The Old Curiosity Shop


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'
Not sadly, if you knew my heart. Do not look at me as if you thought  
me sorrowful. There is not a happier creature on earth, than I am  
now.'  
Full of grateful tenderness, the child took his hand, and folded it  
between her own. 'It's God's will!' she said, when they had been silent  
for some time.  
'
'
What?'  
All this,' she rejoined; 'all this about us. But which of us is sad now?  
You see that I am smiling.'  
'And so am I,' said the schoolmaster; 'smiling to think how often we  
shall laugh in this same place. Were you not talking yonder?'  
'
'
Yes,'the child rejoined.  
Of something that has made you sorrowful?'  
There was a long pause.  
'What was it?' said the schoolmaster, tenderly. 'Come. Tell me what it  
was.'  
'
I rather grieve - I do rather grieve to think,' said the child, bursting  
into tears, 'that those who die about us, are so soon forgotten.'  
'
And do you think,' said the schoolmaster, marking the glance she had  
thrown around, 'that an unvisited grave, a withered tree, a faded  
flower or two, are tokens of forgetfulness or cold neglect? Do you think  
there are no deeds, far away from here, in which these dead may be  
best remembered? Nell, Nell, there may be people busy in the world, at  
this instant, in whose good actions and good thoughts these very  
graves - neglected as they look to us - are the chief instruments.'  
'
Tell me no more,' said the child quickly. 'Tell me no more. I feel, I  
know it. How could I be unmindful of it, when I thought of you?'  
'There is nothing,' cried her friend, 'no, nothing innocent or good, that  
dies, and is forgotten. Let us hold to that faith, or none. An infant, a  
prattling child, dying in its cradle, will live again in the better  
thoughts of those who loved it, and will play its part, through them, in  
the redeeming actions of the world, though its body be burnt to ashes  
or drowned in the deepest sea. There is not an angel added to the Host  
of Heaven but does its blessed work on earth in those that loved it  
here. Forgotten! oh, if the good deeds of human creatures could be  
traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear; for  


Page
385 386 387 388 389

Quick Jump
1 133 265 398 530