Southern ladies' journal., October 02, 1886, Page 6, Image 8

About Southern ladies' journal. (Little Rock, Ark.) 1886-18??

Image provided by: Arkansas State Archives

                
6
Children’s Page.
LITTLE COUSIN BERTHA.
Take a walk with me through the pret
ty fields, Sophia dear. I’ve heen going
up and down these straight gravel walks
till I am tired ; and I don’t like the gar
den at all; besides, you promised to look
for primroses in the hedges.”
“But, Bertha. I’m very anxious to get
these seeds t>own before mama comes
home.”
“Please leave the rest till to-morrow,
and come while the sun is shining, or
let me help you to sow.”
“No, dear, you would not know how.
I’d rather do it myself.”
“Well, may I go to the fields without
you?”
Sophie paused she knew perfectly if
her mother were at home Beuha would
not be allowed out alone. Yet what
could happen to her for a short time?
“I suppose if you can’t content your
self here, you’d better go to the fields,”
she answered impatiently, “but don’t
wander far. I’ll be after you when I’ve
finished the seeds.”
Little Bertha ran out of the garden,
delighted to escape from its confinement,
while Sophie continued her work undis
turbed by the child’s prattle.
It was a bright day in early spring,
and a shade of green had already spread
over fields and banks, though as yet trie
trees and hedges had not put forth a sin
gle leaf to tell of approaching summer.
Here and there a stray daisy raised its
open petals to greet the blue sky, and
seemed to rejoice in the sunshine.
Alter taking several races over the
short glass, Beitha walked slowly round
the bank, searching for wild flowers ; but
not one was to be seen. A gap led in
to the next field, and passing through,
she was rewarded by finding a clump of
celandine in full blow. Having gather
ed some ol the starry Howers, she turned
down a narrow lane, where a few prim
roses and violets peep from behind the
hedges, and crossed a stile to a green
hill which sloped gently to the water’s
edge.
“Oh ! the pretty river, how I love to
watch it flowing!” exclaimed Bertha:
“I 11 just go and sit on the bank to wait
lor sophia.”
Soon she spied a large patch of dark
gieen leaves and golden blossoms of the
marsh marigold growing on the damp
margin of the stream. “What lovely
May-flowers! I must try and gather a
few to show Sophia!” And leaning
over the high bank, the child gazed
down at the dark river—swollen far
above its usual level by recent heavy
lains—and considered how she could
best manage to climb along its slipery
bank, so as to reach the flowers below.
Meanwhile, Sophia spent a longer
time gardening than she had intended,
and being much interested in her work,
was greatly surprised to find how dusk
the evening had grown.
“I must go and look for Bertha.
Mama will soon be home, and we ought
to be in to welcome her.” Hurrying
from the garden she crossed the lirst and
second fields, and not seeing her little
cousin, called loudly, “Bertha, Bertha,
where are you?” but there was no reply.
Hastily passing down the lane, and
across the stile, the sound of wheels in
the distance met her ear. “It must be
mama returning. Oh dear! how pro
voking, and we shall be quite late to re
ceive her, for I can't go back till I find
Bertha ; why did she stray so far withou
me. Oh ! here’s a boy driving home the
cows, I’ll ask him. Will,” she cried out,
“do you know where little Miss Bertha
is!”
She crossed the stile about an hour affo.
and went down towards the river; I
wondered to see her running- through
o o
the fields alone, and hoped no
harm would come to her, but I had to go
about my own business ; and that’s all I
know.”
“The river!” exclaimed Sophie, “I
never thought of that,” and turning from
Will, without another word, she hur
ried down the hill. On the brink of the
river a boy was lying gazing at the wa
ter-lillies beneath him, but when asked
by Sophie, he said he had not seen a lit
tle girl pass that way. The shades of
evening were rapidly increasing, and
there was a sound of rushing water very
unlike the usual quiet musical murmer
of the stream. “How high the river is
to-day, and how fast it runs! Oh! I
think I see Bertha at last, and with a
feeling of unspeakable relief, she darted
forwards a little stunted thorn bush
which grew half way down the bank ;
but what was her horror on coming clos
ei, to see that it was only a piece of Ber
tha’s dress caught on a branch, and wav
ing with every passing breeze like a flag
of distress. The blood rushed back to
Sophie’s heart; trembling in every limb
she leaned over the steep bank, a a I
gazing down saw the patch of mar.sh
mangold. It was all too easily under
stood. Bertha in her eager desire to
leach the flowers, would be likely to at
tempt diming down the steep slipcry
bank, miss her footing, roll into the wa
ter, and be carried away by the violence
o< the current. To confirm this terrible
ear, a few faded primrose and violet
blossoms were scattered on the ground,
as if the child had flung them from her
anc bcfoit attempting her dangerous
descent. For a
like one paralysed, theTtJ*
the course of the st " " ed to %
Its dark waters as they rolled^ 11118 ' nto
a mill which stood at the on Onto War ds
Perhaps sonreo &
have seen and rescued Bertha
a gleam ofhope. Q n ; r i., • ' 1 Was
pleased to
leave her house and hasten <1 “ “ *
water's edge. It would be eas?,'" ""
out to her across the stream n
could Mrs. Wood be doing a, i l ',
hour stooping over the bank;,®
drawing something to land, too? ?
ph.e watched her tor a moment i„ a "
nyot suspense, till she could di st i n A
through the dusk of evening, a lig h c
» ured outlaid on the grass, overrtt
the woman bent tenderly ; then no lon .
ei able to refrain from speaking,
Wood, is there life? is there any hope?"
‘•Miss Sophie is that you?” said the
woman, turning round in surprise; “No,
indeed there is no hope, the poor lamb
is quite dead, and must have fallenin
and been drowned a long while ago.
Such a sad pity too; a fine little pet.
But you ought to go home Miss Sophie,
it’s very late for you to be out alone.”
1 hen there was no doubt, no hope?
Go home, indeed! No, she did care
where she turned; any place, sooner
than witness the sorrow she had caused.
On. across the fields a long way, until a
clump of trees and a little grassy dell
recalled to her mind the thought that she
was alone, and a good distance .from
home. It had been a favorite play
place in summer, full of wild flowers
and little mossy nooks ; but all that seem
ed, oh, so long ago! Seating herself
on a large stone deep down in the dell,
Sophie rested her head against the slope
ing bank, and tried to realize what had
happened.
Was Bertha indeed gone! Her moth
er’s only child, her pet and darling.
Little Cousin Bertha, who had been sent
to them for change of air, after an ill
ness. How pale and delicate she had
looked at first, and how bright and rosy
she had lately grown.
Sophie was to have gone back with
her to town next week, to spend a s 0
time with her aunt, but now, oh, m
changed everything would be!
sorrow and remorse seemed too g’ ea
bear. And yet, as Sophie'sat there alone
in the dark, listening to the mourn
murmur of the distant stream, sou
like a low wail over the child t a
struggled so lately with its *tio g
cruel current, one short sentence
ringing in her ear —“ Ihe mai
dead, but sleepeth.”