Chapter 2

"I was only wishing some one would smarten me up a bit," said the horse. "My left eye is in that box with the tin soldiers. My tail is tied to a stick in that cupboard where the tools are--a bit of glue would stick both in. And one stirrup is nailed to the table-drawer for a handle. It could be got off, and tied to my saddle-strap with a bit of string. My mane is gone for ever. Johnny put it on a mask for whiskers one Guy Fawkes' day, and Herbert threw it in the bonfire. I don't suppose any of the nails can be got out that Tom knocked into my sides; they are in too tight. Nor can the buttons and marbles be got out of my inside that Johnny put in through the hole in my neck. But I might be smartened up a little!"

"Oh, if that is all you want I dare say I can help you," said Basil, jumping up and running to the cupboard. "Here's your tail, anyway! and here's a bottle of liquid glue too. Now I'll look for your eye."

"You know," went on the old horse, "I heard the mother saying the other day that she would send me back to my old home if I were not so shabby."

Basil, who had found the missing eye, was now fixing it in its place with plenty of glue, which ran down and dropped off the horse's nose. Basil was sure he saw a tear drop from the other eye.

"Does it hurt?" he asked sympathetically.

"Oh, I don't mind that," said the horse. "It is like old times to be hurt by a little boy; besides, one must always suffer if one would look fine."

"Yes; nurse says something like that when I cry while she combs my hair," said Basil.

"Robbie didn't cry to have his hair combed," said the horse shortly. "He didn't even cry when the soap was in his eyes. By now he has grown into a brave man! When he fell off me and made his leg bleed he said it was nothing, and just got on me again. But he did cry when he parted from me."

"Well, he was a coward _once_, anyway."

"No, he wasn't," snorted the horse. "It isn't cowardly to cry because you are leaving some one you love."

"All the same, don't toss your head like that, or your eye will drop out again," cried Basil warningly. "But you may go on telling me about Robbie."

"I was his dearest friend," went on the horse. "He told me all about his troubles, and showed me all his new things; and he used to learn his lessons sitting on my back. When he had a piece of cake he used to push a bit in through the hole in my neck, and rock me to make it drop into my stomach."

"Oh! then the hole has been there a long time."

"Yes; Robbie made it to feed me through; those other boys only put buttons and marbles in, and old nails. Robbie always gave me a bit of cake with the biggest plum in it. When he was ill he asked for me, and the mother had me put by the bedside, and I watched him night and day. His little hand grew so thin and pale, and he used to slip it out from under the quilt to stroke me."

"There! your tail's in now," cried Basil. "So now I will see if I can get the stirrup off the drawer; then I'll sponge you a bit."

"If you could only make me look nice they would send me back for Robbie's boy, and I should see Robbie again before I die. You are a kind little boy, and Robbie will love you."

"Tell me some more. You look ever so much better already," said Basil, tugging away at the stirrup. "And I dare say when you get back to Robbie he will have you painted up, and then you will feel just like you used to feel."

"Yes," said the old horse; "he will have me done up like new, and he will tell his little boy to love me for his sake, and all my happy days will begin again. Often at night I have listened to the wind roaring in the chimney and have shivered with cold, and have thought how Robbie would have put a rug over me if he were here."

Just then the gong sounded for luncheon. "I must go now," said Basil, "but I will come up again and finish you."

* * * * * *

"Auntie," Basil began, when he was seated at the table, "I have been mending up the old rocking-horse; won't you send it to Uncle Robbie's boy?"

Basil was too wise to repeat all the old horse had told him, for he knew that grown-up people never understand that toys talk to the children.

"Yes, I think I will," auntie replied.

* * * * * *

The gas was lit in the entrance-hall of a big house in a country town. A little white-frocked child raced to the door to meet a tall, handsome man who had just entered.

"Papa! papa! the old wocking-horse is tum--it was youse when you was ickle boy; tum and see it."

The father perched his little son on his shoulder and mounted the stairs to the nursery, where the firelight danced on the walls.

The old rocking-horse was waiting, almost faint with joy; he was soon to see his beloved master, to feel his caress.

The father placed his son on the floor, and advanced to his old playmate.

"What an old scarecrow!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Whatever could your aunt have been thinking of to send it! We will despatch it to be chopped up for firewood, and buy you a new one."

So the old horse was carried off to the back yard.

But nobody knew that his heart was broken!

THE MESSAGE OF THE LILY

"Little flower, little flower," said the birdie, "why are you so silent and sad?"

"I am not sad, sweet sister," whispered the flower gently; "ah! no, but I have seen an angel. Yestere'en, as I slept, my birdie, being all aweary with gazing up into your bird-land home among the branches, and watching the merry sunlight come and go, and strike shafts of golden flame among the green, I dreamt of heaven and of the holy angels; and lo! when I awoke, one there was who stood beside me, beautiful even as is the sunlight or the dawn, and her voice, when she spoke, was low and tender, like the restful ripple of the rain. And to the flowers, as you know, my birdie, the hearts of the pure lie ever open and unsealed, and I saw into her heart, that the thought of it was white and spotless as a lily, and I saw that her thought was a prayer, and that she said, 'Dear Lord, I thank Thee for making this little flower so fair and lovely, and I ask Thee that I may be, in heart, as pure and holy as she!'"

MORNING

"Wake up, little flower, and hear what I have to tell you," said the bird gaily, "for I, too, have seen your angel--and angel is she none, but the fairest maiden from the town beyond the hillside."

And to her the flower made low reply:

"Can any one as fair as she be found out of heaven? And, moreover, I looked into her heart, and saw that the thought of it was white, and pure as the morning."

"It is only the flowers that can see into hearts," said the bird gravely; "but this I know, that your angel is of earth, not heaven." So saying, she spread her silken wings and flew away.

But the flower said, "Is there, in all heaven, anything more fair than a maiden?"

NOON

"I would not pluck you to please my idle fancies, dear blossom," said the maiden gently, "for I cannot bear to see the wild flowers wither and fade! But I know of one who lies ill and dying, to whom the scent and sight of a wild flower may bring some passing moment of peace. Tell me, then, you who are so pure and lovely, will not you spare a space of your slender life, that so you may make happy the heart of a sorrowing one?"

Then the flower said, "Dear maiden, I will"; but inasmuch as it spake not the maiden's language, it breathed forth all its perfume, like sweet music, in consent. And, though the maiden knew not that the flower had heard her words, and had answered her, yet at heart she was strangely though sweetly saddened. "Even in heaven I should long for the earth-flowers!" she said, as she drank in the fragrance. "Is there anything, in all heaven, more fair than a flower?"

* * * * * *

Then the maiden plucked the flower, and bore it away from the birds and the sunshine, away from the wind and the trees, to a squalid court in a great city, where a dying woman lay, haggard and wan, upon a bed. And as the flower looked into the soul of the dying woman, its fair leaves seemed to wither and wilt, as though some foul breath had come forth upon it, for therein it could see nothing because of the blackness and the sin. And at first the flower shrank into itself, and would fain have gathered up its perfume, but it thought of the prayer in the maiden's heart, and, opening out its snowy petals to their full, it breathed forth a fragrance which filled the foul room as with music and light. And as the dying woman looked upon the flower, she thought of the white lilies which she had gathered and placed upon her dead mother's bosom--many, ah! so many weary years ago; and she thought of the days when she too was pure and beautiful, and had knelt at that mother's knee, to whisper, after her, the hallowed words to the Father in heaven.

Then the flower saw that in the woman's heart there was some strange and sudden commotion, as though the light were seeking to win in its way, and to drive out the darkness and sin.

And, folding her wasted hands together, the dying woman turned to the light, and said, "Dear Lord Jesus, make me--even me--white and pure as this lily, and wash away all my sins in Thy precious blood. Amen."

And when the dawn came, the flower lay withered and drooping; but, ere it died, it saw into the woman's heart that it was white and pure as the snow-flake.

And there passed from that room a shining angel, _and lo! on her bosom lay a little flower_.

WATER-LILY'S MISSION

"Come away, beautiful flower," said the kingfisher; "do not waste your beauty in this melancholy mere; float away down the gleaming river where tall bulrushes grow and where you shall find companions."

But the water-lily said, "No, I cannot go, for up in yonder tower is a prisoner, and I cheer his lonely days. He watches me and smiles, and forgets that he is a captive. I cannot leave one so unhappy."

"As you like," said the kingfisher, "but you would not catch me spending my life under those barren walls," and away flew the kingfisher.

A swallow came and wheeled round and round the tower. "Swallow," called the water-lily, "come to me." And the swallow came twittering down.

"I am in a great hurry," he said; "what do you want?"

"Bite through my stem, swallow, and carry me up to the grating in the tower, and place me on that window-sill."

"But you will die--and you are so beautiful," said the swallow, looking regretfully at the lily.

"Ah, some deaths are better than living," said the water-lily.

So the swallow plucked the water-lily and carried her up to the prisoner's window. A thin hand passed through the bars and took the flower. The captive pressed her passionately to his lips, and his tears fell fast on the waxen petals. As the tears fell the water-lily revived.

"How beautiful you are," said the captive, and he took his tin mug of water from a shelf and tenderly placed her in it so she would not die.

Just then a jailer entered, "Ho, ho!" he said, "how did you come by that; it will just do for my button-hole." And he seized the water-lily and placed it in his coat.

The poor prisoner fell upon his knees and begged hard that the flower might be left to him. "Let me have a few days' joy," he pleaded. "The flower will soon die, and you are free, and can gather the flowers when you will."

But the rough jailer only laughed, and departed to his own pleasant room, leaving the captive in tears.

"Look here," said the jailer to his little daughter, "there is a flower I have just taken away from the prisoner in the tower. I don't know how he got it, but he cried like a baby when I took it away."

"Poor prisoner!" said the little girl, with tears in her own eyes.

"Nay, my little maid, do not weep," said the jailer, taking the child in his arms.

But the little one hid her face against her father's breast and sobbed.

"See, my Lily, I will take his flower back to him, only do not cry so," said the jailer.

"Father, may I take it to him?" said the little girl, raising her tear-stained face to her father's, and gazing at him eagerly.

"Won't it do if I take it?" asked the jailer.

"Oh, _please_ let me take it," said the child.

The rough jailer had such tenderness for his child that it was difficult for him to refuse her anything. So it was that when the prisoner lifted his weary head as he heard his door open, he beheld a beautiful child with blue eyes and yellow hair, and in her hand stretched out to him was the water-lily.

"Oh, but it is an angel!" cried the prisoner, a smile lighting his haggard face. "An angel from heaven; I must be going to die."

"No, poor man, it's little Lily," said the child, and she slid a round arm about his neck. "I am so sorry for you!"

The prisoner burst into passionate weeping, and kissed the small hand that lay upon his shoulder.

The jailer blew his nose like a trumpet.

"You may be called anything," said the prisoner, "but you are surely an angel."

From this time Lily came to see her prisoner every day, and he grew almost gay.

In the meantime the water-lily drooped and died, but she was happy, for she had fulfilled her mission.

The prisoner took the dead flower and laid it on his heart. "Poor little dead flower," he said, "it was you who brought me my little comforter."

As he said these words he fancied he felt the dead flower move; but it might have been the beating of his own heart.