be. She is too hateful to me. I wish I had never seen her and I wish I
could stay out of the house all the time." And indeed this is what she
tried to do, starting early for school, and trying to spend as much of
the afternoon as possible with some of her schoolmates. Olive had made
friends with Janet Forrester, and Jessie had found a playmate nearer
her own age, so Eleanor was free to select her own friends. Upon one
occasion there came a clash upon this very subject, for Mrs. Murdoch
insisted that Eleanor should go to Janet Forrester's to spend the
afternoon. "I feel myself responsible for you, Eleanor," she said, "and
I should like to know that you are somewhere with Olive that I may be
able to account for you."
"Mamma doesn't like me to play with Janet," Eleanor blurted out.
"Why not?"
Eleanor hung her head. She did not like to tell tales, in school or
out, but Olive spoke up: "I know, mamma; it's because Barbara stole a
ring from Janet and she and Eleanor quarreled about it."
"Oh, what a story," cried Eleanor. "She didn't steal it, any such a
thing. Janet said she did just to get Bubbles into trouble and she
found the ring afterward at her own house. So there."
Mrs. Murdoch and Olive exchanged glances and Mrs. Murdoch lifted her
eyebrows slightly, in a way that Eleanor much disliked.
"That's what Janet told me, anyhow, mamma," said Olive meaningly.
"There are always two sides to a question," said Mrs. Murdoch, "but if
you are sure, Eleanor, that your mamma does not like you to play with
Janet you needn't go. Mrs. Forrester has doubtless the same objection
on her side."
Eleanor looked at her with blazing eyes; then stamping her foot she
cried: "I wish you'd just write to mamma and ask her. She will tell you
the truth, anyhow, if you don't believe me. I never tell stories. I
never do such things. You can ask mamma." And she turned away.
This was on Wednesday before school, and on her return home she found
Mrs. Murdoch in quite a perturbed state. "Eleanor," she said, "have
you seen anything of Barbara? She hasn't been seen since about eleven
o'clock."
"I haven't seen her," returned Eleanor curtly.
"Do you know where she is?"
Eleanor hesitated, then remembered that she did not know just where
Sylvy's parents lived; it was somewhere in the country, but where she
could not tell.
"Answer me," said Mrs. Murdoch. "Where is she?"
"I don't know, Cousin Ellen, at least, I know she has gone away
somewhere in the country, but I don't know where the place is. You said
you were going to send her away, and so she went anyhow."
"And you have known this all the time and haven't told me? Such deceit!"
"I don't know why I should have told," retorted Eleanor. "It wouldn't
have done Bubbles any good, and I love her a thousand million times
more than I do you, if she is black. She is white inside and I know you
are not."
"Eleanor!" Mrs. Murdoch spoke very sternly. "You are really the most
dreadful child I have ever encountered. I never had any one speak to me
as you have done. You are completely contaminated by your association
with servants."
"I don't tell stories, and I don't steal from the pantry, and I don't
do lots of things your children do," returned Eleanor thoroughly
defiant.
"Hush!" cried Mrs. Murdoch. "If it were not for worrying your mother
I should tell her very plainly what I think of you, but as it is, my
hands are tied. I shall have to pass over this as I have over many
other things. If Barbara has gone I wash my hands of her, and when your
mother returns she can do as she thinks fit about the affair. I am
not in a position to punish you as you deserve, but I wish you not to
address me or any of my family, except when absolutely necessary, while
we remain here."
However much Mrs. Murdoch was pleased at Bubbles' departure to Eleanor
it was a sore loss, and she went to bed that night clasping her dear
Ada close to her heart and shedding many tears for Bubbles. The absence
of the little colored girl in more ways than one, made it hard for
Eleanor, for now Bubbles could not be used as a scapegoat for Olive's
sly pilferings, nor for Don's tricks, and so by degrees it was Eleanor
herself upon whom all the blame was laid. Did anything happen to be
out of place, Eleanor had it last. Were there mud tracked through Mrs.
Murdoch's clean halls, Eleanor did it; and, since Mrs. Murdoch's blind
idolatry of her children did not permit her to see a fault in any one
of them, poor Eleanor was gradually made to believe herself a most
wicked person, and she was in danger of acquiring some of the very
qualities which were attributed to her.
It was Miss Reese who first noticed this, for she saw that the child's
sunny little face was now habitually clouded and that, whereas she had
formerly been responsive to gentle chiding for some slight fault, she
was beginning to show open defiance, and so the teacher called upon
Mrs. Murdoch and very tactfully brought around the conversation to the
subject which was upon her mind.
"You find Olive and Jessie tractable, I hope," said Mrs. Murdoch.
"Yes," returned Miss Reese, "Jessie particularly. I have some times
thought that Olive was not as frank as I should like her to be, but I
may be mistaken."
Mrs. Murdoch's visible resentment showed Miss Reese that she was upon
dangerous ground. "That is a quality that belongs to Eleanor rather
than to Olive," Mrs. Murdoch said. "The child has been brought up very
unwisely."
"Why, what do you mean?" Miss Reese was surprised into saying. "I have
always thought Mrs. Dallas one of the tenderest and most devoted of
mothers. Every one thinks Eleanor one of the best behaved little girls
in town; for myself I think she is a charming child."
"One can never tell unless one lives in the house with such a
character," said Mrs. Murdoch, sighing. "Your estimate simply proves
what I say that Eleanor is vain and deceitful."
Miss Reese began to take in the situation but she only said:
"I think a teacher has an excellent opportunity for judging of the
characters of those placed in her care, and I cannot agree with you,
Mrs. Murdoch." Then she took her leave, resolved to give more attention
to Eleanor from this out.
_CHAPTER V_
_More Trouble_
It was about two weeks after Bubbles' departure that Eleanor, coming
home one day from school, found her new doll missing and her precious
Jungle Book out of its place on her shelves. She searched high and low
but could find neither book nor doll. She gave to her dolls a devoted
affection. They seemed real persons to her and any indignity offered
to them cut her to the very heart. Once in a while she had forgotten
and had left some special member of her family out in the garden all
night and her self-reproach upon discovering it was great. It was as if
she felt upon her own tender body the dews of night, and as if pangs
of hunger had been hers, and after that, for days, the victim of her
forgetfulness would be treated with extra care and tenderness.
For her books she had the feeling that is that of every true
book-lover. It hurt her to see her treasured volumes laid face down,
or to see thumb-marks soiling one of the clean pages or to come across
a leaf turned down; therefore she dreaded to see one of her beloved
books in Donald's hands. Donald was no respecter of the property
of others, and if he wanted a book he usually helped himself to it
and kept it in the playhouse as long as it suited him. He was very
tenacious, it may be said, about his right to the playhouse, and always
kept the door locked and the key in his pocket when he was not in the
small building, so that Eleanor had no opportunity of going in there to
search for any of her lost treasures.
She sighed as she thought some day she would probably find her Jungle
Book, soiled and with dingy covers, returned to her shelves, but Donald
professed to despise dolls and what could he want to do with her dear
Ada? She determined to ask him if he had seen her doll, and to be very
polite when she did it; so she waited patiently till she should hear
him come in.
It was cold November weather and the winter was fast approaching.
Eleanor shuddered as she thought of Ada lying somewhere out in the
chill wind, but she said very sweetly, "Donald, have you seen anything
of my new doll?"
"What do you suppose I know about your old doll?" he returned.
"I can't find her anywhere," Eleanor went on wistfully. "I left her
sitting on my bed this morning, and I have hunted high and low for her."
"You didn't look in the flour barrel, I suppose," said Donald laughing.
"No. Oh, you didn't put her in there, did you? She will smother." And
she hurried off to the pantry to examine the contents of the barrel.
Mrs. Murdoch coming saw her there. "Eleanor, what are you doing?" she
asked sharply. "You charge Olive with pilfering from my store of cakes
and I find you in here. What does this mean?"
"I am only looking for my doll, Cousin Ellen," Eleanor replied, too
much worried to notice the implied charges.
"A queer place to look for a doll."
"Donald asked me if I had looked in the flour barrel, and I want so
much to find her."
"As if he would put a doll in there. He has better sense than to do
such a thing," said Mrs. Murdoch. "Your excuse is a very lame one,
Eleanor."
But Eleanor paid little heed to her and again sought Donald, who
jeeringly said: "When she's up she's up, and when she's down she's
down, and when she's half-way up she's neither up nor down." And that
was all Eleanor could get out of him.
Up and downstairs she trudged, looking in every room but no Ada was to
be found. All over the garden she searched, but no Ada was there, but
at last the child caught sight of something swinging from the garret
window, and going closer, she saw Ada clad in her little nightgown and
tied by the neck to a string which was suspended from a nail in the
eaves. Upstairs Eleanor rushed, feeling as if she could not endure such
treatment of her doll. She was in an agony of sympathy for poor Ada,
but, try as she would, she could not grasp the string which hung just
beyond her reach and could only be touched by standing on the ledge
outside the window.
Eleanor was always desperately afraid to stand on high places, but
her eagerness to gain possession of her doll, nerved her to climb out
and stand upon the sill. She caught the string in one hand and with a
dreadful feeling that Ada's body was thumping against the side of the
house, she managed to climb in again and drew up the precious burden to
find the doll a little scarred, but otherwise unhurt.
The child was now in such a nervous tremor that she felt her limbs
shaking under her as she sank down on the garret floor giving vent to
quick little sobs. "We won't stand it, Ada; we won't," she said. "We
will run away, too. We will go with the butterman and find Sylvy and
Bubbles. They love me better than these cousins." She had always been
used to having negro servants about her and the idea of going to Sylvy
did not affect her as it might have done a child not accustomed to
being petted and coddled by a negro nursemaid.
"To-morrow the butterman comes again and we will hide somewhere, Ada,
and go with him. I hope Bubbles found Sylvy. I haven't heard a word
about her, but I hope she got there all right. I must write a note to
Miss Reese, for she will wonder why I am not at school. I will mail it
in the morning." The little inconsequent mind did not see any further
troubles arising from her purpose, and she began to make her plans.
"I will write to mamma and tell her I did not mean to be bad but that
they made me so, and I'll tell her I am safe and that I am going to
stay till she comes back," she told her doll. Then she tied up a little
bundle of her own clothing, and put in what she considered proper
apparel for Ada, and then she wrote her little note to Miss Reese:
"DEAR MISS REESE:
"I can't come to school because I am going away. I'm so miserble
without mamma and nobody loves me. Ime not going because I dont
like to go to school and plese excuse my lessons I will study very
hard when mamma comes back
"Affectionately yours
"ELEANOR DALLAS.
"P.S.--I forgot to tell you ime going to stay with Sylvy and
Bubbles."
She decided that she would go to school and at recess she would slip
out and be on the corner when the butterman drove by. She would leave
her bundle with old Mrs. Wills who kept a small shop near the school.
She felt distressed at leaving her other dolls and Nyxy, her little
black cat, but she laid the former carefully away in a drawer, after
fondly kissing each smiling face, locked the drawer and took the key
with her. Nyxy she knew would be well cared for. Jessie was devoted to
him and the cook was fond of cats, and therefore with a soft whisper
and a loving pat, Eleanor bade good-bye to her furry pet the next
morning and started out alone. She did not often walk to school with
her cousins nowadays, for Olive usually stopped for Janet Forrester and
Jessie had a friend about her own age who called for her almost every
morning, therefore Eleanor was not observed as she stepped out with her
bundle and hurried along to Mrs. Wills before the others started.
Mrs. Wills cheerfully took charge of the bundle, patted Eleanor's
shoulder and gave her a cocoanut cake. Her little shop was beginning to
show Christmas wares and it gave Eleanor a pang to think that perhaps
this year there would be no mamma on hand to plan delightful surprises.
The tears gathered in her eyes as she went on to school, stopping to
mail her letter to Miss Reese on the way.
She arrived quite early and found the schoolroom empty of every one
except her teacher. Miss Reese looked up with a smile. "Good-morning,
Eleanor," she said. "This is quite a frosty morning, isn't it? It
promises cold weather soon. I suppose you are glad of that, for your
mamma thought she would be home by Christmas, I remember."
"I'm afraid she won't be," returned Eleanor. "Papa wasn't so well when
she last wrote."
"Oh, that's too bad. Never mind, you can have a good time with your
cousins. It must be very lively for you to have so many playmates,
after being the only child in the house."
Eleanor did not reply, but there was a quivering of her lips that told
Miss Reese more than words could have done. "Did you come to school on
your wheel?" Miss Reese asked, changing the subject.
"No, Miss Reese. Don has broken it. I hate Don."
"Why, my child."
"I do. I can't help it if I am wicked and selfish and--and deceitful,
I just hate him," she said, going to her desk and hiding her face
behind the lid as she raised it that Miss Reese might not see her
tears. But just then in came a troop of girls and no more was said,
although Miss Reese made a mental note of Eleanor's words.
At recess Eleanor asked permission to go to Mrs. Wills' little shop.
This was often accorded the girls and consent was given to the child,
who, however, waited till the last moment and then ran out, passing
the girls returning from having made their purchases of sour balls or
ginger cakes or buns.
"You'd better hurry up," said Laura Field; "the bell will ring in a
minute."
Eleanor nodded in reply, and ran on, secured her bundle and hurried
around the corner to overtake the butterman. But just as she reached
the spot where she intended to wait for him she saw the white top of
his wagon ahead of her, and she ran with all her might toward it,
calling: "Mr. Snyder, Mr. Snyder, please wait for me," but his sleek
brown horses trotted on and the child, breathlessly following, at last,
dropped into a walk, but still determined to overtake him.
On and on she went up the hard country road where fewer and fewer
houses were to be seen, and at last she saw the wagon turn into a lane,
and outside the gate she sat down to wait till the butterman should
come out again. She was very warm and tired and a cough which she had
noticed for some days, began to trouble her more than before. The cold
wind struck her and in a few minutes she was shivering, but she was not
the less firm in her determination to go on to find Sylvy.
But as she sat there huddled up she heard a horse's hoofs come
clattering along the road and she saw the flash of a scarlet jacket as
a tiny Shetland pony came dashing along bearing as his rider a swarthy
little girl, whose black tousled hair was tossed about by the wind. She
drew rein as she saw Eleanor there and came cantering up to her. "What
you doing?" she asked, slipping down from her pony and peering down
with her bright eyes into Eleanor's face.
"I'm waiting for the butterman," answered Eleanor shyly.
"Wha' for?"
"'Cause I want him to take me along with him."
"I'll take you. Want to ride my pony? Come; there ain't no man coming."
Eleanor looked up toward the house before the gate of which she was
waiting. "He's in there," she said.
The girl shook her black locks. "No, he's gone t'other way."
Eleanor looked distressed. "Are you sure?" she asked.
The girl nodded. "I'll take you. Come 'long. Tossi can take us both."
"Oh, no, he's too little."
The girl laughed. "He's very strong. No, it won't hurt him. He loves me
and I don't let him be hurt." She flung her arms around the neck of the
pony and kissed the white star on his forehead.
Eleanor at last consented to mount him, sitting behind the girl
and holding fast to her as they dashed up the road. Once she asked
breathlessly: "Do you know where the butterman lives? His name is Mr.
Snyder."
"I knows him," returned her companion laughing, but she did not stop
till they came in sight of a group of gaudy wagons.
"Oh!" cried Eleanor. "Those are gipsies."
The girl jumped down. "My people," she said with a wave of her hand.
"Are you a gipsy?" Eleanor was quite taken aback.
The girl nodded in reply, standing with one arm over the neck of her
little pony.
"But I want to go to Mr. Snyder's," said Eleanor helplessly, all the
stories she had ever heard of gipsies coming to her mind.
The girl led the pony slowly along toward the wagons and Eleanor could
see that beyond them, in a small enclosure, were many horses, and that
in some of the wagons, with their red and yellow adornings, were women
and children. "Please don't go on," she said. "I don't want to go
there."
"Wha' for?" again said the girl.
"I want to find Mr. Snyder."
"He your papa?"
"No."
"You live there?"
"No."
"Then wha' for?"
"I want him to take me somewhere. Perhaps you know where Sylvy Johnson
lives. She is a colored woman. I would just as soon go to her house as
to Mr. Snyder's."
The girl shook her head. "Don't know. We had a little nigger girl not
long ago. She went to the orspital, my brodder say. She was hurted."
Then she suddenly looked up saying: "I like you. I wish you'd stay and
see my big brudder. He have anudder pony like this one; he'll let you
ride on him."
At this moment one of the dark, queer-looking women came from one of
the wagons toward them and Eleanor took affright. "Oh, no, please,--I
am very much obliged to you for letting me ride your pony; he is a
darling, but I am afraid to stay. I'm not afraid of you, for you are
a very nice, kind little girl, but I do want to go. I am so tired,
and--and--please."
"Come on." The girl swung herself upon the pony, and giving the pretty
creature a slap with her hand she made him turn around and they were
soon dashing down the road again to the spot where Eleanor had been
first seen by the gipsy girl.
Eleanor got down and looked up the lane. "Does Mr. Snyder live in
there?" she asked.
"Don't know."
"But you said you knew where he lived."
"No, I says I know him, an' so I does."
"But you said he had gone out another way."
"Maybe. I don't know. No, he's comin' now. I see his wagon top. I said
that because I wanted you to come and see my brudder and me."
"Are you going to be at that place long?"
"Don't know. P'r'aps. You want to buy a pony? My brudder will sell you
a good one cheap."
"I'd like to have one like yours. Isn't he a beauty? I always wanted
to ride a little pony like this, and I am glad I could do it. Did your
father give it to you?"
"No, I haven't got no fadder."
"Your mother then?"
"No," the girl shook her head. "I haven't got no mudder; my brudder
give him to me. What you got in your bundle?"
"Some clothes and my doll named Ada."
"I got a doll too; her name is--what's your name?"
"Eleanor."
"Her name is Eleanor like you."
"What is your name?"
"Zula."
"I think that is a pretty name. I'll name my next doll that."
"Come and see me and I'll show you my doll. My brudder bought it for
me. I like your ribbon on your hair. Give it to me."
Eleanor hesitated. She didn't like to refuse and yet she did not know
whether it was exactly right to give it to her, but finally she did
take it off, for she thought Zula had really been very kind. "Here,"
she said, "you may have it."
Zula tied it around her black tresses and laughed. "Here comes Snyder,"
she said, "good-bye." And jumping on her horse she was off like a flash.
Eleanor watched her red jacket out of sight and then said to herself,
"I wish I had asked her more about that little colored girl. I wonder
if she was a servant or what. I'm glad Bubbles don't have to go
traveling around the country with gipsies. She'll be glad to see me,
and so will Sylvy. What a long time Mr. Snyder has been at that house."
_CHAPTER VI_
_Where is Bubbles?_
At last the man came driving down the lane. He drew rein as he saw
the little figure by the gate. "Want a lift, little girl?" he asked
cheerfully.
"Yes, please," Eleanor responded. And the man helped her up beside him.
"How far are you going?" he asked.
"To Sylvy's," Eleanor answered in all simplicity.
"To Sylvy's? You don't mean Sylvy Johnson's? No wonder you want a lift.
What are you going away off there for? It is a long way for a little
girl to go alone. Bless me!" He looked closer. "Bless my soul, if it
isn't the little Dallas girl! Why, what does this mean? What's the
matter at your house that they're running you off in this fashion?"
Eleanor's cough interrupted her speech for a moment, and the man tucked
a warm cover closer around her. "See here," he continued, "I'll take
you home with me, and we'll see what's to be done. I'm not in the
notion of your going to Johnson's by yourself. How did you expect to
get back?"
"I didn't expect to get back at all, at least, not till mamma comes
home."
"Why, that's the queerest thing I ever heard. Did Mrs. Murdoch send you
off there?"
"No," Eleanor confessed, "I am going of my own accord. Cousin Ellen
doesn't know anything about it."
"Hm--hm." Mr. Snyder nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Mrs. Snyder will
settle it. I can't take you back just at once, for I must go home and
feed my horses, and get a bite myself, but if mother says so, home you
go."
"Oh, no, please," begged Eleanor. "I want to go to Sylvy's."
"Well, you wait and see what my wife says. Mrs. Snyder'll know what's
best. 'Tain't much further; only a couple of miles. Here, get up, Pete.
Get up, Morgan." And the horses quickened their trot soon bringing
them up to a substantial white house standing back some distance from
the road. "Here we are," said Mr. Snyder, lifting Eleanor down. "Whoa
there, Pete! I'd better fasten that horse; he's dead set on getting to
the stable. He knows it's his dinner time."
A rosy-faced woman came to the side door. "Here, mother," said Mr.
Snyder, "I've got company for you; Mr. Dallas's little girl. Run in,
honey, out of the cold. It's blowing up, mother. Take the little girl
in where it's warm, and I'll come as soon as I've fed the stock."
Into a clean warm kitchen Eleanor was led. There was an odor of fried
ham and potatoes, and from an iron pot, bubbling on the stove, came
a spicy smell. "Take off your things, honey," said Mrs. Snyder in a
matter-of-fact way, as if the coming of a strange little girl to dinner
were an everyday occurrence, and Eleanor obeyed, glad of the warmth and
the welcome.
Mr. Snyder was not long gone, and when he returned he remarked, "This
young lady wants to go to Johnson's, Almiry. What do you think of that?"
"Not to stay!" said Mrs. Snyder, pausing in the act of taking a pan of
biscuits from the oven. "You wasn't meaning to stay, was you?" she
asked Eleanor.
"Yes, till my mother comes home. You see, Bubbles is there, at least,
I suppose she is. Didn't she come with you about two weeks ago, Mr.
Snyder?"
"With me? No, indeed. Do you mean the little darky girl that lives at
your house? Haven't laid eyes on her."
"Oh!" Eleanor's eyes grew big with anxiety, and her chin began to
quiver. "Then she's lost, unless she is at Sylvy's. Won't you please
take me there?"