She hurried out and fled like a frightened deer. She was mad! Her eyes were hot and dry—her brain was bursting, and all the while a wondrous choir was singing in her ears:
Bright sparkles in the church-yard, Give light unto the tomb; Bright summer—spring’s ever— Sweet flowers in their bloom.
She fled like a hunted thing till the lights of the city were far behind and she was alone on a country road. She stopped to rest a moment, but the chorus went onward through the sky and she could not stop, for the words were beckoning to her:
“Your mother, once, Your mother, twice, In the heaven she’ll rejoice.”
Tireless she followed on, on, on, the long, long night. The moon went down and she got blind and staggered and groped upon her way, but still she said hoarsely, “I must go on. I’ll be better soon.”
In the morning a farmer threw open his door and saw lying on the steps the soiled figure of a girl. He picked her up and laid her on his own bed, and his wife laid the wild, pleading face against her warm bosom. A stream of music reached the ears of the dying girl.
“Mother, don’t you love your darling child? Then rock me in the cradle all the day.”
She sank back with a weak, pleased smile. “Rock me, mother, that’s it—oh! how nice—how nice it is. Oh, rock me, rock me—rock me, mother. I am too tired to say my prayers to-night, mother. Let me sleep, mother, and kiss me, but let me sleep—sleep—sleep!”
And she closed her eyes and slept, and the choir in Paradise, lest they might wake her, sang softly:
“Her mother once— Her mother twice— In the heaven she’ll rejoice. In the heaven once— In the heaven twice— In the heaven she’ll rejoice.”
Last Spring, our Sabbath-school having become greatly interested in the work of Atlanta University, one of the lady teachers proposed to the superintendent that the boys in the school be asked to raise as their own during the season, corn, potatoes, cabbages, squashes, etc., these to be called “missionary vegetables;” and the girls were asked to make fancy articles, and in the Fall a fair held called a harvest festival. The boys and girls entered heartily into the enterprise, and last week we held the fair, which resulted in the raising of $80 for Atlanta University; this is to go toward supporting some worthy student. The money will be placed at the disposal of Miss Emma Beaman, one of the teachers, who was instrumental in awakening an interest here by giving us a talk in regard to her work at Atlanta. Is not this a good example for _other_ schools to imitate next Summer?