Tom, Dot and Talking Mouse | Page 3

then there came into his mind a glad thought. Anne Grey might some day turn to him in trouble, and then he would help her, and never--certainly never--reproach her. This thought warmed his heart as he passed into the garden. How sweet was the breath of the flowers! How their delicate shapes outlined themselves in the twilight! There was the little arbor over which Tom had trained the honeysuckle and blush-roses. He had often fancied Anne sitting there in the long summer afternoons sewing and singing to herself. Now the trailers of the rose half hid the entrance, and a bat flew out at the sound of Tom's step. Night moths flitted hither and thither, and winged beetles made the air vibrate with their drowsy buzzing. The stars began to peep out one after another, and a hush seemed to fall on the garden as if the flowers were asleep.
Then Tom stooped his tall form under the rose-trailers and entered the arbor. There was a table in it, and a sort of fixture-seat all round. Tom had made it himself at leisure moments. "If we have little ones," he had said to himself, "there will be a seat for them all." Now he sat in the arbour alone, and the rose-trailers moved in and out with a rustling sound.
The sounds and scents made Tom quite drowsy, and he presently imagined he really saw and heard things which never could have happened. But they were so beautiful that he liked to think them real even afterwards.
The table in the centre of the arbour was fixed, and upon it Tom leaned his arms. So he could see the glimmer of the sky between the branches, and one single bright star that looked, as he thought, kindly on him. He gazed and gazed at the star, and at the outlined branches, and at the peep of sky, till all his heart seemed to open to good--and that is to God. He gazed till self was forgotten in a beautiful dream. Ah! happiness, he saw, did not consist in self-gratification, but in giving up for others. Then he closed his eyes like a child who has wept but is comforted; and it was then that he heard the little brown mouse talking with the flowers. Now the mouse was at the mill, as we know, so this was very odd.
[Illustration: Tom dreaming]
"Why is the miller so sad?" asked a tall lily.
"First of all," said the mouse, "because Anne Grey is married to some one else, but most of all because he has made so many others bear his sorrow."
"And did making others bear his sorrow make his pain less?" the sunflower asked.
"No," said the mouse, "it made it more; for he had to feel cruel as well as unhappy."
Then a tiny late linum-flower spoke.
"I have not lived a long while," said the linum-flower; "I came out late. I don't quite understand it, but I think it must be best to wait for one's joy. It may be the miller is to have more joy because he has to wait."
Then a yew-tree spoke.
"You are right, little linum-flower; my relations in the graveyard have told me as much. They hear what the dead say at midnight. It is those who wait who get the truest joy!"
Then the miller heard a voice which was not like the others. It was a baby-voice with tears in it. "I is hungry," it said; and Tom started up, his eyes wide open, and in the star-glimmer he saw a tiny child looking at him. Yes, he was awake, and the child was a real child.
"I comed in here," said the little one, "betause the gate was open."
The miller took the little one in his arms and kissed it.
"So you are hungry," he said caressingly. "Well, I must take you home. What is your name?"
"Dot," said the child; "and home is goned away on wheels, and uncle don't want me no more."
"Uncle," repeated Tom reflectively. "Then have you no mother or father, little one?"
"Never had none of these things," said Dot positively. "Some of the other children had, though," she added, as if for the sake of accuracy.
"What other children?" Tom asked with interest.
"Them as was with us in the van," said Dot.
"Did you live in a van, Dot?" inquired Tom.
"Yes," said the child, "the van as has runned away. There's baskets and chairs and things all over the top of it. Uncle said he was agoing to leave me somewhere, and now he's done it."
"How old are you, Dot?"
The child shook her head. "I didn't have no birfdays," she said wistfully. "Ned and Polly and Jim did, but not me."
"Little Dot," cried Tom, hugging the small creature, "so they wanted to get rid of you, did they! Well, you shall