Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/29



THE FAIRY RING

pain began to be less felt—the cries of her infant were scarcely heard.

“Mamma!” said the boy again, and more faintly, “I’m not quite so cold—the snow will cover us up and we can sleep.”

“No, no,” she groaned, “we must not sleep. Come, Willie—come—we will go. I can walk now, indeed I can!”

Again that fearful struggle—that clinging to life that gives unnatural strength to the weakest frame; but it was all in vain—once more she fell back, and this time she knew that it was approaching death.

After that there were but few words spoken— they were beyond complaints.

“Mamma!” said the boy again, “I’m sleepy now—very sleepy!” and this time she scarcely comprehended the horror in his words.

There was a jingle of bells in the distance, but Margaret did not heed, though they startled the boy from his stupor.

“The bells, mamma, the bells!”

A sleigh whirled swiftly in sight, coming from the opposite direction, and paused before the house. <A gentleman sprang out, and ran up the steps, knocking impatiently at the door, but there was only a hollow echo in response.

“It’s for us!” oried the boy, trying to rise, but his numbed limbe would scarcely support him, and he could only drag himself feebly along; “Here we are, sir, if you want us—mamma, baby, and I!’’

The man turned quickly at the voice, and hastened toward the child, catching him up in a close embrace.

“It’s papal” he exclaimed, “it’s papa!”

He pointed to the spot where Margaret was lying, and their preserver rushed toward them.

“Margaret—wife!” cried a voice that reached the sufferer.

“I am dreaming,” she muttered; “this is death!"

“No, no; it is real! See, Margaret, it is I— your husband!”

He clasped her in his arms and his kisses on her cold lips brought consciousness back.

“Arthur!” she whispered, “Arthur!” the chilled blood rushed to her heart again, dispelling the lethargy which had stolen over her; but the sudden reaction was too much for her weak frame, and she sank insensible in his arms. Mr. Hope called to the driver for aid, and they bore the three back to the house. An entrance was speedily effected, Margaret and her children laid upon the bed, while they lighted the fire, breaking up the furniture in the most pitiless way, and kindled a blaze, such as had not warmed the old hearthstone for years.

Mr. Hope ordered the man to return to the nearest tavern for food and wine. Very soon the driver came back.

Before the wife recovered from that long swoon, the children had been quieted, and the old kitchen wore an air almost of comfort.

When Margaret came to herself she was in a low chair by the fire, the little boy holding the ‘child at her feet, her husband’s arms about her waist, and his eyes fixed tenderly upon her face.

“Isn’t it a dream?” she cried, wildly; “tell me—do speak!’

“It is real, Margaret—lI have found you again —in a few moments you will leave this place forever. Oh, Margaret, how could you doubt me so cruelly?”

Sitting in the firelight he told his tale, and Margaret clung to him in mingled love and seif- reproach.

“And you forgive me?’’ she said.

“It was not your fault,” he answered, “nor mine—we have suffered for the errors of those who gyided our early youth—let us take warn- ing lest we likewise peril the happiness of these little ones.”

So the warmth stole back to Margaret’s heart, and the light to her soul—the unwavering day of perfect trust and love which could never again be dimmed.

THE FAIRY RING OF HOME.

BY MISS ELIZABETH MILLER.  Oh! sigh not for the lofty halls, Where wealth and splendor reign; For statued niche, or frescoed wails, Or fashion’s lordly train: Though oft for gentle kindness sake, We bid those gay ones come, They often break, but never make The fairy ring of home!

Though low the cottage walls may be, Thy hopes may further fly; And unto thine and unto thee The heavens may be as nigh. And well ‘twill be, if hearts that love, Crowd every nook and room, So from such love, thou ne’er mayst rove, This fairy ring of home! 