“Ting-long!  Ting-a-long!  Ting-long!” and off is the train again.  And swifter and swifter it speedeth,—­oh, I am sure no other train speedeth half so swiftly!  The sights my dear one sees!  I cannot tell of them—­one must see those beauteous sights to know how wonderful they are!

“Shug-chug!  Shug-chug!  Shug-chug!”

On and on and on the locomotive proudly whirleth the train.

“Ting-long!  Ting-a-long!  Ting-long!”

The bell calleth anon, but fainter and evermore fainter; and fainter and fainter groweth that other calling—­“Toot!  Toot!  Toot!”—­till finally I know that in that Shut-Eye Town afar my dear one dreameth the dreams of Balow.

This was the bedtime tale which I was wont to tell our little Mistress Merciless, and at its end I looked upon her face to see it calm and beautiful in sleep.

Then was I wont to kneel beside her little bed and fold my two hands,—­thus,—­and let my heart call to the host invisible:  “O guardian angels of this little child, hold her in thy keeping from all the perils of darkness and the night!  O sovereign Shepherd, cherish Thy little lamb and mine, and, Holy Mother, fold her to thy bosom and thy love!  But give her back to me,—­when morning cometh, restore ye unto me my little one!”

But once she came not back.  She had spoken much of Master Sweetheart and of that land of Ever-Plaisance whither he had gone.  And she was not afeard to make the journey alone; so once upon a time when our little Mistress Merciless bade us good-by, and went away forever, we knew that it were better so; for she was lonely here, and without her that far-distant country whither she journeyed were not content.  Though our hearts were like to break for love of her, we knew that it were better so.

The tale is told, for it were not seemly to speak all the things that are in one’s heart when one hath to say of a much-beloved child whose life here hath been shortened so that, in God’s wisdom and kindness, her life shall be longer in that garden that bloometh far away.

About me are scattered the toys she loved, and the doll Beautiful hath come down all-battered and grim,—­yet, oh! so very precious to me, from those distant years; yonder fareth the Queen of Sheba in her service as handmaiden unto me and mine,—­gaunt and doleful-eyed, yet stanch and sturdy as of old.  The garden lieth under the Christmas snow,—­the garden where ghosts of trees wave their arms and moan over the graves of flowers; the once gracious arbor is crippled now with the infirmities of age, the Siege of Restfulness fast sinketh into decay, and long, oh! long ago did that bird Joyous carol forth his last sweet song in the garden that was once so passing fair.

And amid it all,—­this heartache and the loneliness which the years have brought,—­cometh my Christmas gift to-day:  the solace of a vision of that country whither she—­our little Mistress Merciless—­hath gone; a glimpse of that far-off land of Ever-Plaisance.