A little more sunshine in the room?

Faith and the Dolly?

A little more sunshine in the room! A little more of Faith and the dolly!

(Adapting a Victorian Classic into a Heartwarming Children’s Story)

She stood by the window a long time, tapping her small fingers against the pane, watching the shadows lengthen across the grass. Mamma says the sun goes to see other folks when he goes away from here, she observed gravely, turning her big, clear eyes up to mine.

The child climbed into the easy chair, curled her little feet up under her short white apron, and began to tell a long, eager story about a dog she had seen down street, with curly ears—so long, Auntie!—and yeller paws, and he didn't have no collar on, and he looked right at me, he did!

Faith was down on the floor with a broken musical box and a family of paper dolls—but she looked up to nod a bright, positive assent. God is good. God is always good, she repeated, in her pretty, parrot-like way, and went back to her paper dolls.

FAITH has behaved like a witch all day. She knocked down three crickets and six hymn books in church this morning, and this afternoon horrified the assembled and devout congregation by turning round in the middle of the long prayer, and, in a loud and distinct voice, asking Mrs Quirk, for nother those pepp'mints such as you gave me one Sunday a good many years ago, you 'member.

Faith, who was Christ's father? Jerusalem! said Faith, promptly. Where did his parents take Jesus when they fled from Herod? O, to Europe. Of course I knew that! Everybody goes to Europe.

Faith does seem to have a hard time with the Lord's Prayer. Tonight, being very sleepy and in a hurry to finish, she proceeded with great solemnity—Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—six days shalt thou labour and do all thy work, and—Oh!

Sometimes Faith comes up and wants to know what we are saying, and lays poor Mary Ann, sawdust and all, upon the pillow, and wants her toofache kissed away. So Auntie kisses away the dolly's toofache—and kisses the dolly's little mother, sometimes with a quiver on her lips, but more often with a smile in her eyes, and Faith runs back to play, and her laugh ripples out, and her mother listens—listens.

Little Clo comes in as often as she is strong enough to see her, and sends over untold jellies and blancmanges, which Faith and I have to eat. But don't let the child know that, Auntie says.

Sleepy, dear? But you won't have many more talks with mamma. Keep awake just a minute, Faith, and hear—can you hear? Mamma will never, never forget her little girl—she won't go away very far—she will always love you. Will you remember as long as you live? She will always see you, though you can't see her, perhaps. Hush, my darling, don't cry! Isn't God naughty? No, God is good—God is always good. He won't take mamma a great way off. One more kiss? There! now you may go to sleep. One more! Come, Cousin Mary.

The night came on slowly. Showery clouds flitted by, but there was a blaze of golden colour behind them. It broke through and scattered them—it burned them and melted them—it shot great pink and purple jets up to the zenith—it fell and lay in amber mist upon the hills. A soft wind swept by, and darted now and then into the glow, and shifted it about, colour away from colour, and back again. See, Faith! she said softly—put down the little camel a minute, and look! and added after, but neither to the child nor to me, it seemed—At eventide there shall be light.

I was thinking that it was Faith's bedtime, and that I had better light the lamp, when a few distinct, hurried words from the bed attracted my attention. Faith, I think you had better kiss mamma now, and get down. There was a change in the voice. I was there in a moment, and lifted the child from the pillow, where she had crept. But she said, Wait a minute, Mary—wait a minute, for Faith clung to her, with one hand upon her cheek, softly patting it. I went over and stood by the window. It was her mother herself who gently put the little fingers away at last. Mother's own little girl! Good night, my darling, my darling.

So we are waiting for the morning when the gates shall open—Faith and I, and looking forward to guiding her.

The Gates Ajar, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps (1868, Boston, Fields, Osgood & Co.), Chapter XI, 160, 161, 163; Chapter XV, 215, 218, 221, Chapter XVI, 224, 225, 229