An hour after the conversation narrated in the last chapter, the driver
stopped at a fine-looking hotel.
"This is the place, then, where you are going to stay for a few weeks,
before you leave this part of the country for ----," said Mr. Walter;
"allow me to speak for a dinner for us all; such a day as this does not
dawn on us often in this world;" and he glanced affectionately at little
Katy.
The party was soon seated round a plentifully-furnished table. Nettie
stopped at every other mouthful to look into Katy's eyes, or to kiss
her, while little Katy gazed about bewilderingly, and grasped her
mother's hand tightly whenever her ear caught the sound of a strange
voice or footstep.
"Will you have some soup, little puss?" said Mr. Walter, after they were
seated at the table, pulling one of Nettie's long curls.
"Ask my mother," replied the child, with a quizzical look; "she's the
_soup_-erintendent."
Mr. Walter threw up his hands, and a general shout followed this
precocious sally.
"Come, come," said Mr. Walter, when he had done laughing; "you have
begun too early, little puss; come here and let me feel your head. I
must take a phrenological look at you. Bless me! what an affectionate
little creature you must be," said he, passing his hand over her head;
"stick a pin there now, while I examine the rest of your bumps."
"You must not stick a pin in my head," said Nettie; "I don't like that
way of expressing an o-_pin_-ion."
"No further examination is necessary," said the extinguished Mr. Walter;
"I have done with _you_, Miss Nettie. What do you mean?" whispered he to
Ruth, "by having such a child as that? Are we going to have another
genius in the family?"
"I don't know about that," said Ruth, laughing; "she often says such
things when she gets excited and hilarious, but I never encourage it
by notice, and you must not; my physician told me not to teach her
anything, and by all means not to let her see the inside of a schoolroom
at present."
"Well, well," said Mr. Walter, "Miss Nettie and I must have a tilt
at punning some day. You had better engage, Ruth, to furnish the
Knickerbocker with smart repartees for his 'Children's Table,' from
your own fireside."
"_Prenez garde_," whispered Ruth, "don't spoil her. Such a child needs
careful training; she is high-spirited, warm-hearted, and sensitive;"
and Ruth sighed.
"I interpret your thoughts," said Mr. Walter; "but we must have no
backward glances to-day. Those children will never suffer what you have
suffered; few women ever did. Ruth, for the thousandth time I tell you,
you are a brave woman!"
"--Upon my word," said Mr. Walter, suddenly, blushing and thrusting
his hand in his pocket, "I have committed the sin so common to all
_man_-kind; carried letters for you round in my pocket all this time,
without delivering them: here they are. I never saw a woman have so many
letters as you do, 'Floy;' you'll need a private secretary before long."
Ruth broke the seal of one, saying, "You'll excuse me a few moments,"
and read:
"TO 'FLOY':
"DEAR MADAM,--We have established a very successful Infant School
in our neighborhood, numbering about fifty pupils. Our first
anniversary occurs next month. It is our intention to gather
together the parents and children, and have a sort of jubilee;
hymns will be sung, and short pieces spoken. We should be very much
obliged to you if you would write us a little dialogue to be
repeated by two little girls, of the age of six; something sweet
and simple, such as you know how to write. We make no apology for
thus intruding on your time, because we know your heart is with the
children.
"Yours respectfully, JOHN DEAN.
"Secretary of the Leftbow Infant School."
"Patience, gentlemen, while I read No. 2," said Ruth. No. 2 ran as
follows:
"DEAR 'FLOY':
"Old Guardy has sent me up to this academy. I hate academies. I
hate Guardy's. I hate everything but snipe shooting and boating.
Just now I am in a horrid fix. Every fellow in this academy has to
write a composition once a week, I cannot do it. I never could.
My talents don't lie in that way. I don't know where they do lie.
What I want of you is to write those compositions for me. You can
do it just as easy as water runs down hill. You could scratch one
off while I am nibbing my pen. Old Phillips will think they are
uncommon smart for me; but never mind, I shall keep dark, and you
are such a good soul I know you can't refuse. My cigars have been
out two whole days; so you may know that I have no funds, else I
would send you a present.
"Yours truly, HAL. HUNNEWELL."
After glancing over this letter Ruth broke into a merry laugh, and
saying, "This is too good to keep," read it aloud for the amusement of
the company, who unanimously voted Hal. Hunnewell a composition every
week, for his precocious impudence.
"Come, now," said Mr. Walter, as Ruth took up No. 3, "if you have
another of the same sort, let us hear it, unless it be of a confidential
nature."
Ruth looked over the letter a moment, and then read:
"DEAR 'FLOY':
"Mamma has read me some of your stories. I like them very much. You
say you love little children. Don't you think we've got a bran new
baby! It came last night when I was asleep in my trundle-bed. It
is a little pink baby. Mamma says it will grow white by-and-bye.
It has got such funny little fingers; they look all wrinkled,
just like our maid's when she has been at the wash-tub. Mother
has to stay in bed with him to keep him warm, he's such a little
cold, shaky thing. He hasn't a bit of hair, and he scowls like
everything, but I guess he'll be pretty by-and-bye. Anyhow I love
him. I asked mother if I might not write and tell you about him,
and she laughed and said, I don't know who 'Floy' is, nor where she
lives; but Uncle Jack (he gives me lots of candy and dolls) said
that I must send it to 'Floy's' publishers! I don't know what a
publisher is, and so I told Uncle Jack; and he laughed and said he
would lose _his_ guess if I didn't have something to do with them
one of these days. I don't know what that meant either, and when I
asked him, he said 'go away, Puss.' I think it is very nice to have
an Uncle Jack at Christmas and New Year's, but other times they
only plague little children. I wish I could see you. How do you
look? I guess you look like mamma; mamma has got blue eyes, and
soft brown hair, and her mouth looks very pleasant when she smiles.
Mamma's voice is as sweet as a robin's, so papa says. Papa is a
great big man, so big that nobody could ever hurt me, or mamma.
Papa wants to see you too. Won't you write me a letter, a little
letter all to myself? I've got a box made of rosewood, with a lock
and key on it, where I'd hide it from Uncle Jack, (that would tease
him!) Uncle Jack wants to see you too, but I hope you never will
let him, for he's such a terrible tease, he'd plague you
dreadfully. I guess our baby would send his love to you if he only
knew you. Please write me soon, and send it to Kitty Mills, care of
Uncle Jack Mills, and please seal it up all tight, so he cannot
peep into it.
"P.S.--I want you to write a book of stories for little girls,
and don't make them end bad, because it makes me cry; nor put any
ghosts in them, because it scares me; or have any 'moral' down at
the bottom, because Uncle Jack always asks me if I skipped it.
Write something funny, won't you? I like funny things, and fairy
stories. Oh, I like fairy stories so _much_! Wasn't it nice about
the mice and the pumpkin, in Cinderella? Make them all end well,
won't you?
"Your affectionate little KITTY."
"I suppose you do not feel any curiosity to know what the papers say
about your book," said Mr. Walter, as Ruth refolded her letters. "I have
quite a stock of notices in my pocket, which I have saved up. You seem
to have taken the public heart by storm. You could not desire better
notices; and the best of it is, they are spontaneous--neither begged nor
in a measure demanded, by a personal call upon the editors."
"What on earth do you mean?" asked Ruth.
"Look at 'the spirit of '76' flashing from her eyes," said Mr. Grey,
laughing, as he pointed at Ruth.
"I mean this," said Mr. Walter, "that not long since I expressed my
surprise to an able critic and reviewer, that he could praise a certain
book, which he must have known was entirely deficient in merit of any
kind. His answer was: 'The authoress of that book made a call on me at
my office, deprecated in the strongest terms any adverse criticism in
the paper with which I am connected; said that other papers would take
their tone from mine, that it was her first book, and that her pen
was her only means of support, &c., &c. What can a man do under such
circumstances?' said my informant."
"How _could_ she?" said Ruth. "Of what ultimate advantage could it be?
It might have procured the sale of a few copies at first, but a book,
like water, will find its level. But what astonishes me most of all is,
that any able reviewer should be willing to risk his reputation as a
critic by such promiscuous puffery. How are the people to know when he
speaks his _real_ sentiments? It strikes me," said Ruth, laughing, "that
such a critic should have some cabalistic mark by which the initiated
may understand when he speaks truthfully. It is such a pity!" continued
Ruth thoughtfully; "it so neutralizes criticism. It is such a pity, too,
that an authoress could be found so devoid of self-respect as to do such
a thing. It is such an injury to those women who would disdain so to
fetter criticism; who would launch their book like a gallant ship,
prepared for adverse gales, not sneaking near the shore, or lowering
their flag for fear of a stray shot."
"Do you know, Ruth," said Mr. Walter, "when I hear you talk, I no longer
wonder at Hyacinth's lack of independence and common sense; his share
must, by some unaccountable mistake, have been given to you in addition
to your own. But where are the children?"
They looked around; Katy and Nettie, taking advantage of this prolonged
discussion, had slid from the table, in company with a plate of nuts
and raisins, and were holding an animated conversation in a further
corner.
"Why! what a great, big mark on your arm, Katy," exclaimed Nettie; "how
_did_ it come?"
"Hush!" replied Katy; "grandma did it. She talked very bad about mamma
to grandpa, and I started to go up into my little room, because, you
know, I _couldn't_ bear to hear it; and she called to me, and said,
'Katy, what are you leaving the room for?' and you know, Nettie, mamma
teaches us always to tell the truth, so I said, 'because I cannot bear
to stay and hear you say what is not true about my mamma.' And then
grandma threw down her knitting, seized me by the arm, and set me down,
oh, _so_ hard, on a chair; and said, 'but you _shall_ hear it.' Then,
oh, Nettie, I _could not_ hear it, so I put my fingers in both ears; and
then she beat me, and left that place on my arm, and held both my hands
while she made me listen."
During this recital, Nettie's eyes glowed like living coals. When Katy
concluded, she clenched her little fists, and said:
"Katy, why didn't you strike her?"
Katy shook her head, and said in a low tone, "Oh, Nettie, she would have
killed me! When she got angry she looked just like that picture of Satan
we saw once in the shop window."
"Katy, I _must_ do something to her," said Nettie, closing her teeth
together, and planting her tiny foot firmly upon the floor; "she
_shan't_ talk so about mamma. Oh, if I was only a big woman!"
"I suppose we must _forgive_ her," said Katy thoughtfully.
"_I_ won't," said the impulsive little Nettie, "never--never--never."
"Then you cannot say your prayers," said the wise little Katy; "'forgive
us, as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.'"
"What a pity!" exclaimed the orthodox Nettie; "don't you wish that
hadn't been put in? What _shall_ we do, Katy?"
"Nettie," said her mother, who had approached unnoticed, "what did you
mean when you said just now, that you wished you were a big woman?"
Nettie hung her head for a minute, and twisted the corner of her apron
irresolutely; at last she replied with a sudden effort, "you won't love
me, mamma, but I will tell you; I wanted to cut grandma's head off."
Little Katy laughed outright, as the idea of this Lilliputian combatant
presented itself. Ruth looked serious. "That is not right, Nettie,"
said she; "your grandmother is an unhappy, miserable old woman. She has
punished herself worse than anybody else could punish her. She is more
miserable than ever now, because I have earned money to support you and
Katy. She _might_ have made us all love her, and help to make her old
age cheerful; but now, unless she repents, she will live miserably, and
die forsaken, for nobody can love her with such a temper. This is a
dreadful old age, Nettie!"
"I _think_ I'll forgive her," said Nettie, jumping into her mother's
lap; "but I hope I shan't ever hear her say anything against you,
mother. I'm glad I wasn't Katy. Didn't you ever wish, Katy, that
she might fall down stairs and break her neck, or catch a fever, or
something?"
"Oh, mother, what a funny girl Nettie is!" said Katy, laughing till the
tears came; "I had almost forgotten her queer ways! Oh, how grandmother
_would_ have boxed your ears, Nettie!"
The incorrigible Nettie cut one of her pirouettes across the room, and
snapped her fingers by way of answer to this assertion.
* * * * *
While Ruth and her children were conversing, the two gentlemen were
quite as absorbed in another corner of the apartment.
"It astonishes me," said Mr. Grey to Mr. Walter, "that 'Floy' should be
so little elated by her wonderful success."
"It will cease to do so when you know her better," said Mr. Walter; "the
map of life has been spread out before her; she has stood singing on
its breezy heights--she has lain weeping in its gloomy valleys. Flowers
have strewn her pathway--and thorns have pierced her tender feet. The
clusters of the promised land have moistened her laughing lip--the Dead
Sea apple has mocked her wasted fingers. Rainbows have spanned her sky
like a glory, and storms have beat pitilessly on her defenceless head.
Eyes have beamed upon her smiling welcome. When wounded and smitten,
she fainted by the way, the priest and the Levite have passed by on the
other side. 'Floy' knows every phase of the human heart; she knows that
she was none the less worthy because poor and unrecognized; she knows
how much of the homage now paid her is due to the _showy setting_ of
the gem; therefore, she takes all these things at their true valuation.
Then, my friend," and Mr. Walter's voice became tremulous, "amid all
these 'well done' plaudits, _the loved voice is silent_. The laurel
crown indeed is won, but the feet at which she fain would cast it have
finished their toilsome earth-march."
* * * * *
"It is time we gentlemen were going; let us talk business now," said Mr.
Walter, as Ruth returned from her conversation with the children. "How
long did you propose remaining here, Ruth?"
"For a month or so," she replied. "I have several matters I wish to
arrange before bidding adieu to this part of the country, I shall try
to get through as soon as possible, for I long to be settled in a
permanent and comfortable home."
"I shall return this way in a month or six weeks," said Mr. Walter, "and
if you are ready at that time, I shall be most happy to escort you and
your children to your new residence."
"Thank you," said Ruth. "Good-bye, good-bye," shouted both the children,
as the two gentlemen left the room.