How the Kingdom came to little Joy.

Front matter

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Chapter I. Joy's Question

“ Know ye that better land ?”

T the foot of a small back-yard ran a broad deep river in which lay embedded a long narrow island. Yellow fields of waving broomcorn covered all the centre of the island, but just at the water’s edge was a wild bit of ground grown full of reeds and cat-tails and alder bushes and wild thorns ; stunted willows too, whose long, pliant branches bent over into the cool, dark water under the shadow of the bank, as if fishing for the little minnows as they shot out into the warm sunshine. Beyond the river was a long stretch of meadows

LITTLE JOY.

and broomcorn flats, rising gradually into low distant bills, among whose purple shadows the sunbeams played hide and seek, from early sunrise to sunset, through the long golden autumn days.

On the low back doorstep leading down into the yard sat a little girl intent upon the frontispiece of a book which lay open on her knee, the sun pouring down a whole shower of bright beams upon her light yellow hair, on a little crutch lying at rest by her side, and all over the old brown house at her back.

The picture she studied was that of a man clothed in rags, a book in his hand and a great bundle on his back. His face wore an expression of distress and terror ; his back was turned toward the house, in whose doorway were collected his wife and children ; his eyes were raised and fixed with eager longing upon the shadowy outlines of a distant cloudy city. Beneath, in large letters, were printed the words :

FLEE FROM THE WRATH TO COME.

The little face bent over this scene was very sober and troubled, and one or two soft sighs of mingled doubt and regret bore witness to joy's question.

the struggle going on in the childish breast. Once she murmured in a low tone :

“ I s’pose it would be better to start right off. The book man said it was not safe to be waiting for other folks. But oh dear ! if Darry would only not take so long to make up his mind ! I’m most afraid to go alone.”

She raised a pair of soft, thoughtful brown eyes, and sent an exploring glance across the sunny landscape, then, with her head thrown back and her chin high in the air, stared right up into the deep blue sky above, where a flock of fleecy cloud-sheep were skimming along, chased by a warm, gentle breeze.

“ There must be a road up there somewhere, but I do not know how to find it. The book man said we must ask, but nobody seems to know.”

The tiny cloud floated noiselessly by, and the deep blue sky smiled silently down at the little earnest face : they were so far away, so very high above the upturned eyes ; and yet, as she looked steadfastly into those pure, soft depths, a sweet, tender expression spread itself over the child’s pale, delicate features. It was as if a lovely vision of that far-away land had disclosed itself to her searching gaze.

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She began to sing softly in a fresh, childish way :

“ Beautiful Zion built above,

Beautiful city that I love,

Beautiful gates of pearly white,

Beautiful temple, God its light;

He who was slain on Calvary Opens those pearly gates to me.”

She was still again for a little while.

“Yes,” she murmured, at last, in a low tone, as if speaking in a dream, “ I can see the shadows of the trees and the white angels walking about the street ; it almost seems as if I can catch the children's voices singing 1 G-lory, glory, glory,’ and hear them calling me to make haste lest the gates should be shut before I start.”

Was it only a child’s vivid imagination peopling the clouds with fanciful images, or was it the spirit-eyes of the soul piercing through the veil of sense into the unseen world beyond ?

“What are you doing, Joy? Do you see anything in the sky ?”

The child quickly dropped her chin to its usual position with a little start, and brought her eyes to bear on the pleasant, rosy-cheeked

JOYS QUESTION.

face of a young woman wlio stood in the doorway.

“ I'm thinking, Lindy,” she said, in a slow, dreamy way. “Do you want me?”

“ There’s no one to take Darry his dinner unless you will, Joy,” said the woman, with a doubtful glance from the little crutch to the child’s pale face. “He went off in such a hurry this morning that he forgot it. The pail is not very heavy.”

“ I suppose I can go,” said Joy, in a sober, thoughtful tone; “only,” she added, with a wise little shake of her head, “ I do not know where the new railway is.”

“ Oh, that’s no matter,” replied her sister-in-law, with a look of relief. “Just go straight along the plank-road till you come to the mill where the road turns off. Any one there can tell you.”

“ Well,” said Joy, taking up the crutch with a little sigh, “ I’ll go and try.”

The young woman went back into the house. Joy’s eyes wandered off again to what lay outside the door — only for a moment, however — then she slowly rose and prepared to follow. As she did so the use of the little crutch became apparent : one limb was so much shorter

LITTLE JOY.

than the other that in walking the slight figure swayed unsteadily and required some such support.

The child stepped into an entry, and taking down an old straw hat from a nail, pushed open a door into what seemed the common living-room.

A table, chairs, and a small cooking-stove filled the front end, while on a bed in the background a stout, healthy-looking baby lay lustily kicking ana crowing. The furniture, though plain and rather scanty, was good of its kind; the small glass windows shone, and the floor and woodwork were very clean and well painted ; everything about the room had a tidy, thrifty aspect.

Joy limped up to the table and stood silently by while Lindy prepared huge slices of bread and meat, and then packed them nicely in a bright tin pail with two or three apple turnovers and some generous pieces of fresh yellow cheese.

“ There ! I’ve put in enough dinner for you both. Now, if you take a fancy to stay about picking up chestnuts or gathering wild flowers until Darry comes home, there’s nothing to hinder. It will do you good to play out in the woods a bit. So much thinking is not good for you.”

The little girls eyes brightened ; she only nodded gravely, without a word. But as she limped off slowly toward the door a sudden thought struck her, and she stopped short on the threshold to look back and ask abruptly,

“Lindy, how far off is ‘Beautiful Zion’ from here ?”

The young woman’s pleasant look vanished. “ Mercy on us, child ! how you do harp on that nonsense ! No one knows till they get there, I suppose.”

“ But what should you think was the way?” persisted the little lame girl.

“ I do not think anything about it one way or another,” answered she, dryly.

“ I know one thing I do wish,” she muttered to herself as Joy closed the door, — “ that those book-agents would mind their own business at home, and not go tramping around the country putting such notions into children’s heads.”

Joy went slowly down the front steps into the street. The house stood on a slight rise of ground in the very outskirts of the town ; just beyond, a canal bridge led out into the 2

LITTLE JOY.

open country. There were plenty more just such dingy tenement-houses on the city side, and a whole row opposite, but between Joy's home and the canal was only a blacksmith’s forge, where the farmers stopped very often to have their horses shod.

There were no wagons in front at this moment. Joy paused at the open door and looked in. The bare-armed, sooty-faced smith was hard at work, and a shower of bright sparks was flying upward under the quick, steady blows of his heavy hammer upon the glowing iron.

As the little girl’s shadow darkened the doorway he glanced up and nodded good-naturedly.

“ How do you do, Joy ? Are you come to pay me a visit ?”

“Not now, Mr. Blacksmith; I’m carrying Darry his dinner. Please, will you tell me the way to Zion ?”

The man dropped his hammer and eyed the little questioner with mingled surprise and embarrassment.

Something in the grave face so earnest and eager checked the light answer on his tongue and sobered his own sooty face.

JOYS QUESTION.

“ I don’t just know it rightly myself, child, more’s the shame. Why not ask the Sunday-school folk ? They’ll tell you.”

“ Where do the Sunday-school folk live?” asked Joy, gravely.

“All over, I’m thinking,” answered the blacksmith, with a short, uneasy laugh, and then the sparks flew faster than ever under the energetic movements of his powerful arm.

“ They did not live at the mines, unless the book man was one,” murmured Joy as she crossed the bridge and went down the road leading to the mill.

The trees were gay in their bright fall dress. A golden mist shone over the broad landscape, where all sorts of warm autumnal tints were blended together in one harmonious whole. Overhead great flocks of black crows whirled past, caw, cawing that summer was gone, and once a little bird flew up into the very tip top of a roadside tree and sang so long and sweetly that Joy stood still right in the middle of the road to listen, although she could not understand a single note.

The mill was a small settlement, with its owner’s large white house, barns, other out-

LITTLE JOY.

houses, and a half a dozen labourers' cottages, running up the long hill at whose foot it was situated. Near the deep, clear pool of water, whose banks were high on two sides, throwing broad shadows clear across, stood a picturesque old sawmill, and there was a constant cool splashing of water as the wheel turned. On the opposite side of the road were bars leading into a broad, green meadow, and in the meadow were a great many red and black and white cows grazing.

At the door o'f the mill stood the miller in his white hat and flour-sprinkled garments. He was staring listlessly down the road, as if on the watch for customers.

"I wonder if he is one of the Sunday-school folk ?" said little Joy to herself.

The miller bestowed an indifferent glance on the faded calico frock and old straw hat as their owner drew nearer and nearer and finally stopped.

“ Please, sir, where’s the new railroad ?” asked the child, with as much of a curtsey as the crutch would allow.

“Take the bars down and step into that meadow yonder, and be careful to steer clear of the marsh. If you keep on close to the hill, you’ll hear the men at work before you get there.”

Joy thought of her other question, but his face was not encouraging, so she gave a little sigh, and putting her pail on the grass, with some difficulty she managed to let down the bars and pass through to the other side. They were heavy and not easy to replace, but the miller did not offer to help, only watched her slow, awkward efforts with a slight disagreeable smile.

“Dear me!” said the little girl to herself, with another sigh, as she again took up the pail ; “ I hope there are not many such persons on the road to Zion, ’cause, if there are, it would be better to wait for Darry to help me along. I wonder why everybody cannot be pleasant? It’s so much nicer.”

A well-worn footpath ran across the grass under the shadow of the bank, so Joy knew that must be the road, and went on more slowly than before, singing softly to rest herself :

“ Come to that happy land, Come, come away :

Why will ye doubting stand, Why long delay ?

LITTLE JOY.

Oh, we shall happy be,

When, from sin and sorrow free,

Lord, we shall dwell with thee,

Blest, blest for aye. M

“ I wish I could remember the rest,” said Joy, coming to a sudden stop. “ It was such a beautiful song.”

The crickets jumped about under foot, the birds kept up an incessant chirping overhead, a squirrel sat on a stone by the side of the path nibbling at a nut, with his tail high up in .the air. He looked so earnestly at Joy that she gave him a nod of encouragement, but as soon as she came near the squirrel ran away. Joy went quietly on, breathing in long draughts of the fresh, sweet country air, and alternately watching the sunbeams chase the shadows along the path before her and the white cloudlets in the fair blue sky above. Soon the hum of men's voices and the heavy fall of earth warned her she was drawing near the working-ground. A moment later, she stood at the entrance of a long narrow -passage, which was to open a way through half a mile of sandhill to the valley on the opposite side.

Joy came to a stand, and surveyed the busy scene with mingled astonishment and interest.

One detachment of men, halfway up the perpendicular bank, hard at work, looked in the distance, with their red shirts and diminutive forms, more like a band of monkeys than full-grown men.

Darry belonged to the lower band of workmen. So soon as he caught sight of his little sister standing in the opening, he threw down his spade and came toward her, looking very red and warm. His face was a good steady one, sunburnt and freckled, but full of intelligence and pleasantness.

“ Here’s your dinner, Darry,” said Joy, holding out the tin pail as the explanation of her presence. “And Lindy said I was to wait and take mine too.” >

The young man nodded good-humouredly : “All right, little woman. We’ll stop work now in about twenty minutes, and then I’ll come. If you climb up the bank under those pine trees yonder, you’ll be out of the way of the carts, and can watch us work better.”

Darry ran back to his place, and his sister, hanging the pail on her arm, slowly worked her way up the shady slope.

Chapter II. The Slough In The Meadow

“ A clue is in my hand Thro’ earth’s labyrinth to guide me To that far-off heavenly land.”

HE bank up which Joy had climbed was crowned with a wood where trees of great size and beauty had been growing for many years. Down its sloping sides groups of outposts were scattered here and there, the boughs arching and mingling high overhead, and stretching upward toward the thicker portion, like the long side aisles of some grand cathedral. Huge moss-grown boulders were scattered around, too, serving the purpose of seats, and pine knots lay thick over the ground, while patches of green and gray and crisp redcapped moss formed a soft, beautiful carpet under the leafy canopy. Here was an old stump of a tree, all festooned with bramble 20 and ivy, and there a tiny hollow lined with velvety green, strewed with delicate ferns and bright-colored autumn leaves.

Joy went slowly on and up until she found a seat that just suited her, — an old tree bole which had fallen sideways, with cushions of green moss at its foot and back and a light hemlock screen overhead. It was a pretty place to wait in, at once shady and sunny, for the sun was there before her, scattering his rays all around, dancing over the rustic arm-chair, and bringing to light all the acorns and sticks and snail-shells hidden among the moss. It commanded, besides, a fine view of the whole surrounding country, and she could look right down the passage Darry was helping to dig.

Weary with her long walk, the little girl set down the pail on top of a smooth, flat rock she thought would just answer for a table when wanted, and throwing down her crutch, half reclined against the sloping bank, with her face upturned to the sky and her eyes opening and closing with the fitful play of the light and shade upon the half-closed lids. None of the discordant din and turmoil of the distant city, whose tall spires and smoking factory chim-

LITTLE JOY.

neys could be plainly seen at that elevation ; only a soft, sweet, almost solemn stir of wood sounds and the ceaseless hum of insect-life. Now and then a faint, indistinct murmur of men’s voices came up from below, but otherwise nothing was to be heard except the drop, drop of nuts, the rustling of the branches as the squirrels ran to and fro collecting their winter store, or the occasional low, sweet note of a bird in the trees overhead.

Joy leaned back and listened with a feeling of dreamy content and languor to the incessant, ocean-like song of the pines, every gentle breath of wind bringing down a delicious aromatic perfume as it played caressingly with the child’s light yellow locks and cooled her heated temples.

11 1 wonder if the Zion-land will be any better than this?” murmured Joy, with a dreamy smile. “ Only, the book man said I wouldn’t be lame any more, nor tired, nor hungry, nor sick ; and there would be no winter.”

Until within the past few months all Joy could remember of her short life had been passed in a wild, godless mining region of the Far West. No portion of heathendom on the other side of the ocean could have been more destitute of Christian creed and ordinances. Her brother had taught her to read and cipher, but her first religious notions, vague and imperfect as they still were, dated bach to the short memorable visit of an itinerant missionary and his evening conversations with Darry during the week he had been an inmate of their rude log cottage.

He had found Joy an eager, willing pupil, especially when he taught her two or three simple Sunday-school hymns, and talked to her of the Lord Jesus and the beautiful home he was preparing for all his followers in the celestial country above. As in the case of a certain woman of Thyatira, “ the Lord opened her heart that she attended unto the things spoken.”

But the missionary’s stay had been short. Darry had with difficulty protected him, during those few days, from the lawless violence of the other miners, and this bold defence of his guest against their ill-treatment and angry threats had made it necessary for the family to seek another home. The little girl’s ideas were a curious mixture of truth and fiction. 11 Beautiful Zion ” was only another, safer, and far happier earthly home, and the spiritual pil-

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gr image a foot-journey which even a child was urged and commanded to make.

This idea had been much strengthened by the delighted perusal of Pilgrim’s Progress, the missionary’s parting gift to Darry. Day after day the necessity for an early start, even if she should be obliged to make the journey alone, had been a growing conviction in her childish mind. But as she lay there thinking the matter over, she determined to make one more effort to induce her brother to join her ; if that failed, then, let what might come, she would start off alone that very afternoon, instead of returning home.

She lay quite still, half awake, half dreaming, she hardly knew which, until a firm, quick step on the rustling leaves caused her to spring up and begin to set the rock table, using half a dozen bright red sumach leaves for dishes.

“ See, Darry, what a nice chair and table I have found !” she exclaimed, gleefully pointing them out as he drew near. “ Now we can play picnic together, as I used to do with Fanny and Dick in the woods near the mines.”

The young man smiled, and sitting down in the moss-cushioned seat, drew his sister to his knee.

“ Are you not very tired ?” he asked, with an anxious glance at the child’s white cheeks, from which the glow of exercise had quite faded. “ I should have gone without any dinner, to make me remember not to be so careless again.”

“ Oh no, Darry, I liked to come,” said Joy, earnestly. “ It’s ever so much prettier here than in the mine woods.”

“ Then you are not sorry we had to leave there?”

“No, indeed, Darry!” and Joy shook her head very decidedly. “ Only, I’d like to see my book man again.”

A little cloud came over her brother’s face, but he remained silent.

“ He said he ’spected to meet us both by and by in the beautiful land up in the skies, but I’m ’fraid he’ll get tired waiting if we don’t start soon.”

An involuntary contraction of the brow was the only sign that the young man heard as he stared soberly down into the sand gorge below with a troubled, preoccupied air, not unusual with him of late.

LITTLE JOY.

Joy eyed him anxiously, hesitating how far it was safe to venture.

“ Darry,” she said, at last, in a low, half-frightened tone, “ don’t you mean to start soon? You- know you almost promised the book man you would, and I’m so tired waiting.”

The young man turned and met the child’s wistful eyes.

“ You need not wait for me, little woman,” he said, not unkindly.

“But, Darry,” said Joy, almost tearfully, “ it would be much nicer to go together.”

Her brother hesitated.

“The way is all blocked up,” he said, at length, in a tone of suppressed feeling.

“But, Darry — ”

“Well, what then, child?”

“The man said to take the first step, and keep asking, and we’d be sure to come out right.”

“ The first step would take the bread and butter out of all your mouths,” murmured Darry, with some bitterness.

Joy opened her eyes in great surprise, but her brother added no word of explanation. He reached out his hand for a slice of bread and meat, which he disposed of with the air of a man who did not at all know what he was eating.

Something in his expression shut Joy’s mouth. She ventured no further remonstrance. Should she give up all idea of the journey Zionward, or start off by herself?

“Why don’t you eat your dinner?” demanded her brother, suddenly.

Joy took a turnover and nibbled at it with a very dissatisfied face.

The birds fluttered about, giving once in a while a soft chirp of impatience at the crumbs falling too near Joy’s feet for their content. Joy’s restless eyes ran along a sunbeam path to a bit of bright hillside, where the sky and earth seemed to meet. A new idea struck her; she fancied she could see the outlines of misty, pearly- white gates just above those low, purple hills.

Darry was deep in a fit of troubled thought ; there was a frequent contraction of his bushy eyebrows, and the lips were very tightly pressed together. Joy glanced at him wistfully once or twice. Should she tell him she had at length found the road? But when she looked again, the cloud - gates

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had entirely vanished. No ! a better way would be to go alone first, then, when sure, return and act as guide to the rest of the family.

She took a careful survey of the country lying between her present position and those distant hills. It was mostly broad meadow lands and broomcorn flats, with a few farmhouses scattered here and there ; crossing the canal and river would be the only serious difficulty.

“ Mr. Goodwills wicket-gate and the house Beautiful must be somewhere along the road,” thought the child as she turned over the pros and cons in her mind, “ and if I want anything to eat, why, there’s my ten-cent piece to pay for it.”

And pulling at a black string tied around her neck, she drew out from the bosom of her dress a bright silver bit, which *she eyed with great complacency.

“ That will go ever so far ! But 111 fill my pail with nuts beforehand, so as to be sure.”

A little sigh she could not quite repress roused Darry : shaking off his own troublesome thoughts, he said cheerfully :

“ Well, what have you been thinking about ?

This has not been a very lively picnic so far, has it ? Suppose you and I go chestnutting until the horn sounds ? There are some famous trees over there.”

Joy’s face brightened perceptibly.

“ Darry,” she said, abruptly, as they were on their way to the nut ground, “ how far off are those hills over yonder ?”

Her brother glanced in the direction her finger indicated.

“Twenty or thirty miles, I should suppose.”

“ And how do they get over to the other side of the river ?”

“ There are bridges somewhere,” said Darry, indifferently. “ See, Joy ! the squirrels are ahead of us.”

A noisy flock of the bushy-tailed little creatures scampered off in all directions at their approach. But the supply left was abundant, and a few vigorous shakes of the young man’s strong arm brought down a small shower upon their heads. Darry filled his pockets, and would have done the same by the tin pail of his little sister had she not preferred to gather her own supply. She sat down on the ground and took it leisurely,

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stopping to rest or talk, and once or twice giving her brother a look of earnest, affectionate sorrow that went right to his heart. He had no suspicion of her childish plan of leaving him, but his manner was more than usually gentle and tender as he laughed and talked brightly, trying to make his “ little woman ” feel gay and childlike. He agreed with his wife in thinking she dwelt too much on such grave, serious subjects for so young and sickly a child. He went back to his work, when the horn sounded, debating in his mind how to prevent this in the future. Would it not be better to send her to school among other children of her own age, in spite of her lameness and feeble health ?

Nevertheless, the little girl’s words found a faithful ally in a previously awakened conscience, which warned him she might be wiser than he on this point. For some reason, Darry’s companions found him very unsociable and sober during the rest of that day.

In the mean time, after filling the tin pail full of nuts, Joy had started forth, on her pilgrimage toward those distant hills where she suspected the pearly gates into the Zion-land must open.

The path down the side bank was rough and steep, only to be accomplished with great caution and slowness on the part of the little girl. Putting the handle of the tin pail in her mouth, she held it firmly with her teeth while working her way painfully and slowly to the level meadow-ground below, now limping carefully, holding fast to the treebranches and wild undergrowth on one side, while supported by the crutch on the other, and now creeping along on her hands and knees, dragging the crutch after. Once fairly there, she sat down on the grass to rest and decide as to the next step.

Joy’s heart beat very fast with mingled fear and exercise. Her eyes filled with quick tears as she listened to the men at their work only a few yards from where she was sitting ; she thought of Darry’s sorrow, returning home to find his little sister had taken him at his word and started without him. She looked across to the distant horizon, so'" very far away, remembering with a sinking spirit that she might be obliged to pass more than one night alone in the open field without protection or shelter.

Poor little pilgrim ! her courage almost

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failed her. She was just ready to give it all up and go back with Darry to her city home. But under that crippled form and white, childish face dwelt a brave, firm little spirit. Joy did not easily yield when she had once made up her mind.

“ If I go back now,” she thought, “ none of us will ever get to that beautiful place, for it will be a great deal harder to start again, and like as not the gates would be shut. The book man said we must not mind a few hardships on the way, for when once we got there it would be so pretty and happy we’d forget all about them. I guess I’d better sing some. That’ll make me feel better and keep me from being afraid.”

So saying, she hung her pail on her arm and started boldly across the meadow, keeping her eyes fixed on the purple hills and singing softly :