The rushing of the brook wakened Laura, and she gazed about her; slowly
and dimly the sense of where she was came upon her, and she resolved
that she would stay in bed. There was no nurse to dress her, no elegant
toilet arrangements such as she was always in the habit of using: a
little earthenware bowl and jug in the place of her luxurious bath, a
good coarse towel instead of the snowy damask linen, and over the foot
of the bed a common print dress and a checked apron, both spotlessly
clean, had been placed. She looked at them and buried her face in her
pillow. The Motherkin called her in vain. After waiting a long while,
she came up to her.
"Why are you not out of bed, my child?" she asked, most kindly. "It is
a bright, clear morning. Are you not well?"
Laura said nothing; ashamed of her own sulkiness, she yet was not
prepared to acknowledge it.
"Come, shall I help you dress? Do you need assistance?"
Still no reply.
"Ah, what a pity you are ill!" said the Motherkin. "I had some nice
chocolate ready for your breakfast, but I will have to go make some
gruel. Poor child! poor child!" And away she went, leaving Laura with
her head still buried in her pillow. In a short time she returned,
bearing a large cup of gruel and a slice of bread, which she placed
beside Laura. Then she bathed the child's face and brushed her hair,
Laura submitting in silence. When she had rearranged the bed and made it
comfortable, she kissed her and left her.
After a while Laura tasted the gruel, making faces over it; but she
emptied the cup. In the same way the bread disappeared; and then,
getting very tired of lying in bed, she rose and went to the window.
What a day it was! so sunny and bright! And how merrily ran the brook,
and how she longed to see its drops sparkle between her fingers as they
had done the day before! How velvety and soft was the grass, how yellow
the buttercups! and she was sure she saw a humming-bird dipping down
into the flowers in the Motherkin's garden.
A new idea came to her. Why not dress and get out of the window,
underneath which was a shed, and so drop down into the garden? The
clothes were slipped on hurriedly; her little fingers were so eager that
the buttons went in and out of their holes again. Then softly on tiptoe
she scrambled out. Her skirts caught, her fingers were scratched, the
skin was peeled from a spot on one little knee; but, ah! how delicious
this liberty! Her feet no sooner touched the earth than she ran swiftly
to the brook, and the shoes and stockings were left to themselves while
she waded in the clear, cool water. It was such an unknown delight,
such happiness, that Laura forgot she was Laura and might have been any
little wood-bird. Out of the brook and on to the grass, off the grass
and into the woods. Flowers were here, and she gathered her hands and
apron full; berries, too--sweet, red, wild strawberries, with a perfume
so rare, so aromatic. She stained her fingers and stained her lips.
Hark! what was that? A rabbit, and down went flowers and berries for a
hunt over the stones and briers. Heeding nothing, she went after Bunny,
who suddenly popped into his burrow with a whisk of his little tail and
a kick of his little legs for good-bye. Then a loud chattering made her
aware of Mr. Squirrel's presence, and she watched him jumping from bough
to bough. Wondering if he would come to her if she kept very still, she
sat so motionless that by-and-by her little head began to nod, and,
wearied with her unusual exercise, she fell fast asleep leaning against
a tree.
When she awoke she was still in the same posture; but her knee smarted,
her legs were stiff, and she was very hungry. Besides, she knew not
which way to turn. She was lost--or thought herself so, which was nearly
as bad.
After all, it would be nice to see the Motherkin's kind face and hear
her pleasant voice. But how should she explain her naughtiness, her
make-believe sickness; and how, above all, should she find her way back?
A few tears of repentance and real sorrow rained down awhile, and then
Laura, who was no coward, made up her mind that she would tell the
Motherkin the truth, and that she was sorry and would try to do better.
[Illustration: "IT WAS ONE OF THE MOTHERKIN'S PIGS."]
A rustling in the bushes startled her, but she hoped it might be Grim.
It was not, however; but it was one of the Motherkin's pigs; and,
knowing that Monsieur Piggie had to go home some time or other, she
thought the safest course would be to follow him.
Alas! Mr. Pig was no gallant; he had not even common courtesy. He did
not so much as grunt agreeably, but squealed in the most piggish
manner; for he, too, was hungry, and he led poor Laura right through a
swamp, covering her with mud.
As they emerged from the swamp, Laura thought she saw the cottage far
away under the hill before them; and as Piggie ran squealing on, she
kept up the pursuit. Into the woods again and out through the bushes,
till a nice hedge showed they were near home; and now Mr. Piggie ran off
to his sty, and Laura, creeping through the hedge and up the garden-walk
with downcast face, went up to the open door, longing to throw herself
into the Motherkin's arms and ask her pardon for all her bad behavior.
No one was to be seen. Not a sound came from the cottage. The door stood
open, and on the table was a loaf of brown bread and a pitcher of milk.
Laura knew not what to do. She was ravenously hungry, but she was in too
dirty a condition to touch food. She looked in and out and around, but
no one was there. She mounted the ladder in hopes yet of finding the
Motherkin. Her room was as she had left it, with the exception of a
note pinned on the muslin curtain of the window. It read thus:
"LITTLE LADY LAURA,--Necessary and urgent business compels me to
leave home for a day or two. My good, kind, faithful Grim has
fallen and lamed himself, and I must attend to various matters
which he always has done for me. You are quite safe here--no one
can molest you; but you will be obliged to prepare your own food,
feed the chickens and pigs, milk the cow, and keep the cottage
tidy. Do this bravely, little Laura, and you will be rewarded.
Remember that a lady is none the less a lady for being able to
take care of herself and others, and also remember that the
faithful creatures who are dependent upon you will suffer if you
neglect them. Animals they are, but God made them and requires us
to be kind to them."
This was all the note said, except that "THE MOTHERKIN" was written
underneath as signature.