THE ANGEL故事

　　 "WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of God comes down

　　 from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out his

　　 great white wings, and flies with him over all the places

　　 which the child had loved during his life. Then he gathers a

　　 large handful of flowers, which he carries up to the Almighty,

　　 that they may bloom more brightly in heaven than they do on

　　 earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to His heart, but

　　 He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives a

　　 voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss."

　　 These words were spoken by an angel of God, as he carried

　　 a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in a

　　 dream. Then they passed over well-known spots, where the

　　 little one had often played, and through beautiful gardens

　　 full of lovely flowers.

　　 "Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be

　　 transplanted there?" asked the angel.

　　 Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush, but some

　　 wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds

　　 hung faded and withered on the trailing branches.

　　 "Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us take it with us

　　 to heaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."

　　 The angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child,

　　 and the little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered

　　 also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble

　　 buttercups and heart's-ease.

　　 "Now we have flowers enough," said the child; but the

　　 angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.

　　 It was night, and quite still in the great town. Here they

　　 remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street,

　　 in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from

　　 the houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of

　　 plates, pieces of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish

　　 not pleasant to see. Amidst all this confusion, the angel

　　 pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot, and to a lump of

　　 earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from

　　 falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower,

　　 which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.

　　 "We will take this with us," said the angel, "I will tell

　　 you why as we fly along."

　　 And as they flew the angel related the history.

　　 "Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar, lived a poor

　　 sick boy; he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even

　　 in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the

　　 room on crutches once or twice, but no more. During some days

　　 in summer, the sunbeams would lie on the floor of the cellar

　　 for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy would

　　 sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the red

　　 blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his

　　 face. Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing

　　 of the green forest in its spring verdure, till a neighbor's

　　 son brought him a green bough from a beech-tree. This he would

　　 place over his head, and fancy that he was in the beech-wood

　　 while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gayly. One spring

　　 day the neighbor's boy brought him some field-flowers, and

　　 among them was one to which the root still adhered. This he

　　 carefully planted in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat

　　 near his bed. And the flower had been planted by a fortunate

　　 hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots, and blossomed every

　　 year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy, and

　　 his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished

　　 it, and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam

　　 that found its way into the cellar, from the earliest morning

　　 ray to the evening sunset. The flower entwined itself even in

　　 his dreams- for him it bloomed, for him spread its perfume.

　　 And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even

　　 in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year with

　　 God. During that time the flower has stood in the window,

　　 withered and forgotten, till at length cast out among the

　　 sweepings into the street, on the day of the lodgers' removal.

　　 And this poor flower, withered and faded as it is, we have

　　 added to our nosegay, because it gave more real joy than the

　　 most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."

　　 "But how do you know all this?" asked the child whom the

　　 angel was carrying to heaven.

　　 "I know it," said the angel, "because I myself was the

　　 poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own

　　 flower well."

　　 Then the child opened his eyes and looked into the

　　 glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they

　　 found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness

　　 and joy. And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and

　　 wings were given him so that he could fly with the angel, hand

　　 in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His

　　 heart; but He kissed the withered field-flower, and it

　　 received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels,

　　 who surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant

　　 circle, but all equally happy. They all joined in the chorus

　　 of praise, both great and small,- the good, happy child, and

　　 the poor field-flower, that once lay withered and cast away on

　　 a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street.

　　 THE END