buy your materials?"
Jessie shook her head sadly.
"It has taken every cent that's been given to me to buy just bread
enough for me and grandfather to eat, Miss," she said; "there was
nothing to spare for any thing else, and any way it is an uncertain
thing, the selling of the baskets, till the weather is pleasant and
warm, and people like to stop. Now, you see, is the time for me to be
making them ready; but there's no use in thinking about it, and as for
Poll,"--
Jessie's sigh and filling eyes told of the despair with which she
thought of the recovery of her pet.
"I have some money in my charity-box at home," said Maggie eagerly;
"I'll give you some to buy straws and ribbon. I have no money with me,
but Miss Ashton will lend me some for such a good purpose, I know, and
I'll pay her as soon as we go home. I'll run and ask her."
But there was no need, for there was Miss Ashton come in search of her
stray lambs, and in two minutes she had heard the story.
Heard it, but scarcely understood it, for that was difficult with one
and another putting in a word, patching it out in various bits; to say
nothing of the circumstance that our little girls themselves scarcely
understood what they were talking about.
Jessie and her grandfather--who had nothing to say now that the lady
had come, and who stood close to one another, the old man holding
his hat in his hand and leaning on his stick--were somewhat confused
themselves by the chatter and flutter of the eager little talkers; and
when Miss Ashton turned to the latter and began to inquire into his
story, his usual flow of words seemed to have failed him.
Miss Ashton spoke to Jessie.
"Grandfather was just telling the little ladies about my Polly, ma'am,"
she said modestly. "If they'd like to see him he's in the house there.
And if you'd like to have him show off he'll talk better for me than
for any one else, and I'll go and coax him."
"Oh! can we go and see him?" said Bessie; and Jessie once more saying,
yes, and that she would go with them, the little girls ran off, while
Miss Ashton remained to hear the old man's story.
It was a sad, but by no means an uncommon one. Jessie's mother had died
when she was a baby. Her father, who was mate on a sailing-vessel, had
been drowned at sea about two years ago. Until his death, his wages,
together with what the old man made at stone-cutting, had supported
them all in comfort. And even after that, the grandfather and the child
had continued to keep along on what the former earned. Jessie, who was
twelve years old, had been to school pretty steadily till a year ago,
could "read and write and do up sums," and had also learned to sew.
But about that time the grandfather had taken a heavy cold, from being
thoroughly wet with rain while at his work; and, neglecting to change
his clothes, it had settled in all his joints, and a long and painful
rheumatic illness followed. All the last summer he had lain bound hand
and foot, the pretty trifles which Jessie had learned to make the
sole support of the two. But with the winter the sale of her little
wares had fallen off, poverty and suffering had increased upon them,
and they had gone from bad to worse, till, as he had told the little
girls, Jessie had been forced to sell her beloved parrot to keep a
roof above their heads, and to buy the medicine so much needed for her
grandfather. They had some help from the church at which they attended,
but that was little. And now that it was warmer weather, and Jessie
could begin to sell her wares, she had no money to buy materials, and
he had consented that she should ask charity of passers-by, and so gain
a few shillings to begin her trade.
They lived over there in a sad, tumble-down place, the old man said,
"and he never thought to bring his Jessie to that; but the Lord had His
own ways, and when He saw fit, He could take them out of this trouble."
The story was told with a straightforward simplicity, and a natural
pathos which went far to convince Miss Ashton that it must be true; but
she took down the name and address of the clergyman of whom the old man
spoke. This gentleman lived in one of the streets bordering on the
Park, and Miss Ashton resolved to see him and hear his report before
she left for home. If these poor people were really in such need,
and deserving of help, she could not let them suffer longer than was
necessary.
She told old Malcolm--for that he said was his name--that he did not
do well to rest upon the bank. The ground, she said, was not yet warm
enough for his aching bones.
But he answered that it was far better than the damp, cold shanty where
he and Jessie had lived for the last two months, for here on a bright
day he had the sunshine, and the fresh, clear air, and little of either
of these ever found their way into the miserable cabin.
Malcolm's language and manner, as well as those of his grand-daughter,
showed that he had indeed been used to "better days;" and he seemed so
patient and uncomplaining that Miss Ashton felt much interested in him,
and anxious to do something for his relief.
She bade him come farther on, and find a seat upon a pleasant, sunny
bench, where she would furnish him and Jessie with some food; but when
she said this, he told her some of the little ones of her party were
afraid of him, and he did not wish to trouble them.
He looked troubled himself when he said this; and Miss Ashton had to
tell him that one of her young scholars had been so foolish and wrong
as to tell a falsehood--she could call it nothing less--to frighten the
others; but that they all knew the truth now, and would be afraid of
him no longer.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IV.
_THE PARROT._
Meanwhile the children were amusing themselves with the parrot. The
whole flock had followed Jessie to make his acquaintance, Maggie having
called the others to join them; and even the still sobbing Belle forgot
her troubles in this new object of interest.
The bird proved to be in a most amiable and sociable humor; and, to the
great delight of his former little mistress, exhibited himself in a
most gratifying manner.
His cage was placed before a little stand just outside of a window
opening upon the verandah; and when the children first saw him he was
swinging head downwards from one of the bars, hanging by one claw, and
appearing to take no notice of any thing until Jessie called to him.
Then he put out the other claw, and swung himself upright; immediately
commencing a kind of dance upon his perch, as if in an ecstacy, and
calling out,--
"Jessie! Jessie! pretty Jessie, good Jessie."
"Good Polly," said Jessie, while the children gathered around in great
delight. "How are you, Polly?"
"Polly pretty well; Polly all right," answered the bird.
The little girls were astonished, as indeed were the ladies who had
accompanied them. Not one among the group but had often seen parrots
who would repeat certain set phrases, but this bird actually answered
questions, and as if he understood them too.
"What does Polly want?" asked Jessie, delighted at the sensation her
pet was producing.
"Polly want a bit of sugar," answered the bird.
Jessie put her hand into her pocket, and produced one of the
sugar-plums the children had thrown to her, and held it up before the
parrot's greedy eyes.
"Dance a jig then, and sing a song, Polly," she said.
Polly forthwith commenced a kind of seesaw on his perch, swaying his
body back and forth, balancing himself first on one foot, then on
the other, in a measured sort of way which he probably supposed to
be dancing. At any rate, his audience were contented to accept it as
such, and he met with continued applause, until suddenly bringing his
gyrations to a close he screamed in a loud, discordant voice,--
"Sugar!"
"Sing then," said Jessie.
In a sharp, cracked, but very distinct voice, and with some resemblance
to a tune, the parrot began,--
"Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that"--
Here he came to an abrupt close, eying the sugar-plum wistfully.
"Sing it," said Jessie; and he began again.
"Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb--sugar--sugar--sugar,"
screamed the creature, amid peals of laughter from the children,
who now begged that he might have the coveted reward, which Jessie
accordingly gave him.
"He knows it all," she said; "but I can hardly ever make him sing it
through."
Poll took the sugar-plum gingerly in one claw, and sat nibbling at it
till it was all gone, while the children crowded around him, admiring
his gay, bright-colored feathers, and expressing their wonder at his
accomplishments and sense.
"Now you must show off some more," said Jessie, when the bird had
disposed of his feast. "Polly, where is the naughty child?"
To the intense delight of the children, Poll began to scream and cry
exactly like a passionate child, after which he laughed and chuckled
with satisfaction at his own performances, then crowed like a rooster,
baa-ed like a nanny-goat, barked like a dog, and mewed like a cat.
After all this he took up intelligent conversation again.
"Polly's a pr-r-r-etty bird; Polly's a good bird; Polly's a wise bird,"
he screamed, in all of which his little hearers entirely agreed.
"Who do you love, Polly?" asked Jessie.
"Polly love Jessie; Jessie a good girl," was the answer.
"Where's your master, Polly?"
"Bob Malcolm gone to sea. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye," screamed the
parrot.
"Sing a song of"--began Jessie, and the parrot took up the strain.
"Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye"--
Here he came to a stop, nor could he be coaxed to finish the couplet,
though Jessie assured the audience that he could, if he chose, sing the
first four lines of the old song all through.
However, he condescended to repeat some of his former performances. But
it would take too long to tell all the feats of this remarkable bird;
and you must not think that these I have related are quite impossible,
for I have seen a parrot who could do all that is here described, and
more too. The children were so interested and amused that they could
scarcely be persuaded to leave him when Patrick announced that their
lunch was ready; and Jessie, who was bidden by Miss Ashton to join her
grandfather and share the meal provided for him, was begged to keep
within call, so that they might return to the entertainment when they
had finished their lunch.
While this was going on, Miss Ashton told the story she had heard from
old Malcolm, and said that she was so much interested in him and
his grandchild, that she would go after lunch and see the clergyman,
while the little girls amused themselves for a while under the care
of the other ladies. She carried out this purpose, and went on her
kind errand, followed by many a hope that she would find the story all
correct.
But when the children went back to the parrot they were disappointed,
for he proved cross or tired or in a less sociable mood than he had
been before, and he very rudely turned his back upon them, and would
utter no words save,--
"Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!" every time any one spoke to him.
So, finding this neither polite nor amusing, the company left him and
scattered themselves in search of other entertainment.
"How sober you look, Maggie; what are you thinking about?" asked Hattie
Leroy, coming up to where Maggie Bradford stood leaning upon a stone
railing.
Maggie looked thoughtful, it may be, but hardly sober, for her
thoughts seemed pleasant ones, to judge by the light in her eye, and
the half smile upon her lip.
"I have an idea," said Maggie, "and I think it's a nice one, at least
if we are allowed to do it."
"What is it?" asked Hattie.
"Well," said Maggie, "I don't care to have it talked about very much
till we know if we can do it; but I was thinking it would be so
nice if we could have a little fair, just ourselves, you know, the
school-children and Bessie and me. I know some children who had a fair
in their own house, and they made money enough to pay for a bed in St.
Luke's Hospital for a poor, lame child; and I thought perhaps we could
make enough to buy back Jessie's parrot for her; and to make a more
comfortable home for them. We could make things for the fair, and ask
our friends to help us. Mamma would make some for us, I know, and so
will Aunt Annie, and, I think, Aunt Bessie and Aunt May."
"Where could we have it?" asked Hattie, who seemed much interested.
"In one of our own houses," said Maggie, "or,--that was another thought
I had,--perhaps Miss Ashton would be so very good as to let us have
it at her house. The piazza would be lovely for it; and she generally
lets us have some party-ish kind of a thing when school breaks up. Last
year we had a giving of prizes; and at Christmas we had a Christmas
festival, and a queen both times."
"Yes," said Hattie, "and Gracie said it was shameful that you were
queen both times. She thinks it was very selfish in you."
Maggie colored violently.
"The queen was chosen," she said, "and the girls chose me. I did not
make myself queen."
"Well, Gracie did not like it one bit," said Hattie, "and she thinks
you had no right to be queen when you did not go to the school the last
time."
Maggie was silent, but the gladness was gone from her face.
"Wouldn't it be too cold to have the fair on the piazza?" asked Hattie.
"Not by the time we are ready," said Maggie. "You know it will take a
good while to make enough things, and Miss Ashton does not close the
school till the first of June. I heard her tell mamma so the other day.
And by that time it will be quite warm and pleasant, and there will
be plenty of flowers. I was thinking we could dress the piazza with
wreaths and festoons and flags; and we could make some kind of a throne
and canopy at one end. And there we could have the flower-table and the
queen behind it, with some maids of honor to sell flowers."
If Maggie imagined that Hattie would express any admiration or approval
of her plan, she was mistaken. Hattie seemed interested, and asked a
great many questions, as to how Maggie would arrange such and such
matters, but she did not act as if she thought the "idea" very fine
after all, and this was rather different from the way in which Maggie
was accustomed to have her plans received. But she did not care for
that; she was not a vain child, constantly seeking for admiration, and
she was too full of her subject to pay much heed to Hattie's cool way
of hearing this one.
"I'm not going to say much about it till I see if mamma approves," she
said. "Then I'll ask Miss Ashton and tell all the children about it.
There are Bessie and Lily beckoning to me; let us go and see what they
want."
And away she ran, intending to tell her sister and Belle and Lily of
her plan on the first convenient opportunity; but not willing, as she
had said, to make it public till she learned if it could be carried
out. She did not yet feel as if she knew Hattie very well, and she
was rather astonished at herself for having talked so freely to her;
but the truth was, that Hattie had come upon her rather unawares, and
asked her what she was thinking of, at the moment when she was turning
her "idea" over in her mind, and she had told her almost without
reflection. Still she did not exactly regret having done so, and, after
what she had said, never supposed that Hattie would mention what she
had told her.
Upright, honorable Maggie judged others by herself, and was entirely
unsuspicious of evil.
It would take too much space in this little book, and you would not
care to have a particular description of all the various points of
interest visited by our party throughout the day,--the Arsenal with
its collection of wild beasts and monkeys; the great reservoir with
its blue water, looking like a lake within walls, as indeed it is; the
lovely Ramble through which they wandered for a long time, and many
another pleasant spot. They are all familiar to many of you, and those
to whom they are not, may make acquaintance with them some day.
You may be sure that Miss Ashton did not leave old Malcolm and his
grand-daughter without some remembrance of this day, for she was not
only very sorry for them and felt that they were really in need of
assistance, but she also knew that Jessie and her wonderful bird had
added much to the entertainment of her little flock. She gave Jessie
money enough to furnish herself with materials to begin her little
trade again, and, leaving her address with her, bade her bring some of
her pretty toys to her house when they should be made.
They were all in the omnibus once more, and had started on their
homeward way, all rather tired and quiet with the day's ramble, when
what was Maggie's astonishment to hear Hattie say,--
"Miss Ashton, Maggie and I have such a very nice plan. We thought we
might have a fair, just us children, and ask our friends to help us;
and then we could sell the things we made, or that were given to us,
and so earn a good deal of money to help Jessie and her grandfather,
and to buy back the parrot for her. And we might have it when the
weather is warm and pleasant, just before school closes, so that we
could have it out of doors; and perhaps, Miss Ashton, you would not
mind letting us hold it on your piazza and in the garden. And Jessie
might make some of her pretty baskets and things for it, and we could
sell them for her. We thought we could raise a good deal of money that
way, for almost all our friends would be glad to come."
It would be hard to tell whether indignation or surprise was uppermost
in Maggie's mind, as she sat utterly speechless and confounded, while
Hattie ran on thus, disclosing in this public manner the plans which
she had said were to be kept secret until her own mamma and Miss Ashton
had heard and approved of them.
Yes, here was Hattie not only doing this, but speaking as if she had
been the inventor of the cherished "idea," and as if Maggie had only
fallen in with it, perhaps helped it out a little.
Maggie was too shy to speak out as many children would have done, and
to say,--
"That was my plan, Miss Ashton. I was the first one to think of that;"
and she sat with her color changing, and her eyes fixed wonderingly and
reproachfully on Hattie as she spoke, feeling somehow as if she had
been wronged, and yet not exactly seeing the way to right herself.
"Oh! that would be delightful," said Gracie. "Miss Ashton, do you think
you could let us do it?"
"Well, I might," said Miss Ashton. "That is not a bad idea, Hattie. I
will talk to my mother about it and see what she thinks, and you may
all tell your friends at home, and learn if they approve."
"If we could have the fair on your piazza," continued Hattie eagerly,
"we could dress it up very prettily with wreaths and flowers, and we
could make a kind of a bower at one end, and choose one of the girls
for a queen, and let it be her throne-room, and there we could have the
flower-table. Some of the children told me you always let them have a
festival before vacation, Miss Ashton; and we might put it off till a
little later, so that it would be warm and pleasant, and we should have
plenty of flowers."
There was not one of the children who did not raise her voice in favor
of the new plan except Nellie Ransom, who sat opposite to Maggie, and
who watched her changing face, and looked from her to Hattie with
inquiring and rather suspicious looks.
Lily clapped her hands, and almost sprang from her seat.
"I'll begin to work for the fair this very evening!" she said. "No
more of your putting off for me. I'll bring down mamma's ribbon-box
and worsted-box, if she'll let me, and ask her what I can have, and
to-morrow I'll ask her to let me make something."
"And we'll ask mamma and Aunt Annie, won't we, Maggie?" said Bessie;
"and Belle, we'll ask them for some things for you too."
Bessie received no answer from Maggie, who, feeling as if the whole
matter had been taken out of her hands, poor child, and as if she had
been robbed of her property, dared not speak, lest she should burst
into tears.
"I have a whole lot of money saved up," said Lily, "and I'll take some
of it to buy what I want to make pretty things, and keep the rest to
spend at the fair."
"Haven't you to pay your missionary money to our box yet?" asked Bessie.
"Well, I haven't paid it yet," said Lily, "but I don't know if I will
give a dollar this year. I've supported the heathen for two years now,
and I think I'd like a little change of charity. Wouldn't you, Maggie?"
Maggie only nodded assent, scarce knowing what question she was
replying to.
"Maggie," said Belle, "you don't seem very interested; why don't you
talk about the fair and give us new ideas, as you 'most always do?"
"Does something provoke you or trouble you, Maggie, dear?" asked
Bessie, looking into her sister's perplexed face.
"Hattie," said Nellie suddenly, fixing her eyes searchingly on the
little girl she addressed, "what put that idea of the fair into your
head?"
"Oh!" answered Hattie in some confusion, "I--that is, we, Maggie and I,
just thought it would be nice, and so we talked about it a little, and
made up our minds to ask Miss Ashton about it."
Quick-witted Lily caught Nellie's suspicion, and so did Bessie; and the
former, who had worn an air of displeasure with Hattie ever since the
affair of the morning, asked promptly,--
"Who was the _first_ to make up that idea,--the fair and the queen in
the flower bower, and dressing the piazza and all? Who was it, I say?"
"Well," answered Hattie reluctantly, "Maggie was the first to think
about it, and we talked it over together and arranged it all."
"I knew it!" cried Lily triumphantly; "I just knew it was Maggie. It
sounds just like her making up. Hattie," she added reproachfully, "you
tried to make us think it was yours."
"I didn't," said Hattie. "I never said so."
"You didn't just _say_ so," said Bessie solemnly, "but you tried to
give that _depression_."
"I didn't," pouted Hattie again; "and we did talk about it together,
didn't we, Maggie?"
Maggie only gave a faint smile by way of answer, for she felt that she
could not honestly allow that Hattie had suggested one single idea; and
still she was too generous to wish to blame her more than she could
avoid.
And for the second time that day was Hattie made to feel that her
want of strict truthfulness had lowered her in the eyes of her young
companions.
"Umph!" said Lily severely; "appears to me, Miss Hattie"--
But she was not allowed to finish the intended reproach, for Miss
Ashton, seeing symptoms of a quarrel, hastened to avert it, and gently
bade Lily be quiet.
Lily obeyed; but her eye still rested sternly upon Hattie, and the
latter was forced to bear more than one disapproving gaze during the
remainder of the drive home.
"I am afraid," said Miss Ashton to her mother that evening, "that
Hattie Leroy is by no means a truthful child;" and she told of the
occurrences of the day, adding that it was not the first time she had
noticed a want of openness and uprightness, little acted deceits, a
keeping back of the whole truth, and even, now and then a deliberate
falsehood; and more than all, a manner of repeating a thing which gave
it a very different meaning from what the speaker intended, so often
making mischief and discomfort.
"That is bad, very bad," said Mrs. Ashton; "it may affect the other
children."
"I would rather hope that they may have a good influence on her,"
answered her daughter. "The standard of truth is so high in our school,
thanks, I believe, to dear little Bessie Bradford, Maggie, Belle,
and one or two others, that any departure from it is considered a
very serious offence. Lily, with all her thoughtlessness and love of
mischief, is strictly truthful; so are Dora and Nellie. Gracie is the
only one for whom I fear, for, although I think she would be shocked at
the idea of telling a deliberate untruth, her conceit and wish to be
first are so great that they often lead her to exaggerate and give a
false coloring to what she says of herself as compared with others."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
V.
_GRANDMAMMA HOWARD._
The proposal for the fair met with a pretty general approval from
the parents and friends of the little girls, and they received many
promises of help.
"Aunt Annie" undertook to show Maggie, Bessie, and Belle how to make
any pretty articles they might wish to undertake. Lily's mamma did
the same for her, and none of the children were left entirely without
assistance.