A SUCCESSFUL EXPERIMENT.
ONLY a few hours and our young traveller found herself in another
world. They were climbing the mountain; that is, the engine was
climbing, but he was such a powerful creature, with so strong a pair
of lungs, that he made no trouble whatever about it, and Dilly would
not have known it was other than level ground but for the display which
suddenly caught her eye from the car window. A deep, deep gorge, so
deep that there seemed to her to be no bottom; and apparently it grew
deeper every moment, as indeed it did, for she ascended higher; as for
the picture spread around her, the lovely greens of the distant trees,
the play of sunlight and shadow near at hand, the trickling of water
down the mountain side, it would have been of no use for Dilly to try
to describe it; it is almost as little use for me to try to tell how it
made her feel; she drew deep breaths occasionally, and a lovely pink
color spread over her face; but for the rest, she was still.
Ethel invited her to a frolic in vain; the solemn mountains had gotten
possession of her.
"She is an appreciative little thing," said Mrs. Hammond to her son;
"look at her face."
There was an amused smile on Hart's face; he thought it absurdly
impossible that a child, like Dilly, could appreciate mountain scenery,
nevertheless he turned at his mother's word and looked at her face.
Presently he arose and took the vacant seat beside her, Ethel having
been carried away by the nurse.
"What do you think of it?"
Dilly started, and trembled with surprise and excitement, as she turned
toward him. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes were bright, but there
were tears in them.
"I never saw a mountain before," she said. "I didn't think they looked
like this."
"What did you think they looked like?"
"Oh! I don't know; I can't tell at all, but I didn't suppose they quite
touched the sky; and I didn't think the shadows were all colors, nor
that they made you feel so."
"How do they make you feel?"
There was a faint smile on Dilly's face. "I can't tell that, either; I
don't know how to tell things."
"Try," persisted Hart. "I have seen mountains all my life, and I have
forgotten how they made me feel when I first saw them; I want to know
what the feeling is."
"They make me," said Dilly, in a slow, awe-stricken tone, "they make me
think—of God."
It was Hart's turn to start, now, and to give her a very surprised
look. It was not at all the answer he had expected. He was silent
because he really could not think of a proper reply; but to himself he
said—"She is a queer little specimen, I guess; not one of the usual
sort. It may be worth while to have a little fun with her." Then,
aloud, after a moment, "This view is nothing, compared with what you
will see when we reach the top. They can get up some wonderful sights
up here. I wonder what you would think of sunset on Table Rock, since
your taste runs in that direction?"
"What is it like?" asked Dilly after a moment of timid waiting. She was
a good deal surprised to find herself talking with this young man with
whom she had resolved so recently to have nothing to do.
He laughed, not unpleasantly. "Oh! Don't ask me; sunsets are not in my
line; I haven't been to see one of them in three years. Worn out, you
know. But I remember having a queer sort of feeling the first time I
saw the exhibition. It wasn't hard to fancy that up there behind the
crimson and gold was a door, partly open, which might, if you could
only contrive to get up there, let a fellow slip into Heaven, before
the angels knew what they were about."
Dilly looked a trifle shocked, a good deal excited, and wholly
interested. She had never heard any one talk so about Heaven, before;
she had never seen a sunset which gave her any such feeling.
"I would like to see it," she said, clasping her hands, and speaking in
a sort of fever of suppressed excitement.
"Oh! You'll see it, without any doubt. It is quite the thing to go to
Table Rock; my mother goes a dozen times a week—no, not so bad as that;
there aren't a dozen sunsets in a week, are there? But she goes a great
deal, and of course she will give you a chance; then you shall tell me
how it makes you feel. Halloo! Here we are."
He arose suddenly, and the bustle of gathering straps and boxes and
shawls, commenced.
A beautiful summer morning, and Dilly came to the door of the tent
to look about her. Such a pretty view as one had behind those tent
curtains! A large room neatly covered with white matting; curtains of
delicate blue and white cretonne dividing it into departments, or,
looping back, allowing it to be one large room, as the fancy of the
occupant decided. Curtains of creamy lace, drawn at will in front of
the opening, shut out the too-curious gaze of passersby, when one chose
not to let them gaze. Just now they were pushed away, making a lovely
mass of cream color against the tent side. There were easy chairs of
bamboo pattern, wide, hospitable-looking arm-chairs, and pretty little
rockers; a wide lounge of willow pattern, a table of the same, in the
centre of the room, while the toilet articles which retired behind the
blue and white curtain, on occasion, were draped in pure white.
To Dilly's mind there was never a prettier room; she had never seen
anything like it. So simple, and yet so pure and beautiful. There was
one special corner of it closed in with the lovely blue curtains which
filled her with delight whenever she looked that way. A cot bed made
up in white, occupied one end; a toilet stand draped in white was at
its foot; a small rocker occupied the space between the side and the
curtains, a corner was curtained off for a clothes press, and this spot
in all its richness was Dilly's own. It was impossible not to lie in
the small white bed at night and contrast it with the little room over
the kitchen at home, where she had passed her weary nights for so long.
There were many contrasts, but the most delightful one to Dilly, was
the rush of pure, sweet-scented air which came constantly in at the
small round window away above her head, and went over to meet the
current flowing in from the opposite round window. When had a breath of
air stirred the curtain which hung limp and lifeless over the little
window at home? It was the first bit of news Dilly wrote to her father
from this new world.
"Father, don't you think the wind comes in all night! Great whiffs, and
sometimes I have to partly close the queer little round window at the
top, it opens and closes with a blue cord. It is a tent, you know. O
father! It is so nice and beautiful to live in a tent."
Almost anything was "nice and beautiful" nowadays to Dilly.
"I never saw so marked a contrast in so short a time in my life!" said
Mrs. Hammond to the nurse, one evening, speaking of Dilly. "Just think,
Nurse, it is only ten days since we came, and look at her cheeks; they
actually begin to puff out; and she has quite a little color."
"There do be quite a great change, that is a fact," said nurse
Jeannette, who had not at first approved of Dilly, but was beginning to
like her very well. "I thought when we came up here, ma'am, you would
just have a sick girl on your hands to pay you for your trouble; but
she is getting well, I'm thinking; and she's a comfortable little thing
to have around."
"She certainly is," said Mrs. Hammond, speaking in a satisfied tone
as she watched Dilly with careful fingers brush the dust from Effie's
white dress, straighten her little sun hat, and lovingly pat her baby
cheek. "Effie is very fond of her, Nurse."
"She is that, ma'am; and more good-tempered with her than she is with
anybody else."
Mrs. Hammond smiled, and did not say what she thought: that Effie was
good-tempered with Dilly, because Dilly was good-tempered with her.
Nurse Jeannette was an excellent washer and ironer, and was always to
be trusted to do her work carefully; it was not worth while to offend
her by reminding her that she had not as much patience with the baby as
Dilly had.
So, on this lovely morning when Dilly paused at the tent door a moment,
she had been on the mountain for two delicious weeks, and was beginning
to feel the blood bound through her veins, and to be glad to spring
up in the morning, and to think that her breakfast of milk and eggs,
and good bread and butter, was more delicious than anything she had
ever before tasted. A very happy girl was Dilly. Her small outburst of
indignation and self-pity in which she had indulged on the cars, was
quite gone.
Nothing but gratitude remained for Mrs. Hammond; she had brought her to
Paradise and was keeping her there. And when she went home, she could
be well enough to keep house for her father as it ought to be kept;
this was enough for Dilly.
On the whole, Mrs. Hammond's experiment was working very well.
Certainly Effie thought so; the nurse was right, there was no one with
whom she was happier than Dilly.
At first, Effie's mother had watched with anxiety; but peep when she
would, even during the first days of Dilly's coming, when she was too
weak to do much beside sit out of doors and watch Effie's slumbers, no
stray fly was ever caught perching on that dear little nose, no sudden
breeze was allowed to carry away the lace shield from the sleeping
carriage. The lovely embroidered blanket was always carefully spread
in just the right place, and the sun-shade tipped to exactly the right
angle.
A few days later, when Dilly was able to have the wide-awake Effie
entrusted to her, the mother kept them within seeing distance from her
tent door, and wondered as the hours passed, that no fretful cry came
from Effie, and arose often and looked, and found her always happy;
digging in the dirt, or fluttering from grass plot to gay flower bed,
always attended by Dilly, always happy and busy.
"She is a treasure," Mrs. Hammond said, going back to her book with a
long-drawn sigh of relief; "she is just a treasure. I am very glad I
brought her, and she is getting well, too; what a comfort she will be
to her father," and then Mrs. Hammond sighed again.
It was of her Dilly was thinking while she stood at the door this
morning, she had learned, she could hardly have told how, that Mrs.
Hammond was often sorrowful over her son. Just what her fear or anxiety
was, Dilly did not understand; but it was only too apparent that he was
not in all respects what his mother wished; and Dilly had even seen her
wipe away tears after one of their long talks together.
To this matter the little girl gave a great deal of thought. Mrs.
Hammond had been so very kind to her, if she could in some way repay
her; if there was only something she could do for Mr. Hart which would
make her happier!
She was so beautiful, and so rich, and Effie was so sweet, and there
was so very much for her to be happy about, yet she was not happy.
Dilly could not fail to see that her face, when quiet, was nearly
always sad.
What led her to think of it even more than usual this morning, was the
fact that when she went into Mrs. Hammond's room at the hotel to get
something for Effie, it was plain that that lady had been crying; and
Mr. Hart had come out just before her, and had banged the door. What
could he be doing to worry his mother? While she stood and thought, he
came in sight, and stopped before her.