yellow of my hair has washed into my eyes and the red of my cheeks is
quite gone, I'm sure," answered Dora, as her wet dress flopped in the
breeze and the broken foot sticking up showed her that her blue boots
were ruined.
"I don't care a bit how I look. It's great fun now we are safe. Pop up
your head and see the wide prairie flying past. I do hope that poor baby
got away and swam home to his mother. The upset into the river was quite
to his taste, I fancy," said Flora, who was much excited by her
adventure and eager for more.
Presently one of the men set the dolls up in the corner of a window to
dry, and there they stood viewing the fine landscape with one eye while
the other watched the scene of devastation within. Everything was in
great confusion after the accident, so it is not strange that the dolls
were not missed when they slowly slid lower and lower till a sudden
lurch of the car sent them out of the window to roll into a green field
where cows were feeding and children picking strawberries.
"This is the end of us! Here we shall lie and mould forgotten by
everybody," said Dora, who always took a tragical view of things.
"Not a bit of it! I see cows eating toward us and they may give us a
lift. I've heard of their tossing people up, though I don't know just
how it's done. If they don't, we are in the path and some of those
children are sure to find us," answered Flora cheerfully, though she
stood on her head with a bunch of burrs pricking her nose.
She was right. A bright-eyed little German girl presently came trotting
along the path with a great basket full of berries on her head arranged
in pretty pottles ready for the market. Seeing the red cow sniffing at a
brown paper parcel she drove her away, picked it up and peeped in at the
open end.
The sight of two dolls in such a place made her feel as if fairies had
dropped them there for her. She could not read the direction and hurried
home to show her treasure to her brothers and sisters of whom there were
eight.
"What will become of us now!" exclaimed Dora, as eager hands slipped
them out of the wrapper and smoothed their damp skirts in a room that
seemed swarming with boys and girls of all sizes.
"Don't worry, we shall get on nicely, I'm sure, and learn German of
these young persons. It is a great relief to be able to stretch one's
limbs and stand up, isn't it?" answered Flora, undismayed by anything
that had happened as yet.
"Yes, dear, I love you but I _am_ tired of being tied to you all day. I
hope we shall live through this noise and get a little rest, but I give
up the idea of ever seeing Portland," answered Dora, staring with all
her blue eyes at the display of musical instruments about the room, and
longing to stop her ears, for several of the children were playing on
the violin, flute, horn or harp. They were street musicians, and even
the baby seemed to be getting ready to take part in the concert, for he
sat on the floor beside an immense bass horn taller than himself, with
his rosy lips at the mouth piece and his cheeks puffed out in vain
attempts to make a "boom! boom!" as brother Fritz did.
Flora was delighted, and gave skips on her red boots in time to the
lively tooting of the boys, while the girls gazed at the lovely dolls
and jabbered away with their yellow braids quivering with excitement.
The wrapper was laid aside till a neighbor who read English came in to
translate it. Meantime they enjoyed the new toys immensely, and even
despondent Dora was cheered up by the admiration she received; while
they in their turn were deeply interested in the pretty dolls' furniture
some of the children made.
Beds, tables and chairs covered the long bench, and round it sat the
neat-handed little maidens gluing, tacking and trimming, while they sang
and chatted at their work as busy and happy as a hive of bees.
All day the boys went about the streets playing, and in the evening
trooped off to the beer gardens to play again, for they lived in
Chicago, and the dolls had got so far on their way to Aunt Maria, as
they soon discovered.
For nearly two months they lived happily with Minna, Gretchen and
Nanerl, then they set out on their travels again, and this was the way
it happened. A little girl came to order a set of furniture for her new
baby-house, and seeing two shabby dolls reposing in a fine bed she asked
about them. Her mamma spoke German so Minna told how they were found,
and showed the old wrapper, saying that they always meant to send the
dolls on their way but grew so fond of them they kept putting it off.
"I am going as far as New York very soon and will take them along if you
like, for I think little Miss Maria Plum must have been expecting her
dolls all this time. Shall I?" asked the mamma, as she read the address
and saw the dash under "With care," as if the dollies were of great
importance to some one.
"Ja, ja," answered Minna, glad to oblige a lady who bought two whole
sets of their best furniture and paid for it at once.
So again the dolls were put in their brown paper cover and sent away
with farewell kisses.
"This now is genteel and just suits me," said Dora, as they drove along
with little Clara to the handsome house where she was staying.
"I have a feeling that she is a spoilt child, and we shall not be as
happy with her as with the dear Poppleheimers. We shall see," answered
Flora, wisely, for Clara had soon tossed the dolls into a corner and was
fretting because mamma would not buy her the big horn to blow on.
The party started for New York in a day or two, and to the delight of
Flo and Do they were left out of the trunks for Clara to play with on
the way, her own waxen Blanche Marie Annabel being too delicate to be
used.
"Oh my patience, this is worse than tumbling about in a mail-bag,"
groaned Dora, after hours of great suffering, for Clara treated the poor
dolls as if they had no feeling.
She amused herself with knocking their heads together, shutting them in
the window with their poor legs hanging out, swinging them by one arm,
and drawing lines with a pencil all over their faces till they looked as
if tattooed by savages. Even brave Flora was worn out and longed for
rest, finding her only comfort in saying, "I told you so," when Clara
banged them about, or dropped them on the dusty floor to be trampled on
by passing feet.
There they were left, and would have been swept away if a little dog had
not found them as the passengers were leaving the car and carried them
after his master, trotting soberly along with the bundle in his mouth,
for fortunately Clara had put them into the paper before she left them,
so they were still together in the trials of the journey.
"Hullo, Jip, what have you got?" asked the young man as the little dog
jumped up on the carriage seat and laid his load on his master's knee,
panting and wagging his tail as if he had done something to be praised
for.
"Dolls, I declare! What can a bachelor do with the poor things? Wonder
who Maria Plum is? Midge will like a look at them before we send them
along;" and into the young man's pocket they went, trembling with fear
of the dog, but very grateful for being rescued from destruction.
Jip kept his eye on them, and gave an occasional poke with his cold nose
to be sure they were there as they drove through the bustling streets of
New York to a great house with an inscription over the door.
"I do hope Midge will be a nicer girl than Clara. Children ought to be
taught to be kind to dumb dolls as well as dumb animals," said Dora, as
the young man ran up the steps and hurried along a wide hall.
"I almost wish we were at home with our own kind little mothers," began
Flo, for even her spirits were depressed by bad treatment, but just then
a door opened and she cried out in amazement, "Bless my heart, this man
has more children than even Mr. Poppleheimer!"
She might well think so, for all down both sides of the long room stood
little white beds with a small pale face on every pillow. All the eyes
that were open brightened when Jip and his master came in, and several
thin hands were outstretched to meet them.
"I've been good, Doctor, let me pat him first," cried one childish
voice.
"Did you bring me a flower, please?" asked another feeble one.
"I know he's got something nice for us, I see a bundle in his pocket,"
and a little fellow who sat up among his pillows gave a joyful cough as
he could not shout.
"Two dollies for Midge to play with. Jip found them, but I think the
little girl they are going to will lend them for a few days. We shall
not need them longer I'm afraid," added the young man to a rosy faced
nurse who came along with a bottle in her hand.
"Dear no, the poor child is very low to-day. But she will love to look
at the babies if she isn't strong enough to hold 'em," said the woman,
leading the way to a corner where the palest of all the pale faces lay
smiling on the pillow, and the thinnest of the thin hands were feebly
put up to greet the Doctor.
"So nice!" she whispered when the dolls were laid beside her, while Jip
proudly beat his tail on the floor to let her know that she owed the
welcome gift to him.
For an hour Flo and Do lay on the arm of poor Midge who never moved
except to touch them now and then with a tender little finger, or to
kiss them softly, saying, "Dear babies, it is very nice not to be all
alone. Are you comfy, darlings?" till she fell asleep still smiling.
"Sister, do you think this can be the Heaven we hear people talk about?
It is so still and white, and may be these children are angels,"
whispered Dora, looking at the sweet face turned toward her with the
long lashes lying on the colorless cheek, and the arms outstretched like
wings.
"No, dear, it is a hospital, I heard that man say so, and those are sick
children come to be cured. It is a sweet place, I think, and this child
much nicer than that horrid Clara," answered Flo, who was quicker to
hear, see and understand what went on than Dora.
"I love to lie here safe and warm, but there doesn't seem to be much
breath to rock me," said Do, who lay nearest the little bosom that very
slowly rose and fell with the feeble flutter of the heart below.
"Hush, we may disturb her," and lively Flo controlled her curiosity,
contenting herself with looking at the other children and listening to
their quiet voices, for pain seemed to have hushed them all.
For a week the dolls lay in Midge's bed, and though their breasts were
full of saw-dust and their heads were only wood, the sweet patience of
the little creature seemed to waken something like a heart in them, and
set them thinking, for dolls don't live in vain, I am firmly persuaded.
All day she tended them till the small hands could no longer hold them,
and through the weary nights she tried to murmur bits of lullabies lest
the dollies would not be able to sleep because of the crying or the
moans some of the poor babies could not repress. She often sent one or
the other to cheer up some little neighbor, and in this way Do and Flo
became small sisters of charity, welcomed eagerly, reluctantly returned,
and loved by all, although they never uttered a word and their dingy
faces could not express the emotion that stirred their saw-dust bosoms.
When Saturday night came they were laid in their usual place on Midge's
arm. She was too weak to kiss them now, and nurse laid their battered
cheeks against the lips that whispered faintly, "Be sure you send 'em to
the little girl, and tell her--tell her--all about it." Then she turned
her cheek to the pillow with a little sigh and lay so still the dolls
thought she had gone to sleep.
She had, but the sweet eyes did not open in the morning, and there was
no breath in the little breast to rock the dolls any more.
"I knew she was an angel, and now she has flown away," said Dora softly,
as they watched the white image carried out in the weeping nurse's
arms, with the early sunshine turning all the pretty hair to gold.
"I think that is what they call dying, sister. It is a much lovelier way
to end than as we do in the dust bin or rag-bag. I wonder if there is a
little Heaven anywhere for good dolls?" answered Flora, with what looked
like a tear on her cheek; but it was only a drop from the violets sent
by the kind Doctor last night.
"I hope so, for I think the souls of little children might miss us if
they loved us as dear Midge did," whispered Dora, trying to kiss the
blue flower in her hand, for the child had shared her last gift with
these friends.
"Why didn't you let her take them along, poor motherless baby?" asked
the doctor when he saw the dolls lying as she had left them.
"I promised her they should go to the girl they were sent to, and
please, I'd like to keep my word to the little darling," answered Nurse
with a sob.
"You shall," said the Doctor, and put them in his breast pocket with the
faded violets, for everybody loved the pauper child sent to die in a
hospital, because Christian charity makes every man and woman father and
mother to these little ones.
All day the dolls went about in the busy Doctor's pocket, and I think
the violets did them good, for the soft perfume clung to them long
afterward like the memory of a lovely life, as short and sweet as that
of the flowers.
In the evening they were folded up in a fresh paper and re-directed
carefully. The Doctor wrote a little note telling why he had kept them,
and was just about to put on some stamps when a friend came in who was
going to Boston in the morning.
"Anything to take along, Fred?" asked the newcomer.
"This parcel, if you will. I have a feeling that I'd rather not have it
knock about in a mail-bag," and the Doctor told him why.
It was pleasant to see how carefully the traveller put away the parcel
after that, and to hear him say that he was going through Boston to the
mountains for his holiday, and would deliver it in Portland to Miss Plum
herself.
"Now there is some chance of our getting there," said Flora, as they set
off next day in a new Russia leather bag.
On the way they overheard a long chat between some New York and Boston
ladies which impressed them very much. Flora liked to hear the
fashionable gossip about clothes and people and art and theatres, but
Dora preferred the learned conversation of the young Boston ladies, who
seemed to know a little of everything, or think they did.
"I hope Mamma will give me an entirely new wardrobe when I get home; and
we will have dolls' weddings and balls, and a play, and be as fine and
fashionable as those ladies down there," said Flora, after listening a
while.
"You have got your head full of dressy ideas and high life, sister. I
don't care for such things, but mean to cultivate my mind as fast as I
can. That girl says she is in college, and named over more studies than
I can count. I do wish we were to stop and see a little of the refined
society of Boston," answered Dora, primly.
"Pooh!" said Flo, "don't you try to be intellectual, for you are only a
wooden-headed doll. I mean to be a real Westerner, and just enjoy myself
as I please, without caring what other folks do or think. Boston is no
better than the rest of the world, I guess."
Groans from every article in the bag greeted this disrespectful speech,
and an avalanche of Boston papers fell upon the audacious doll. But Flo
was undaunted, and shouted from underneath the pile: "I don't care!
Minnesota forever!" till her breath gave out.
Dora was so mortified that she never said a word till they were let out
in a room at the Parker House. Here she admired everything, and read all
the evening in a volume of Emerson's Poems from the bag, for Mr. Mt.
Vernon Beacon was a Boston man, and never went anywhere without a wise
book or two in his pocket.
Flo turned up her nose at all she saw, and devoted herself to a long
chat with the smart bag which came from New York and was full of gossip.
The next afternoon they really got to Portland, and as soon as Mr.
Beacon had made his toilet he set out to find little Miss Plum. When the
parlor door opened to admit her he was much embarrassed, for, advancing
with a paternal smile and the dolls extended to the expected child, he
found himself face to face with a pretty young lady, who looked as if
she thought him a little mad.
A few words explained the errand, however, and when she read the note
Aunt Maria's bright eyes were full of tears as she said, hugging the
dilapidated dolls:
"I'll write the story of their travels, and send the dear old things
back to the children as soon as possible."
And so she did with Mr. Beacon's help, for he decided to try the air of
Portland, and spent his vacation there. The dolls were re-painted and
re-dressed till they were more beautiful than ever, and their clothes
fine enough to suit even Flo.
They were a good while doing this, and when all was ready, Aunt Maria
took it into her head to run out to St. Paul and surprise the children.
By a singular coincidence Mr. Beacon had railroad business in that
direction, so they set off together, with two splendid dolls done up in
a gay box.
All that was ever known about that journey was that these travellers
stopped at the hospital in New York, and went on better friends than
before after hearing from the good Doctor all the pathetic story of
little Midge.
The young Plums had long ago given up the hope of ever seeing Do and Flo
again, for they started in June and it was early in September when Aunt
Maria appeared before them without the least warning, accompanied by a
pleasant gentleman from Boston.
Six kisses had hardly resounded from Aunty's blooming cheeks when a most
attractive box was produced from the Russia leather bag, and the
wandering dolls restored to the arms of their enraptured mammas.
A small volume neatly written and adorned with a few pictures of the
most exciting incidents of the trip also appeared.
"Every one writes or prints a book in Boston, you know, so we did both,"
said Aunt Maria, laughing, as she handed over the remarkable history
which she had composed and Mr. Beacon illustrated.
It was read with intense interest, and was as true as most stories are
nowadays.
"Nothing more delightful can happen now!" exclaimed the children, as
they laid by the precious work and enthroned the travelled dolls in the
place of honor on the roof of the baby-house.
But something much more delightful did happen; for at Thanksgiving time
there was a wedding at the Plums'. Not a doll's wedding, as Flo had
planned, but a real one, for the gentleman from Boston actually married
Aunt Maria.
There were six bridesmaids, all in blue, and Flora and Dora, in the
loveliest of new pink gowns, were set aloft among the roses on the
wedding-cake, their proper place as everyone said, for there never would
have been any marriage at all but for this Doll's Journey From Minnesota
to Maine.
VI.
MORNING-GLORIES.
"What's that?"--and Daisy sat up in her little bed to listen; for she
had never heard a sound like it before.
It was very early, and the house was still. The sun was just rising, and
the morning-glories at the window were turning their blue and purple
cups to catch the welcome light. The sky was full of rosy clouds; dew
shone like diamonds on the waving grass, and the birds were singing as
they only sing at dawn. But softer, sweeter than any bird-voice was the
delicate music which Daisy heard. So airy and gay was the sound, it
seemed impossible to lie still with that fairy dancing-tune echoing
through the room. Out of bed scrambled Daisy, her sleepy eyes opening
wider and wider with surprise and pleasure as she listened and wondered.
"Where is it?" she said, popping her head out of the window. The
morning-glories only danced lightly on their stems, the robins chirped
shrilly in the garden below, and the wind gave Daisy a kiss; but none of
them answered her, and still the lovely music sounded close beside her.
"It's a new kind of bird, perhaps; or maybe it's a fairy hidden
somewhere. Oh, if it _is_ how splendid it will be!" cried Daisy; and she
began to look carefully in all the colored cups, under the leaves of the
woodbine, and in the wren's nest close by. There was neither fairy nor
bird to be seen; and Daisy stood wondering, when a voice cried out from
below:
"Why, little nightcap, what brings you out of your bed so early?"
"O Aunt Wee! do you hear it--that pretty music playing somewhere near! I
can't find it; but I think it's a fairy, don't you?" said Daisy, looking
down at the young lady standing in the garden with her hands full of
roses.
Aunt Wee listened, smiled, and shook her head.
"Don't you remember you said last night that you thought the world a
very stupid, grown-up place, because there were no giants and fairies in
it now? Well, perhaps there _are_ fairies, and they are going to show
themselves to you, if you watch well."
Daisy clapped her hands, and danced about on her little bare feet; for,
of all things in the world, she most wanted to see a fairy.
"What must I do to find them, Aunt Wee?" she cried, popping out her head
again with her cap half off, and her curly hair blowing in the wind.
"Why, you see, they frolic all night, and go to sleep at dawn; so we
must get up very early, if we want to catch the elves awake. They are
such delicate, fly-away little things, and we are so big and clumsy, we
shall have to look carefully, and perhaps hunt a long time before we
find even one," replied Aunt Wee, very gravely.
"Mamma says I'm quick at finding things; and you know all about fairies,
so I guess we'll catch one. Can't we begin now? It's very early, and
this music has waked me up; so I don't want to sleep any more. Will you
begin to hunt now?"
"But you don't like to get up early, or to walk in the fields; and, if
we mean to catch a fairy, we must be up and out by sunrise every fair
morning till we get one. Can you do this, lazy Daisy?" And Aunt Wee
smiled to herself as if something pleased her very much.
"Oh! I will, truly, get up, and not fret a bit, if you'll only help me
look. Please come now to dress me, and see if you can find what makes
the music."
Daisy was very much in earnest, and in such a hurry to be off that she
could hardly stand still to have her hair brushed, and thought there
were a great many unnecessary buttons and strings on her clothes that
day. Usually she lay late, got up slowly and fretted at every thing as
little girls are apt to do when they have had too much sleep. She wasn't
a rosy, stout Daisy; but had been ill, and had fallen into a way of
thinking she couldn't do anything but lie about, reading fairy-tales,
and being petted by every one. Mamma and papa had tried all sorts of
things to amuse and do her good; for she was their only little daughter,
and they loved her very dearly. But nothing pleased her long; and she
lounged about, pale and fretful, till Aunt Laura came. Daisy called her
"Wee" when she was a baby, and couldn't talk plainly; and she still used
the name because it suited the cheery little aunt so well.
"I don't see anything, and the music has stopped. I think some elf just
came to wake you up, and then flew away; so we won't waste any more time
in looking here," said Wee, as she finished dressing Daisy, who flew
about like a Will-o'-the-wisp all the while.
"Do you think it will come again to-morrow?" asked Daisy anxiously.
"I dare say you'll hear it, if you wake in time. Now get your hat, and
we will see what we can find down by the brook. I saw a great many
fireflies there last night, and fancy there was a ball; so we may find
some drowsy elf among the buttercups and clover."
Away rushed Daisy for her hat, and soon was walking gayly down the green
lane, looking about her as if she had never been there before; for every
thing seemed wonderfully fresh and lovely.
"How pink the clouds are, and how the dew twinkles in the grass! I never
saw it so before," she said.
"Because by the time you are up the pretty pink clouds are gone, and the
thirsty grass has drank the dew, or the sun has drawn it up to fall
again at night for the flowers' evening bath," replied Wee, watching the
soft color that began to touch Daisy's pale cheeks.
"I think we'd better look under that cobweb spread like a tent over the
white clovers. A fairy would be very likely to creep in there and
sleep."
Daisy knelt down and peeped carefully; but all she saw was a little
brown spider, who looked very much surprised to see visitors so early.
"I don't like spiders," said Daisy, much disappointed.