Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhymeChild, Lydia Maria
General
Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhyme
Child, Lydia Maria
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
The captain laughed half scornfully, and handing one to Alice, said,
“Well, my good girl, you can wear one, and then you need not be afraid
of our soldiers.”
She looked very pleasantly in his face and answered, “I _should_ be
afraid if I did not trust in something better than a cockade.”
The leader of the Orangemen was arrested by the same spell that stopped
the leader of the Pikemen. But some of his followers, who had been
lingering about the door, called out, “What’s the use of parleying?
Isn’t the old traitor nursing Catholics, to fight us again when they get
well? If he won’t serve the government by fighting for us, he will at
least do to stop a bullet as well as a braver man. Bring him out, and
put him in the front ranks to be shot at!” One of them seized Joseph to
drag him away; but Alice laid a trembling hand on his arm, and said,
beseechingly, “Before you take him, come and see the wounded Orangemen,
with their wives and children, whom my father and mother have fed and
tended night and day.” A pale figure, with bandaged head and one arm in
a sling, came forth from an adjoining room and said, “Comrades, you
surely will not harm these worthy people. They have fed our children,
and buried our dead, as if we were their own brothers.” The soldiers
listened, and, suddenly changing their mood, went off shouting, “Hurrah
for the Quakers!”
Some days of comparative quiet followed. Colonel Campbell was buried in
his own garden, with as much deference to the wishes of his widow as
circumstances would permit. She returned from the funeral calmer than
she had been, and quietly assisted in taking care of the wounded. But
when she retired to her little room, and saw a crucifix fastened on the
wall at the foot of her bed, she burst into tears and said, “Who has
done this?”
Alice gently replied, “I did it. I found it in the mud, where the little
chapel used to stand. I know it is a sacred emblem to thee, and I
thought it would pain thee to have it there; so I have washed it
carefully and placed it in thy room.”
The bereaved Catholic kissed the friendly hand that had done so kind a
deed; and tears fell on it, as she murmured, “Good child! may the Holy
Virgin bless thee!”
Balmy is a blessing from any human heart, whether it be given in the
name of Jesus or Mary, God or Allah. Alice slept well, and guardian
angels rejoiced over her in heaven.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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