_AN OLD ENEMY BUT NEW FRIEND._
It was late at night when our travellers reached Savannah, so late and
so dark that even quick-sighted, wide-awake Maggie could see nothing
about her as they rode to the hotel, save the twinkling street-lamps;
and she was as ready as the other children to be put to bed at once and
postpone all questions and sight-seeing until the morning.
But you need not fear I am going to trouble you with a long description
of the beautiful, quaint, old city, with its numberless green squares
which make it so bright and airy; its broad avenues planted with
three rows of trees, so tall and wide-spread that their branches have
laced overhead, making lovely, leafy arches for one to pass beneath;
its roses--such roses! the like of which we do not see in our colder
northern climate; roses, which with us are only bushes, growing there
into trees, or running into luxuriant vines which clothe the fronts
and sides of the old-fashioned houses, covered with a profusion of
blossoms, and filling the air with their delicious fragrance. They were
just in the perfection of their glory when our friends arrived, and it
would be impossible to tell the delight Bessie took in them. Her love
of flowers here had full enjoyment in these her favorites. Morning,
noon, and night, she was seen with her little hands filled with
roses,--for the family were kept well supplied, thanks to the graceful
southern fashion of sending flowers to all newcomers and strangers;
they were twisted among her curls and worn in her bosom, laid beside
her plate at meals, and she would even have slept with them on her
pillow, if mamma would have allowed it.
She made a pretty picture as she sat upon the staircase of the ----
House, the day after their arrival, her lap full of red, white,
and yellow roses, which she was arranging with no small taste and
daintiness into bouquets for her people.
Three pair of eyes were watching her,--those of a grave-looking
gentleman, who stood at the foot of the stairs; and those of Arthur
and Charlotte Lathrop, who were peering at her over the banisters from
above. But Bessie noticed neither until Arthur called her attention by
making a sound like a snarling dog. Bessie started and looked up, then
went on with her work in silence.
“I say,” said Arthur, “are you making a wreath of roses for that old
Mother Hubbard you took such a fancy to on board the steamer?”
Bessie made no answer.
“Why don’t you speak when you’re spoken to?” said Arthur. “Did you give
your tongue to Mother Hubbard?”
“When I’m talked to politely, I always do speak,” said the little girl.
[Illustration: Bessie’s Travels. p. 82.]
“Oh! and we’re not polite enough to suit you, I suppose,” said Arthur,
sneeringly.
“’Tis only engineers’ daughters and the like who are fit company for
her,” joined in Charlotte.
“We might go and take lessons from Mother Hubbard, and then perhaps
she’d like us better,” said Arthur. “I say, Miss Bradford, what school
did you learn your manners in, that you don’t speak when you’re spoken
to?”
Bessie remained silent again.
“Do you hear?” shouted Arthur.
“Once I heard of a school where they only paid two cents for learning
manners,” said Bessie, demurely.
“What then?” asked Arthur.
“I should think that was the kind of a school you had been to,”
answered Bessie.
“And why, I’d like to know?”
“’Cause I shouldn’t think they could teach much manners for two cents.”
Arthur was a clever boy with a quick sense of humor; and he was so
struck with what he considered the wit and smartness of the retort,
that he forgot to be angry, and, instead of making a sharp answer,
broke out into a hearty laugh.
“Pretty good that!” he said. “You’ll do yet.”
“Pretty good, and pretty well deserved too, my lad,” said the
gentleman, who had been standing below, coming up the stairs. “See
here, Clara, here is the Queen of the Fairies, I believe,” and he
turned around to a lady who ran lightly up behind him.
“Queen of the Fairies, indeed,” said the lady, with a laughing look at
the little figure before her, in its white dress and shining hair, and
lap covered with brilliant flowers: “or Queen of the”--What she would
have said was lost, for after a pause of astonishment she exclaimed,
“Why! it is--yes, it is Bessie Bradford--dear little Bessie!”
And regardless of her muslin dress with its fluted flounces and
ruffles, down went the lady on the stairs before Bessie; and, greatly
to her surprise, the little girl found herself held fast in the embrace
of a supposed stranger.
But it was no stranger, as she found when she could free herself a
little from that tight clasp, and look in the lady’s face.
“Don’t you know me, Bessie?” asked the lady.
“Why! it’s Miss Adams!” cried Bessie, in as great amazement as the
new-comer herself.
“And you are a little glad to see me, are you not?” asked the lady,
seeing with pleasure the smile and glow on Bessie’s face.
“Not a _little_, but very, Miss Adams,” she replied. “I was very
interested about you, and always thought I’d like to see you again
after I heard you’d”--here she hesitated for a word.
“Well,” said the lady.
“I can’t think of the word,” said Bessie. “Oh, yes! reformed, that’s
it,--after you’d reformed. You know you wrote and told us about it
yourself.”
At this “Miss Adams” went off into a fit of laughter, which sounded
very natural to Bessie’s ears; and yet there was a difference in that
and in her manner from those of the old days at Quam Beach; something
softer and more gentle; “more as if she remembered to be a lady,
mamma,” Bessie said afterwards.
The gentleman smiled too.
“Her words are to the point when she does find them,” he said.
“They always were,” said the lady, giving Bessie another kiss. “Bessie,
this is the gentleman I found to make me ‘behave myself.’ I hope you’ll
find the ‘kitchen lady’ improved under his teaching.”
Bessie colored all over face and neck.
“Oh! please don’t,” she said. “I’m so sorry I said that; but I was
such a little child then, I didn’t know any better. I wouldn’t say such
a saucy thing now for a great deal.”
“You need not be sorry about it, Bessie: I am not.”
“Please don’t speak about it any more, ma’am,” pleaded the child.
“Couldn’t you let bygones be bygones?”
“What do you mean by ‘bygones’?” asked the gentleman.
“I thought it meant, sir,” said Bessie, modestly, “when a person had
done something they were sorry for, not to say any thing more about it.”
“Very well,” said the lady, still smiling. “It shall be so, if you wish
it, Bessie. And now tell me how your mamma and Maggie and all the rest
are.”
“Oh! they are all very well, except mamma, and she is better, and we
are travelling to do her good; and a great many things happened to us,
Miss Adams, since you knew us before.”
“I don’t think it has ‘happened’ to you to grow much,” said the lady.
“Oh, yes’m!” answered Bessie. “I used to be five, and now I’m seven;
and I’ve been to school too. We’ve all grown pretty old. Baby can walk
and talk now.”
“And how do you like my doctor?” asked “Miss Adams,” as Bessie still
called her, glancing round at the gentleman who stood beside her.
Bessie looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and when their eyes
met, both smiled.
“I like him: he looks good and nice;” and the little girl, who had
already twisted a rose or two into the bosom of the lady’s dress, now
handed two or three to the doctor in her own graceful, gracious little
way.
“What are you going to do with all those bouquets you have tied up so
tastily?” asked Dr. Gordon.
Bessie told him whom they were for.
“And who is this for?” asked Mrs. Gordon,--for so she told Bessie to
call her,--pointing to that which the small fingers were now arranging.
“It’s for a little girl down at the steamer, who is rather hard off,
and does not have a nice time, and has extremely ugly clothes,”
answered Bessie. “But then if they are the best she has, and she has no
mother, no one ought to laugh at her: ought they?”
“Certainly not: who was so unkind?” asked Mrs. Gordon.
“Some children who didn’t behave half so nice as she did, ma’am.”
“Ah!” said the doctor; “and was that boy you were talking to just now
one of them?”
“Why, yes, sir,” said Bessie, with some hesitation. “But how did you
know it?”
“Oh! I am a good guesser,” answered Dr. Gordon.
“I don’t know if I ought to have said that to him,” said Bessie,
thoughtfully. “I b’lieve I was pretty severe.”
At this Mrs. Gordon went off into another fit of laughter; and the
doctor smiled as he answered,--
“It was pretty severe, it is true, Bessie; but not more so than he
deserved, especially if he had been teasing some poor child who could
not defend herself.”
Bessie colored, and answered, “But I’m afraid I did it more ’cause I
was angry for his being impolite to me than for his teasing Lucy.”
“But tell us all about it; and did you say the child had no mother?”
said Mrs. Gordon.
In reply, Bessie told all she knew about Lucy, omitting, however, to
give any account of the unkindness of Arthur Lathrop and his brother
and sisters to the poor child. This was noticed by both Dr. and Mrs.
Gordon, but they pressed her no farther, seeing she did not wish to
speak of it.
“There’s another will be glad to come,” said Mrs. Gordon, eagerly, to
her husband. “That will make five. You’ll see this engineer and speak
to him about it: won’t you, Aleck?”
“All in good time, dear,” he answered quietly.
Five what? Bessie wondered; and where would Lucy be glad to come? But
as she supposed they would tell her if they wished her to know, she
asked no questions.
But her curiosity was not gratified just then, for the doctor now said
to his wife,--
“Come, Clara, we are keeping our friends waiting. You must tell little
Bessie about your plans some other time.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Gordon. “We have to go to a sick friend here in the
house, Bessie; but I shall come to call on your mamma to-morrow, and
then I shall see you again and ask her to let you come to me; for I
have something to tell you, in which I think you will be interested.”
“Don’t you live here, ma’am?” asked Bessie.
“Here? yes, here in Savannah, but not in the hotel; and I want you
to come to my house. By the way, where is Maggie? I thought you were
always together.”
“Most always,” said Bessie; “but Maggie and the other children went
with Mr. Powers and papa to see a cotton-press; and mamma thought I was
too tired, so I told Maggie she need not mind leaving me. And now I am
glad I did not go.”
“And I am sure I am glad,” said Mrs. Gordon, as she kissed Bessie for
good-by, and once more told her she should be sure to see her the next
day, and would arrange with her mamma the time when she and Maggie
might come and spend the day with her.
Bessie was very anxious to know what Mrs. Gordon could have to tell
her which was to interest her so much, and which seemed in some way
to concern Lucy Waters; but she was a little doubtful regarding the
prospect of spending the whole day with her old enemy “Miss Adams,” not
feeling at all sure that she would like it, or that she might not fall
into some trouble, in spite of the very evident and pleasing change in
that lady.
Maggie was not at all doubtful, and positively declared that she would
not go on any account; and she tried to persuade Bessie to join her in
begging their mother to refuse Mrs. Gordon’s invitation to them.
“For Bessie,” she said, “you know a ‘bird in the hand is worth two in
the bush;’ and so, even if Miss Adams is so much better than she used
to be, it is wiser to stay away from her, and not give her the chance
of being disagreeable if she wanted to be.”
Maggie had been much given to the use of proverbs lately, as you will
have perceived; and if one could possibly be fitted to her purpose, it
was made to serve, as on this occasion.
But Bessie did not feel as if they had any excuse for refusing the
invitation so kindly given, nor did mamma when she was appealed to.
“You certainly need not go if you do not wish it, my darlings,” she
said; “but do you think it likely, Maggie, that Mrs. Gordon would
invite you to her house, and then treat you unkindly? She must be a
good deal changed, it seems to me; and would it not look as if you were
unforgiving, if you refuse her kindness?”
“Oh! I forgive her, mamma,” said Maggie, “though it _was_ my own Bessie
she plagued so, but then I thought her old habits might be too strong
for her, and break out again.”
“You forgive, but don’t forget, eh, Maggie? Suppose you were Mrs.
Gordon, how would you like Miss Adams’ faults to be treasured up
against you, and allowed to stand in the way when you wished to show
good-will and kindness?”
“I wouldn’t like it at all, mamma; and I suppose it’s not very Golden
Ruley for me to say I won’t go; so, if she asks us, I’ll make up my
mind to it.”
Mrs. Gordon came the next day, according to promise, to call on Mrs.
Bradford; and invited not only Maggie and Bessie, but also Belle and
Lily, to spend the whole of Friday with her, promising to call for them
in the morning and bring them back at night.
But perhaps you will find it more interesting to read Maggie’s own
account of this visit, which she wrote to Colonel Rush.
“DEAR UNCLE HORACE,--Things are so very surprising in this
world that you never quite know how they are going to turn
out, of which the case is at present, Miss Adams or who was
Miss Adams but now Mrs. Gordon and you will remember her at
Quam Beach but under unpleasant circumstances to which we will
not refer but forget as well as forgive as mamma reminded me.
But you would be surprised to see how much she is improved
and so different to what she used to be which was greatly to
be desired of all her friends and a pleasure to all who wish
her well. So seeing she wished to make up for past offenses we
went to spend the day with her and she was very horspitable.
She came in her carriage to take us to her house which is most
handsome with roses and flowers of many kinds of which she
brought mamma a whole lot at the same time and invited all the
big people to dinner the next day. I think all this shows she
repents sincerely and is not the same woman but much changed
and ought to be encouraged to keep on doing well. She has a
nice husband named Dr. Gordon, but sober which is not his own
fault if he was born so and I pity him. And a sweet baby boy
named Aleck and crows and laughs with pleasure at us. But I
hope by no means you think we think him so sweet as May Bessie
which he is not and May Bessie is so near to us, which also he
is not and we love her far the best. Miss Adams was very kind
to us all day, indeed quite fond but most of all to Bessie, and
she played with us and amused us and I was glad I did not let
the devil which is a word that is not best to write unless it
is necessary get the upper hand and make me stay away out of
revenge or being shy.
“But the most surprising and best thing of all, Uncle Horace
is what she is going to do with some of her money. You know
in those days of which we will not speak she had a great deal
more than she knew what to do with. Well, now she has found
a good use for some of it in a way well pleasing to God and
men. But I am too tired to write more to-day and will finish
it to-morrow--Well, to return on this day to Miss Adams and
her good works which shows she has read her Bible which urges
to repentance of sins and prophets by it which is a sight to
make the coldest heart to rejoice. She has a house not very
far from her own where she lives and she is going to have six
little girls there in the care of a nice, kind lady. And these
little girls are not to be happy children with mothers to take
care of them, but orfuns or without mothers or teaching or
training in the way they should go. For Miss Adams says she
knows what it is to be without a mother or some wise person to
guide her, and now that God has been so good to her she wants
to give a helping hand to some little girls who would be left
too much to themselves and not properly taught. She does not
mean to have very poor children, and if their friends wish it
they may pay a little money for them but the contrary if they
do not, and prefer charity though she does not think it such
and would like them to come without any pay. And here they will
have a happy home and be taught to be desirable women fit for
teachers or other good things and so it will be their own fault
if they don’t do it. And she has chosen four girls who are to
come in the fall when Miss Adams comes back from the north
because things cannot be quite ready till then, as the lady has
a sailor son who is to go to sea which I think a hard case for
his friends to have him leave his native land. And then the
house will be ready and the lady will go and the children will
come and Miss Adams is going to see if Lucy Waters’ father who
you know I told you about in my last will let her come too.
I think if he does not he will be much wanting in sence and
proper behaviour, but I think he will dont you? Miss Adams,
Mrs. Gordon I mean but I always forget to put her wedding name
says she feels so sorry for all little motherless girls, and I
am glad of it are not you? And so is Bessie and we think the
reason Miss Adams takes so much trouble for these little girls
is because she is afraid that if they do not have good care
they may grow up to be such women as she used to be when we
knew her before but which is not to be mentioned in these pages
and now she is quite ashamed of it. We cannot tell just yet if
Lucy’s father will let her come, but papa and the doctor are
going to the steamer this evening to ask him and when we know
Bessie will write and tell you all about it. And Bessie and
I have quite made up our minds to take Miss Adams for one of
our friends because we find her most sencible and kind and so
changed from her old ways which we will not remember if we can
help it.
“And dear Uncle Horace and Aunt May we wish you were here
’cause we are having such a nice time and I wrote such a
long letter I am afraid you will be tired of it but such an
interesting subject my brains were quite full and I had to and
you must excuse it. We send two kisses for May Bessie and four
for you and hope to see you once more in the future when we
come home. And we send a great deal of love from your loving
“MAGGIE AND BESSIE.”
“P. S. Savannah is such a fine city and so many trees and
roses that it seems strange to me that Alexander the Great and
Napoleon Bonaparte did not try to take it, being both men who
never minded their own business but always trying to take what
did not belong to them, speshally the latter whom in my heart I
heartily despise because he never did as he would be done by.”