Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1868-11-25
From the Sunday School Scholar.
LITTLE FAITHFUL.
ny EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.


The chiIds name was not Faithful at all.
Up at the " House Bcsutilul. - where she came
every day to carry away the refuse Of the
kitchen, they called her General jackson"
and for anything | know, that might have
been her name. She was about ten years
old, if one might guess from her size though
her little pnched face was so carcworn, and
her eyes had such tired look, that She might
have passed for forty Down the alley Just
a little way from the garden, was the low,
little hut whore they all liyed-iather, mother
and five children. | could see it from my
window; see the sandy back yard, with its
punches of thin, scattered grass, and the bare
footed children paying about it, or hudiled
in group by the door, while little Faithful
sang the baby to sleep, and kept them all
quiet by the wonderful rhymes she sang over
and over, with patience that seemed never to
weary.
The father and mother worked in mill,
and were away carly and late; so all day
long this child, Faithful, was the grave, little
housekeepcr who cared, AS mother might,
for the household affairs, and the poor little
ones There was no play for her, and small
chance to be any thing but thin, and pinched,
and careworn. The FIRST week | was at the
4" House Beautiful | only smiled with the
rest at the odd little figure. The second
week | learned to call her lnssie," as the
father and mother did at home, but the third
week | could think of no name worthy enough
for her but Faithful, and so | always called
her from that time You remember Faithful
don't you2 The Faithful of old John Bun
vans story. Even when | was child, and
lay under the peach trees, in the west yard
to read it, liked Faithful better than Chris
tian
One weary day in August, when we drew
the blinds close in the great, cool chamber Of
the House Beautiful, and dressed ourselves
in the daintiest of muslins, for the heat
peeped out Mt the little brown house on the
alley, and saw how the fierce sun shone hotly
in at the door, and how the weary little
nurse toilcd and sang, and waited for the
evening shadows. The baby was crosser thar
ever that day, and over and over heard the
little shrill voice singing to monotonous
tune the old rhymes of Mother Goose, before
the little tyrant would go to sleep. just a
evening, when ! threw open my blinds to tn,
night air, | saw little Faithful sitting for
moment in the door, with her head leaning
YEARLY on her hands, but even then chubby
little fellow came todding up with broker
whip, and Faithful was ready to mend it
Sometime in the night there came messen
ger in great distress to the House Beautiful
to say that the "lassie" was very siok, an,
so two Of us went down the alley, and stoo,
by the bed where poor little Faithful lay
I wild with burning fever. The doctor cam
, soon afterwards, but he only shook his head
and said it was too late The fever mus
have attacked her brain hours before.
What pitiiul place it was-so bare, 5
: poor, so pinchod, yet so neat, as the tire
little hands could make it before they drop
5 ped their work The baby lay in the bel
with his great, white head nestled into hi
! sisters pillow. lie stirred uneasily, and the
/. took him away, but at the first sound of HI
voice, little Faithful took up the old son,
and tried to hush him to sleep. From tina
moment she seemed to begin her work agaii
a soothing the children, singing them to sleeI
and making the house tidy for mother. lIo
it made my heart ache to hear her sing, owe
and over, the same foolish old rhyme, in
voice that grew all the time weaker and MOI
broken
II you want any more You must sing it yoursel
:, Sing it yourself, sing it yourself.
until at last the voice died away in viii
per, and little Faithful lay there white al
I wan, with the fever all burned out of her tn
. cheeks, and the children sobbing around he
i, Oh, faithful little heart does any one smi
Y ut the foolish, old rhyme which was last upc
a your lipsl To me it has infinite pathos.
), is the last despairing cry of hundreds
weary, struggling souls that keep the bait
q up brayely till heart and flesh fail, aud the
4 go down, crying;
IL you want any more you must sing il yoursel
Poor lassie," said the mother, as she oil
il sed her eyes with her own hard hands, " she
;, got her wish at last. She was always fca
g iul Of living TO be burden to us, becau
the doctor told MS that some day she'd be
Y cripple with her back. | mistrust she work,
/ beyond her strength, but how can folks choo
]. that must work or starye"
How, indeed Aud in my heart rejoi
O over the blessed little Faithful, whose tria
|, and burdens had been so cheerfhlly endure
aud last song OF weariness had been sun
g The angels sung to her, doubt not, and On
i in shining raiment, welcomed her to the hon
# where they who have been faithful in fl
Y things are made rulers over much.
--<.s-s---
= "Pray, Madam why do you name your o
g hen Macdufr" " Because, sir, | want h