p. 12 | TURNED OUT TO PASTURE by Frances E. Bolton

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 8, 1899

TURNED OUT TO PASTURE.

By Frances E. Bolton

"THERE comes that dear, fluffy, fat little egg woman," cried Marian Ross. "I declare, I believe she is laughing. Just look at her. Isn't she? How smily she is! She has evidently come over in a hurry, for she has a checked apron over her head."

"Some good news to tell, I think. She always comes egg selling when she has a new story," said Mrs. Ross.

"Huh! huh! huh!" now came softly on the breeze.

"There, I knew she was laughing."

"Good-morning, Miss Merry Heart that doeth good like a medicine," cried Marian. "Hurry up, I am just wild to know what your good news is."

"La, now, child, what a youngun you are! How did you know I had some good news?" said Mrs. Brown, as she came half breathless to the stairs.

"Out with it," said Marian playfully, giving her an authoritative shake.

"Why, I kem over to sell you aiggs. Don't you see? I reckon you'd 'a' thought I wanted to sell em puty bad; fer I had a time on't clim'in' the loft and scarin' the hens offen the nest to rake up a dozen. I allus has to hev some aiggs to pit Phil off. If he only thinks I'm off a-sellin' aiggs, he'll le' me go; but he ain't no use fer chitchattin'."

"Did you go to town yesterday?" asked Mrs. Ross.

"Yes, I went with Phil on the load. In town I met B'lindy's child. La, I was so tickled to see her; fer I knows her sence she was born! Know'd her mother afore she was born. But you'd never know'd B'lindy's child; I wouldn't ha' known her, but, la me, she know'd me!"

"Remember B'lindy? Her husband was a sort of musical gen'us, but never could make a decent livin' fer her. Died, you know, afore B'lindy hed her child. B'lindy was nigh about wild when he died. She wa'n't well, and then she hed to borrow money fer his funeral expenses, and worked her finger nails off to pay it back, afore the baby was born. Poor soul, she died, you know, soon after! When the baby kem, it had a hard time on it. No milk, and we couldn't scarcely, keep it alive. People wondered why B'lindy's child did live, but, la, it's allus that kind that lives! If she'd been a rich woman's child, or hed any kind of a chance, she'd a died. But, la, she's chance enough now—turned out to a rich pasture, bless the Lord!"

"I nu'sed her fer the first three months, and would 'a' kep' her, only Phil couldn't bear her cryin'. He hates babies anyhow, so I hed to give her up. She was knocked hither and thither, till finally they tuk her to the poor-house. She was sent out to nu's babies, when she was only a baby herself, to wash dishes, and do chores. Poor little soul! I allus kep' kind a track of her. She hed great wild-lookin' brown eyes, that made one think of the deers. Her hair was that wild and curly like that the folks kep' it cut close, cause it was sech a job to keep it combed. She allus looked kind a thin and s'prised like, as tho' she was 'stonished at all the sorrow that met her. It used ter strike inter me allus to see B'lindy's child."

"Not as I hain't seen her happy at spells in a queer kind a way; fer she'd git out in the meadow lands sometimes, and sing like the birds, not any pertic'lar tune, but jest as if a fountain of notes that had been blocked, suddenly bu'st up. She talked to the flowers, and rolled around in the grass; but I never did see her a-playin' like other younguns. She'd stand and watch 'em gravely. I see'd her once at Mrs. Thompson's. She wus away, and B'lindy's child was a-thumpin' the organ. I don't know as she ever learned, but actually I heard her a-playin' and a-singin', and it sounded like music. I s'pose she sort a took it from her father's musical gifts."

"I looked in through the lattice and see'd her face shinin' and heard her singin'; but by and by she laid her face down and cried. I couldn't help the tears a-comin' myself. I knew she couldn't have none of them things. Leastwise, it didn't seem likely; but you know what the hymn says, 'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform.' He knew how it was a-goin' to be done. I sort a lost track of her fer a year or so. She was a-tellin' me to-day what hed happened."

"You see, one day old Mrs. Matthews sent fer her. She was a-goin' to hev some fine lady to visit her, and she wanted B'lindy's child to run errands fer her. Well, the upshot of it all was that B'lindy's child got to singin' in the grape arbor, and this lady heard her. She finally tuk her hum, and she's 'dopted her."

"La, me, Mrs. Ross, you hain't no idee how that gal has changed! She's sixteen now, and she looks like a lady, every inch of her. She's the rarest bit of beauty I've seen, sence my old rose-bush bloomed in the spring."

"Did I ever tell you about that rose-bush?"

"Well, you see it never did blow well—sorter spindling and stinted, and hed no kind a blooms. One day I said to myself, It hain't in a good soil. I'm a-goin' to git some rich loam and transplant it up inter the sunshine. It was in the shadow most all the time. Well, I tuk it up and cared fer it. You never see'd the improvement that that bush made. When it budded, it certainly seemed as if it sent up the buds as orter have bloomed fer years back. The blooms was wonderful. It pays to transplant, and it's jes' so with B'lindy's child. Huh! huh! huh! She's got into good loam, out in the sunshine."

"Mrs. Shafter, that's her new mother's name—first and only mother she ever hed—has given her the chance she needed. She's turned out to pasture, and it's rich pasture too. She's got a beautiful hum. She's the daughter there too, and she's jes' bloomed, cause she found somebody to love her."

"O, that makes me think of a little verse I know!" cried Marian:—

"O, love is power, 'tis bloom and grace, 'Tis a reviving essence! A flower will bloom, a heart will sing Within its sunny presence. And God is love, and love makes kings And priests of boors and peasants."

"Yes, that's it. Ye see, B'lindy's child allus made me think of Deacon Goodrich's colt. He bought it of old Sam Jones, the stingiest old skinflint as ever walked. He was one of them penny wise and pound foolish fellows, as never would give his colts time to grow inter strong horses. Well, he hed one that was a beauty; but Sam set him inter the traces afore he orter, and the poor little creature was purty well-nigh used up when Deacon Goodrich bought him, out of mercy. 'A merciful man is merciful to his beast.' He put him out ter pasture, and the way that colt kem up was amazin'. Deacon would go and pet him and give him tidbits, and he'd drop his purty hed on the deacon's shoulder and whinny, and tell him, in his horse fashion, how he loved him. He curried him and made him beautiful."

"Well, you know, B'lindy's child is jes' so. She's the loveliest critter I've seen fer years. She's rounded all out. There ain't a rare trace on her. Her cheeks are jes' like the first rose flush in the mornin'. Her hair is jes' waves from the top of her head to her waist. She's the very picture of health and happiness. She's gittin' her chance at edication and music; and, the best of all on it, she's give herself up to be a channel fer the Lord's blessin'."

"Well, it does a plant good to be transplanted, and colts good to go inter the pasture, and a child good to get inter a hum of love. It's good fer the health and the heart. I've been a-thinkin' that that's what God means to do with us all. I hain't hed a pertic'lar sunny spot to grow in, but I 'spect to be transplanted inter the heavenly garden some day, ter be turned out ter pasture fer a spell anyhow afore I go inter the everlastin' mission in eternity."

"The best of it all is, Mrs. Brown, the mission itself will be love's mission, and be the very best of pasture."

"Well, here be the aiggs. The're fresh. Phil will be lookin' fer me hum. I'm so tickled that B'lindy's child has been turned out to pasture fer a spell, and I knew you'd be glad to hear on it. Well, good-by. Huh! huh! huh!" FRANCES E. BOLTON.