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Page 8
When Roger left his home for school, he left in the quaint oak cradle
a little baby-sister, too young to have a place in his thought as a
definite existence; but after an absence of two years he came back to
find in her a new phase of life, into which the Shadow could not yet
enter.
The child's name her own childish tongue had softened into "Sunny," a
name that was the natural expression of her sunshiny traits, the clear
gay voice, the tranquil azure eyes, the golden curls, the loving looks,
that made Sunny the darling of the house,--the stray sunbeam that
glanced through the doors, flitted by the heavy wainscots, and danced up
the dusky stairways of that old and solitary dwelling.
When Roger returned, fresh from the rough companionship of school, Sunny
seemed to him a creature of some better race than his own. The Shadow
vanished, for he forgot it in his new devotion to Sunny. Nothing did he
leave undone to please her wayward fancies. In those hot summer-days,
he carried her to a little brook that rippled across the meadow, and,
sitting with her in his arms on the large smooth stones that divided
those shallow waters, held her carefully while she splashed her tiny
dimpled feet in the cool ripples, or grasped vainly at the blue-winged
dragon-flies sailing past, on languid, airy pinions, just beyond her
reach. Or he gathered heaps of daisies for the child to toss into the
shining stream, and see the pale star-like blossoms float smoothly down
till some eddy caught them in its sparkling whirl, and, drenching the
frail, helpless leaves, cast them on the farther shore and went its
careless way. Or he told her, in the afternoons, under some wide
apple-tree, wonderful stories of giants and naughty boys, till she fell
asleep on the sweet hay, where the curious grasshoppers peered at her
with round horny eyes, and velvet-bodied spiders scurried across her
fair curls with six-legged speed, and the robin eyed her from a bough
above with wistful glances, till Roger must needs carry her tenderly out
of their neighborhood to his mother's gentle care.
All this guard and guidance Sunny repaid with her only treasure, love.
She left her pet kitten in its gayest antics to sit on Roger's knee; she
went to sleep at night nestled against his arm; every little dainty that
she gathered from garden or field was shared with him; and no pleasure
that did not include Roger could tempt Sunny to be pleased.
For a while the unconscious charm endured; absorbed in his darling,
Roger forgot the Shadow, or remembered it only at rare intervals; and in
that brief time every one seemed to grow better and lovelier. He did not
see in this the coloring of his own more kindly thoughts.
But when, at length, the novelty of Sunny's presence wore off, her
claims grew tiresome. In the faith of her child's heart, she came as
frankly to Roger for help or comfort as she had ever done; and he found
his own plans for study or pleasure constantly interrupted by her
requests or caresses, till the Shadow darkened again beside him, and,
looking over his shoulder, fell so close to Sunny, that his old belief
drew its veil across his eyes for a moment, and he started at the sight
of what he dreaded,--a Shadow haunting Sunny.
Then,--though this first dread passed away,--slowly, but creeping on
with unfailing certainty, the Shadow returned. It fell like a brooding
storm over the fireside of home; he fancied a like shadow following his
mother's steps, darkening his baby-sister's smile; and as if in
revenge for so long an absence, the Shadow forced itself upon him more
strenuously than ever, till poor Roger Pierce was like a bruised and
beaten child,--too sore to have peace or rest, too sensitive to bear any
remedy for his ailment, and too petulant to receive or expect sympathy
from any other and more gentle nature than his own.
It was long before the Shadow made itself felt by Sunny. She never saw
it as others did. If its chill passed over her warm rosy face, she stole
up softly to her brother, and, with a look of pure childish love, put
her hand in his, and said softly, "Poor Roger!" or, with a keener sense
of the Presence, forbore to touch him, but played off her kitten's
merriest tricks before him, or rolled her tiny hoop with shouts of
laughter across the old house-dog as he slept on the grass, looking
vainly for the smile Roger had always given to her baby plays before.
So by degrees she went back to her own pleasures, full of tender thought
for every living thing, and a loving consciousness of their wants and
ways. Her lisping voice chattered brook-like to birds and bees; her
lip curled grievously over the broken wing of a painted moth, or the
struggles of a drowning fly; in Nature's company she played as with an
infant ever divine; and no darkness assailed the never-weary child.
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