Mrs. Overtheways Remembrances | Page 4

like a wonderful fairy-tale, to which Ida listened with clasped
hands.
Presently another song came from the wood: it was a hymn sung by
children's voices, such as one often hears carolled by a troop of little
urchins coming home from school. The words fell familiarly on Ida's
ears:
"Quite through the streets with silver sound, The flood of life doth flow;
Upon whose banks on every side The wood of life doth grow.
"Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grow
such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen.
"There trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There
evermore the Angels sit, And evermore do sing."

Here the little chorus broke off, and the children came pouring out of
the wood with chattering and laughter. Only one lingered, playing
under a tree, and finishing the song. The child's voice rose shrill and
clear like that of the blackbird above him. He also sang of Life--Eternal
life--knowing little more than the bird of the meaning of his song, and
having little less of that devotion of innocence in which happiness is
praise.
But Ida had ceased to listen to the singing. Her whole attention was
given to the children as they scampered past the hedge, dropping bits of
moss and fungi and such like woodland spoil. For, tightly held in the
grubby hands of each--plucked with reckless indifference to bud and
stalk, and fading fast in their hot prisons--were primroses. Ida started to
her feet, a sudden idea filling her brain. The birds were right, Spring
had come, and there were flowers--flowers for Mrs. Overtheway.
Ida was a very quiet, obedient little girl, as a general rule; indeed, in her
lonely life she had small temptation to pranks or mischief of any kind.
She had often been sent to play in the back garden before, and had
never thought of straying beyond its limits; but to-day a strong new
feeling had been awakened by the sight of the primroses.
"The hole is very large," said Ida, looking at the gap in the hedge; "if
that dead root in the middle were pulled up, it would be wonderfully
large."
She pulled the root up, and, though wonderful is a strong term, the hole
was certainly larger.
"It is big enough to put one's head through," said Ida, and, stooping
down, she exemplified the truth of her observation.
"Where the head goes, the body will follow," they say, and Ida's little
body was soon on the other side of the hedge; the adage says nothing
about clothes, however, and part of Ida's dress was left behind. It had
caught on the stump as she scrambled through. But accidents will
happen, and she was in the road, which was something.

"It is like going into the world to seek one's fortune," she thought; "thus
Gerda went to look for little Kay, and so Joringel sought for the
enchanted flower. One always comes to a wood."
And into the wood she came. Dame Nature had laid down her new
green carpets, and everything looked lovely; but, as has been before
said, it certainly was damp. The little singer under the tree cared no
more for this, however, than the blackbird above him.
"Will you tell me, please, where you got your primroses?" asked Ida.
The child made a quaint, half-military salute; and smiled.
"Yonder," he said laconically, and, pointing up the wood, he went on
with the song that he could not understand:
"Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem, Would God I were in thee! Would
God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see!"
Ida went on and on, looking about her as she ran. Presently the wood
sloped downwards, and pretty steeply, so that it was somewhat of a
scramble; yet still she kept a sharp look-out, but no primroses did she
see, except a few here and there upon the ground, which had been
plucked too close to their poor heads to be held in anybody's hands.
These showed the way, however, and Ida picked them up in sheer pity
and carried them with her.
"This is how Hop-o'-my-Thumb found his way home," she thought.
At the bottom of the hill ran a little brook, and on the opposite side of
the brook was a bank, and on the top of the bank was a hedge, and
under the hedge were the primroses. But the brook was between!
Ida looked and hesitated. It was too wide to jump across, and here, as
elsewhere, there was more water than usual. To turn back, however,
was out of the question. Gerda would not have been daunted in her
search by coming to a stream, nor would any one else that ever was
read of in