Their Dear Little Ghost

by Elia W. Peattie

　　

---

THE first time one looked at Elsbeth,one was not prepossessed.She was thin and brown, her noseturned slightly upward, her toeswent in just a perceptible degree, and herhair was perfectly straight. But when onelooked longer, one perceived that she was acharming little creature. The straight hairwas as fine as silk, and hung in funny littlebraids down her back; there was not a flawin her soft brown skin, and her mouth wastender and shapely. But her particular charmlay in a look which she habitually had, ofseeming to know curious things -- such as itis not allotted to ordinary persons to know.One felt tempted to say to her:"What are these beautiful things whichyou know, and of which others are ignorant?What is it you see with those wise and pellucideyes? Why is it that everybody lovesyou?"Elsbeth was my little godchild, and I knewher better than I knew any other child in theworld. But still I could not truthfully saythat I was familiar with her, for to me herspirit was like a fair and fragrant road in themidst of which I might walk in peace andjoy, but where I was continually to discoversomething new. The last time I saw herquite well and strong was over in the woodswhere she had gone with her two littlebrothers and her nurse to pass the hottestweeks of summer. I followed her, foolish oldcreature that I was, just to be near her, for Ineeded to dwell where the sweet aroma of herlife could reach me.One morning when I came from my room,limping a little, because I am not so young asI used to be, and the lake wind works havocwith me, my little godchild came dancing tome singing:"Come with me and I'll show you myplaces, my places, my places!"Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Seamight have been more exultant, but she couldnot have been more bewitching. Of courseI knew what "places" were, because I hadonce been a little girl myself, but unless youare acquainted with the real meaning of"places," it would be useless to try to explain.Either you know "places" or you donot -- just as you understand the meaning ofpoetry or you do not. There are things inthe world which cannot be taught.Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present,and I took one by each hand and followedher. No sooner had we got out of doors inthe woods than a sort of mystery fell uponthe world and upon us. We were cautionedto move silently, and we did so, avoiding thecrunching of dry twigs."The fairies hate noise," whispered mylittle godchild, her eyes narrowing like acat's."I must get my wand first thing I do," shesaid in an awed undertone. "It is useless totry to do anything without a wand."The tiny boys were profoundly impressed,and, indeed, so was I. I felt that at last, Ishould, if I behaved properly, see the fairies,which had hitherto avoided my materialisticgaze. It was an enchanting moment, forthere appeared, just then, to be nothingcommonplace about life.There was a swale near by, and intothis the little girl plunged. I could see herred straw hat bobbing about among thetall rushes, and I wondered if there weresnakes."Do you think there are snakes?" I askedone of the tiny boys."If there are," he said with conviction,"they won't dare hurt her."He convinced me. I feared no more.Presently Elsbeth came out of the swale. Inher hand was a brown "cattail," perfectlyfull and round. She carried it as queenscarry their sceptres -- the beautiful queens wedream of in our youth."Come," she commanded, and waved thesceptre in a fine manner. So we followed,each tiny boy gripping my hand tight. Wewere all three a trifle awed. Elsbeth led usinto a dark underbrush. The branches, asthey flew back in our faces, left them wetwith dew. A wee path, made by the girl'sdear feet, guided our footsteps. Perfumesof elderberry and wild cucumber scented theair. A bird, frightened from its nest, madefrantic cries above our heads. The underbrushthickened. Presently the gloom of thehemlocks was over us, and in the midst ofthe shadowy green a tulip tree flaunted itsleaves. Waves boomed and broke upon theshore below. There was a growing dampnessas we went on, treading very lightly. A littlegreen snake ran coquettishly from us. A fatand glossy squirrel chattered at us from a safeheight, stroking his whiskers with a complaisantair.At length we reached the "place." It wasa circle of velvet grass, bright as the firstblades of spring, delicate as fine sea-ferns.The sunlight, falling down the shaft betweenthe hemlocks, flooded it with a softened lightand made the forest round about look likedeep purple velvet. My little godchild stoodin the midst and raised her wand impressively."This is my place," she said, with a sort ofwonderful gladness in her tone. "This iswhere I come to the fairy balls. Do you seethem?""See what?" whispered one tiny boy."The fairies."There was a silence. The older boy pulledat my skirt."Do YOU see them?" he asked, his voicetrembling with expectancy."Indeed," I said, "I fear I am too old andwicked to see fairies, and yet -- are their hatsred?""They are," laughed my little girl. "Theirhats are red, and as small -- as small!" Sheheld up the pearly nail of her wee finger togive us the correct idea."And their shoes are very pointed at thetoes?""Oh, very pointed!""And their garments are green?""As green as grass.""And they blow little horns?""The sweetest little horns!""I think I see them," I cried."We think we see them too," said the tinyboys, laughing in perfect glee."And you hear their horns, don't you?" mylittle godchild asked somewhat anxiously."Don't we hear their horns?" I asked thetiny boys."We think we hear their horns," they cried."Don't you think we do?""It must be we do," I said. "Aren't wevery, very happy?"We all laughed softly. Then we kissedeach other and Elsbeth led us out, her wandhigh in the air.And so my feet found the lost path toArcady.The next day I was called to the Pacificcoast, and duty kept me there till well intoDecember. A few days before the date setfor my return to my home, a letter came fromElsbeth's mother."Our little girl is gone into the Unknown,"she wrote -- "that Unknown in which sheseemed to be forever trying to pry. We knewshe was going, and we told her. She wasquite brave, but she begged us to try someway to keep her till after Christmas. 'Mypresents are not finished yet,' she made moan.'And I did so want to see what I was goingto have. You can't have a very happy Christmaswithout me, I should think. Can youarrange to keep me somehow till after then?'We could not 'arrange' either with God inheaven or science upon earth, and she isgone."She was only my little godchild, and I aman old maid, with no business fretting overchildren, but it seemed as if the medium oflight and beauty had been taken from me.Through this crystal soul I had perceivedwhatever was loveliest. However, what was,was! I returned to my home and took up acourse of Egyptian history, and determined toconcern myself with nothing this side thePtolemies.Her mother has told me how, on Christmaseve, as usual, she and Elsbeth's father filledthe stockings of the little ones, and hungthem, where they had always hung, by the fireplace.They had little heart for the task,but they had been prodigal that year intheir expenditures, and had heaped upon thetwo tiny boys all the treasures they thoughtwould appeal to them. They asked themselveshow they could have been so insanepreviously as to exercise economy at Christmastime, and what they meant by not gettingElsbeth the autoharp she had asked for theyear before."And now --" began her father, thinkingof harps. But he could not complete thissentence, of course, and the two went on passionatelyand almost angrily with their task.There were two stockings and two piles oftoys. Two stockings only, and only two pilesof toys! Two is very little!They went away and left the darkenedroom, and after a time they slept -- after along time. Perhaps that was about the timethe tiny boys awoke, and, putting on theirlittle dressing gowns and bed slippers, madea dash for the room where the Christmasthings were always placed. The older onecarried a candle which gave out a feeblelight. The other followed behind through thesilent house. They were very impatient andeager, but when they reached the door of thesitting-room they stopped, for they saw thatanother child was before them.It was a delicate little creature, sitting inher white night gown, with two rumpledfunny braids falling down her back, and sheseemed to be weeping. As they watched, shearose, and putting out one slender finger asa child does when she counts, she made sureover and over again -- three sad times -- thatthere were only two stockings and two pilesof toys! Only those and no more.The little figure looked so familiar that theboys started toward it, but just then, puttingup her arm and bowing her face in it, asElsbeth had been used to do when she weptor was offended, the little thing glided awayand went out. That's what the boys said.It went out as a candle goes out.They ran and woke their parents with thetale, and all the house was searched in awonderment, and disbelief, and hope, andtumult! But nothing was found. For nightsthey watched. But there was only the silenthouse. Only the empty rooms. They toldthe boys they must have been mistaken. Butthe boys shook their heads."We know our Elsbeth," said they. "Itwas our Elsbeth, cryin' 'cause she hadn't nostockin' an' no toys, and we would have givenher all ours, only she went out -- jus' wentout!"Alack!The next Christmas I helped with the littlefestival. It was none of my affair, but I askedto help, and they let me, and when we wereall through there were three stockings andthree piles of toys, and in the largest one wasall the things that I could think of that mydear child would love. I locked the boys'chamber that night, and I slept on the divanin the parlor off the sitting-room. I slept butlittle, and the night was very still -- so windlessand white and still that I think I musthave heard the slightest noise. Yet I heardnone. Had I been in my grave I think myears would not have remained more unsaluted.Yet when daylight came and I went to unlockthe boys' bedchamber door, I saw thatthe stocking and all the treasures which I hadbought for my little godchild were gone.There was not a vestige of them remaining!Of course we told the boys nothing. Asfor me, after dinner I went home and buriedmyself once more in my history, and so interestedwas I that midnight came without myknowing it. I should not have looked up atall, I suppose, to become aware of the time,had it not been for a faint, sweet sound as ofa child striking a stringed instrument. Itwas so delicate and remote that I hardlyheard it, but so joyous and tender that Icould not but listen, and when I heard it asecond time it seemed as if I caught the echoof a child's laugh. At first I was puzzled.Then I remembered the little autoharp I hadplaced among the other things in that pile ofvanished toys. I said aloud:"Farewell, dear little ghost. Go rest.Rest in joy, dear little ghost. Farewell,farewell."That was years ago, but there has beensilence since. Elsbeth was always an obedientlittle thing.

---

---