Little Alice\'s Palace

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LITTLE ALICE'S PALACE;
OR,
THE SUNNY HEART.

LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

1872.

{i:Miss Mason and Lolly: p0.jpg}

CHAPTER I.

The rain was pattering, pattering steadily upon the roof of a little
brown cottage that stood alone by the country roadside.

There had been a long and dreary winter, and now the bright spring was
coming, with its buds and leaves and flowers, to gladden the earth, that
had all the time seemed to be dead.

As the shower came down, the little green blades of grass sprang up to
catch the drops; and they seemed almost to laugh and sing, so full of joy
were they when they could lift their heads from the dust.

It was so much sweeter to be out once more from their prison-house and to
exult with all God's fair creation; so they bathed themselves in the
falling shower, and made themselves fresh and clean; and nobody would
ever have believed that they came out from their dark beds in the earth.

Little Alice looked out of the windows of the brown cottage, and saw them
nodding gaily to her as they were taking their bath; and so she smiled
back again, and talked to them from her perch in the window-seat as if
they were brothers and sisters, with eyes and ears to see and hear, and
hearts to return her love. Indeed, there was no one else to whom she
could talk the livelong day. No father, for he was dead; no living
brothers and sisters; no mother at home, for they were very poor, and her
mother must be gone at early dawn to labour for their food and clothing
and shelter;--and so Alice had to make companions of the blades of grass
that nodded at her through the drops.

"Oh, you beauties!" said she gladly; "and I know who made you, too, and
what a great, good God he is to send you here--bright little creatures
that you are. How pleasant it will be down by the brook-side when the
sun comes out, and you and I and the blue violets and the dandelions have
our visiting-time together! Never a little girl had such joy as I have!"
And Alice put her face close to the pane, and looked up into the sky to
thank her kind heavenly Father for sending her such blessings. It seemed
as if she could see him bending graciously down towards her, as her
Sunday-school teacher had often represented him to her; and then she
thought of Him who was upon the earth, and who took up little children in
his arms and blessed them; and she put out her hands towards the heavens,
saying earnestly, "Me, too, dear Saviour: bless me too!"

So absorbed was she that she didn't hear anybody enter the room until a
timid voice said,--

"Who were you speaking to, Alice?"

There was such a woful figure by the door as she turned her head--no
bonnet, no shoes, and a tattered frock, all draggled with dirt and rain,
and the long, uncombed locks straggling about the child's shoulders, and
such a blue, pinched look in the thin face!

"Oh, it's you, Maddie, is it?" said Alice, jumping from the window and
taking the hand of the new-comer. "But it was a pity to get so wet. I'm
glad you've come. We'll keep house together till it clears away, and
then maybe we'll have a nice walk. First we must dry your clothes,
though." And she put some sticks in the fireplace, and putting a match
to them, stationed Maddie before the blaze, while she held the skirt out
to dry.

"Isn't it pleasant here?" asked Alice, with a beaming smile.

Maddie looked around, with a half shrug, upon the cheerless room, with
its bit of a table and the one chair and the low, curtainless window, and
then her eyes fell upon the scantily-clad little girl by her side; and
then she shivered, as the dampness of her clothes sent a creeping chill
through her frame; but she didn't say it was pleasant.

"Aren't you afraid to stay here so much alone, Alice?" she asked, giving
another glance about the room.

"But I never stay _alone_, Maddie!" answered the dear child. "I have
plenty of company--'Tabby,' and the flies, and now and then a spider, and
everything that goes by the door, and the clouds and the sunshine and the
leaves and the--oh dear! so many things, Maddie, that I can't begin to
tell you." And she stopped short for want of breath.

"And somebody you were talking to. Who was that?" asked Maddie.

"Ah, yes, best of all! Don't you know, Maddie?" said Alice, sinking her
voice to a whisper, and gazing earnestly at her young companion. "Miss
Mason told me how He is everywhere, and sees and hears us, and that he
loves us better than our mother or father can do, and watches over us and
keeps us from all harm. If you go to the school with me you'll learn all
about it, Maddie dear. No, no; I'm never _alone_ though mother _is gone_
all the long day."

"Do you _see_ Him, Alice?" asked Maddie earnestly.

"Not as I see _you_, Maddie," returned her companion with reverence; "but
when I look up into the sky, and sometimes when I sit here by myself and
speak things that I have learned from my Bible, I seem to feel some
strange brightness all above and around me; and it's so real to me that
it's just like seeing with these eyes. Miss Mason says 'it's my soul
that sees.' Whatever it is, it's very beautiful, Maddie." And Alice
clasped her hands in a sort of ecstasy, and drew near to the window to
look up once more into the heavens, whither her eyes and her heart so
continually turned.

CHAPTER II.

The shower did not last long, and the warm sun melted the diamonds from
the grass, so that it was soon fit for the little girls to go out into
the freshness and enjoy the pleasant air.

"Don't you think this a pretty cottage?" asked Alice, as they stepped
outside and stood looking upon her home. "See the moss all over the
shingles; how velvety it is! Tabby goes up there to sleep on the soft
cushion in the sun. And here's where I put my convolvuluses, and they
climb up and run all over the window and make such a nice curtain, with
the pink and blue and white and purple mixed with the green; and they
reach up to the very chimney, Maddie, and hug it round, and then trail
down upon the roof. Oh, I think it's elegant! And here's my flower-bed,
right under the window, where mother can smell the blossoms as we sit
sewing when she has a day at home. We take real comfort here, mother and
I, Maddie." And so the little blithesome child prattled about her humble
home, while her companion looked in astonishment upon her, wondering why
it was that Alice always seemed so happy, while _she_ was so miserable.

"We'll go down by the brook-side now," said Alice. "There's my grand
palace. Such hangings! all blue and gold and crimson; and carpets that
your feet sink into; and a great mirror, such as the richest man couldn't
buy. Don't you know what I mean, Maddie?" And Alice laughed gleefully
as they reached the brook-side, and pointed to the heavens above, so
brilliant in the sunny radiance, and down to the green and flowery turf
beneath their feet, and to the clear stream that reflected all things,
like the purest glass. And she said, "Now, don't you like my palace,
Maddie?"

"Yes, it's very pretty here," said Maddie; but she didn't seem to feel
about it as Alice did, who was in such good spirits that she could keep
neither her feet nor her tongue still, but frisked about the green like a
young deer, and chattered like a magpie, only in far sweeter tones.

"_This_ is my _bower_," said she, lifting up the drooping branches of a
willow and shutting herself and Maddie within. "Here I come for a nap
when I am tired of play; and the leaves rustle in the wind, making a
pleasant sound, and the birds sit on the boughs and sing me asleep, and I
dream always happy dreams. When awake, I think about the pure river that
my Bible speaks of, and the tree of life that is on either side, and the
beautiful light that isn't like the sun, nor the moon, nor the blaze of a
candle, but comes from the face of God, and is never hidden from us to
leave us in darkness."

Maddie sat down upon a large stone that Alice called her throne, and
looked eagerly up at her companion for more; for Alice's words seemed to
her like some beautiful story out of a book.

"Did you ever go into any great house, Maddie?" asked Alice.

"No, never," said Maddie. "I passed by Mrs. Cowper's one day, and looked
in at the open door when somebody was coming out, but I couldn't see
much."

"That's just where I went with mother," said Alice; "and little Mary took
me into a high room, the walls all velvet and satin and gold, so that my
eyes ached for looking; and there were such heaps of pretty things on the
tables and all about the place; but it didn't make me feel glad as I do
when I get out here in my grand palace with these living, breathing
things around me. O Maddie, there isn't anything on earth so beautiful
as what God has made!"

"Do you stay out here always?" asked Maddie.

"Oh no," said Alice; "that would be idle. When mother has work I stay at
home to help her. I've learned to sew nicely now, and can save mother
many a stitch. To-day's my holiday, and I can play with you as long as
you please. I've brought some dinner, and we'll set a table in my dining-
hall." And she took from her pocket a little parcel, and led Maddie from
the bower to a hollow near the brook, where was a flat rock, and there
she spread her frugal fare.

There were two pieces of homemade bread and a small slice of cold bacon,
which she put upon leaves in the middle of the rocky table; and gathering
some violets, she placed them in bunches here and there, till the table
was sweet with their delicious fragrance.

Just as the children were about to help themselves to the food, there
came some little tired feet over the grass; and a more forlorn figure
than Maddie's stood a few yards off, looking shyly, but wistfully, at
them.

"Now, Lolly, you may just run home again as quick as you can," said
Maddie sharply. "We haven't enough dinner for Alice and me. Go, now!"
And she went towards her and gave her a slight push, at which the child
cried, but without turning away or making a step towards home.

"Is that your sister?" asked Alice, going up to Maddie.

"Yes; she's always running after me," returned Maddie, with an
ill-natured frown.

"Poor little thing!" said Alice. "I wish my sister Nellie had lived. I
shouldn't be cross to her, I know. Come here, Lolly: you shall have some
of _my_ dinner." And she led the little grateful child to the wild
table, that seemed to her like a fairy scene, with the fresh leaf-plates,
and the pure sweet flowers breathing so delightfully.

"Mother makes capital bread--doesn't she, Maddie?" said Alice, as she ate
her small portion with evident relish, while she shared the remnant with
her guests.

"Now, Maddie," said she, as they finished the repast, "you clear the
table and wash the dishes, and Lolly and I'll go to my mirror to make
ourselves nice to sit down, and then I'll tell you the story my teacher
told me the other day, if you would like to hear it."

Maddie gladly agreed to this; and Lolly gave herself up to the gentle
hands of her new friend, who took her to the brook and washed her face
until the dirt all vanished and her cheeks were like two red roses. Then
she took her pocket-comb, and, dipping it into the water, made the
child's hair so smooth that Lolly didn't know herself when she looked
into the brook, and asked, "What little girl it was with such bright eyes
and fresh rosy cheeks?" And when Alice told her that it was herself, she
laughed with delight, and said "she would come every day to dress herself
by Alice's mirror if she could look so nice." And then Alice and Maddie
and Lolly went to the bower for the story.

Alice sat down on the grassy bank, and Lolly laid her head upon her
friend's lap, while Maddie crowded close to her to listen.

"I don't know that I can remember it very well," said Alice; "but I'll
tell it as nearly as I can like Miss Mason. She called it 'The Little
Exiled Princess,' and this is it."

CHAPTER III.

Once upon a time there was a little girl no bigger than Lolly here,
sitting in the dirt by the roadside, crying.

Her frock was all ragged and soiled, and the tears had run over the dust
upon her face, making it streaked, and disfiguring it sadly.

Altogether, she was a very miserable little object, when a lady, walking
along the road, suddenly came upon her, and stopped to see what was the
matter.

As the lady gazed upon the strange, ragged little creature, there came
tears into her eyes, and she said softly, as if speaking to herself,--

"Who would think that this is the daughter of a great King?"

The child, seeing a beautiful lady before her, jumped from the ground,
and, with shame, began to shake herself from the dirt that clung to her
garments; but the stranger, taking no notice of her untidy condition,
clasped the child's fingers in her white hand, and told her to lead her
to her home.

It was a brown cottage, very like mine, only _that_ one was hung with
cobwebs, and the dust was an inch thick upon the floor, and the window
was so begrimmed that scarcely any light came through.

"Ugh!" said the lady, as she stood upon the threshold and looked in.

"Bring me a broom!" And she brushed away the hanging webs, and made the
floor neat and clean, and taught the child to wash the window, until the
bright sun came in and played about the floor and upon the walls; and
then she made the little girl wash her face and hands, and put on a
better frock, that she found in the chest.

"Now, my little princess," said she, "come outside for a while, in the
fresh air, and I will talk to you."

"Why do you call me 'little princess'?" asked the child, as they sat down
upon the cottage-step, while the birds twittered about them and the sweet
breath of summer touched their cheeks.

"Because you are the daughter of a great King," said the lady, gently
stroking her soft, brown hair, that she had found so tangled and shaggy,
but had made so nice and smooth.

"My father was a poor man, and he lies in the graveyard," said the little
girl, as she looked wonderingly at her friend.

"Yes; but I mean your heavenly Father," said the lady--"he whom we call
GOD. Surely you have heard of him, my dear child!"

The little girl said that she had heard of him; but, from what she could
learn, the lady knew that she looked upon him as one that is afar off;
and she wished to teach her how very near he is continually, even round
about her bed and about her path, and spying out all her ways.

"Do you live here all alone, dear child?" asked she kindly.

Her words were so sweet and gentle that they sounded like the murmur of
the brook near the little child's home.

"All day long alone, while mother is away at her work," answered the
child, with her eyes full of sad tears.

"And what do you do with the weary hours? Do they not seem very dull and
dreary to you?" asked the lady.

"Ah, yes," said the little one. "I have nobody to play with or talk to;
and I'm glad when the night comes and I can creep into bed and shut my
eyes and forget everything."

"What if you had some kind friend ever near, to smile on you and bless
you,--somebody to whom you could tell all your little sorrows as you are
now doing to me?" said the lady. "Would that be pleasant?"

"Oh yes, indeed!" returned the child. "Will you stay?" for she had felt
it very sweet to be sitting there with the kind lady's words falling like
music upon her ear, and her heart was lighter and happier than it had
been in all her life.

"I cannot always be with you," said the lady. "But there is One who
'will never leave you.' How beautiful he has made everything about you!"
And she looked upon the green earth, with the peeping flowers, and upon
the delicate shrubs that skirted the roadside, and the wild-roses and
creeping plants along the hedges, and then she looked up into the blue
heavens, with such an expression of love that the child gazed at her with
rapture.

"Such a good God!" said the lady, still looking up with the bright light
upon her face. "And such a wondrously beautiful world, where we may walk
joyously, with his love in our hearts as well as all about our path; and
yet we sit in the dust weeping, and forget that he is our Father, and
that he is watching for us to turn towards him--poor, wandering, wayward
children that we are!"

Though the lady spoke as if to herself, the child knew that she was
thinking of her; for she had not quite put away the shame of her first
appearance; and she touched her white hand timidly with her brown finger,
and said, really in earnest, "I won't sit in the dirt again."

"That's a dear child," said her friend. "You must never again forget
that, although you are poor, and must live in this world for a while, you
are in truth a little exiled princess, and your glorious home is with the
great King, your Father, in the skies; and it does not become the
daughter of so great a King to put herself on a level with the beasts;
but you must lift yourself up more and more towards heaven."

The little girl looked at her, and straightened her figure to its
greatest possible height.

"Not to carry yourself proudly, as the daughter of an earthly king might
do," continued the lady, "but be above doing a mean or low thing, and try
to be heavenly and pure, like your blessed Lord and Father; and then he
will lift you up to his beautiful, high throne."

The child's head drooped again, and she looked despondingly at her
teacher, as if she did not really know what to do.

"I'm going now," said the lady; "but I shall come once a week to see how
you get on. I shall not expect the cobwebs to gather any more in the
cottage, nor the dust to collect upon the floor, nor to shut out the sun
from the window, nor the little princess's face to be dirty and ugly;
because that would offend the pure and holy God, who made this world
fresh and clean and beautiful, and expects his children to keep it so. Do
you think you will remember 'Our Father'?"

"'Who art in heaven,'" said the child, calling to mind the prayer taught
her some time in her life, but long since almost forgotten.

"Not in heaven _only_, dear child," said the lady. "I want you to think
of him as close beside you always, wherever you go. Can you read?"

"A little."

The lady opened a pocket-Bible, and drawing the little girl closer to
her, said, "Now, say after me,--

"'Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy
presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed
in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and
dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead
me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness
shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the
darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the
darkness and the light are both alike to thee.'

"You see, my dear child," said she, as she reverently closed the book,
"we cannot get away from God if we would, and surely we would not try to
hide ourselves from so kind a Friend and Father if we could. Only when
we are doing something that we are ashamed of do we shun the face of one
who loves us; and if we try to flee from the eye of God we may be sure we
are guilty of some wickedness. How much sweeter is it to do what we know
will please him, and look freely up into his face, as a good child
delights to meet his earthly parent's smile!"

The lady rose to go, and the child looked wistfully at her and then at
the little Bible.

"Ah yes; I will give you this. It will tell you what to do." And she
put the book into the child's hands. "You will read a chapter every day
till I come?"

The little girl gladly promised, but was sad at the parting; for never an
hour passed so cheerily as the hour with the kind teacher.

"You may be sure I'll come again, for _He_ sends me," said the lady. And
she looked up once more with the heavenly face, and then stooped till her
soft lips touched the child's forehead; and, while the pressure of the
gentle kiss thrilled through the very soul of the little girl, her friend
was gone.

CHAPTER IV

"Did she come again?" asked Maddie, who had got upon her knees in front
of Alice, with mouth and eyes and ears wide open for the story.

"Oh yes; many and many a time," said Alice. "And she taught the little
girl to see her Father's love in the trees, and the flowers, and all
about, as she walked amid his beautiful creation; and she learned to be a
neat, tidy little girl, instead of the dirty, miserable creature that sat
crying in the dirt by the roadside when she first saw her friend. The
lady taught her to look upon herself as greatly beloved by her Father,
and after that she was not miserable any more."

"Did you ever see the little princess?" asked Lolly, raising her head
from Alice's lap and looking earnestly at her.

"Yes, indeed. Every day since the lady came to her," said Alice. "She
lives in the same cottage now; but it has grown to be a beautiful place;
for God's flowers are all about it, and God's sun streams in at the
window, and all over the mossy roof, like a golden flood,--and God
himself is always with her to keep her from harm and from being lonely or
sad." And as Alice said this, the tears glistened in her blue eyes, as
the dew-drops sparkle through the sunlight in the violets.

"We'll go and see her now," continued she; "and I'll show you two other
little exiled princesses." And she took Lolly and Maddie down by the
brook-side, and bade them look in her great mirror; and there they saw
themselves and Alice--all children of the great King.

"Ah, now I know!" said Maddie, clapping her hands. "_You_ are the little
princess, Alice, and Miss Mason is the good lady. Is she so nice as all
that?"

"_Just as nice_, dear Maddie," replied Alice; "and if you and Lolly will
go with me to the Sunday-school, she'll tell us a great many more
beautiful stories, to help us on our way to our heavenly home.

"But come. It is nearly time for us to go now. Mother will be looking
for me. Good-bye."

And the little girl with the sunny heart bounded into the cottage with a
smile and a kiss for her mother.

CHAPTER V.

When Alice left the children, they went sauntering along the road towards
home. Very slowly they walked, and not joyously and hopefully, as little
children do who think of their father's house as the brightest and
dearest spot in the whole world.

It was a long distance from the brown cottage of their friend; but the
freshness of the evening made it delightful to be out, and they had been
resting so many hours that they were not weary. Besides, the twinkling
stars came out in the sky, and there was shining above them the calm,
bright moon; and altogether it was so serene and lovely, that they almost
wished they could be always walking in some pleasant path that should
have no unpleasant thing at the end--such as they felt their home to be.
Presently they came to a bend in the road, and a few steps from the
corner was a low-roofed house, a ruinous-looking place, with rags stuffed
in the broken window-panes. There were green fields around it, and tall
trees gracefully waving near it; but the old house spoiled the landscape
by its slovenly, shabby appearance.

A dim light was burning in the room nearest the children; and as they
approached, they could see their father and mother sitting at a table,
eating their coarse supper of bread and cold salt pork.

Lolly thought what a pleasant table Alice had by the brook-side, and the
scent of the violets seemed even now to reach her, and the music of the
waters was in her ears, and the bright, happy face of her little playmate
came freshly before her, making the dingy room where her parents sat,
with the gloom of the dim light and the tattered dusty furniture, still
more uninviting and cheerless.

Lolly lingered outside the door, while Maddie entered. She sat down upon
the step, and called to mind all that Alice had said to them that day.

She was younger than Maddie by a year or two, but her soul was older--that
is, it was more thoughtful and earnest; and instead of dwelling always on
the things of earth, she had a wistful longing for something higher and
better, which Alice's words had begun to satisfy.

The cool breeze played upon her cheek, and the sound of the air, as it
rustled the leaves, and the breath of the flower-scented meadows fell
soothingly upon her senses; and as she looked up into the starry sky,
with its myriads of gleaming lights, and recalled the story, she felt
within herself that indeed she was a little princess as well as Alice,
and that far above all the glory of the heavens her Father was awaiting
her return to the heavenly palace.

"Maddie and I mustn't forget these things," said she to herself; "but
must try to get ready for our better home."

So much was Lolly thinking of the things she had heard in the story, that
she might have sat there in the dew all night, but that her mother called
her to eat her supper and go to bed.

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