My First Cruise, and Other stories

  STORY THREE, CHAPTER 1.

  THE BEAUTIFUL GATE.

  One morning, by break of day, old Josiah, who lived in the littlecottage he had built, on the borders of the Great Forest, found his wifeawake long before him--indeed she had scarcely closed her eyes thatnight; and she was ready to speak the moment his eyes opened; for shehad promised their dear Tiny, their only child, that she would have aprivate talk with his father. So she said in a low, but distinct voice,as though she were talking to herself:

  "I have nursed him, and watched over him year after year. He has beenlike the sun shining in my path, and precious as a flower. There is notanother like him. I love him better than I do my eyes. If he were awayI might as well be blind."

  "That puts me in mind of what I've been dreaming," said the old man."If I was only sure that he would come at last to the Beautiful Gate, Iwouldn't say another word. But who can tell? And it it actuallyhappened that he lost his sight--poor Tiny!"

  Josiah did not finish what he had begun to say, but hid his face in thebed-clothes, and then the good wife knew that he was weeping, and herown tears began to fall, and she could not say a word.

  After breakfast, when Josiah had gone off into the woods, the mothertold Tiny of this bit of a conversation, but of course she could notexplain about the dream. She knew no more what the boy's father haddreamed than you or I do, only she knew it was something curious andfanciful about the Beautiful Gate.

  Tiny listened with great interest to his mother's words, and he smiledas he kissed her when she had done speaking; and he said, "Wait tillthis evening, mother dear, and you shall see."

  And so she waited till the evening.

  When they were gathered around the kitchen-fire at night, Tiny took downthe harp that hung on the kitchen wall.

  It had hung there ever since the day that Tiny was born. A poor oldpilgrim gave it on that very day to Josiah in exchange for a loaf ofbread. By that I do not mean that Josiah sold the loaf to the poor oldhungry pilgrim. Josiah was too charitable to make a trade with abeggar. But the stranger said this strange thing to Josiah:--"I am nearto death--I shall sing no more--I am going home. Keep my harp for meuntil a singer asks you for it, and promises you that he will sing untothe Lord a New Song. Give it to _him_; but be sure before you do sothat he is worthy to sing the song unto the Lord."

  So Josiah had taken the harp home with him, and hung it on the wall, asI said, on the day that Tiny was born. And he waited for the coming ofthe poet who should have that wondrous song to sing.

  The father, when he saw what it was the boy would do, made a little moveas if he would prevent him; but the mother playfully caught the oldman's hand, and held it in hers, while she said aloud, "Only one song,Tiny. Your father's rest was disturbed last night--so get through withit as quickly as you can."

  At these last words the old man looked well pleased, for he fancied thathis wife agreed with him, because he would not yet allow himself tobelieve that it was for his boy Tiny that the old pilgrim left the harp.

  And yet never was a sweeter voice than that of the young singer--oldJosiah acknowledged that to himself, and old Josiah knew--he was a judgeof such things, for all his life he had been singing songs in his heart.

  Yes! though you would never have imagined such a thing, that is, if youare in the habit of judging folks from their outward appearance--he hadsuch a rough, wrinkled face, brown with freckles and tan, such coarse,shaggy grey hair, and such a short, crooked, awkward figure, you neverwould have guessed what songs he was for ever singing in his heart withhis inward voice--they were songs which worldly people would neverhear--only God and the angels heard them. Only God and the holyangels!--for as to Kitty, though she was Josiah's best earthly friend,though she knew he was such an excellent man, though she believed thatthere was not a better man than he in all the world, though year by yearhe had been growing lovelier and lovelier in her eyes--yes! though hishair, of course, became rougher and greyer, and his figure more bent,and his hands harder, and his teeth were nearly all gone!--growinglovelier because of his excellence, which increased with age as goodwine does--still even she, who knew him better than any person on earth,even she knew him so little that she never so much as dreamed that thiswonderful voice of Tiny's was but the echo of what had been going on inJosiah's heart and mind ever since he was himself a child!

  It was because he understood all this so very well that Josiah wastroubled when he thought about his son.

  But to go back to the singer in the chimney-corner. Tiny sat alone onhis side of the fire-place, in the little chair fashioned out of knottedtwigs of oak which his father had made for him long ago. Opposite himwere the old folks--the father with his arms folded on his broad chest,the mother knitting beside him, now and then casting a sidelong glanceat the old man to see how it went with him.

  Wonderful was that song which Tiny sung!

  Even the winter wind seemed hushing its voice to hear it, and throughthe little windows looked the astonished moon.

  Josiah lifted up his eyes in great amazement as he heard it, as if hehad altogether lost himself. It was nothing like his dream that Tinysang, though to be sure it was all about a Beautiful Gate.

  Altogether about the Beautiful Gate! and of the young poet, who, passingthrough it, went his way into the great Temple of the World, singing hisgreat songs, borne like a conqueror with a golden canopy carried overhim, and a golden crown upon his head! Riding upon a white horsesplendidly caparisoned, and crowds of people strewing multitudes offlowers before him! And of the lady who placed the victor's crown uponhis head! She was by his side, more beautiful than any dream, rejoicingin his triumph, and leading him on towards her father's palace, theBeautiful Pearl Gates of which were thrown wide open, and the kinghimself with a bare head stood there on foot, to welcome the poet to thegreat feast.

  With this the song ended, and with a grand sweep of the silver stringsTiny gently arose, and hung the harp against the wall, and sat downagain with folded hands and blushing cheek, half frightened, now whenall was over, to think what he had done. The fire had vanished from hiseyes, and the red glow of his cheek went following after; and if you hadgone into Josiah's kitchen just then, you never would have guessed that_he_ was the enchanter who had been raising such a storm of splendidmusic.

  At first the old man could not speak--tears choked his words. "Ahem,"said he once or twice, and he cleared his voice with the intention ofspeaking; but for a long time no words followed. At length he said,shaking his head,--"It isn't like what I dreamed--it isn't like what Idreamed;" and one would have supposed that the old man felt himselfguilty of a sin by the way he looked at Tiny, it was with so very sad alook.

  "But beautifuller," said the mother, "beautifuller, isn't it, Josiah!"

  "Yes," answered Josiah; but still he spoke as if he had some secretmisgiving--as if he were not quite sure that the beauty of the song hada right to do away with the sadness of his dream.

  "But," said Tiny, timidly, yet as if determined that he would have thematter quite settled now and for ever--"_am_ I a singer, father? _am_ Ia poet?"

  Slowly came the answer--but it actually came, "Yes," with a broken voiceand troubled look, and then the old man buried his face in his hands, asif he had pronounced some dreadful doom upon his only son.

  "Then," said Tiny boldly, rising from his seat, "I must go into theworld. It says it needs me; and father, shall _your_ son hide himselfwhen any one in need calls to him for help? I never would have gone,father, if you and mother had not said that I was a singer and a poet.For you I know would never deceive me; and I made a vow that if ever atime came when you should say that to me, then I would go. But this ismy home, father and mother; I shall never get another. The wide worldcould not give me one. It is not rich enough to build me a home likethis."

  "Don't speak in that way," said the old man; and he turned away thatTiny should not see his face, and he bent his head upon the back of hischair.

  Presently Tiny w
ent softly up to him and laid his hand upon Josiah'sarm, and his voice trembled while he said, "Dear father, are you angrywith me?"

  "No, Tiny," said Josiah; "but what are you going to do with the world?You! ... my poor boy."

  "Good!" said Tiny with a loud, courageous voice--as if he were prepared,single handed, to fight all the evil there was in the world--"Good,father, or I would not have dared to take the pilgrim's harp down fromthe wall. I will sing," continued he still more hopefully, and lookingup smiling into the old man's face--"I will sing for the sick and theweary, and cheer them; I will tell the people that God smiles on patientlabour, and has a reward in store for the faithful, better than gold andrubies. I will get money for my songs, and feed the hungry; I willcomfort the afflicted; I will--"

  "But," said Josiah solemnly, lifting his head from the back of thechair, and looking at Tiny as if he would read every thought there wasin the boy's heart, "What did all that mean about the Beautiful Gate?Ah, my son, you were thinking more of your own pride and glory, than ofthe miserable and the poor!"

  "It was only to prove to you that I had a voice, and that I could sing,father," answered Tiny.

  Long gazed Josiah upon the face of his son as he heard this. Then heclosed his eyes, and bent his head, and Tiny knew that he was praying.That was a solemn silence--you could have heard a pin drop on thekitchen floor.

  Presently the old man arose, and without speaking, went softly and tookthe harp down from the wall. "Take it," said he, handing it to Tiny,"Take it--it is yours. Do what you will. The Lord direct your goings."

  "Without your blessing, father?" said Tiny, stepping back and foldinghis arms upon his breast. He would not take the harp. Then, with bothhands pressed on Tiny's head, the old man said, "May God bless you, myson."

  The old man's face was very calm then, and there was not a tear in hiseyes as he spoke; he had begun to hope again. And he turned away fromTiny to comfort his poor wife.

  "Many, many years we lived alone before our Tiny came," said he, "and wewere very happy; and we will be very happy yet, though he is going away.He is our all; but if the world needs him he shall go and serve it."Nothing more said Josiah, for his heart was full--too full for furtherspeech.

  Well, Tiny the singer went sailing down the river one bright morning, ona boat loaded with wood, which in that part of the country is calledlumber; his harp was on his arm, and the rest of his worldly goods uponhis back.

  Tiny sat upon the top of the lumber, the most valuable part of theship's load by far, though the seamen and the owner of the lumberthought him only a silly country lad, who was going down to the city,probably on a foolish errand. And Tiny looked at the banks of theriver, right and left, as they floated down it, and thought of all thesongs he would sing.

  All the first day it was of the poor he would help, of the desolatehearts he would cheer, of the weary lives he would encourage, that hethought; the world that had need of him should never find him hard ofhearing when it called to him for help. And much he wondered--the poetTiny sailing down the river towards the world, how it happened that theworld with all its mighty riches, and its hosts on hosts of helpers,should ever stand in need of him! But though he wondered, his joy wasnone the less that it had happened so. On the first night he dreamed ofpale faces growing rosy, and sad hearts becoming lighter, and wearyhands strengthened, all by his own efforts. The world that had need ofhim felt itself better off on account of his labours!

  But on the second day of Tiny's journey other thoughts began to minglewith these. About his father and mother he thought, not in such a wayas they would have been glad to know, but proudly and loftily! Whatcould he do for them? Bring home a name that the world never mentionedexcept with praises and a blessing! And that thought made his cheekglow and his eyes flash, and at night he dreamed of a trumpeter shoutinghis name abroad, and going up the river to tell old Josiah how famoushis boy had become in the earth!

  And the third day he dreamed, with his eyes wide open, the livelong day,of the Beautiful Gate, and the palace of Fame and Wealth to which itled! and he saw himself entering therein, and the multitude followinghim. He ate upon a throne, and wise men came with gifts, and offeredthem to him. Alas, poor Tiny! the world had already too many helpersthinking just such thoughts--it had need of no more coming with suchofferings as these. Would no one tell him so? Would no one tell himthat the new song to be sung unto our Lord was very different from this?

  At the end of the third day, Tiny's journey was ended... And he waslanded in the world... Slowly the ship came sailing into harbour, andtook its place among a thousand other ships, and Tiny went ashore.

  It was about sunset that Tiny found himself in the street of the greatcity. The workmen were going home from their labour, he thought atfirst; but could it be a city full of workmen? he asked himself as thecrowd passed by him and he stood gazing on the poor. For he saw onlythe poor: now and then something dazzling and splendid went past, but ifhe turned again to discover what it was that made his eyes ache so withthe brightness, the strange sight was lost in the crowd, and all hecould see were pale faces, and hungry voices, and the half-clad forms ofmen, and women, and children. And then he said to himself with a groan,"The city is full of beggars."

  As he said that, another thought occurred to Tiny, and he unfastened hisharp, and touched the strings. But in the din and roar of the citywagons, and in the confusion of voices, for every one seemed to betalking at the top of his voice, what chance had that harp-player ofbeing heard? Still, though the crowd brushed past him as if there wasno sound whatever in the harp strings, and no power at all in the handthat struck them, Tiny kept on playing, and presently he began to sing.

  It was _that_ they wanted--the living human voice, that trembled andgrew strong again, that was sorrowful and joyous, that prayed and wept,and gave thanks, just as the human heart does! It was _that_ the peoplewanted; and so well did they know their want that the moment Tiny beganto sing, the crowd going past him, heard his voice. And the peoplegathered round him, and more than one said to himself with joy, "Ourbrother has come at last!"

  They gathered around him--the poor, and lame, and sick, and blind;ragged children, weary men, desponding women, whose want and sorrowspoke from every look, and word, and dress. Closely they crowded aroundhim; and angry voices were hushed, and troubled hearts for the momentforgot their trouble, and the weary forgot that another day of toil wasbefore them. The pale woman nearest Tiny who held the little baby inher arms, felt its limbs growing colder and colder, and once she lookedunder her shawl and quickly laid her hand upon her darling's heart, butthough she knew then that the child was dead, still she stood theresmiling, and looking up towards heaven where Tiny's eyes so oftenlooked, because at that very moment he was singing of the Father inHeaven, whose house of many mansions is large enough for all the world.

  It was strange to see the effect of Tiny's song upon those people! Howbright their faces grew! kind words from a human heart are such anexcellent medicine--they make such astonishing cures! You would havethought, had you been passing by the crowd that gathered around Tiny,you would have thought an angel had been promising some good thing tothem. Whereas it was only this young Tiny, this country lad, who hadjourneyed from the shadow of the Great Forest, who was telling them of agood time surely coming!

  When he had finished his song, Tiny would have put up his harp, and gonehis way, but that he could not do, because of the crowd.

  "Sing again!" the people cried,--the beggars and rich men together (itwas a long time since they had spoken with one voice). Did I tell youthat a number of rich men had gathered, like a sort of outer wall,around the crowd of poor people which stood next to Tiny?

  "Sing again," they cried; and loud and clear above the other voices saidone, "There is but a solitary singer in the world that sings in such astrain as that. And he, I thought, was far away. Can this be he?"

  Then Tiny's heart leaped within him, hearing it, and he said to himself:"If m
y father and mother were but here to see it!" And he sang again--and still for the poor, and the weary, and the sick, and thefaint-hearted, until the street became as silent as a church where theminister is saying, "Glory be unto the Father." And indeed it was justthen a sacred temple, where a sacred voice was preaching in a mostsacred cause.

  I'm sure you know by this time what the "cause" was? And while he sang,the rich men of the outer circle were busy among themselves, even whilethey listened, and presently the person who had before spoken, made hisway through the crowd, carrying a great purse filled with silver, and hesaid, "You are the poet himself--do with this what you think best. Wehave a long time been looking for you in the world. Come home with me,and dwell in my house, oh, Poet, I pray you."

  Tiny took the heavy purse, and looked at it, and from it to the people.

  Then said he--oh, what melody was in his voice, how sweet hiswords!--"None of you but are my friends--you are more--my brothers andsisters. Come and tell me how much you need." As he spoke, he lookedat the woman who stood nearest him, with the dead baby in her arms. Hereyes met his, and she threw back the old, ragged shawl, and showed himher little child. "Give me," said she, "only enough to bury it. I wantnothing for myself. I had nothing but my baby to care for."

  The poet bowed his head over the little one, and fast his tears fell onthe poor, pale face, and like pearls the tears shone on the soft, whitecheek, while he whispered in the ear of the woman, "Their angels doalways behold the face of Our Father." And he gave her what she needed,and gently covered the baby's face again with the tattered shawl, andthe mother went away.

  Then a child came up and said--now this was a poor street beggar,remember, a boy whom people called _as bold as a thief_--he came andlooked at Tiny, and said gently, as if speaking to an elder brother whomhe loved and trusted: "My father and mother are dead; I have a littlebrother and sister at home, and they depend on me; I have been trying toget work, but no one believes my story. I would like to take a loaf ofbread home to them."

  And Tiny, looking at the boy, seemed to read his heart, and he said,laying his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder, "Be always as patient,and gentle, and believing as you are now, and you will have bread forthem and to spare, without fear."

  Then came an old, old man bending on his staff, and he spoke outsharply, as if he were half starved, and all he said was, "Bread!" andwith that he held out his hand as if all he had to do was to ask, inorder to get what he wanted.

  For a moment Tiny made him no answer, and some persons who had heard thedemand, and saw that Tiny gave him nothing, began to laugh. But at thatsound Tiny rebuked them with his look, and put his hand into the purse.

  The old man saw all this, and he said, "I am tired of begging, I amtired of saying, `for mercy's sake give to me,'--for people don't havemercy--they know nothing about being merciful, and they don't care formercy's sake. I don't beg of you, Mr Poet. I only ask you as if youwere my son, and that's all. Give me bread. I'm starving."

  And Tiny said, "For my dear father's sake take this--God forbid that _I_should ever be deaf when an old man with a wrinkled face and white hairspeaks to me."

  Afar off stood a young girl looking at the poet. Tiny saw her, and thatshe needed something of him, though she did not come and ask, and so hebeckoned to her. She came at that, and as she drew nearer he fanciedthat she had been weeping, and that her grief had kept her back. Shehad wept so violently that when Tiny spoke to her and said, "What isit?" she could not answer him. But at length, while he waited sopatiently, she made a great effort, and controlled herself and said, "Mymother!"

  That was all she said--and Tiny asked no more. He knew that some greatgrief had fallen on her--that was all he needed to know; he laid hishand in hers, and turned away before she could thank him, but he leftwith her a word that he had spoken which had power to comfort her longafter the money he gave her was all gone--long after the day when herpoor mother had no more need for bread. "When my father and motherforsake me, then the Lord will lift me up." That was what he whisperedto her as he left her.

  And thus he went through that crowd of miserable people, comforting themall. But it was remarkable how much more value the poor folks seemed toput upon his word than they did upon the money he gave them, much asthey stood in need of that! I wonder if you ever thought about thewonderful power there is in words?

  At length, when the purse was empty, he stood alone in the midst of thecircle of rich men who had given him the silver to distribute as hewould. Then the man who handed him the purse went up and said to Tiny,"Poet, come home with me. You are come at last! the city ought to beilluminated--we have stood so long in need of you, expecting you."

  So Tiny, believing what the rich man said, went home with the stranger--and for a long time he abode in that house.

  And rich men feasted Tiny, and taught him to drink wine: and great menpraised him, and flattered him till he believed that their praise wasprecious above all things, and that he could not live without it! Wasnot that absurd? Nay, children, was not that most terrible, that ourdear Tiny should ever have been tempted to believe such wicked trash andfalsehood! He, too, who was to sing that sweet and holy New Song to theLord!

  They surrounded him day and night, these rich, gay men, and these greatmen, and they fed upon the delicious thoughts he gave them, and theykept him in such a whirl of pleasure that he had no time to work for thepoor, and hardly any time to think of them--excepting at the dead ofnight, when he sometimes fancied or dreamed that the old pilgrim ownerof the harp had come, or would come quickly, and take it away from him.At these times poor Tiny would make excellent resolutions, but the nextday was sure to see them broken. He seemed no stronger when heattempted to keep them than a poor little bird who is determined that hewill be free, and so goes driving against the wires of his cage!

  When Tiny spoke with his friend, as he sometimes did, about the planwith which he had come into the world, his friend always made him verypolite answers, and good promises--oh, yes, certainly he would do allthat _he_ could to help him on in such an excellent cause! But the factwas, he did everything to prevent him. I wonder if anybody else has gotany such friend in his heart, or in his house, as our Tiny found in hisvery first walk through that city street? If I knew of any one thathad, I should say, look out for him! Beware of him.

  And so Tiny lived, and presently it happened just as you would expect;his conscience troubled him no longer; he only sang such songs on feastdays, and holidays, and even in the church, as his companions liked; andhe became very well pleased with his employment! That was the veryworst of it.

  I shall tell you in a very few words what happened next. Tiny suddenlyfell ill of a very curious disease, which caused all his rich friends toforsake him, and he almost died of it.

  In those days his only helper was a poor young beggar girl--one of thosepersons whom he had relieved by his songs, and by the money hedistributed from the rich man's purse that happy day,--the little girlwho had wept so bitterly, and whose only word was, when he questionedher,--"My mother!"

  He recovered from his disease in time, but all his old acquaintances hadforsaken him; and he must have felt their loss exceedingly, for now hehad an attack of a desperate complaint, which I pray you may neverhave!--called Despair--and Tiny crept away from the sight of all men,into a garret, and thought that he would die there.

  A garret at Home is a very different place from a garret in the World;and so our poet thought, when he compared this miserable, dismal placewith the little attic far, far away in his own father's cottage, wherehe was next-door neighbour to the swallows who slept in their little mudcabins under the cottage eaves!

  Never in his life was Tiny so lonely. He had come to help the World,said he, talking to himself, and the World cared not half so much aboutit as it would about the doings of a wonderful "learned pig," or theextraordinary spectacle of a man cutting profiles with his toes in blackpaper!

  "Have you been all the while
helping the World, and is this all the payyou get?" said the girl, his poor friend, who remembered what he haddone for her, when she was in her worst need.

  "Yes," said Tiny; but there was no truth in what he said. He did notintend to speak falsely, however,--which proves the sad pass he hadarrived at; he did not even know when he was deceiving himself! Andwhen Tiny said, that "yes," what do you suppose he thought of? Not ofall the precious time that he had wasted--not of the Pilgrim's Harp--notof the promises he had made his father--nor of the great hope of thepoor which he had no cruelly disappointed--but only of the evil fortunewhich had fallen on himself! This beggar girl to wait on him, insteadof the most beautiful lady in the world for a crown bearer! This garretfor a home, instead of a place at the king's table. And more fiercelythan ever raged that sickness called Despair.

  But at length his strength began to return to him a little, and then forthe first time poor Tiny discovered that he was blind. And all the daysand weeks that came and went were like one long, dark night. In thosedreadful days our singer had nothing to do but to think, and the littlebeggar girl had nothing to do but to beg; for Tiny's charity andgoodness of heart seemed to have all forsaken him, and one day in hisanger he drove her out of his garret, and bade her return no more, forthat the very thought of her was hateful to him. In doing this, Tinybrought a terrible calamity upon himself; he fell against his harp andbroke it.

  After that, while he sat pondering on the sad plight he was in, hungryand cold and blind, he suddenly started up. A new thought had come tohim. "I will go home to my father's house," he said. "There is noother way for me. Oh, my mother!" and bitterly he wept as he pronouncedthat name, and thought how little like her tender and serene love wasthe love of the best of all the friends he had found in that great cityof the world.

  As he started up so quickly in a sort of frenzy, his foot struck againstthe broken harp, and instantly the instrument gave forth a wailingsound, that pierced the poet's heart. He lifted up the harp: alas! itwas _so_ broken he could do nothing with it; from his hands it fell backupon the floor where it had lain neglected, forgotten, so long. ButTiny's heart was now fairly awakened, and stooping to the floor, heraised the precious treasure again. "I will carry back the brokenfragments," said he; "they shall go back to my father with me. The harpis his; I can do nothing more with it for ever. I have ruined it; Ihave done nothing for the world, as I promised him. A fine thing it isfor me to go back to him in this dreadful plight. But if he says to me,`Thou art no son of mine,' I will say, `Father, I am no more _worthy_ tobe called thy son; make me thy hired servant--only pay me in love.'"

  And so saying, Tiny began to descend from his attic. Carefully he wentdown the stairs, ready to ask help of the first person whose voice heshould hear. But he had groped his way as far as the street door,before he met a soul. As he stepped upon the threshold, and was aboutto move on into the street, a voice--a child's voice--said to him--

  "I'm very hungry, sir."

  The patient tone of the speaker arrested Tiny's steps, and he pondered amoment. It was the hearts that belonged to voices like this, which hehad vowed to help! His own heart sunk within him at that thought."Wretched soul that I am," said he to himself, thinking of theopportunities which he had lost. But to the child he said--

  "I'm blinder than a bat, and hungry, too. So I'm worse off than youare. Do you live about here?"

  "Just round the corner," said the little girl.

  "Is there a physician near here?" he asked next; for a now thought--anew hope, rather--had come into his heart.

  "Yes, sir--very near. I know where it is," said the child. "I got himonce for my mother."

  "If you will lead me to him," said Tiny, his voice broken as his heartwas, "I will do a good turn for you. You won't be the loser by it. Whotakes care of you?"

  "Of me, sir?" asked the girl, as if surprised that he should think thatany one took care of her. "Nobody. I'm all alone."

  "Alone! alone!" repeated Tiny: "your hand is very little; you are a miteof a girl to be alone."

  "They're all dead but me, every one of 'em. Yes, sir, they are."

  "No mother?" said Tiny, with a choking voice--thinking of the kind heartand tender loving eyes away off in the lonely little cottage on theborder of the forest--"no mother, little girl? Was _that_ what yousaid?"

  "Dead," replied the child.

  "Did you love her?" asked Tiny, the poet, while his heart wept burningtears.

  The girl said not a word, but Tiny heard her sob, and held her handclose in his own, as though he would protect her, even if he were blind,while he said aloud--

  "Lead me to the physician, little friend."

  Quietly and swiftly she led him, and as they went, Tiny never oncethought, What if any of the great folks who once courted and praised himshould see him led on foot through the streets by a little beggar girl,himself looking hardly more respectable than the poorest of all beggars!

  "Shall I ring the door bell?" asked she, at length coming to a suddenhalt.

  "King it," said he.

  But before she could do that the house door opened, and the physicianhimself appeared, prepared for a drive; his carriage was already inwaiting at the door.

  "Here he is," exclaimed the girl; and at the same moment a gruff voicedemanded--

  "What do you want, you two, eh? Speak quick, for I'm off."

  In one word Tiny told what it was he wanted.

  "Blind, eh?" said the doctor, stooping and looking into the pale face ofthe unhappy singer; "_born_ blind! I can do nothing for you. John!drive the horses away from that curb-stone."

  He stepped forward, as he spoke, as if about to leave the children, buthe stood still again the next minute, arrested by the sound of Tiny'sindignant voice.

  "Born blind!" the singer cried; "no more than you were, sir. If youknew how to use your eyes to any good purpose, you never would say sucha thing. Since I was ill I've been blind, but never a moment before."

  "Come into the house a minute," said the doctor, who had been carefullystudying Tiny's face during the last few seconds. "Come in, and I'llsoon settle that point for you."

  "For yourself, you mean," said Tiny, in an under tone, as he and thebeggar girl went in.

  "What's that you carry?" said the physician. "Lay down your pack for amoment."

  But Tiny would not do that. He had taken up his harp in much the samespirit as if it had been a cross, and he was determined never to lay itdown again until he came to his father's house. So he merely said,"Don't call it a pack; it was a harp once, but now it's only some bitsof wood and cord."

  "Broken!" said the doctor; and you would have been in doubt, if you hadheard him, as to whether he meant Tiny's harp or heart. "Broken! ah,...;" and he seemed to get a little new light on the subject when helooked again into Tiny's face. "Ah," he said again, and still morethoughtfully; "now! about those eyes. You went into a great rage justnow when I told you that you were born blind. On a closer examinationof them, I am still tempted to think that if you were not born blind,you never had the full use of your eyes. How are you going to prove tome that I'm mistaken? If you can prove that it came after yoursickness,"--he hesitated a little--"I'm not so sure but that somethingmight be done for you."

  At that Tiny's anger was not much lessened; and he was in doubt as towhat he should do, until the child said to him, "Sing to him about yourmother." The words had the effect of a broad ray of light streaminginto a dark and dismal place, and without another word Tiny began tosing. His voice was faint and broken; it never once rose into a highstrain of pride, as if he had his merits as a singer to support; he sungwith tears, and such pathos as singer never did before, of his Motherand her Love. By the words of his song he brought her there into thatvery room, with her good and pleasant looks, her loving eyes and tendersmile, so that they who heard could also behold her. He sung of allthat she had been to him in his childhood, of the brightness she made intheir home, of all that she had d
one for him, and concluded with theprayerful longing that his eyes might once more receive their sight,that so he might behold her.

  "The doctor is weeping," whispered the little girl in Tiny's ear.

  It was a long time before the doctor spoke; but at length he arose andlaid some pieces of silver in Tiny's hand; and he said, "I cannot helpyou. But what you have to do is to go to the Beautiful Gate, and thereyou will find a physician famous for the cure of such cases as yours.True enough you weren't _born_ blind--far from it. I ask your pardonfor the mistake. I wish there were more blind in the way you were. Goyour way to the Beautiful Gate."

  As the doctor spoke he arose and walked quickly towards the door, andthe children followed him out. All at once Tiny recollected that theyhad yet one very important thing to learn, and he cried out--

  "But, sir, which way shall we go in order to arrive at the BeautifulGate?"

  Too late! while he spoke the doctor stepped into his carriage, thecoachman closed the door with a loud bang and drove away, and Tiny andthe little girl were left quite in the dark as to what they should donext. For a long time they stood still in perfect silence. At lastTiny said, "Lead the way, little girl, for I am blind and cannot see.Come! we will go on, if you have an idea that we shall ever come to theBEAUTIFUL GATE."

  "In all my life I never heard of it before," said she sadly.

  "But I have," cried Tiny, trying to keep his courage up by speakingbrave words. "Come on with me!" yet, in spite of his words, he heldfast to the girl's hand, and she led him down the street.

  Presently, towards nightfall, they came up to a crowd of people, a mobof men and boys who were quarrelling.

  Well did Tiny understand the angry sound; and, as for the girl walkingwith him, she trembled with fear, and said, "Shall we turn down thisstreet? They are having a terrible fight. I am afraid you will behurt."

  "Not I," said Tiny. "Is the sun near setting?"

  "It has set," said the girl.

  "And does the red light shine on the men's faces?" asked the poet.

  "Yes," answered the girl, wondering.

  "On the night when I first came into this city's streets it was so. Myharp was perfect then; but it was the voice, and not the other music,that the people eared for, when I sang. Wait now."

  The little girl obediently stood still, and all at once Tiny began tosing. None of his gay songs sung at feasts, and revels, or on holidays,but a song of peace, as grand and solemn as a psalm; and the quarrellingmen and boys stood still and listened, and, before the song was ended,the ringleaders of the fight had crept away in shame. Other voices thenbegan to shout in praise of the young stranger, who with a few simplewords had stilled their angry passions. "The brave fellow is blind,"said they; "we will do something good for him!" And one, and another,and another, cried out, "Come with us, and we will do you good."

  But instead of answering a word, Tiny went his way as if he were deaf asa post, as well as blind as a bat, and by his side, holding his handclose, went the little beggar girl.

  Until they came in the increasing darkness to a narrow, crooked lane,and met a woman who was running, crying, with a young child in her arms."What is this?" asked Tiny.

  "A woman, pale as death, with a child in her arms," said the girl.

  "Wait!" shouted Tiny, stopping just before the woman. His cry soastonished her that she stood, in an instant, as still as a statue."What is it that you want?"

  "Food! medicine! clothes! a home!" answered she, with a loud cry.

  "Give me the child--take this--get what you need, and I will wait herewith the little one," said Tiny.

  Without a word the woman gave her child--it was a poor little cripple--into his arms; and then she went on to obey him; and softly on theevening air, in that damp, dismal lane, arose the songs which Tiny sangto soothe and comfort the poor little creature. And in his arms itslept, hushed by the melody, a slumber such as had not for a long timevisited his eyes.

  Wonderful singer! blessed songs! sung for a wretched sickly stranger,who could not even thank him! But you think they died away upon theair, those songs? that they did no other good than merely hushing ahungry child to sleep?

  A student in an attic heard the song, and smiled, and murmured tohimself, "That is like having a long walk in in the woods, and hearingall the birds sing."

  A sick girl, who had writhed upon her bed in pain all the day, heard thegentle singing voice, and it was like a charm upon her--she lay restingin a sweet calm, and said, "Hark! it is an angel!" A blind old manstarted up from a troubled slumber, and smiled a happy smile that saidas plain as any voice, "It gives me back my youth, my children, and mycountry home;" and he smiled again and again, and listened at hiswindow, scarcely daring to breathe lest he should lose a single word. Ababy clad in rags, and sheltered from the cold with them, a baby in itscradle--what do you think that cradle was? as truly as you live, nothingbut a box such as a merchant packs his goods in! that baby, sleeping,heard it, and a light like sunshine spread over its pretty face. Athief skulking along in the shadow of the great high building, heardthat voice and was struck to the heart, and crept back to his den, anddid no wicked thing that night. A prisoner who was condemned to dieheard it in his cell near by, and he forgot his chains, and dreamed thathe was once more innocent and free--a boy playing with his mates, andloved and trusted by them.

  At length the mother of the crippled infant came back, and brought foodfor her child, and a warm blanket for it, and she, and Tiny, and thebeggar girl, Tiny's companion, ate their supper there upon the sidewalkof that dark, narrow lane, and then they went their separate ways--Tinyand his friend, taking the poor woman's blessing with them, going in onedirection, and the mother and her baby in another, but they all slept inthe street that night.

  The next morning by daybreak Tiny was again on his way down that samelong, narrow, dingy street, the little girl still walking by his side.Swiftly they walked, and in silence, like persons who are sure of theirdestination, and know that they are in the right way, though they hadnot said a word to each other on that subject since they set out in thepath.

  "What is that?" at length asked Tiny, stopping short in the street.

  "A tolling bell," said the girl.

  "Do you see a funeral?"

  "Yes; don't you?"

  Tiny made no answer at first; at length he said, "Let us go into thechurchyard;" and he waited for the beggar girl to lead the way, whichshe did, and together they went in at the open churchyard gate.

  As they did so, a clergyman was thanking the friends who had kindly cometo help in burying the mother of orphan children. Tiny heard that word,and he said to the girl, whose name, I ought long ago to have told you,was Grace--he said, "Are there many friends with the children?"

  "No," she answered sadly.

  "Are the people poor?" he asked.

  "Yes, very poor," said she.

  Then Tiny stepped forward when the clergyman had done speaking, andraised a Hymn for the Dead, and a prayer to the Father of thefatherless.

  When he had made an end, he stepped back again, and took the hand ofGrace, and walked away with her in the deep silence, for everybody inthe churchyard was weeping. But as they went through the gate thesilence was broken, and Tiny heard the clergyman saying, "Weep nolonger, children; my house shall be your home, my wife shall be yourmother. Come, let us go back to our home."

  And Grace and Tiny went their way. On, and on, and on, through thenarrow filthy street, out into the open country,--through a desert, anda forest; and it seemed as if poor Tiny would sing his very life away.For wherever those appeared who seemed to need the voice of human pity,or brotherly love, or any act of charity, the voice and Hand of Tinywere upraised. And every hour, whichever way he went, he found THEWORLD HAD NEED OF HIM!

  They had no better guide than that with which they set out on theirsearch for the BEAUTIFUL GATE. But Tiny's heart was opened, and it ledhim wherever there was misery, and want, and sin, and grief; and flowers
grew up in the path he trod, and sparkling springs burst forth in desertplaces.

  And then as to his blindness.

  Fast he held by the hand of the beggar girl as they went on their waytogether, but the film was withdrawing from his eye-balls. When heturned them up towards the heaven, if they could not yet discern that,they could get a glimpse of the earth! So he said within himself,"Surely we are in the right way; we shall yet come to the BeautifulGate, and I shall have my sight again. Then will I hasten to myfather's house, and when all is forgiven me, I will say to my mother,Receive this child I bring thee for a daughter, for she has been myguide through a weary way; and I know that my mother will love my littlesister Grace."

  "And what then?" asked a voice in Tiny's soul, "_What_ then wilt thoudo?"

  "Labour till I die!" exclaimed Tiny aloud, with flashing eyes.

  "But for what, Poet, wilt thou labour?"

  "FOR THE POOR WORLD THAT NEEDS ME," bravely cried he with a mightyvoice.

  "Ah," whispered something faintly in his ear, with a taunting voice thatpierced his heart like a sharp sword--"Ah, you said that once before;and fine work you made of it!"

  Tiny made no answer to this taunt, with words, but with all the strengthof his great poet mind he cried again, "For the poor world that needsme!" and the vow was registered in Heaven, and angels were sent tostrengthen him in that determination--him who was to sing the New Songto the Lord.

  A long way further Grace and Tiny walked together on their journey; theywalked in silence, thinking so fast that, without knowing it, they werealmost on a run in the attempt their feet were making to keep pace withtheir thoughts. At length Grace broke the silence with a sudden cry--

  "Oh, Tiny! what is this?"

  Tiny looked up at the sound of her voice, and then he stood stock stillas if he were turned to stone.

  "Oh, Tiny! can you see?" again exclaimed Grace, who was watching hercompanion's face in a great wonder; it became so changed all at once."Oh, Tiny, Tiny, can you see?" she cried again, in terror, for he didnot answer her, but grew paler and paler, swaying to and fro like a reedin the wind, until he fell like one dead upon the ground, saying--"Myhome! my home! and the Beautiful Gate is here!"

  Just then an old man came slowly from the forest, near to which they hadcome in their journey. His head was bent, he moved slowly like one introubled thought, and as he walked he said to himself, "Long have Itoiled, bringing these forest trees into this shape; and people knowwhat I have done--of their own free will they call it a Beautiful Gate.But oh, if I could only find the blind one lying before it, ready to becarried through it to his mother! then, indeed, it would be beautiful tome. Oh Tiny! oh my child, when wilt thou return from thy longwanderings?"

  "Please, sir," said a child's voice--it was the voice of our littleGrace, you know--"please, sir, will you come and help me?" and she ranback to the place where Tiny lay.

  Swiftly as a bird on wing went Josiah with the child. Without a word helifted up the senseless Poet and the Broken Harp; and with the preciousburden passed on through the Beautiful Gate of the Forest, into theCottage Home--Grace following him!

  Once more the Broken Harp hung on the kitchen wall--no longer broken.Once more the swallows and the poet slept side by side, in theircomfortable nests. Once more old Kitty's eyes grew bright. Once moreJosiah smiled. Again a singing voice went echoing through the world,working miracles of good. Rich men heard it and opened their purses.Proud men heard it and grew humble. Angry voices heard it and grewsoft. Wicked spirits heard it and grew beautiful in charities. Thesick, and sad, and desolate heard it and were at peace. Mourners heardit and rejoiced. The songs that voice sang, echoed through thechurches, through the streets; and by ten thousand thousand firesidesthey were sung again and yet again. But all the while the great heart,the mighty, loving human heart from which they came, was nestled in thatlittle nest of home on the border of the forest, far away from all theworld's temptations, in the safe shelter of a household's love.