“Take care, nurse; baby has her head out!” and Mammy, who had turned
her face for a moment from her charge, drew her in and seated her on
her lap.
“Baby must not put her head out,” said mamma: “she’ll be hurt.”
“Peter out,” said baby.
“Why! she’s lost Peter Barfolomew,” said Belle.
“Sure enough,” said nurse, when she had shaken out her skirts, and
looked on the floor, without finding that gentleman.
“Bad Peter. Peter all don,” chuckled the baby.
“Did ye throw Peter out?” asked Mammy.
Baby could not say yes; but she nodded her little head till it seemed
as if she would wag it off, seeming to think she had done something
very praiseworthy.
“Oh, you naughty girl!” said nurse.
“No, no: baby dood; bad Peter. Peter all don, Peter out,” said baby
again, clapping her hands, and laughing with the most self-satisfied
air.
Yes, Peter Bartholomew was “all gone,” left far behind as the train
sped on its way; and though the children went off into merry peals of
laughter at little Annie’s bit of mischief, Mrs. Bradford was rather
sorry, since Aunt Patty had taken such pains to make him for her.
However, the baby knew no better, and his loss could not trouble her
much.
Nurse had not finished her story, and when the children’s mirth had
subsided, she went on with it. Having disposed of Peter Bartholomew,
and finding that she was not allowed to put her head out, the window
lost its charms for baby, and she sat still on nurse’s lap for a few
moments, gravely regarding her fellow-passengers, and trying to find
amusement in them.
Nor was it long before she found a new object of interest. In the seat
next to Mammy and herself, and of course with his back towards them as
they rode backwards, was a gentleman who wore an enormous Panama straw
hat. The older children had remarked this hat and wondered at it, but
after the first moment they forgot both the hat and its wearer, and
noticed them no more. But I cannot say that the gentleman had not
noticed them, although he gave no sign of doing so.
The hat by no means took baby’s fancy: perhaps she thought it took up
more than its share of room in the world; however that may be, she
concluded to take a closer look at it, and raised herself upon her
little feet on the cushioned seat beside Mammy. First she looked at
the hat on one side, then on the other; then she peeped under it; then
tried to lift herself on the tips of her small toes and peer over it;
then carefully touched it with one little finger, and finally expressed
her opinion in a loud, emphatic,
“Bad hat!”
But the owner of the offending article of dress did not turn his head
or appear to take the slightest notice, not even when baby repeated,--
“Bad, bad hat! Off hat!”
“Sh! sh! my lamb. What’s come to ye to-day?” said nurse.
Not the spirit of a lamb certainly, for baby was in a contrary mood,
and determined to have her own way by one means or another; and,
finding the hat remained in its place in spite of her orders, she
seized hold of it; and, before nurse could stop her, had snatched it
from the stranger’s head and tossed it into his lap. Still, without
turning his head or seeming at all disturbed, the gentleman put it
on again, while baby struggled to free herself from nurse’s hold,
shouting,--
“Off hat, off! Bad hat!” again and again, till her mother was obliged
to call her to order.
Little as she was, baby had learned to obey when mamma spoke; but the
sight of that hat was not to be endured by any baby of taste, and even
when seated upon mamma’s lap, and treated to a bit of sponge-cake and
papa’s watch, she could not forget it, but now and then broke forth in
a wailing tone with,--
“Oh dear! Bad hat, off hat!” till at last the gentleman removed the
hat, and submitted to ride bareheaded till his little tormentor should
be asleep.
This was soon the case when the cause of her trouble was out of sight;
for it was, as nurse said, “her sleepy time,”--one reason perhaps why
she was so fractious,--and she forgot hat, watch, and cake in a sound
mid-day nap.
Her two sisters and Belle thought all this remarkably funny, and had
had much ado to stifle their laughter, so that it should not reach the
ears of the stranger with whom baby had made so free. But in spite
of their amusement, which had been shared by more than one of the
grown people around, Bessie was rather troubled lest mamma should be
worried by the little thing’s misbehavior and crying, and also lest the
gentleman should have been vexed.
To tell the truth, he was rather annoyed at the notice which all this
had brought upon him and his unfortunate hat; but his vexation passed
away the moment he heard a soft voice at his ear, whispering,--
“Thank you very much, sir, for taking off your hat; and will you please
to s’cuse baby, she don’t know any better than to take a liberty. As
soon as she can understand, mamma will teach her to be polite.”
The gentleman turned his face towards her. A pleasant, good-natured
face it was, with a merry twinkle in the eyes just now.
“Mamma is a first-rate teacher of politeness and some other good
things, I see,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, sir; ’deed she is,” answered Bessie; wondering what mamma had
said or done since they had been in the cars by which this stranger
could know so much; and then, thinking her duty done, she turned away
and began her play with the other children again. After this, all went
smoothly and quietly enough till they reached a town where they were to
change cars, and where two different railroads crossed one another at
the depot. Here they had to wait for an hour until their train should
be ready to start; and here Mrs. Bradford thought she might have a
good rest after her long ride.
But a fair was going on in the small town, and the dirty little hotel
was full to overflowing; so that the only place that could be had for
Mrs. Bradford and her sleeping baby was an eight feet square room with
a hard sofa, and two equally uninviting chairs. However, by means of
cloaks and shawls, a tolerably comfortable resting-place was arranged
for these two; and the three children who had no mind to be shut up in
the tiny room, were taken for a walk by Mr. Bradford and Daphne; Mr.
Powers going to call on an old friend who lived near by.
But there was a good deal of noise, dust, and confusion in the street,
and the little girls soon tired of it and wanted to go back to the
hotel. When they reached it, two trains were standing at the station,
and Daphne exclaimed, pointing to the nearest,--
“Dere’s de train, Massa Bradford. S’posin’ I jis takes de little ladies
into de cars. Better for dem waitin’ dere dan in de verandy where all
dem folks is; an’ we’ll wake Miss Baby for sure all goin’ into dat
little room.”
This last was more than likely; and the veranda where all those men
were lounging about, smoking and drinking and swearing, was certainly
no place for little ladies; and Daphne’s idea seemed a good one to Mr.
Bradford.
“You are sure that is our train, Daphne?” he asked.
“Sure, Massa Bradford. Ain’t I been in it a hundred times?”
“Is this the train for ----?” asked Mr. Bradford of a man standing
beside the cars.
“All right, sir. Last car, sir,” was the reply.
Mr. Bradford thinking himself quite sure, helped the children and
Daphne into the car, found them good places, and looking at his watch,
said,--
“We have half an hour still. Keep these seats for the rest of our
party, and I will bring them all soon. You are right, Daphne: it is
more comfortable here than in the hotel.”
Then he went away; and for a few moments the children were well amused,
watching all the bustle around the station, and now and then dipping
rosy little fingers into a basket of delicious strawberries just given
to Daphne by a friend whom she had met. The old woman’s pleasure in the
splendid fruit, was to see her young mistress and her little friends
enjoy it, and she encouraged them to eat as long as they would.
But presently a steam whistle sounded, and she looked about her
uneasily, saying,--
“’Pears like this train ain’t maybe right, after all. I go see ’bout
him, Miss Belle. Jes you sit still one minute.”
[Illustration: Bessie’s Travels. p. 172.]
If Daphne had not been so engaged in feeding her young charge, she
would have known that this was the second time the whistle had sounded;
and she was terribly startled when just as she set her foot upon the
ground in order to seek Mr. Bradford and make all sure, it was blown
again, there was a call of “all aboard,” and before the bewildered old
woman had collected her senses, the train steamed out of the station.
Had she instantly made known her trouble to those about her, it might
not even then have been too late; but instead of that she rushed after
the cars, gesticulating and beckoning with an umbrella which was the
pride of her heart, and which she always carried, and crying aloud,--
“Hi there! Hi! Hold on dem cars; hold on till I get my chillen. Hi! Hi!”
The people about thought her crazy, and laughed and cheered as she tore
after the fast receding train; but to poor old Daphne it was no joke,
and as it turned a curve in the road and was lost to sight, she dropped
her umbrella and stood still wringing her hands, and crying,--
“Oh, de chillen, de chillen! Oh, my little Miss Belle! what I gone and
done, and what dey faders say?”
But we must leave Daphne, and go in the cars with our three little
girls.
For the first few moments they did not understand it, and even after
the cars were in rapid motion, looked about them expecting to see their
parents and nurses come in. The truth came first to Maggie, and her
poor little heart almost stood still with terror and dismay.
“Why, we’re going!” exclaimed Belle. “Where’s papa?”
“And papa and mamma, and all our people?” cried Bessie in a terrified
voice.
Then Maggie broke forth.
“Oh, we’re gone off with! They’re left behind! What shall we do? Oh!
what shall we do? There’s nobody to take care of us: we’re gone off
with.”
Belle immediately set up the most violent screams; and Maggie and
Bessie were as much distressed, though they did not cry as loudly.
The people around them soon understood the cause of their trouble:
indeed Maggie’s exclamations left no room for doubt, that they were
really “gone off with;” though it was some time before either of the
three could speak coherently enough to say how it had happened. In fact
the poor little things hardly knew themselves: all they could tell was
that Daphne had thought they were in the wrong train, had gone to see,
and before she came back they were speeding away, they knew not where,
without their natural protectors, and in the midst of perfect strangers.
Bessie was the first to collect herself enough to make the story
understood, though even then, her tears would hardly let her speak to
the group of curious and sympathizing people, who gathered around the
three as they clung weeping together.
“And now we’re quite, quite lost; and there’s no policeman to help us,”
she sobbed; “and what will mamma do?”
“Poor little dears,” said a lady, pressing forward, and laying her hand
soothingly on the little, pitiful, upturned face. “Don’t cry so, my
children: you’ll be taken back in some way to your parents.”
“I’m all papa has,” gasped Belle: “he can’t do wifout me.”
“Please let us get out,” moaned Maggie: “we could run back to where our
papa and mamma are.”
“The train must be put back,” said one of the by-standers, and he went
to find the conductor, and see what could be done; while the lady who
had spoken to the children sat down beside them and tried to quiet them
with assurances that their parents would certainly find them again.
“But dear mamma will be so frightened and worried, and it’s so bad for
her,” said Bessie; her first thought always that tender care for her
mother.
The story had spread through the train; and people were coming in
from the other cars to look at the three little waifs, who, all by
themselves, were each instant being taken farther from their friends;
and Belle, looking up as the door was opened afresh, spied a familiar
object.
“Oh! there’s the ‘bad hat’ man!” she cried, glad to see any thing on
which she had ever laid her eyes before, even though it might be that
ugly hat with the strange face beneath it.
At the same moment there came in also the conductor, and the gentleman
who had gone to find him; and now the children felt a faint hope that
there might be some way out of this trouble.
But the conductor was surly, and absolutely refused to put back,--which
indeed would have been hardly safe,--or to stop the train and let out
the children, as was proposed by some person, and pleaded for by the
little ones themselves.
And here the “bad hat” man put in his word.
“That would never do,” he said; “those little things could not
possibly walk back to ----, and no conveyance could be found along
here. They must come on to the next station, and there we will see what
can be done.”
Down went the three heads and up went Belle’s voice again at these
unwelcome words; but the “bad hat” had a kind heart beneath it, and the
wearer at once set himself to comfort the forlorn children.
“Come, come, take heart,” he said cheerily. “Now let us see how soon
we shall get back to papa and mamma. It will not take us more than one
hour or so, to reach the next station, and then--well, to be sure,
we’ll have to wait awhile there for the up-train,”--he did not think
it best to say it would be more than four hours,--“but we’ll telegraph
them and let them know you are all safe, and will be with them before
long.”
“Do you know the children sir?” asked a lady.
“Well, no, madam, and they don’t know me; but they know my _hat_ pretty
well, and I think that is ground for an acquaintance. It’s a broad one,
anyhow, is it not?” he said with a nod at Belle, “and we’re going to
take advantage of it.”
“It’s a great while for poor mamma to wait for us, and she’ll be very
frightened,” said Bessie, wiping the tears from her eyes, though they
were immediately filled again. “I s’pose she’ll think we’re never
coming back to her.”
“Not a bit of it,” said “Bad Hat:” “she’ll think you’ll find some one
to look after you and bring you back; and how delighted she’ll be to
see you safe after such an adventure.”
At this last word all the children pricked up their ears, especially
Maggie. She, being the most timid of the three, had been the most
broken down by terror, and had, until now, remained in the very depths
of despair. But it was really almost a consolation to hear this called
“an adventure,” and to remember that here was a subject for the most
interesting of letters, provided they ever again reached home and
friends, and had the opportunity of writing such. She was still rather
doubtful how this was to be brought about, in spite of Mr. “Bad Hat’s”
assurances.
“Why! so it is an adventure,” said Bessie; “and Maggie said she wished
we’d have some great adventure, but she didn’t mean this kind of a one;
did you, Maggie?”
“No, _indeed_ I didn’t,” sobbed Maggie.
“But you can write a letter about it,” said Belle, catching her breath
between almost every two words; “and it will be so interesting: all the
people you know will want to read it.”
Belle, as well as Bessie, had the greatest admiration for Maggie’s
letters, and thought them the most marvellous works of genius.
“Of course they will,” said the gentleman, whom our little strays were
already beginning to look upon as a friend. “And so, Maggie writes
letters, does she? I wish she would write one to me one of these days.”
“But she don’t know your name,” said Bessie.
“Well, perhaps she might find out. I am not ashamed of it. But I think
this little lady has found a name for me. When I came in the car I
heard her say, ‘There’s the bad hat man.’ Now suppose Maggie writes a
letter and directs it to the ‘bad hat man,’ do you think it would reach
me?”
“Yes, I fink it would,” said Belle with emphasis, and eyeing the hat
with a look which seemed to add, “there’s no possibility of mistaking
that hat.”
So, in pleasant, cheerful talk, the friendly stranger tried to beguile
the way, and help the little ones to bear their troubles; and he
partly succeeded, though now and then a heavy sigh, or a murmured “Are
we most at the next station?” or “Oh, mamma!” showed that they were
not forgotten. The other people, who had gathered round in pitying
sympathy, saw that they had fallen into good hands, and went back to
their seats, leaving them to his care.
“But what shall we do now?” asked Maggie, in new alarm, as they at last
approached the longed-for station where they were to leave this train,
and at least feel that they were to be borne no farther from their
friends. “I don’t know about the streets.”
Now it was rather a strange, but a very good thing that, timid as
Maggie was, she seldom lost her presence of mind; and, however
frightened she might be, could still think what was best to do for
herself and others. You will remember how she thought of her own sash
and Bessie’s, as a means for saving Aunt Bessie’s life when she fell
over the precipice at Chalecoo. So now feeling as if the care of Bessie
and Belle rather fell upon her, since she was the oldest of the three,
she tried to collect her thoughts and plan how she should act. But it
was all useless, this was such a new and untried place, and so many
dangers and difficulties seemed to beset her, that she could not see
her way out of them. But her fears were speedily set at rest.
“Oh! you are only going to do as I tell you,” said their new friend. “I
shall see you safe in your parents’ hands.”
“Will you, sir?” cried Maggie joyfully, and slipped her hand into his,
in her great relief.
“Are you going to get out here?” asked Bessie, as the train slackened
its speed.
“Yes: you did not think I would leave you to shift for yourselves?”
“Do you live here?” asked Belle.
“No: I live down in Florida,” was the answer.
“And are you going to get out here just to take care of us?” asked
Bessie.
He smiled and nodded assent.
“You are very good, sir,” said Bessie. “Is it just as convenient as not
for you?”
“Well, no,” he returned. “I cannot say it is; but then I heard a little
girl say, this morning, that ‘any thing was to be choosed before mamma
should be worried,’ so after that I think I must do all I can to
relieve mamma’s anxiety, and get you back to her as soon as possible.”
So Bessie’s thoughtfulness and care for her dear mother was reaping its
own reward.