"Well, so be it," he said. "At any rate, I am happy to have such a good and generous niece, who does love her uncle a bit. Is it not so, Paula?"

"There's one more thing," I cried. I wanted to see the effect on Teresa of that final package, which Paula handed over immediately to the old servant, saying gently, "It's for you, Teresa dear."

"What's this? How is it for me? When I strictly forbade you? But there you are! What can one do with such a girl?"

The ap.r.o.n was found to be eminently satisfactory, and Teresa promised to put it on the first thing in the morning, and I could see a few tears in her eyes as she said so.

"And now," said my father, "you've shown us all these things which you have bought us with your five francs. Where is the present for yourself?"

Paula looked at us all with dismay.

"I declare," she said, "I forgot! Never mind, I can buy something tomorrow." And she held up a few small coins which was all that remained of her five-franc-piece.

My father looked at her searchingly, with that new tenderness which I had seen frequently lately, and then left the room without another word.

"I believe," said Rosa, "that she'd be happy to give us her last piece of bread if there was occasion for it"

"Yes, and her life also, if that was necessary," said Teresa in a shaky voice, as she turned back to her duties in the kitchen.

CHAPTER NINE

A LITTLE GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN

What a wonderful afternoon it was! The sun far down in the west, painted the eastern mountains with a lovely tint of orange. The warm air was balmy with the perfume of flowers and the birds were singing cheerfully as they flitted about.

All was quiet in Catalina's bedroom, where Paula and I were seated. My sister was now on the road to a partial recovery, having pa.s.sed the danger-mark some days before. Another change also I noticed had come over her. Her impatience and irritability had gradually disappeared, day by day, and when she suffered more than ordinarily, she never seemed to complain.

The expression of her face had sweetened also, and even a slight but quite natural smile would often illumine her thin features. Death had pa.s.sed her by, but now seemingly a new influence gradually possessed her. This simple country maid of the Waldensian mountains had come smiling into her life, and although Catalina had frequently abused the kindness of our cousin, Paula never had lost patience with the poor invalid. Soon love had triumphed, and Catalina had begun to return the love of her little nurse even though at times she still kept her tyrannical att.i.tude.

One day Catalina said to Teresa, "Paula's not a bit like the rest of us."

"No," she answered, "She's a 'Daughter of the good G.o.d!' Just as I said one day when she first arrived." Teresa sighed as she added, "What would I give to be like her!"

One beautiful afternoon, the poor invalid lay there with her eyes on Paula as if she wished to say something.

"How do you feel now?" said Paula as Catalina's fixed gaze seemed to disturb her somewhat.

"Oh, I'm all right just now. I was thinking of your G.o.d-mother's letter.

She remembered, she said, the hymns you used to sing. You've never sung any of them to us, Paula."

I saw a mist in Paula's eyes as she answered. "No, that's true. I don't think I've sung a note since my father's death. Would you like to hear me sing?"

"Yes, indeed," said Catalina, without noticing Paula's emotion.

I was on the point of reminding them of father's formal prohibition relative to hymn-singing, but an imperative sign from Catalina stopped me.

"What do you wish me to sing?" said Paula.

"Anything you care to. It's all the same to me."

"Then," said Paula, "I will sing to you, 'No Night There.'" And then to our unaccustomed ears came the glorious words:

In the land of fadeless day, Lies the city four-sqare, It shall never pa.s.s away, And there is no night there.

"G.o.d shall wipe away all tears; There's no death, no pain, nor fears; And they count not time by years, For there is no night there.

Paula had that rare gift, the "golden" voice, a voice that seemed to penetrate to one's very soul. Catalina was enchanted!

Suddenly, I heard the heavy steps of a man coming along the corridor. But as Paula began the second stanza, I heard them pause.

"All the gates of pearl are made, In the city four-square, All the streets with gold are laid, And there is no night there.

"And the gates shall never close, To the city four-square, There life's crystal river flows, And there is no night there."

Paula's voice trembled at the beginning. Then presently the sadness in her tones disappeared, and they seemed to swell out like an echo of radiant happiness. Catalina listened, hardly breathing. Involuntarily, I asked myself if Paula in heaven would be any different from the little country girl I saw seated near the window at this moment. I had an instant's impression that a man was standing behind the door, but I felt this could not be, for I knew that my father would be at his office. A special light came over the expressive face of Paula as she continued:

"There they need no sunshine bright, In the city four-square, For the Lamb is all the light, And there is no night there."

And then again the wonderful refrain:

"G.o.d shall wipe away all tears; There's no death, no pain, nor fears; And they count not time by years, For there is no night there."

The sweet sounds died away, and Paula looked smilingly at Catalina as if asking her opinion of the song.

"What a marvelous song!" exclaimed the poor sick girl. "And, Paula, you have a voice like an angel!"

I did not hear my little companion's reply. This time I was not mistaken; there was someone there behind that door. Impelled by curiosity I ran to open it At first I saw no one in the darkened pa.s.sage, but finally I could make out my father moving off down the hall. When he saw that I had discovered him, he stopped and put a finger to his lips, and made signs to me to keep silent, but in my surprise I cried, "Is it you, father?"

"Yes," he answered, "I came home earlier than I expected. Was that Paula who was singing in Catalina's room?"

"I--I--don't know," I hesitated, not knowing what to say.

There was an instant of terrible silence like a calm before the storm.

"You--don't--know," my father slowly repeated. "You dare to look at me and say you don't know when you have just this moment come out of your sister's room?"

"Oh, father, please forgive me," I exclaimed penitently. "It was indeed Paula that sang. But don't punish her. She didn't know that you had forbidden our singing hymns."

"Who said I was going to punish her?" my father questioned. And I could see that his anger had cooled. "Come here!"

Taking me by the hand, we went back together to my sister's room.

"Would it tire you, Catalina, to hear Paula sing again?" he asked.

"Why, no, father," Catalina answered, surprised.

"Then, Paula," said my father, "sing again that same song."