Allegories of Life | Page 9

to enter.
"You have a friend out there: ask her in," said the woman.
Joy turned and motioned her sister to enter. She came in softly, and sat beside Joy, while the woman spoke of her family, at the desire of each of the sisters to know of her causes of happiness.
"Yes, they are all blessings in disguise," she said, "though I could not think thus when I laid my fair-eyed boy in the grave; nor, later, when my next child was born blind."
"Had you none other?" asked Joy.
"One other, and she died of a broken heart."
Sorrow sighed deeply, and would rather have heard no more; but Joy wished to hear the whole, and asked the woman to go on.
"Yes, she died heart-broken; and these two girls are hers. It was very hard that day to see the hand of God in the cloud when they brought the body of her husband home all mangled, and so torn that not a feature could be recognized; and then to see poor Mary, his wife, pine day by day until we laid her beside him."
"But the blessing was in it, mother: we have found it so. They have only gone to prepare the way, and we have much left us."
The words of the old man were true, and it was beautiful to see the face of his wife as it glowed with recognition.
At that moment the sisters threw back their veils. Such a radiant face was never seen in that cottage as the beaming countenance of Joy; while that of her sister was dark and sad to look upon.
"Oh, stay with us," exclaimed the girls to Joy, as the sisters rose to depart.
"Most gladly would I, but I have a work to perform in your village; and, beside, I cannot leave my sister."
"But she is so dark and sad, why not leave her to go alone?" said the youngest girl, who had never seen Sorrow nor heard of her mission to earth before.
Sorrow was standing in the door and heard her remark. She hoped the day would never come when she should have to carry woe to her young heart; but her life was so uncertain she knew not who would be the next whom she would have to envelop in clouds. She sighed, plucked a rose, and pressed it to her nostrils, as though it was the last sweetness she would ever inhale.
"How I pity her!" said the grandmother, her warm, blue eyes filling with tears, as she looked at the bowed form in the doorway.
"Ah, good woman, she needs it; for few recognize her mission to them. She is sent by our master to administer woes which contain heavenly truths, while I convey glad tidings. I shall never leave my sister save when our labors are divided."
Thus spoke Joy, while tears filled the eyes of all.
Then the kind woman went and plucked some roses and gave them to Sorrow, who was weeping.
"I did not half know myself," she said, addressing the sad form; "I thought I could see God's angels everywhere, but this time how have I failed! Forgive me," she said to Sorrow, "and when you are weary and need rest, come to our cottage."
Sorrow gave her a sad but heavenly smile, and the sisters departed to the next abode.
"Did you ever see them before?" asked the children of their grandparents after the sisters had gone.
"Often: they have been going round the world for ages," answered their grandparents.
"But Joy looks so young, grandpa."
"That's because she has naught to do with trouble. She belongs to the bright side. She carries good tidings and pleasure to all; while Sorrow, her sister, administers the woes."
"But Joy is good not to leave her sister."
"She cannot," said the grandparent.
"Cannot! Why?"
"Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand in hand,--pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike are coupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever."
"But I should like to have Joy stay with us," said Helen, the youngest, to her grandparent.
"We shall ever be glad to see her; but we must never treat her sister coldly or with indifference, as though she had no right to be among us; because, though in the external she is unlovely, within she is equally radiant with her sister,--not the same charm of brilliancy, but a softer, diviner radiance shines about her soul."
"Why, grandpa, you make me almost love her," said Marion, the eldest, while Helen looked thoughtful and earnest.
The seeds of truth were dropped which at some future time would bear fruit.
* * * * *
It was a large and elegant house at which the sisters stopped next. A beautiful lawn, hedged by hawthorne, sloped to the finely-graded street; while over its surface beds of brilliant flowers were blooming,