THE STAR-CHILD

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 857, 28 December 1929, Page 27

THE STAR-CHILD

Billy had spent a delightful day in the garden, playing among the flowers, and now the time had come for him to walk up “wooden-hill'’ and lie down to rest. Already he could see golden lights shining from the bedroom windows of the neighbours’ houses, which told him that there, little boys and girls were going to bed.

“May I run just once more down to the garden gate?” he asked his mother, and when she said that he might do so, away he went. He loved to swing on that green gate in the daytime, but there was no time to swing now. He had just to say “goodnight” to the dear flowers—the tall larkspurs and the lilies. Up in the sky, shining far above the house-tops, was one bright star. It beamed at him as if it were pleased to see such a dear wee boy. “Goodnight, dear star,” he said. “I wish you could stay there until I come into the garden again tomorrow morning.” Then he ran back into the house, for he knew that little boys who want to grow into strong men must go early to bed. It seemed as if he had been asleep only for a few minutes when a voice called to him. His eyes were open, in a moment, and he looked toward the window, where a little boy was standing in the midst of a broad stream of light.

“Well, Billy,” said the stranger, in a pleasant voice, “I havs come to tell you that the flowers in your star-gar-den are blooming nicely—better than they have ever bloomed before.” Billy rubbed his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Who are you?” “I am your star-self,” said the visitor. “I live in that bright star you were watching this evening. You have a garden up there, in which all the good things that you do make lovely flowers bloom.” “Oh, Star-child,” cried Billy, “how I should love to see that garden!” “So you shall. I am going to take you there.”

He stretched out his hand and Billy clasped it tightly, and then he found himself flying through the air at a great rate. Before he had time to feel frightened, he found himself in a beautiful place. Bright birds, whose wings glistened with all sorts of colours, flew from tree to tree, or perched on branches laden with delicious fruits. Here and there a silvery waterfall made a sweet tinkling. “Bo you see,” said the Star-child, “that this is not really one garden, but many?” Then Billy noticed that there were all kinds of small gardens making one large one. Some had such odd flowers growing in them such as he had never seen before. One or two were full of weeds and thistles. “Where is mine?” he queried. The Star-child led him to it. It was full of sweet blossoms that Billy knew quite well—pansies, queenly roses, brave, blue larkspurs, and not a weed was to be seen. “I am glad it is like this now,” said the Star-child, and his face shone with joy. “Every day when you have done kifid things and been loving and gentle, the flowers grow more beautiful. But for each angry word or unkind deed, a weed grows and a flower fades and dies. Then I am very sad.” “I will always try to be good,” cried Billy, “now that I know I have this garden up in the sky.” “It is time for you to go back,” said the Star-child. “Come, take my hand again and shut your eyes.” Billy did so and the next moment, as it seemed, he was in his own little bed with the morning sun shining in through the window and the Star-child nowhere to be seen.

—THELMA BURLING, aged 12.