_HOME AGAIN! HOME AGAIN!_
MEANWHILE the stray birdling had been missed from the home-nest, and
great was the trouble and alarm there. Nurse, coming in, found Maggie
at the head of the stairs with a discontented face.
"What's happened ye?" she asked; "and what are ye standing here in the
draught for? Go back to the nursery, my honey."
"I can't find Bessie," said Maggie. "I went to sleep, and when I woke
up, she was gone, and Flossy was gone too, and I looked all over, and
they are not here."
"She hasn't taken wings, and flown away," said nurse. "You mind baby a
moment, and I'll hunt her up for you."
Nurse hunted in vain, and at last told Maggie she thought Bessie must
have found her way into the parlor, where the ladies were talking.
"She'll soon tire of it, and come back to you," she said; "but it was
not like her to go off and leave you."
But the time passed on; Jane came in with Franky; the children's
dinner-bell rang, and still Bessie did not come. At last the ladies
of the committee went away, and mamma came out of the parlor, but no
little girl was with her. Then the whole house was searched, up-stairs
and down, from cellar to attic; but the pet was not found.
"Could her grandmamma or aunt or Mrs. Rush have come and taken her
out?" said Jane.
"They would not be so thoughtless; they would know I should be anxious
if they left no word," said Mrs. Bradford, who was growing very much
alarmed.
"No one came in; for I did not have my eyes off the front-door while I
was out on the sidewalk," said nurse. "Yes, I did, too, just a couple
of minutes while I spoke to Miss Hall; but no one could have come in
and gone out, too, without my seeing them."
Ah, nurse, nurse, it was just those two minutes when you forgot your
duty, which did all the mischief.
"And there's her hat," said Jane, looking in the box. "Ah, there's
her garden hat and sack gone. Now maybe she's just run out after you,
nurse, and somebody's caught her and run away with her when you wasn't
looking. I've heard of such things, and how they make 'em beg, and beat
'em and frighten 'em so they don't dare tell where they belong."
This was very pleasant for the poor anxious mother, who, however,
told Jane that was nonsense; while nurse, who knew she was to blame in
letting her attention be called off, grew very angry and scolded Jane,
saying she must have seen Bessie if she left the house.
Nevertheless, Bessie was certainly not in the house; and one servant
was sent to grandmamma's, another to the hotel, to see if any trace
could be found of the missing treasure; while Mrs. Bradford herself
ran to all the neighbors, and poor Maggie stood by the window crying
bitterly for her lost sister. In a little time grandmamma and Aunt
Annie were on the spot, as anxious as the rest, to see if they could
help in the search. As people were running in all directions, it seemed
to grandmamma that the best thing she could do was to comfort poor,
distressed Maggie. But Maggie was not to be comforted, and declared
that she knew she should never, never, never see Bessie again. "Oh, I
am so very sorry I went to sleep," she sobbed. "I just expect she went
to heaven in a chariot of fire when no one was looking." Grandmamma
could not smile at Maggie's strange idea, she was so anxious herself,
but she told her this could not be so; and that Bessie had probably run
out in the street and so lost her way.
"But Bessie would not do such a thing, grandmamma; she would know mamma
would not like it, and she never disobeys her."
"Perhaps your mother never told her she was not to go out alone, dear,
and so she was tempted to run a few steps, and then could not find her
way back."
"Oh, no, indeed, grandmamma. Bessie knew quite well mamma would not
wish us to go alone even if she did not say so; and she would think
it was just the same; and Bessie never falls into temptation except
about passions. If it was me, maybe I might; and I know she'll never
come back; and oh, I cannot do without her, we are so very intimate,
grandmamma."
Grandmamma said she was almost sure Bessie would soon be found, and
told Maggie how well everything was arranged at the police-stations,
so that if a little child was lost, it could soon be restored to its
friends. Still Maggie only shook her head sorrowfully, feeling it quite
impossible to believe that Bessie had gone away of her own free will.
Then Mrs. Bradford came in, looking very pale and troubled, for she
could hear nothing of her lost baby; but a moment after, Patrick came
with news. The policeman at the corner told how he had helped a little
girl over the crossing, and seen her safe in the hotel and that she had
said she was going to see the colonel; but that he could tell nothing
farther. Patrick had gone to the colonel's rooms, but they were closed
and locked; and he heard that the colonel and Mrs. Rush had been out
for a long while.
Hearing this, Mrs. Bradford and her sister went round to the hotel, and
giving the alarm, the great building was searched from top to bottom.
Every room and closet, every hall and corridor, even the roof, and the
cellar far underground where the gas was made, were looked through; but
still no Bessie. But when the servants were questioned, the woman who
had spoken to Bessie told how she had come to the colonel's room, and
then walked off.
"She has probably wandered out again, madam," was said to the pale
mother by one of the gentlemen who had been helping in the search; "and
now you had better at once send to the police-station, and give notice
of her loss."
As Mrs. Bradford was leaving the hotel to do this, the colonel and Mrs.
Rush drove up. In two minutes they had heard all that was known, and
the colonel said he would himself go to the station.
The station to which Bessie had been taken was not the one nearest to
Mr. Bradford's house; and it was to the latter that the colonel drove
first. He did not find his lost pet there, of course; but he heard that
a telegram had come sometime since, saying that a stray child was at
the station in ---- Street, and there he went as fast as his horse's
feet could carry him.
We left the little girl who had caused all this commotion sitting upon
the knee of the kind sergeant of police, while he coaxed her to tell
him the story of her troubles, in the hope that he might find out where
she belonged.
"You don't look big enough for such a many troubles," he said; "now
let's hear about them, and see what we can do. What was the first one?"
"First Maggie had a earache and cried; and then mamma had a committee,
and had to leave us; and then I could not find nurse, and Flossy yan
away," said Bessie; and the poor child began to cry again at the
thought of Flossy.
"And who is Flossy?" asked the sergeant.
"He is our puppy that Donald gave us,--Maggie's and mine."
"And who is Maggie?"
"My own sister; don't you know that?"
"Indeed, I did not," said the policeman. "What is her name?"
"Maggie Stanton Byadford," said the child.
"And what is yours?"
"Bessie Yush Byadford."
The policeman shook his head; still he could make nothing of the name.
"And when Flossy ran away, you ran after him, did you?" he asked.
"Yes, but I didn't mean to, sir; I forgot mamma wouldn't want me to,
and Flossy yan so fast. He went 'way over the long crossing, and our
policeman was not there."
"Who's your policeman?"
"I don't know his name, only he helps us over the long crossing, when
we want to go to the hotel."
"Ho, ho, I think we are coming at it," said the sergeant. "What hotel
is that?"
"Why, the hotel where the colonel lives," said Bessie, as if there
could be but one hotel and one colonel. "I thought mamma would not like
me to go home by myself, and I asked that other policeman whom I did
not know to take me over, so I could go ask the colonel to send me
home. But he was out, and a woman scolded me, and so I went away, and
the crossing wouldn't come, and the boys were naughty and yude, and
Flossy's gone--oh, dear! oh, dear! I do want my own house and my own
mamma; and everybody said naughty things about mamma."
"There, then, don't cry any more," said the policeman. "I think that
must be the hotel, and you can't tell me what street you live in?"
"Why, yes, I can," said Bessie, who quite forgot that she had not been
able to tell where she lived while she had been so frightened. "I live
in papa's house in ---- Street, Number ----, and I want to go home so
much."
"So you shall, right off, now that you have told me where you belong,"
said the policeman. "I'll send, and see if you are right."
But just as he turned to speak to one of the men, an open carriage
drove quickly to the door. Bessie looked around, then gave a scream of
joy.
"Oh, it's my soldier, my own dear soldier! He came and found me--oh, he
did, he did!"
In less time than it would have been thought possible, the colonel had
been helped out, and was within the room. Bessie almost sprang out of
the policeman's arms, and clung about the colonel's neck, while he,
dropping one crutch, steadied himself on the other, and held her fast
with the arm that was free. It was touching to see, as, half laughing,
half crying, she poured out broken words of love and joy, now covering
his face with kisses, now burying her own on his shoulder, then lifting
it again to lay her soft cheek to his and pat it with her tiny hand.
Colonel Rush was almost as much overjoyed as she, but he was in haste
to carry the recovered treasure to her anxious mother. Nor was Bessie
in less haste to be at home; but for all that, she did not forget to
speak her thanks to those who had been kind to her, going from one to
another, and shaking hands with them in her own polite little way. The
sergeant carried her out and put her in the carriage.
"Good-by," she said, giving him her hand, "I am very much obliged to
you for letting me come in your nice station-house, and for speaking so
kind to me."
"Bless your heart," said the man, "if it wasn't for your own sake, I'd
be sorry enough to part with you. Now don't you go and lose yourself
again."
"I did not lose myself," said Bessie; "I just came lost, I did not mean
to do it."
"I don't believe you did," said the man; "good-by to you."
Then the colonel put something into his hand, and they drove home
as fast as possible. Oh, what joy there was over the little darling
who had been so long away! Mamma held her fast and cried over her; it
seemed as if she could never let her go out of her arms again; Maggie
jumped about and clapped her hands, and kissed Bessie's face, hands,
dress, and even her feet; Franky did as he saw Maggie do, saying,
"Bessie tome, all nice now." Grandmamma, Aunt Annie, and Mrs. Rush were
quite as much rejoiced, and the very servants had to take part in the
welcome. Even the new cook, whom the children scarcely knew, had to
come in for a peep at the dear little cause of all this excitement.
Then papa, who had been sent for, that he might help in the search
for his lost daughter, came home to find the sorrowing changed into
rejoicing, and Bessie running to the front-door to meet him, saying,--
"I am quite found papa. I asked our Father to let you find me, and he
sent the colonel instead, but that was just as good when he brought me
home; wasn't it?"
"Quite as good, perhaps even better, darling, since dear mamma was
spared another hour of anxiety, and you one of waiting. Our heavenly
Father often does better for us than we ask, although we may not always
know it."
"And you don't think I was naughty; do you, papa? Mamma does not."
"I must hear the story first; but now let me thank our good, kind
colonel, who has put himself to some trouble I am sure, to find you."
When Mr. Bradford had heard Bessie's story, which she told in her
own straightforward way, he satisfied her by saying that he did not
think her in the least naughty, since he was sure she had not meant
to disobey. He would not consent that grandmamma and Aunt Annie, and
Colonel and Mrs. Rush should go home to dinner; they must all stay and
have a great jubilee over the happy ending to Bessie's adventures. And
oh, such a pleasure! The children were allowed to take dinner with the
grown people, a treat which was only granted on great occasions.
"It's just like the man in the Bible, who lost his sheep and found it,
and called all his friends to come and be glad, and have a nice time
with him," said Maggie, "only we're a great deal more glad than that
man, because our Bessie is a great deal better than the sheep, and we
don't have ninety and nine, either."
"No," said papa, "we have only one Bessie and one Maggie, and a very
good Maggie and Bessie they are of their kind. I would not change them
for any others that could be offered to me. How is the ear, Maggie?"
"Oh, it's 'most well, papa. When I felt so bad about Bessie, I forgot
about it, and when I was so glad, the pain just went away before I knew
it."
"So the greater trouble cured the lesser, eh?"
"But, papa," said Bessie, "we have a great, great trouble with all our
happiness. You know Flossy is quite lost, and we'll never have him to
play with again."
"I am not sure about that," said Mr. Bradford; "I shall go to-morrow
and see what I can do to find him. Still I have not much hope, and you
must not think too much about it."
"You mean you will do all you can, papa," said Bessie, sorrowfully,
"but probaly we will never see our dear Flossy again."
"Never mind, Bessie," said Maggie, tenderly; "it is not very much
matter if we don't. We have you back again, so we've no reason to
complain."
Dear, generous-hearted little Maggie! She would not say how badly she
felt about Flossy, lest Bessie should think she blamed her for his
loss, but it was a great trial to her, as her father knew. She was
more fond of him than Bessie was, and Flossy cared more for her than
he did for any one else. Never were two merrier playfellows, and their
droll antics and frolics were a source of great amusement to the whole
family. And now he was gone, perhaps never to come back; and Maggie's
little heart was very sore, though she said nothing of her grief.
Thoughtless she often was, but never where Bessie was concerned; she
never forgot her little sister's happiness or comfort, and would bear
anything herself if so she might keep harm or trouble from Bessie. Her
father knew this, and why she spoke as if she did not care much about
Flossy, and he loved her the better for it, for he saw that it was hard
work for her to keep back the tears. He put his arm about her, and
kissed her tenderly, as he began to talk of other things.
Quite late that night, when Mrs. Bradford went up-stairs, she heard
a low sobbing from the room opening out of her own, where Maggie and
Bessie slept, each in her own pretty little bed.
"What is it, my darling?" she asked, going in. "Is your ear feeling
badly again?"
"Not so very, mamma," said Maggie, "but--please put your head down
close, mamma, so Bessie wont wake up--I do feel so very, very badly
about Flossy. If I knew somebody had him who would be kind to him,
I think I could try to bear it, but I know they will hurt him and
tease him, and he'll have such a hard time. I know he'll be homesick,
too--oh, dear--and I can't go to sleep, 'cause I think so much about
him, and I don't want Bessie to know it."
Mamma sat down on the bed and comforted Maggie, and then, holding
her hand, began to tell her a story which she took care not to make
too interesting, until presently the little hand which held her own
loosened its grasp, and Maggie's regular breathing showed that she had
forgotten her trouble.
All this made Mr. Bradford resolve that he would spare no pains to
recover Flossy, and the next morning he went to the police-station,
and asking the name and beat of the man who had brought in his little
daughter, went in search of him. He was soon found, and told where he
had met Bessie; but he had been able to learn nothing of the lost dog.
Mr. Bradford inquired all about the neighborhood in vain; the boys whom
he met either could not or would not answer his questions. He offered a
reward to whoever could tell anything that would lead to the recovery
of the dog, and when he went down town, put an advertisement in the
papers saying the same thing.
But three days passed, and still no word came of Flossy. On the
fourth morning, the family were all at breakfast, when Patrick, who
was passing through the hall, heard a scratching and whining at the
front-door. He hurried to open it, and Flossy rushed in, ran through
the hall into the breakfast-room, and before any one had recovered from
their first surprise, scrambled into Maggie's lap, buried his face
under her arm, and lay trembling and whimpering with joy. Poor little
fellow! he was in a sad state. His glossy silken coat was all matted
and dirty; he looked thin and half-starved; his pretty red collar,
with its brass lettering, was gone, and around his neck the hair was
rubbed off, as if it had been worn by a rope, and his mouth was cut
and bleeding. Papa said he thought he had been tied up, and in his
struggles to free himself, had worn the hair from his neck, and cut his
mouth with gnawing at the rope.
The children cried and laughed over him by turns, hugged and kissed
him, and although it was against mamma's rules to feed him in the
dining-room, begged that they might do it for this once. Permission was
given, and then they wanted to stuff him with everything that was on
the table; but mamma said they must be careful, or he would be sick,
so a saucer of warm bread and milk was brought and put on the hearth,
and glad enough the poor puppy was to have it. But he would not eat
unless Maggie's hand was on him, and every now and then he would stop
to look up in her face with a low whine, as if he wanted to tell her
his pitiful story. Afterwards he was well washed, and then, wrapped in
his blanket, went to sleep in Maggie's lap. He woke up quite refreshed,
but for a day or two, did not care to play much, content to lie most
of the time in Maggie's or Bessie's arms, or curled up in a ball in
some comfortable corner. But after this long rest, and several good
meals, to say nothing of a great amount of petting, he began to bark
and act like himself, and was once more the bright, merry, affectionate
plaything he had been before.
Where he had been, or how he had escaped from those who had treated him
so cruelly, was never known, but every one thought it quite wonderful
that so young a dog, and one who had been such a short time in the
house, could have found his way home alone.
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