"PETE IN THERE!" : A STORY WITH A MORAL. PUBLISHED IN THE INDEPENDENT, MAY 16, 1861, PAGE 6.
I sat in the depot, awaiting the cars. There came in a group, evidently hearing the relation of father, mother, nurse, and child. This is a quartet common the world over, yet always interesting, and the idle traveler can find no better subject for observation.
In this instance my curiosity was excited by noticing that the delicate mother carried in her own arms the child, (evidently as much as three years old,) while the hale young father and the robust nurse bore no burden.
She seated her gently, and the little girl said, "Now please take off Libby's vail and bonnet. Libby will walk."
I looked at the child's face -- her eyelids drooped so much I could not tell the color of her eyes. She was very white, and I shall never forget the sweet sadness of her expression.
"Now Libby will walk -- Libby is not afraid here ;" and she crossed the room, raising her feet at every step and holding out her arms in a way that told me plainly, "Libby is blind !" Then I divined why that pale mother's arms were so strong to carry her helpless one. The tender eyes with which she followed her, told of more than a mother's love -- a mother's pity -- it was easy to see that she would work, endure, brave danger, fight for her blind daughter. Yet she committed a wrong toward her that gave me the heartache.
Libby, in making the circuit of the room, came near the stove -- her mother exclaimed : "Don't go there, Pete in there. Big black Pete will catch Libby !" The child drew back with a shudder, and felt her way as fast as possible to the other side of the room ; here she laid her hand upon the handle of a door, leading into the ticket office. Her father said, "Libby must not open that door. Pete is out there, and will eat Libby up !" A look of terror ran over her face, and she came to the window where I sat, carefully feeling of every chair by the way, and asking, "Is this a pretty chair?" By-and-by she touched my dress ; then the nurse spoke, "Pete there -- don't go there." Not wishing to be made a bugbear to frighten a little blind girl, I drew her gently to me, gave her my sun-shade, found some parched corn in my travel bag, and presently seated her upon my lap, where she softly examined my face and bonnet with the tips of her tiny fingers, greatly embarrassing her papa, with the question : "Is this a pretty lady? Has she on a pretty bonnet?"
"Now Libby will sing for the lady ; and in a sweet, soft tone (not screaming, as children usually do) she sand :
"I want to be an angel , and with the angels stand,
A crown upon my forehead -- a harp within my hand.
There right before my Savior, so glorious and so bright,
I'd wake the sweetest music, and praise him day and night."
Her voice was singularly clear and pathetic, reminding me of a swamp-robin that trills his pensive notes from the shade of the wood at sunset.
As soon as her song was finished, with a sudden transition she slid from my lap, saying, "Now Libby will dance ," and began a polka, humming her own tune, and keeping perfect time to it. She danced till her watchful mother, fearing she would be exhausted, bade her rest. She still turned round and round, apparently free from giddiness and conscious only of the pleasant motion. Then, her mother thought it time to summon Pete. "Pete will come up through the floor and catch Libby's feet !" Instantly her dance stopped. SHe crept into a chair, and, tucking her feet under her, sat motionless. Still for ever Pete -- alas ! is it not enough that this dear child must grope sightless through life ? -- for ever denied the blue of the sky, the verdure of the earth, the lordly growth of the trees, the lowly grace of the plants, the varied dyes of the flowers, the forms of the birds -- with a yearning too for half-comprehended beauty, betrayed in her constantly repeated question, Is this pretty ?
Must her mother invent a monster to terrify her long night ? -- for God never made the man or brute that would knowingly hurt a blind girl !
She seemed pleased and grateful for my interest in Libby, and I ventured a remonstrance about the fictitious Pete, but with no effect. She smiled incredulously, said Libby was inquisitive, that her spirit of investigation led her often to danger. But her firm belief in and terror of the imaginary Pete, governed her perfectly and beautifully, making any resort to coercion or punishment unnecessary.
I am not fond of whipping children. Least of all would I like to strike such a helpless one ; but if necessary to keep her from danger or to make her obedient, I would rather apply a tingling rod to her flesh than Dread to her imagination. But this mother was unable to conceive of any suffering but physical pain, and turned from me as a cruel disciplinarian.
Afterwards in the cars there was a creaking sharp enough to wound Libby's acute nerves, and she screamed. They said to her, "Sit still, it is the squeaking of Pete's big boots !"
"Mamma, please hold Libby. Libby so much afraid," were the last words I heard her say.
My eyes were blinded with tears. In her fragile hands, the pathetic minor of her voice, the angelic sweetness of her smile, I sought to read her early death. I prayed -- Jesus, take her quickly ; no bosom but thine -- not even a mother's -- is tender enough for a blind infant. Inclose her within those pearly gates where the tramp of old Pete shall never again frighten her imagination. Let her first enchanted gaze rest upon her Savior, and reveal to her new-born sight the beauties of glorified bodies, richly recompensing her for all her deprivations and sufferings here. Already she sings :
"Oh, there I'll be an angel, and with the angels stand,
A crown upon my forehead, a harp withing my hand.
And there before my Savior, so glorious and so bright,
I'll join the heavenly music, and praise him day and night."
RODENSE.