The Rainbow Bridge
BOOKS BY FRANCES MARGARET FOX
=WHAT GLADYS SAW.= A NATURE STORY OF FARM AND FOREST. With
full page illustration. Containing 318 pages. Cloth bound. Price,
$1.25.
=THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.= A STORY. With full page colored frontispiece.
Containing 254 pages. Cloth bound. Price, $1.25.
[Illustration: MRS. MOORE ROCKED A BABY BEFORE THE NURSERY FIRE.]
The Rainbow Bridge
A Story
By
FRANCES MARGARET FOX
_Author of "What Gladys Saw," "Farmer
Brown and the Birds," etc._
ILLUSTRATED BY
FRANK T. MERRILL
[Illustration]
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1905_
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
_To
the dear friend of my childhood
and later years
Mrs. William W. Crouch_
Contents
I. A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY 11
II. MARIAN'S FIRST DAY IN SCHOOL 19
III. SHE GOES TO CHURCH 27
IV. AUNT AMELIA 40
V. MARIAN'S NEW HOME 48
VI. THAT YELLOW CUCUMBER 58
VII. AN UNDESERVING CHILD 66
VIII. IN THE NAME OF SANTA CLAUS 73
IX. AT THE RICH MAN'S TABLE 83
X. A GAME OF SLICED BIRDS 94
XI. THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR 105
XII. MARIAN'S DIARY 127
XIII. DIPHTHERIA 146
XIV. MUSICAL CONVERSATIONS 163
XV. LITTLE SISTER TO THE DANDELION 173
XVI. PROFESSOR LEE, BOTANIST 185
XVII. THE COMPOSITION ON WILD FLOWERS 192
XVIII. MARIAN'S LETTER HOME 199
XIX. THE MOST TRUTHFUL CHILD IN SCHOOL 204
XX. MORE CHANGES 215
XXI. MARIAN REMEMBERS HER DIARY 220
XXII. FLORENCE WESTON'S MOTHER 231
XXIII. HOW MARIAN CROSSED THE RAINBOW BRIDGE 241
The Rainbow Bridge
CHAPTER I
A LITTLE PILGRIM BEGINS A JOURNEY
THERE was always room for one more in the Home for Little Pilgrims.
Especially was this true of the nursery; not because the nursery was
so large, nor because there was the least danger that the calico cats
might be lonesome, but Mrs. Moore loved babies. It made no difference
to her whether the wee strangers were white or black, bright or stupid,
she treated them all alike. They were dressed, undressed, bathed, fed
and put to sleep at exactly the same hours every day, that is, they
were laid in their cribs whenever it was time for them to go to sleep.
Little Pilgrims were never rocked and Mrs. Moore had no time for
lullaby songs, whatever may have been her inclination.
Yet there came a night when Mrs. Moore rocked a baby before the nursery
fire and sung to it all the songs she knew. That was the night Marian
Lee entered the Home with bright eyes wide open. She not only had her
eyes open when she was placed in Mrs. Moore's arms, but she kept them
open and somehow compelled Mrs. Moore to break her own rules and do as
she had never done with a new baby.
To be sure, Marian Lee couldn't talk, having started on her pilgrimage
only six months before, but in a way of her own, she declared herself
well pleased with the Home and with the nursery in particular. She
enjoyed her bath and said so. The warm fire in the grate pleased
her and Mrs. Moore's face was lovely, if a baby's ideas were of any
account. The trouble began when Marian was carried into the still room
where the sleeping Pilgrims were, and placed in a crib. The minute her
head touched the pillow she began to cry. When Mrs. Moore left her,
she cried louder. That awakened tiny Joe in the nearest crib and when
he began to wail, Bennie and Johnnie, Sam and Katie, as well as half
a dozen others joined in the chorus. Not to be outdone by these older
Pilgrims, Marian screamed louder than any of them until Mrs. Moore took
her back to the fire and quiet was restored.
Now it was strictly against Mrs. Moore's rules to humor a baby in that
fashion, and Mrs. Moore told Marian so, although she added in the next
breath, "Poor little dear." The "poor little dear" was cooing once more
and there really seemed nothing to do but kiss, and cuddle and rock the
baby as her own mother might have done. She was so unlike the others in
the Home; so soft, round and beautiful.
"You are no ordinary baby, precious one," said Mrs. Moore, whereupon
Marian laughed, flourished her hands and seemed much pleased. "I
think," continued Mrs. Moore, as she kissed the pink fists, "I think
some one has talked to you a great deal. My babies are different, poor
little things, they don't talk back as you do."
Before long, the rows of white cribs in the other room were forgotten
and Mrs. Moore began singing to Marian as though she were the only baby
in the big Home. Lullaby after lullaby she sang while the fire burned
low, yet the baby would not sleep. Softly at last, Mrs. Moore began a
lullaby long unsung:
"All the little birdies have gone to sleep,
Why does my pet so wide awake keep?
Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep.
"All the little babies their prayers have said,
Their mothers have tucked them up snugly in bed.
Peep, peep, go to sleep, peep, peep, go to sleep."
When the blue eyes closed, Mrs. Moore suddenly realized it was but
another Little Pilgrim that she held and not her own baby so often
hushed to sleep by that old lullaby many years ago. For the sake of
that baby, Mrs. Moore had loved all the motherless little ones in the
Home--all the unfortunate, neglected waifs brought to its doors. She
had loved them impartially until that night. She had never before asked
who a baby was, nor what its surroundings had been. Its future was
her only concern. To care for each baby while it was in the nursery
and to be sure it was placed in a good home when taken away, was all
she wished to know. No baby had ever crept into Mrs. Moore's innermost
heart as Marian did that night. An hour later the superintendent was
surprised when Mrs. Moore asked for the history of that latest Little
Pilgrim.
"She's a fine child," mused the superintendent, adding cheerfully,
"we'll have no trouble finding a home for her; I doubt if she's here a
month."
Mrs. Moore said nothing but she was sure Marian would stay more than a
month. After she heard the superintendent's story, she was more sure
of it. Thus it happened that tiny Joe, who was not a bit attractive,
and Bennie and Johnnie, who were disagreeable babies if such a thing
may be, and Sam and Katie whose fathers and mothers were drunkards, as
well as a dozen other little waifs, were given away long before Marian
learned to talk: Marian, the beautiful baby, was somehow always kept
behind Mrs. Moore's skirts. As the child grew older, she was still
kept in the background. The plainest dresses ever sent in to Little
Pilgrims, were given to Marian. Her hair was kept short and when
special visitors were expected, she was taken to the playground by an
older girl. All this time a happier baby never lived than Marian. No
one in the Home knew how tenderly Mrs. Moore loved her. No one knew of
the caresses lavished upon her when the infant Pilgrims were busy with
their blocks or asleep in their cribs.
At last the superintendent questioned Mrs. Moore. He said it seemed
strange that no one wished to adopt so lovely a child. Mrs. Moore
explained. She told the superintendent she hoped Marian would be
claimed by folks of her own, but if not--Mrs. Moore hesitated at that
and the superintendent understood.
"We won't give her away," he promised, "until we find the right kind of
a mother for her. That child shall have a good home."
Too soon to please Mrs. Moore, Marian outgrew her crib and went
to sleep in the dormitory. The child was pleased with the change,
especially as Mrs. Moore tucked her in bed and kissed her every night
just as she had done in the nursery. Marian was glad to be no longer
a baby. The dormitory with its rows and rows of little white beds,
delighted the child, and to be allowed to sit up hours after the babies
were asleep was pure joy.
The dining-room was another pleasure. To sit down to dinner with two
hundred little girls and boys and to be given one of the two hundred
bright bibs, filled her heart with pride. The bibs certainly were an
attraction. Marian was glad hers was pink. She buttoned it to her chair
after dinner just as she saw the others do.
One thing troubled Marian. She wished Mrs. Moore to sit at the table
beside her and drink milk from a big, white mug. "Do childrens always
have dinner all alone?" she asked.
Instead of answering the child, Mrs. Moore told her to run away and
play. Then she looked out of the window for a long, long time. Perhaps
she had done wrong after all in keeping the baby so long in a "Home
with a capital H."