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“Trust any child to find that out；” said St。 Clare； “there’s no keeping it from them。 But I believe that all the trying in the world to benefit a child； and all the substantial favors you can do them； will never excite one emotion of gratitude； while that feeling of repugnance remains in the heart；—it’s a queer kind of a fact；—but so it is。”
“I don’t know how I can help it；” said Miss Ophelia； “they are disagreeable to me；—this child in particular；—how can I help feeling so？”
“Eva does； it seems。”
“Well； she’s so loving！ After all； though； she’s no more than Christ…like；” said Miss Ophelia； “I wish I were like her。 She might teach me a lesson。”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a little child had been used to instruct an old disciple； if it were so；” said St。 Clare。
Chapter 26
Death
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb；
In life’s early morning； hath hid from our eyes。1
Eva’s bed…room was a spacious apartment； which； like all the other robins in the house； opened on to the broad verandah。 The room communicated； on one side； with her father and mother’s apartment； on the other； with that appropriated to Miss Ophelia。 St。 Clare had gratified his own eye and taste； in furnishing this room in a style that had a peculiar keeping with the character of her for whom it was intended。 The windows were hung with curtains of rose…colored and white muslin； the floor was spread with a matting which had been ordered in Paris； to a pattern of his own device； having round it a border of rose…buds and leaves； and a centre…piece with full…flown roses。 The bedstead； chairs； and lounges； were of bamboo； wrought in peculiarly graceful and fanciful patterns。 Over the head of the bed was an alabaster bracket； on which a beautiful sculptured angel stood； with drooping wings； holding out a crown of myrtle…leaves。 From this depended； over the bed； light curtains of rose…colored gauze； striped with silver； supplying that protection from mosquitos which is an indispensable addition to all sleeping acomommodation in that climate。 The graceful bamboo lounges were amply supplied with cushions of rose…colored damask； while over them； depending from the hands of sculptured figures； were gauze curtains similar to those of the bed。 A light； fanciful bamboo table stood in the middle of the room； where a Parian vase； wrought in the shape of a white lily； with its buds； stood； ever filled with flowers。 On this table lay Eva’s books and little trinkets； with an elegantly wrought alabaster writing…stand； which her father had supplied to her when he saw her trying to improve herself in writing。 There was a fireplace in the room； and on the marble mantle above stood a beautifully wrought statuette of Jesus receiving little children； and on either side marble vases； for which it was Tom’s pride and delight to offer bouquets every morning。 Two or three exquisite paintings of children； in various attitudes； embellished the wall。 In short； the eye could turn nowhere without meeting images of childhood； of beauty； and of peace。 Those little eyes never opened； in the morning light； without falling on something which suggested to the heart soothing and beautiful thoughts。
The deceitful strength which had buoyed Eva up for a little while was fast passing away； seldom and more seldom her light footstep was heard in the verandah； and oftener and oftener she was found reclined on a little lounge by the open window； her large； deep eyes fixed on the rising and falling waters of the lake。
It was towards the middle of the afternoon； as she was so reclining；—her Bible half open； her little transparent fingers lying listlessly between the leaves；—suddenly she heard her mother’s voice； in sharp tones； in the verandah。
“What now； you baggage！—what new piece of mischief！ You’ve been picking the flowers； hey？” and Eva heard the sound of a smart slap。
“Law； Missis！ they ’s for Miss Eva；” she heard a voice say； which she knew belonged to Topsy。
“Miss Eva！ A pretty excuse！—you suppose she wants your flowers； you good…for…nothing nigger！ Get along off with you！”
In a moment； Eva was off from her lounge； and in the verandah。
“O； don’t； mother！ I should like the flowers； do give them to me； I want them！”
“Why； Eva； your room is full now。”
“I can’t have too many；” said Eva。 “Topsy； do bring them here。”
Topsy； who had stood sullenly； holding down her head； now came up and offered her flowers。 She did it with a look of hesitation and bashfulness； quite unlike the eldrich boldness and brightness which was usual with her。
“It’s a beautiful bouquet！” said Eva； looking at it。
It was rather a singular one；—a brilliant scarlet geranium； and one single white japonica； with its glossy leaves。 It was tied up with an evident eye to the contrast of color； and the arrangement of every leaf had carefully been studied。
Topsy looked pleased； as Eva said；—“Topsy； you arrange flowers very prettily。 Here；” she said； “is this vase I haven’t any flowers for。 I wish you’d arrange something every day for it。”
“Well； that’s odd！” said Marie。 “What in the world do you want that for？”
“Never mind； mamma； you’d as lief as not Topsy should do it；—had you not？”
“Of course； anything you please； dear！ Topsy； you hear your young mistress；—see that you mind。”
Topsy made a short courtesy； and looked down； and； as she turned away； Eva saw a tear roll down her dark cheek。
“You see； mamma； I knew poor Topsy wanted to do something for me；” said Eva to her mother。
“O； nonsense！ it’s only because she likes to do mischief。 She knows she mustn’t pick flowers；—so she does it； that’s all there is to it。 But； if you fancy to have her pluck them； so be it。”
“Mamma； I think Topsy is different from what she used to be； she’s trying to be a good girl。”
“She’ll have to try a good while before she gets to be good；” said Marie； with a careless laugh。
“Well； you know； mamma； poor Topsy！ everything has always been against her。”
“Not since she’s been here； I’m sure。 If she hasn’t been talked to； and preached to； and every earthly thing done that anybody could do；—and she’s just so ugly； and always will be； you can’t make anything of the creature！”
“But； mamma； it’s so different to be brought up as I’ve been； with so many friends； so many things to make me good and happy； and to be brought up as she’s been； all the time； till she came here！”
“Most likely；” said Marie； yawning；—“dear me； how hot it is！”
“Mamma； you believe； don’t you； that Topsy could become an angel； as well as any of us； if she were a Christian？”
“Topsy！ what a ridiculous idea！ Nobody but you would ever think of it。 I suppose she could； though。”
“But； mamma； isn’t God her father； as much as ours？ Isn’t Jesus her Saviour？”
“Well； that may be。 I suppose God made everybody；” said Marie。 “Where is my smelling…bottle？”
“It’s such a pity；—oh！ such a pity！” said Eva； looking out on the distant lake； and speaking half to herself。
“What’s a pity？” said Marie。
“Why； that any one； who could be a bright angel； and live with angels； should go all down； down down； and nobody help them！—oh dear！”
“Well； we can’t help it； it’s no use worrying； Eva！ I don’t know what’s to be done； we ought to be thankful for our own advantages。”
“I hardly can be；” said Eva； “I’m so sorry to think of poor folks that haven’t any。”
That’s odd enough；” said Marie；—“I’m sure my religion makes me thankful for my advantages。”
“Mamma；” said Eva； “I want to have some of my hair cut off；—a good deal of it。”
“What for？” said Marie。
“Mamma； I want to give some away to my friends； while I am able to give it to them myself。 Won’t you ask aunty to come and cut it for me？”
Marie raised her voice； and called Miss Ophelia； from the other room。
The child half rose from her pillow as she came in； and； shaking down her long golden…brown curls； said； rather playfully； “Come aunty； shear the sheep！”
“What’s that？” said St。 Clare； who just then entered with some fruit he had been out to get for her。
“Papa； I just want aunty to cut off some of my hair；—there’s too much of it； and it makes my head hot。 Besides； I want to give some of it away。”
Miss Ophelia came； with her scissors。
“Take care；—don’t spoil the looks of it！” said her father； “cut underneath； where it won’t show。 Eva’s curls are my pride。”
“O； papa！” said Eva； sadly。
“Yes； and I want them kept handsome against the time I take you up to your uncle’s plantation； to see Cousin Henrique；” said St。 Clare； in a gay tone。
“I shall never go there； papa；—I am going to a better country。 O； do believe me！ Don’t you see； papa； that I get weaker； every day？”
“Why do you insist that I shall believe such a cruel thing； Eva？” said her father。
“Only because it is true； papa： and； if you will believe it now； perhaps you will get to feel about it as I do。”
St。 Clare closed his lips； and stood gloomily eying the long； beautiful curls； which； as they were separated from the child’s head； were laid； one by one； in her lap。 She raised them up； looked earnestly at them； twined them around her thin fingers； and looked from time to time； anxiously at her father。
“It’s just what I’ve been foreboding！” said Marie； “it’s just what has been preying on my health； from day to day； bringing me downward to the grave； though nobody regards it。 I have seen this； long。 St。 Clare； you will see； after a while； that I was right。”
“Which will afford you great consolation； no doubt！” said St。 Clare； in a dry； bitter tone。
Marie lay back on a lounge； and covered her face with her cambric handkerchief。
Eva’s clear blue eye looked earnestly from one to the other。 It was the calm； comprehending gaze of a soul half loosed from its earthly bonds； it was evident she saw； felt； and appreciated； the difference between the two。
She beckoned with her hand to her father。 He came and sat down by her。
“Papa； my strength fades away every day； and I know I must go。 There are some things I want to say and do；—that I ought to do； and you are so unwilling to have me speak a word on this subject。 But it must come； there’s no putting it off。 Do be willing I should speak now！”
“My child； I am willing！” said St。 Clare； covering his eyes with one hand； and holding up Eva’s hand with the other。
“Then； I want to see all our people together。 I have some things I must say to them；” said Eva。
“Well；” said St。 Clare； in a tone of dry endurance。
Miss Ophelia despatched a messenger； and soon the whole of the servants were convened in the room。
Eva lay back on her pillows； her hair hanging loosely about her face； her crimson cheeks contrasting painfully with the intense whiteness of her complexion and the thin contour of her limbs and features； and her large； soul…like eyes fixed earnestly on every one。
The servants were struck with a sudden emotion。 The spiritual face； the long locks of hair cut off and lying by her； her father’s averted face； and Marie’s sobs； struck at once upon the feelings of a sensitive and impressible race； and； as they came in； they looked one on another； sighed； and shook their heads。 There was a deep silence； like that of a funeral。
Eva raised herself； and looked long and earnestly round at every one。 All looked sad and apprehensive。 Many of the women hid their faces in their aprons。
“I sent for you all； my dear friends；” said Eva； “because I love you。 I love you all； and I have something to say to you； which I want you always to remember。 。 。 。 I am going to leave you。 In a few more weeks you will see me no more—”
Here the child was interrupted by bursts of groans； sobs； and lamentations； which broke from all present； and in which her slender voice was lost entirely。 She waited a moment； and then； speaking in a tone that checked the sobs of all； she said；
“If you love me； you must not interrupt me so。 Listen to what I say。 I want to speak to you about your souls。 。 。 。 Many of you； I am afraid； are very careless。 You are thinking only about this world。 I want you to remember that there is a beautiful world； where Jesus is。 I am going there； and you can go there。 It is for you； as much as me。 But； if you want to go there； you must not live idle； careless； thoughtless lives。 You must be Christians。 You must remember that each one of you can become angels； and be angels forever。 。 。 。 If you want to be Christians； Jesus will help you。 You must pray to him； you must read—”
The child checked herself； looked piteously at them； and said； sorrowfully；
“O dear！ you can’t read—poor souls！” and she hid her face in the pillow and sobbed； while many a smothered sob from those she was addressing； who were kneeling on the floor； aroused her。
“Never mind；” she said； raising her face and smiling brightly through her tears； “I have prayed for you； and I know Jesus will help you； even if you can’t read。 Try all to do the best you can； pray every day； ask Him to help you； and get the Bible read to you whenever you can； and I think I shall see you all in heaven。”
“Amen；” was the murmured response from the lips of Tom and Mammy； and some of the elder ones； who belonged to the Methodist church。 The younger and more thoughtless ones； for the time completely overcom