making a step towards home.

“Is that your sister?” asked Alice, going up to Maddie.

“Yes; she’s always running after me,” returned Maddie, with an ill-natured frown.

“Poor little thing!” said Alice. “I wish my sister Nellie had lived. I shouldn’t be cross to her, I know. Come here, Lolly: you shall have some of my dinner.” And she led the little grateful child to the wild table, that seemed to her like a fairy scene, with the fresh leaf-plates, and the pure sweet flowers breathing so delightfully.

“Mother makes capital bread—doesn’t she, Maddie?” said Alice, as she ate her small portion with evident relish, while she shared the remnant with her guests.

“Now, Maddie,” said she, as they finished the repast, “you clear the p. 19table and wash the dishes, and Lolly and I’ll go to my mirror to make ourselves nice to sit down, and then I’ll tell you the story my teacher told me the other day, if you would like to hear it.”

Maddie gladly agreed to this; and Lolly gave herself up to the gentle hands of her new friend, who took her to the brook and washed her face until the dirt all vanished and her cheeks were like two red roses. Then she took her pocket-comb, and, dipping it into the water, made the child’s hair so smooth that Lolly didn’t know herself when she looked into the brook, and asked, “What little girl it was with such bright eyes and fresh rosy cheeks?” And when Alice told her that it was herself, she laughed with delight, and said “she would come every day to dress herself by Alice’s mirror if she could look so nice.” p. 20And then Alice and Maddie and Lolly went to the bower for the story.

Alice sat down on the grassy bank, and Lolly laid her head upon her friend’s lap, while Maddie crowded close to her to listen.

“I don’t know that I can remember it very well,” said Alice; “but I’ll tell it as nearly as I can like Miss Mason. She called it ‘The Little Exiled Princess,’ and this is it.”

CHAPTER III.

Once upon a time there was a little girl no bigger than Lolly here, sitting in the dirt by the roadside, crying.

Her frock was all ragged and soiled, and the tears had run over the dust upon her face, making it streaked, and disfiguring it sadly.

Altogether, she was a very miserable p. 21little object, when a lady, walking along the road, suddenly came upon her, and stopped to see what was the matter.

As the lady gazed upon the strange, ragged little creature, there came tears into her eyes, and she said softly, as if speaking to herself,—

“Who would think that this is the daughter of a great King?”

The child, seeing a beautiful lady before her, jumped from the ground, and, with shame, began to shake herself from the dirt that clung to her garments; but the stranger, taking no notice of her untidy condition, clasped the child’s fingers in her white hand, and told her to lead her to her home.

It was a brown cottage, very like mine, only that one was hung with cobwebs, and the dust was an inch thick upon the floor, and the window p. 22was so begrimmed that scarcely any light came through.

“Ugh!” said the lady, as she stood upon the threshold and looked in.

“Bring me a broom!” And she brushed away the hanging webs, and made the floor neat and clean, and taught the child to wash the window, until the bright sun came in and played about the floor and upon the walls; and then she made the little girl wash her face and hands, and put on a better frock, that she found in the chest.

“Now, my little princess,” said she, “come outside for a while, in the fresh air, and I will talk to you.”

“Why do you call me ‘little princess’?” asked the child, as they sat down upon the cottage-step, while the birds twittered about them and the sweet breath of summer touched their cheeks.

“Because you are the daughter of p. 23a great King,” said the lady, gently stroking her soft, brown hair, that she had found so tangled and shaggy, but had made so nice and smooth.

“My father was a poor man, and he lies in the graveyard,” said the little girl, as she looked wonderingly at her friend.

“Yes; but I mean your heavenly Father,” said the lady—“he whom we call God. Surely you have heard of him, my dear child!”

The little girl said that she had heard of him; but, from what she could learn, the lady knew that she looked upon him as one that is afar off; and she wished to teach her how very near he is continually, even round about her bed and about her path, and spying out all her ways.

“Do you live here all alone, dear child?” asked she kindly.

Her words were so sweet and gentle p. 24that they sounded like the murmur of the brook near the little child’s home.

“All day long alone, while mother is away at her work,” answered the child, with her eyes full of sad tears.

“And what do you do with the weary hours? Do they not seem very dull and dreary to you?” asked the lady.

“Ah, yes,” said the little one. “I have nobody to play with or talk to; and I’m glad when the night comes and I can creep into bed and shut my eyes and forget everything.”

“What if you had some kind friend ever near, to smile on you and bless you,—somebody to whom you could tell all your little sorrows as you are now doing to me?” said the lady. “Would that be pleasant?”

“Oh yes, indeed!” returned the child. “Will you stay?” for she had felt it very sweet to be sitting there p. 25with the kind lady’s words falling like music upon her ear, and her heart was lighter and happier than it had been in all her life.

“I cannot always be with you,” said the lady. “But there is One who ‘will never leave you.’ How beautiful he has made everything about you!” And she looked upon the green earth, with the peeping flowers, and upon the delicate shrubs that skirted the roadside, and the wild-roses and creeping plants along the hedges, and then she looked up into the blue heavens, with such an expression of love that the child gazed at her with rapture.

“Such a good God!” said the lady, still looking up with the bright light upon her face. “And such a wondrously beautiful world, where we may walk joyously, with his love in our hearts as well as all about our p. 26path; and yet we sit in the dust weeping, and forget that he is our Father, and that he is watching for us to turn towards him—poor, wandering, wayward children that we are!”

Though the lady spoke as if to herself, the child knew that she was thinking of her; for she had not quite put away the shame of her first appearance; and she touched her white hand timidly with her brown finger, and said, really in earnest, “I won’t sit in the dirt again.”

“That’s a dear child,” said her friend. “You must never again forget that, although you are poor, and must live in this world for a while, you are in truth a little exiled princess, and your glorious home is with the great King, your Father, in the skies; and it does not become the daughter of so great a King to put herself on a level with p. 27the beasts; but you must lift yourself up more and more towards heaven.”

The little girl looked at her, and straightened her figure to its greatest possible height.

“Not to carry yourself proudly, as the daughter of an earthly king might do,” continued the lady, “but be above doing a mean or low thing, and try to be heavenly and pure, like your blessed Lord and Father; and then he will lift you up to his beautiful, high throne.”

The child’s head drooped again, and she looked despondingly at her teacher, as if she did not really know what to do.

“I’m going now,” said the lady; “but I shall come once a week to see how you get on. I shall not expect the cobwebs to gather any more in the cottage, nor the dust to collect upon the floor, nor to shut out the sun from the window, nor the little p. 28princess’s face to be dirty and ugly; because that would offend the pure and holy God, who made this world fresh and clean and beautiful, and expects his children to keep it so. Do you think you will remember ‘Our Father’?”

“‘Who art in heaven,’” said the child, calling to mind the prayer taught her some time in her life, but long since almost forgotten.

“Not in heaven only, dear child,” said the lady. “I want you to think of him as close beside you always, wherever you go. Can you read?”

“A little.”

The lady opened a pocket-Bible, and drawing the little girl closer to her, said, “Now, say after me,—

“‘Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. p. 29If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.’

“You see, my dear child,” said she, as she reverently closed the book, “we cannot get away from God if we would, and surely we would not try to hide ourselves from so kind a Friend and Father if we could. Only when we are doing something that we are ashamed of do we shun the face of one who loves us; and if we try to flee from the eye of God we may be sure we are guilty of some wickedness. How much sweeter is it to do p. 30what we know will please him, and look freely up into his face, as a good child delights to meet his earthly parent’s smile!”

The lady rose to go, and the child looked wistfully at her and then at the little Bible.