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Page 28
"Sue," at length said Eliza, the eldest sister, "why do you always talk so
much about heaven?"
"I don't know," was the reply; "perhaps, because I think a good deal about
it. I dreamed last night"----
"Oh, I thought so," said Maria, playfully interrupting her sister; "I
should think the little fairies were playing hide and seek all around your
pillow every night. I wish they would whisper in my ears as they do in
yours. Why, the naughty things hardly ever speak to me, and when they do,
they tell a very different story from those they tell you. It is generally
about falling down from a church steeple, or something of that kind. Well,
what did they say to you this time, dear?"
"I never had such a dream before," said the favorite, her face glowing with
a new, almost an unearthly radiance; "I mean I never had one just like it.
When dear mother died, you remember I told you a dream about the angels.
Last night I thought they came to me again, and I saw mother, too, so
clearly!"
She stopped, and her eyes fell. She seemed almost sorry that she had said
as much; for she had not forgotten that the former dream to which she
alluded had caused her sisters pain, and she thought, that perhaps she
should make them unhappy again, if she related her dream of the night
before. But her sisters begged her to go on, and she did so.
"When I went to sleep," said she, "I was thinking of--of--what father had
said to me"--and she burst into a flood of tears. Her sisters wept, too;
for they well remembered that their father had come home intoxicated that
night, and that he had spoken very harshly to them all, and especially to
the youngest. They could not say much to console her. What could they say?
Silently they wept, and by their tears and embraces they told her how
deeply they sympathized with her, and how much they would do for her, if
they could. When the little dreamer was able to go on, she said,
"I was thinking about this when I went to sleep. I thought I was crying,
and wondering why God should let dear mother die, and leave us all alone,
when I heard some one say, 'Look up,' I looked up in the sky, and all the
stars were windows, and I saw through them. I saw heaven--so beautiful--so
beautiful! I saw mother looking out of one of these windows, and she
smiled, as she did when we brought the rose to her bed-side. I heard her
call my name, and she reached her arms toward me, and said, 'You may come,'
Oh, this was not like other dreams"----
"Don't think of it, dear sister; don't think of it any more," said Eliza.
"You was not well last night, and I have often heard, that when people are
ill, their dreams are more apt to be disturbed. But we will not say any
more about it now, dear."
"No," said Maria; "we shall all feel too sad, if we do." And she made an
effort to be cheerful; though tears stood in her eyes as she spoke.
"I don't know why it makes others feel sad to think of heaven," said the
favorite. "I should love dearly to go there."
"But then it is so dreadful to die!"
"I know it; but mother was so happy when she died!"
"Would you be willing to leave your sisters, dear Sue?"
"No; not unless I could see my mother and Christ. Oh, I do love Christ more
than all the rest of my friends! Do you think that is wrong?"
The three sisters slowly and thoughtfully bent their steps homeward, and
just as the sun was setting, and the western clouds were spread with the
beauty and glory of twilight, they entered that cottage which, though the
abode of sorrow, was yet dear and sacred to them, because it was once the
home of their mother.
From that time, the gentle, loving, thoughtful little Sue, faded--faded as
a flower in the autumn wind. She had not been well for weeks; and soon it
was evident that she was rapidly declining. Was her dream a cause or an
effect--a cause of her decline, or an effect of an illness already preying
upon her frail system? Perhaps we cannot tell. There is something very
remarkable about many dreams. It is not easy to account for them all, by
what is known of the laws of the mind. But we must not stop now to inquire
into this matter.
Step by step, that cherished sister went downward to the grave; and before
the summer had come, while the early violet and the pure anemone were still
in bloom, God called her home. Peacefully and beautifully her sun went
down. "They have come," she said. So died the youngest--the favorite child.
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