Angel over the Right Shoulder
Page 2
deliberate intention to do so. Mrs. James, hoping toget along with a sentence or two, took her German book into the nursery.But this arrangement was not to master Charley's mind. A fig did he carefor German, but "the kitties," he must have, whether or no--and kittieshe would find in that particular book--so he turned its leaves over ingreat haste. Half of the time on the second day of trial had gone, whenAmy returned and Mrs. James with a sigh, left her nursery. Before oneo'clock, she was twice called into the kitchen to superintend someimportant dinner arrangement, and thus it turned out that she did notfinish one page of her letter.
On the third morning the sun shone, and Mrs. James rose early, madeevery provision which she deemed necessary for dinner, and for thecomfort of her family; and then, elated by her success, in good spirits,and with good courage, she entered her study precisely at eleveno'clock, and locked her door. Her books were opened, and the challengegiven to a hard German lesson. Scarcely had she made the first onset,when the door-bell was heard to ring, and soon Bridget coming nearer andnearer--then tapping at the door.
"Somebodies wants to see you in the parlor, ma'am."
"Tell them I am engaged, Bridget."
"I told 'em you were to-home, ma'am, and they sent up their names, but Iha'n't got 'em, jist."
There was no help for it--Mrs. James must go down to receive hercallers. She had to smile when she felt little like it--to be sociablewhen her thoughts were busy with her task. Her friends made a longcall--they had nothing else to do with their time, and when they went,others came. In very unsatisfactory chit-chat, her morning slipped away.
On the next day, Mr. James invited company to tea, and her morning wasdevoted to preparing for it; she did not enter her study. On the dayfollowing, a sick-head-ache confined her to her bed, and on Saturday thecare of the baby devolved upon her, as Amy had extra work to do. Thuspassed the first week.
True to her promise, Mrs. James patiently persevered for a month, in herefforts to secure for herself this little fragment of her broken time,but with what success, the first week's history can tell. With itsclose, closed the month of December.
On the last day of the old year, she was so much occupied in herpreparations for the morrow's festival, that the last hour of the daywas approaching, before she made her good night's call in the nursery.She first went to the crib and looked at the baby. There he lay in hisinnocence and beauty, fast asleep. She softly stroked his goldenhair--she kissed gently his rosy cheek--she pressed the little dimpledhand in hers, and then, carefully drawing the coverlet over it, tuckedit in, and stealing yet another kiss--she left him to his peacefuldreams and sat down on her daughter's bed. She also slept sweetly, withher dolly hugged to her bosom. At this her mother smiled, but soon gravethoughts entered her mind, and these deepened into sad ones. She thoughtof her disappointment and the failure of her plans. To her, not only thepast month but the whole past year, seemed to have been one of fruitlesseffort--all broken and disjointed--even her hours of religious duty hadbeen encroached upon, and disturbed. She had accomplished nothing, thatshe could see, but to keep her house and family in order, and even this,to her saddened mind, seemed to have been but indifferently done. Shewas conscious of yearnings for a more earnest life than this.Unsatisfied longings for something which she had not attained, oftenclouded what, otherwise, would have been a bright day to her; and yetthe causes of these feelings seemed to lie in a dim and misty region,which her eye could not penetrate.
What then did she need? To see some _results_ from her life's work? Toknow that a golden cord bound her life-threads together into _unity_ ofpurpose--notwithstanding they seemed, so often, single and broken?
She was quite sure that she felt no desire to shrink from duty, howeverhumble, but she sighed for some comforting assurance of what _was duty_.Her employments, conflicting as they did with her tastes, seemed to herfrivolous and useless. It seemed to her that there was some better wayof living, which she, from deficiency in energy of character, or ofprinciple, had failed to discover. As she leaned over her child, hertears fell fast upon its young brow.
Most earnestly did she wish, that she could shield that child from thedisappointments and mistakes and self-reproach from which the mother wasthen suffering; that the little one might take up life where she couldgive it to her--all mended by her own experience. It would have been acomfort to have felt, that in fighting the battle, she had fought forboth; yet she knew that so it could not be--that for ourselves must weall learn what are those things which "make for our peace."
The tears were in her eyes, as she gave the good-night to her sleepingdaughter--then with soft steps she entered an adjoining room, and therefairly kissed out the old year on another chubby cheek, which nestledamong the pillows. At length she sought her own rest.
Soon she found herself in a singular place. She was traversing a vastplain. No trees were visible, save those which skirted the distanthorizon, and on their broad tops rested wreaths of golden clouds. Beforeher was a female, who was journeying towards that region of light.Little children were about her, now in her arms, now running by herside, and as they travelled, she occupied herself in caring for them.She taught them how to place their little feet--she gave them timelywarnings of the pit-falls--she gently lifted them over thestumbling-blocks. When they were weary, she soothed them by singing ofthat brighter land, which she kept ever in view, and towards which sheseemed hastening with her little flock. But what was most remarkablewas, that, all unknown to her, she was constantly watched by two angels,who reposed on two golden clouds which floated above her. Before eachwas a golden book, and a pen of gold. One angel, with mild and lovingeyes, peered constantly over her right shoulder--another kept as strictwatch over her left. Not a deed, not a word, not a look, escaped theirnotice. When a good deed, word, look, went from her, the angel over theright shoulder with a glad smile, wrote it down in his book; when anevil, however trivial, the angel over the left shoulder recorded it inhis book--then with sorrowful eyes followed the pilgrim until heobserved penitence for the wrong, upon which he dropped a tear on therecord, and blotted it out, and both angels rejoiced.
To the looker-on, it seemed that the traveller did nothing which wasworthy of such careful record. Sometimes she did but bathe the wearyfeet of her little children, but the angel over the _rightshoulder_--wrote it down. Sometimes she did but patiently wait to lureback a little truant who had turned his face away from the distantlight, but the angel over the _right shoulder_--wrote it down. Sometimesshe did but soothe an angry feeling or raise a drooping eye-lid, or kissaway a little grief; but the angel over the right shoulder--_wrote itdown_.
Sometimes, her eye was fixed so intently on that golden horizon, and shebecame so eager to make progress thither, that the little ones, missingher care, did languish or stray. Then it was that the angel over the_left shoulder_, lifted his golden pen, and made the entry, and followedher with sorrowful eyes, until he could blot it out. Sometimes sheseemed to advance rapidly, but in her haste the little ones had fallenback, and it was the sorrowing angel who recorded her progress.Sometimes so intent was she to gird up her loins and have her lamptrimmed and burning, that the little children wandered away quite intoforbidden paths, and it was the angel over the _left shoulder_ whorecorded her diligence.
Now the observer as she looked, felt that this was a faithful and truerecord, and was to be kept to that journey's end. The strong clasps ofgold on those golden books, also impressed her with the conviction that,when they were closed, it would only be for a future opening.
Her sympathies were warmly enlisted for the gentle traveller, and with abeating heart she quickened her steps that she might overtake her. Shewished to tell her of the angels keeping watch above her--to entreat herto be faithful and patient to the end--for her life's work was allwritten down--every item of it--and the _results_ would be known whenthose golden books should be unclasped. She wished to beg of her tothink no duty trivial which must be done, for over her right shoulderand over her left were recording angels, who
would surely take note ofall!
Eager to warn the traveller of what she had seen, she touched her. Thetraveller turned, and she recognized or seemed to recognize _herself_.Startled and alarmed she awoke in tears. The gray light of morningstruggled through the half-open shutter, the door was ajar and merryfaces were peeping in.
"Wish you a happy new year, mamma,"--"Wish you a _Happy new Year_"--"ahappy noo ear."
She returned the merry greeting most heartily. It seemed to her as ifshe had entered upon a new existence. She had found her way through thethicket in which she had been entangled, and a light was now about herpath. The _Angel over the Right Shoulder_ whom she had seen in herdream, would bind up in his golden book her life's work, if it were butwell done. He required of her no great deeds, but faithfulness andpatience to the end of the race which was set before her. Now she