Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER VIII.

  INDIAN SUMMER.

  About a fortnight after my first arrival at Hazel Grove commenced thatdelightful season which we call Indian Summer. I dare say you all knowthat by this we mean the two or three weeks of mild pleasant weatherwhich we generally have in November, after the frosty nights and coldwinds have made us suppose that Winter has come. I have no doubt thatyou all love better to be in the open air at this season than at anyother,--that you play more merrily when out, and go in more reluctantly.But you have perhaps enjoyed the season without exactly knowing thereason of your enjoyment. Now I would have you, when next there is anIndian Summer, notice how pure and balmy the air is, and of how deep andrich a yellow are the beams of the sun. I would have my young friendsobserve all the beautiful and pleasant things with which God hassurrounded them, for if they do not, they will fail to give Him, inreturn, the tribute of loving and grateful hearts which is due to Him.

  It was on one of these bright, pure, golden days in Indian Summer that Iseated myself as usual after breakfast in Mrs. Wilmot's library, but Itried in vain either to read or write. Do what I would, my eyes wouldturn to the windows, and instead of the words on the page before me, Isaw the leaves on the trees, the white clouds sailing over the brightblue sky, or the little birds hopping from branch to branch. If I hadhad lessons to learn that day I know not what I should have done,--but Ihad no lessons to learn, so I threw my book aside, put on my shawl andbonnet, and was soon walking in that beautiful wood whose appearance onmy first arrival I have described to you. Delightful indeed was mywalk--full of pleasant sights and sounds,--and often did I wish for someof my young friends to partake of my enjoyments, as I saw a shower ofbright-colored leaves whirling about in the air whenever the windstirred the branches of the trees, or a shy rabbit spring away to asafer hiding-place, or a startled squirrel dart to the topmost boughswhich overhung my path, as the dry leaves rustled under my feet. So Iwandered on, observing all these things, but meeting no one till I hadnearly passed the wood. Then I heard a low, gentle voice singing. Ilistened, approaching as softly as possible. Soon I could hear thewords, and found that they were French. It was a hymn describing thebeauties of nature, and expressing the devotion of a grateful lovingheart to Him who made it so beautiful. I afterwards had the words ofthis hymn from Cecille, and have tried to translate them into Englishverse for you. Here is my translation.

  CECILLE'S HYMN.

  I.

  Thine, Father, is yon sky so bright, And Thine the sun, whose golden light Is shed alike on brook and sea, On lowly flower and lofty tree. So Thou, in equal love, hast smiled On seraph high and humble child.

  II.

  No sea on which the sun doth look Gleams brighter than yon little brook, The loftiest tree, the lowliest flower, Alike rejoice to feel his power; And Thou, while seraphs hymn thy praise, Dost bend to hear my simple lays.

  When I was quite near Cecille my steps caused her to look around. Shedid not seem at all startled or surprised at seeing me, but with apleasant smile held out her hand to me as I bade her good morning.

  "I see, Cecille," said I, "that this lovely weather makes you an idleras well as me."

  "Not quite an idler, ma'am," she replied, showing me a drawing she hadmade while sitting there, of the Widow Daly's cottage and orchard.

  "For what is that pretty drawing intended, Cecille?"

  "I hardly know yet, ma'am. The sun looked so bright and warm, thatgrandmamma knew I longed to be in it, so she made me put away myembroidery and come out, and this was the only thing I could do outhere."

  After looking at it a moment in silence, she added, "Do you not think itwould make a pretty painting for the top of a work-box?"

  "Yes, very pretty; but are you never idle, Cecille?"

  "Not often, ma'am," said she, modestly.

  "And do you not get weary of being always at work?"

  "Weary of working for grandmamma--dear, good grandmamma!" she exclaimed,with energy. "Oh, no!--never." A minute after, speaking more quietly,she said, "Perhaps I should get tired, but when the work seems dull andhard, I always remember what Mr. Logan told me to do."

  "And what was that, Cecille?"

  "He said that at such times I must think of something that grandmammawanted very much, and say to myself, this will help me to buy it when itis done, and he was sure then I would not get tired, or want to put mywork down."

  "Mr. Logan was a very wise man. Where did you know him?"

  "In N., a little village that we went to when we first came over fromFrance, when my dear papa was with us. He lived there with us for fouryears before he went back to France. My own dear papa, how I wish Icould see him!"

  "You remember your father then," said I.

  "Remember him!" she repeated; "why it is only two years since he left usto go back to France."

  "And what made him leave you, Cecille?" said I--then in an instant,feeling that my interest in Cecille had made me ask a question which itmight be wrong in her to answer, I added, "Do not answer me, my child,if it was any thing which you think your father would not wish you totell."

  "Oh, no!" said Cecille, smiling, "it was only because some friends wroteto him to say that if he would come to France, they thought they couldget the king to give him back an estate that had been unjustly takenfrom him."

  "And should he get it, would you return to France, Cecille?"

  "Yes, for papa and grandmamma love France so well, that they will never,I think, be quite happy anywhere else. My mamma is buried there too, onthat same estate."

  "Do you remember her, Cecille?"

  "No--she died when I was a very little baby, and my grandmamma took careof me just as if she had been my own mamma. Papa told me all about itthe night before he went away from us, and then he divided all the moneythat was left of what he had brought from France into two parcels, andhe made me count what he took, and showed me that it was just enough topay for his going back; and he told me how much was in the other parcel,that he was to leave with grandmamma. It seemed a great deal to me then,but papa said it was very little, and that it could not last long. Thenhe told me that he had taught me all he could himself, and had othersteach me what he could not, in order that I might be able to work forgrandmamma and myself, and I must do it when that money was gone, if Ihoped for his blessing."

  "And what made you leave N.?"

  "Because it was such a little village that I could hardly get any workthere. Mr. Logan advised us to go to New York; and we set out to gothere, but the stage broke down with us here, and if it was not thatpoor grandmamma had suffered so much, I should be glad it did."

  "You like your home here, then?"

  "Oh, yes! dear Dr. Willis and Mrs. Wilmot are so kind to us. And then itis so pleasant to teach Clara and Grace, and every month to carry homesome money to grandmamma."

  "Then you carry to her whatever is paid you?"

  "Yes; and after she has taken out what will pay Mrs. Daly our rent, andany thing else we happen to owe, she gives me back the rest to do what Iplease with. I long for this month to be gone, that I may get mymoney,--for I have something very good to do with it this month."

  She looked up so pleasantly in my face, that I said, "Will you not tellme what it is, Cecille?"

  "Yes, if you will not tell, for I want to surprise grandmamma. I amgoing to get her some flannel. I have found out already how much it willcost, and I will have a plenty of money, with a little that I laid byfrom the last month, to get it. Then I will get some one to show me howto cut it out, and it shall be all made before grandmamma sees it. Doyou not think she will be pleased?"

  "Very much pleased, I doubt not," I replied, "and you must let me cut itfor you, and assist you in making it."

  "Will you do that? That will be very kind."

  We were both silent a little while, when Cecille, suddenly looking up,asked, "Do you not speak French?"

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Then you mus
t come and see my grandmamma. Will you not?"

  "Certainly--with pleasure; but does she not speak English?"

  "A little, but it is not easy to her--and so I do not ask people to seeher who cannot understand her French."

  "Shall I go with you now?" I asked.

  Cecille looked up to the sun and down again, without speaking. I saw shewas a little embarrassed, and said, "You would rather I should not goto-day."

  "Yes--for it is near grandmamma's dinner-time, and I must go to get itfor her," she added, rising.

  I rose too, and taking her hand, said, "Well, good-by, Cecille--rememberwe are not to be strangers any longer."

  "No, no," she said, warmly, "friends--good friends now." She held up herface to be kissed, picked up her pencil and drawing, and hastened away.Before she had gone far I could again hear her carolling cheerfully,"Thine, Father, is yon sky so bright."