Beulah | Page 8

breath first. Which way are we going?"
"To the piney woods yonder," cried Lilly, clapping her hands in
childish glee; "won't we have fun, rolling and sliding on the straw?"
The two little ones walked on in advance.
The path along which their feet pattered so carelessly led to a hollow or
ravine, and the ground on the opposite side rose into small hillocks,
thickly wooded with pines. Beulah sat down upon a mound of moss
and leaves; while Claudia and Lillian, throwing off their hoods,
commenced the glorious game of sliding. The pine straw presented an
almost glassy surface, and, starting from the top of a hillock, they slid
down, often stumbling and rolling together to the bottom. Many a peal
of laughter rang out, and echoed far back in the forest, and two
blackbirds could not have kept up a more continuous chatter. Apart
from all this sat Beulah; she had remembered the matron's words, and
stopped just at the verge of the woods, whence she could see the white
palings of the asylum. Above her the winter breeze moaned and roared
in the pine tops; it was the sad but dearly loved forest music that she so
often stole out to listen to. Every breath which sighed through the
emerald boughs seemed to sweep a sympathetic chord in her soul, and
she raised her arms toward the trees as though she longed to clasp the
mighty musical box of nature to her heart. The far-off blue of a
cloudless sky looked in upon her, like a watchful guardian; the sunlight
fell slantingly, now mellowing the brown leaves and knotted trunks,
and now seeming to shun the darker spots and recesses where shadows
lurked. For a time the girl forgot all but the quiet and majestic beauty of
the scene. She loved nature as only those can whose sources of pleasure
have been sadly curtailed, and her heart went out, so to speak, after
birds, and trees, and flowers, sunshine and stars, and the voices of
sweeping winds. An open volume lay on her lap; it was Longfellow's
Poems, the book Eugene had sent her, and leaves were turned down at
"Excelsior" and the "Psalm of Life." The changing countenance
indexed very accurately the emotions which were excited by this
communion with Nature. There was an uplifted look, a brave, glad,
hopeful light in the gray eyes, generally so troubled in their expression.
A sacred song rose on the evening air, a solemn but beautiful hymn.

She sang the words of the great strength-giving poet, the "Psalm of
Life":
"Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream; For the
soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem."
It was wonderful what power and sweetness there was in her voice;
burst after burst of rich melody fell from her trembling lips. Her soul
echoed the sentiments of the immortal bard, and she repeated again and
again the fifth verse:
"In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life; Be not like
dumb, driven cattle, Be a hero in the strife."
Intuitively she seemed to feel that an hour of great trial was at hand,
and this was a girding for the combat. With the shield of a warm,
hopeful heart, and the sword of a strong, unfaltering will, she awaited
the shock; but as she concluded her song the head bowed itself upon
her arms, the shadow of the unknown, lowering future had fallen upon
her face, and only the Great Shepherd knew what passed the pale lips
of the young orphan. She was startled by the sharp bark of a dog, and,
looking up, saw a gentleman leaning against a neighboring tree, and
regarding her very earnestly. He came forward as she perceived him,
and said with a pleasant smile:
"You need not be afraid of my dog. Like his master, he would not
disturb you till you finished your song. Down, Carlo; be quiet, sir. My
little friend, tell me who taught you to sing."
She had hastily risen, and a slight glow tinged her cheek at his question.
Though naturally reserved and timid, there was a self- possession about
her unusual in children of her age, and she answered in a low voice, "I
have never had a teacher, sir; but I listen to the choir on Sabbath, and
sing our Sunday-school hymns at church."
"Do you know who wrote those words you sang just now? I was not
aware they had been set to music."

"I found them in this book yesterday, and liked them so much that I
tried to sing them by one of our hymn tunes." She held up the volume
as she spoke.
He glanced at the title, and then looked curiously