I enjoy reading the Children's Department in the Journal, and thought I would write you of one or two of my own demonstrations in Christian Science. The best one is over my temper. I never tried to control it when younger; everybody gave in to me, and so I became,—as I now know, only in belief,—very self-willed.
I love birds, and had a beauty; the sweetest singer you ever heard; but one day in spring, before I knew of Christian Science, he "sickened and died." I wept every day for a month, I think. In his attempt to comfort me, papa said: "Mignon, do let me get you another. You shall have even a lovelier one." "I will not. Don't dare say I can have as pretty a bird! there isn't one in the world to compare with Bijou!" I exclaimed. So I wilfully made myself unhappy.
We decided to go to Switzerland for the summer. One day when papa and I were driving in Geneva, I espied some beautiful music-boxes in a shop-window. "O Papa; I want a music-box!" I cried. A wish had only to be expressed, for papa to grant it; so he immediately called a boy to hold the horses, jumped me down from my pony, and we entered the shop—little thinking I was to find there what would take the place of my lost Bijou. To the polite, French salesman papa said: "My little daughter must have the prettiest small music-box you own. I do not mind the price, if you can suit her." "Come with me Monsieur, Mademoiselle, and your honored wishes shall receive fulfilment," said the salesman leading the way to the door of what proved to be a dark closet at the end of the shop. We entered, and he lighted the gas which revealed, in the centre of the small room, a glass case in which were three small boxes; one studded with diamonds, one with pearls, and the third,—but you shall hear about the third later on! Unlocking the case, the man drew from it the diamond box, and said: "Examine first this box, which is indeed a most precious gem." I took it and looked at it. The diamonds glittered most temptingly, but I did not care much for it. "Now listen to the enchantment of its voice!" exclaimed the salesman, producing a small, gold key with which he began to wind it. We listened expectantly, and from the box began to issue soft, sweet tones. I thought of my Bijou's voice; and, with a sigh of disappointment, turned to remove from the case the pearl box which I handed the man, saying:" Let us hear this one." He looked disappointed also, but immediately set it going. When it finished playing, papa asked which I would have. "I prefer the pearl one," I said, "its tone is a little sweeter." "But mademoiselle has not seen or heard this one yet monsieur," said the man, producing the third box which I had scarcely looked at. "I have kept the most pleasing to mademoiselle until the last. I am sure mademoiselle loves birds, does she not?" At the word I started, so did papa; he never allowed "birds'' to be mentioned in my presence. I examined the box, which was by far the loveliest and most chaste of the three; besides, on the gold lid, in white enamel, was a dainty, darling nightingale just like my Bijou! With a choking sensation at the throat, I handed it back and told the man to let me hear it. In breathless interest and expectancy papa and I watched the winding. There was a gentle "whir—rr—rr," then the lid flew up and there appeared—my Bijou, surely! There he was—not buried in the lily garden after all—but there on the box singing, in his own incomparable way, his sweet "good morning song" to me; eyeing me in his knowing manner, nodding his darling little head at me, and turning it now on one side, now on the other; his "beauty" little throat swelling, as the exquisite melody issued in trills and rondos. "Papa! —Bijou!" was all I could say; clapping my hands and dancing for joy. We could hardly wait for the end of the song; when it came, however, Bijou disappeared again, and down fell the lid. "Do him up immediately, I will have him," I said. So the musical nightingale became mine—and I loved it better than anything in the world except papa, mamma, and my baby brother.
