sure to start again on the next day when Maria, Louisa and Angelina
passed homeward by the wonderful windows of the ten cent store. There
was never time to stop. Only a hasty glimpse did Louisa and Angelina
snatch. Oh, the joy of going into the store to see the piles of candy
on the candy counter! Oh, the happiness of gazing at bright colored
ribbons and wonderful toys! And the valentines that lay on the counter
in hundreds, what fun to see them, even though one could not spend
money to buy any! Alas!
But it happened that Angelina had received a good mark in spelling
on the day before Valentine’s Day and Maria wished to reward it. “I
promised,” she said. “It is true, Angelina--tomorrow, on Valentine’s
Day, you and Louisa may stop at the store and go in while I go home.
You may stay till the sun sets, but no longer. Today I must hurry home
and I need you to help with the sweeping.”
The gray cat was on the doorstep in the sun as they reached the brown
tenement by the roadside. Angelina lifted it in her arms and Maria
turned the key in the lock. They were home again. Tomorrow would be the
great day to visit the store and see all of its splendor. That night
she dreamed of beautiful valentines and of Marguerite Santos’ red plush
cloak.
The morning of Valentine’s Day dawned with pink and gold happiness
of sunlight. On the way to school, Louisa and Angelina sang and when
school was out they dashed into worn brown cloaks and caps to wait for
Maria, who took her time gathering books and pencils for home-work
at night. “Hurry, hurry!” they implored. “It is four o’clock. The
sun will set by half past four and there will be no time to see the
valentines!” And so Maria hurried. At the ten cent store they left
her--joy!
Hand in hand they pressed into the crowd. “See, Louisa!” and “Look,
Angelina!” they called to each other every minute. But it was Angelina
who caught the first glimpse of the valentines. There at the counter
was the beautiful red plush cloak of Marguerite Santos bending over the
valentines!
Together they pressed past the other children who stood behind that
beautiful red plush cloak and they craned their necks to see the
valentines as Marguerite Santos, absorbed in the selection of the
most beautiful one to be had, turned them over one by one. But there
was no envy in the heart of Louisa and Angelina as they watched. It
was happiness that was there--of course, if one had been rich like
Marguerite Santos--but how nice it was to be where they were! How gay
the music of the pianola sounded! Wasn’t it amusing to watch Marguerite
Santos buy valentines! But right here she took up the one of the gray
pussy-cat!
Angelina nudged Louisa. “See, see!” she whispered. “She likes the
pussy-cat. It is not true what Maria said. She is not unmannerly at
all. I would like to speak to her and ask her to come to play with
me--she has smiled at me many times when I have met her--”
But Louisa shook her head hard. “You must not speak,” she insisted.
“Maybe she would not like to have you see what it was that she bought.”
So, when Marguerite Santos wedged her way out of the crowd, she saw
neither Angelina nor Louisa. She held her valentine of the pussy-cat
tight in its big white envelope--tight upon the front of her red plush
cloak. She was concerned with the care of it, lest some rude person
bump into her and injure it.
Louisa and Angelina waited a moment and then drifted out of the door
after her. The sky was all red and gold with the sunset. It was like
some wonderfully bright valentine card, so beautiful! As they turned
the corner in the dusky twilight and came upon the doorstone of the
brown house that was home, there knelt the beautiful red plush cloak
of Marguerite Santos! She was laying the valentine upon the step and
was about to knock and run away!
It was Angelina who caught her as she turned. Louisa was lagging
behind, with her eyes on the first evening star that flamed white in
the sky.
“Is it really for me?” asked Angelina. With an arm around the beautiful
red plush cloak of Marguerite Santos, she smiled at the big white
envelope that lay unopened on the stone. “I guess that it is a picture
of a pussy-cat like ours,” she beamed. “I have no valentine to give you
but I have always liked you, Marguerite, and I have wanted you to like
me. Could I not give you a share of our gray cat as a valentine, maybe?
I know that you, too, like cats, though you have none.”
But here, Louisa caught up and the door opened.
“It was very mannerly of you to bring Angelina the valentine,” spoke
Maria. “I thank you. Will you not come in and play for a while? It
must be lonely to have no brothers and sisters. We would like you for
our friend, even though we have no candy or peanuts or telephone.
Angelina has for a long time wanted to know you, Marguerite Santos.”
_Buttinski, Peacemaker_
_THE MARCH SURPRISE_
_There was a St. Patrick’s Day shamrock favor in the pocket that was
labelled:_
“_Open on the 17th of March at 6 A. M._”
_Marjorie was afraid she might oversleep and so miss opening that
pocket entirely till the next March 17th should come around. But Dotty
saw to that. She was always wide awake, bright and early. She woke
Marjorie up even before 6 A. M._
_The story pocket that came next was marked:_
“_Open in March when the wind blows hard and you have to stay
indoors._”
_As March came in like a lamb, Dotty kept putting off the reading of
this story to tease Marjorie. When Marjorie begged to know if she might
open it, Dot would chuckle. “The wind doesn’t blow hard enough yet,”
she would say._
_But finally it did blow so hard that Marjorie insisted. Then,
together, they read the story of “Buttinski, Peacemaker.”_
_V_
_Buttinski, Peacemaker_
Nobody would have expected it of them. They were the very best of
friends, and Miss Allen, who was the grade teacher, used to call them
David and Jonathan.
When mental arithmetic and English classes had head and foot, Laura
and Mary made it a point not to know answers of questions that came to
them. So they kept together at the foot of the class, side by side.
Miss Allen never said a word to them or to anybody else, but she
understood. Then the classes stopped having head and foot. But she let
them sit side by side. Even their desks were together.
Mary was always ready to laugh at a joke. Laura couldn’t even see one a
mile off. That was how the trouble started and how little Betty Peters
started to play peacemaker. Everybody called Betty Peters “Buttinski”
because she was always as interested in other people’s affairs as
she was in her own--perhaps a little too much interested. She would
interrupt conversations and ask “What’re you talking about?” Some of
the girls resented it.
It was in beginning German that Betty Peters sat next to Mary. Laura
took French and wasn’t in the class at all. She did not know one word
of German from another. It used to be one of Mary’s jokes to pretend
that she could speak fluently so she would rattle off a long string
of vocabulary with conversational intonations to make Laura believe
she knew a great deal. Of course, Laura only half believed, though she
didn’t understand the joke. Sometimes she really thought that it was
a German conversation and she didn’t like to have Mary talk German to
her because she did not study it and couldn’t understand. Betty Peters
always helped Mary. She used to enjoy the fun.
But one day, it ceased to be fun. Laura always was a little jealous of
Betty Peters. She used to wait at the door of the German room with
Mary’s lunch-box because she herself had a study-hour just before
recess and she could be there as soon as Mary’s class was dismissed.
Then Mary would always call out to Betty Peters a long list of German
words that meant nothing and Betty Peters would reply. On the memorable
Friday when this stopped being amusing, Laura was there waiting when
the two came out. Mary had been full of mischief that day. “Promise not
to tell--I’m going to have a joke,” she whispered as the class filed
out into the hall, Betty behind her.
Laura caught the words and saw Betty’s nod of promise. Then Mary
launched out, “_Die, der, der, die; das, des, dem, das_,” she jabbered
to Betty. Of course, everybody knows that this is feminine and neuter
declension of the definite article, but Laura thought it was something
confidential and jumped to the conclusion that it was a personal remark
about _her_.
She turned upon her heel and walked straight off downstairs. Mary
simply hooted with laughter and ran after her, but the harder she and
Betty Peters laughed, the more indignant Laura grew. She put Mary’s
lunch-box down upon a bench and left it and pushed Mary’s hand off her
shoulder. Mary fell back to get the box. “You’ve done it!” declared
Betty Peters.
“Nonsense!” replied Mary. “She ought to know I was just joking. Maybe
she’s merely pretending to be angry.” But she wasn’t at all sure.
“I think she is really angry,” insisted Betty Peters.
“Well, what could she _think_ I said?” inquired Mary. “I didn’t say
anything at all.”
“Perhaps she thought you said something about her--”
“She ought to know me better,” declared Mary. Then she carried her
lunch-box to the lunch-room with Betty Peters. There was a crowd there.
At first they did not see Laura but when they did, there was no chance
to reach her in the crowd. “She did that on purpose,” suggested Betty
Peters. Mary called to her, but either Laura didn’t hear or pretended
not to, even though some of the other girls spoke to her and Betty
Peters was sure Laura _must_ have been aware of the calls. Such a
thing as a quarrel between Mary and Laura had never before happened.
Nobody knew what to make of it. Mary was mortified and determined to
reach Laura so as to explain and make it all right, but when Betty
Peters and Mary reached her, Laura walked right in the opposite
direction. Mary called after her that it was only a joke, but Laura was
icy. So at last, Mary decided that Laura would have to find out for
herself what “_Die, der, der, die_ and _das, des, dem, das_” meant.
“Two can play at that game,” she snapped, as Laura disappeared. “If
she won’t speak to me, neither will I speak to her!” Betty Peters ate
her lunch in the lunch-room but Mary took hers out into the garden. It
was snowy there and she was all alone. It couldn’t have been a very
nice place to eat lunch! Where Laura went, nobody knew. She was busy
studying all the last part of the recreation period. When Mary came in
as the bell rang, she never moved. Her back was twisted around toward
Mary’s seat. Everybody in the class noticed it, but Miss Allen said
nothing. Perhaps she thought that it would pass off by and by.
But the next week they did not speak either! It was worse. Mary had to
rub the chalk off the blackboard with her handkerchief because Laura,
who was next to her, had the blackboard eraser; and Laura kept it on
her side and Mary wouldn’t ask her for it. Miss Allen took Mary’s book
to give to a visitor who came into history class, but Laura wouldn’t
pass half of hers over to Mary. When Miss Allen saw that she said,
“Laura!” in a sharp voice. So Laura put the book upon the desk between
them and it stayed there. Nobody turned its pages.
At lunch hour, Mary avoided Betty Peters. Laura disappeared and Sallie
Overton found her eating her lunch off on the studio stairs--away
from everything. Mary ate hers alone in the cold garden. It must have
been that Miss Allen realized how silly they were behaving, for she
tried to set matters right. She found out from Betty where Mary was
and she put on her long blue cloak and went into the garden after her.
What happened in the garden, nobody knew, though some of the girls
watched out of the windows and saw Miss Allen talking and Mary using a
handkerchief. They came in together. Sallie Overton told Miss Allen
where Laura was and the class thought Miss Allen had talked to her,
too. It was circulated that Miss Allen had asked them to meet each
other and shake hands. But neither of them seemed to have done it,
for in class things went on as on previous days. It seemed worse than
a Chinese puzzle to solve the difficulty. Some of the girls talked
to Mary and some talked to Laura and begged them to make it up. Both
declared the other wrong and refused to take the first step. “Please,”
begged Betty Peters, the Buttinski. “Please, Laura.” But still nothing
happened. Both seemed to feel dreadfully. Both were about as blue as
Blue Monday. Miss Allen took time from study hour and talked to the
class about friendship and what it meant in terms of self-sacrifice,
generosity and loyalty. Both Mary and Laura wept, but still, after
dismission, they did not shake hands or speak. And both walked home
alone every day.
Miss Allen was correcting papers at her desk as Betty Peters walked
down the aisle to go home. Betty Peters seemed as depressed as Miss
Allen. Indeed, she almost acted as if she had been to blame for the
whole thing and she tried and tried to get Mary to let her tell Laura
what “_Die, der, der, die_ and _das, des, dem, das_” meant. Mary
wouldn’t let her tell. She said that Laura could find out herself.
“Well, Betty?” smiled Miss Allen, looking up from the papers she was
correcting. It seemed to Betty almost as if Miss Allen were thinking of
Laura and Mary. It sounded so.
“It seems a dreadfully hard problem to solve, if two halves are
separated,” suggested Betty Peters, thoughtfully. She stopped beside
Miss Allen’s desk and watched the blue pencil that was marking a cross
upon Laura’s written work.
“Do you mean David and Jonathan?” inquired Miss Allen, with a twinkle
in her eye as she looked at Betty.
Betty nodded.
“How did they go home?”
“On different sides of the street.”
“Oh.”
“It’s really dreadful, isn’t it--and they were such friends!”
“I asked them to overlook the mistake and make it up without
explanations--and with them, if need be.”
“But they won’t do it. The girls have tried to help and I’m sure I
have, too!”
“Well,” smiled Miss Allen. “What’s at the bottom of it, do you know,
Betty?”
Betty nodded. Then Miss Allen pushed aside the papers, “Frankly,” she
said, “I don’t know what to do. They’re both such splendid girls but
neither one of them will be the first to make an apology. They’re very
childish, aren’t they?”
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” explained Betty. “I can tell you. It
was all because Mary made a joke and Laura thought it was a personal
one. Mary said ‘_die, der, der, die_ and _das, des, dem, das_.’ Laura
thought she said something about her to me. Mary wouldn’t let me
explain. She said if Laura thought that, she’d have to find out what
the words meant herself.”
“What sillies!” declared Miss Allen. “I suppose they’ll keep this up
eternally. I’ve tried all manner of ways to stop it; have you anything
to suggest, Betty?”
Betty pondered. “I was wondering,” she mused, “whether if you counted
three and told them both to speak when you came to that, they’d speak?”
“I never thought of that,” laughed Miss Allen. “We’ll try it.”
Next day, she did. She made both of the girls stand and she told each
one to say, “I’m sorry” when she counted three and came to the end. It
really was a disgrace to the class to have the quarrel go on and on.
The girls thought it horrid. But when Miss Allen said, “Three,” all was
silence. The two stood up in the class and neither said a word! The
plan did not work! “Speak!” ordered Miss Allen--but there was nothing
but silence.
But Miss Allen was not going to give up, “Mary,” said she, “you may
decline for me the feminine and neuter of the definite article in
German.”
Mary looked surprised but she said it, “‘_die, der, der, die, das, des,
dem, das_.’”
“Did you ever hear anything like that before?” asked Miss Allen of
Betty Peters.
“Yes,” replied Betty.
“Did you?” asked Miss Allen of Laura.
Laura said she thought so.
“Was that what Mary said on the memorable day when she came out of
German class?”
“I think so,” replied Laura, a little ashamed.
“Was it, Mary?”
“Yes,” said Mary, loudly. She was glad to say it, too. Some of the
girls giggled.
“Take out your English books for grammar, oral,” commanded Miss Allen.
“Betty Peters, you may conjugate the verb ‘to love.’”
So Betty began: “Present tense, indicative mood: I love; thou lovest;
he loves; we love; you love,” and then with her eyes upon Mary and
Laura she ended, “they love.”
Everybody in the class laughed for there was Laura with her arm around
Mary and both of them were laughing and crying, too.
“Buttinski did it,” smiled Miss Allen. “I hope nobody else in this
class will have a quarrel. Now, we’re going to forget that there ever
was such a thing, aren’t we, Laura and Mary?”
Together they both said, “Yes, I’m sorry!”
_Angelina’s Bird-Flower_
THE APRIL SURPRISE
_Marjorie’s surprise for April was, first, a fluffy Easter chicken
card. The Easter story pocket was another story about Angelina. The
pocket said:_
“_Open on the afternoon of Easter Day at four o’clock._”
_The two little girls let Mother read it aloud to them. It was called
“Angelina’s Bird-Flower.”_
_VI_
_Angelina’s Bird-Flower_
Where the little brown bird came from, neither Maria nor Louisa nor
Angelina knew, but he doubtless lived near, for he came every day to
the window of the old brown house where the little Italian girls lived,
lonely without their mother. It was a year since she had died and the
days were long for Maria, Louisa and Angelina after their father left
for work at six in the morning.
Maria was always up at five. In the early winter, mornings are dark
and it takes courage to get up in a cold room and light the lamp and
make the fire and cook breakfast. Maria was but twelve. She took her
mother’s place as best she could. She helped her father. She tended
Louisa and Angelina and if it had not been that the aunts took the two
babies, she would have cared for them gladly too.
Angelina and Louisa were, for the time, Maria’s “babies.” She let them
play and she did the work herself. She had little time for amusement;
it was always either school or housekeeping for her. There was
breakfast and clearing up in the morning; washing and cleaning after
school; dinner-getting and cleaning again at night, beside a hundred
and one little things that a mother must see to, mending, tidying,
straightening all things. At seven, the father came home tired. Then
there was bed in the cold rooms and a new day of responsibility. Louisa
and Angelina wore washed and ironed hair-ribbons and well done-up
gingham dresses, mended as best Maria could. They took off their shoes
and stockings when at home, to save the wear, and did in general as
Maria told them except for the little brown bird. They would save their
crusts for him in spite of Maria’s scoldings.
He came first on one of the lonely mornings before school time, when
Maria was busy with housework and Louisa and Angelina were thawing the
frosted window pane with their warm breath to look out at the chilly
snow-bound road that led past the old brown house. Louisa had thrown
out a crust because she had not wanted to eat it and there--why, there
was a little brown bird tugging at it in the snow!
“What’re you two laughing at so?” demanded Maria, looking up from
dishwashing. “Take a-hold somebody and help here! I can’t take time to
stand by the window an’ laugh at nothing when there’s work to be done!”
But, dish-rag in hand, curiosity got the better of scolding and she
peeped over Louisa’s shoulder and saw the little brown bird and his
breakfast.
At first she smiled, too, then she frowned. “Louisa,” said she, “you
are bad. It is you who threw out the crust of bread!”
There was no denial.
“And when bread costs money--and we cannot get enough to buy Angelina
new shoes!”
“I would rather the bird had the crust,” defended Angelina. “The holes
are not yet very big.”
But even as mother would have done, Maria watched the family purse,
and Louisa ate crusts under her elder sister’s vigilant eye each meal
time. But there were always very big crumbs at Angelina’s plate and
medium sized ones at Louisa’s. When it came time to clear the table,
Louisa and Angelina, with a glance at each other, picked these up
quickly and threw them out on the snow. It was exciting. Nobody knew
when Maria would call either little sister to account: “Louisa, give me
those crumbs. I will save them and make a pudding.” Always there seemed
to be breakfast for the little brown bird in spite of this. He came
regularly. Sometimes Louisa and Angelina had to pick the crumbs from
the coal-hod where Maria’s over hasty housekeeping threw little ones;
but always, always, always, they kept watch for the little brown bird.
And the mornings before school time were less lonely because of his
cheer. Indeed, as the days went by, he became very tame--tame enough to
hop close to the pane as Louisa and Angelina breathlessly watched.
The mornings gradually grew lighter and the days passed on to the
latter part of February. Louisa and Angelina talked much of their pet.
Where did the little brown bird live? Could they make him so tame he
would come upon their hands? Would he learn to eat from their fingers?
Perhaps there might be a nest with little bits of brown birds somewhere
near the house next spring! Then, Angelina and Louisa might tame
these perhaps! Maria, busy with housework, had no time to answer such
questions. She merely sniffed.
“You two are forever talking about that little brown bird,” she said,
“I have to think of other things: I think whether there is wood for the
fire and whether there is enough food in the house. You, too, Louisa
and Angelina, you have mouths to feed!”
It was true. There was not always enough. Louisa and Angelina knew
it. They could well understand the little brown bird’s joy at finding
plenty to eat. It was good to have a hearty meal. Then one day, before
it was time to go to school, Louisa and Angelina missed the little
brown bird! “Did you see him this morning?” they asked each other.
“Maybe he has gone away and is making a nest.”
But the next day came and no little brown bird appeared. Another
morning passed and still no little brown bird! On their way home
from school that day Louisa whispered to Angelina that she was going
to hunt for him. And when Maria was busy, they crept out of the door
and, barefoot in the cold mud, they searched for nests by the roadside
bushes.
They found none.
The search led them hither and thither on and on up the hill near the
brown house and toward a cluster of cottages where the Irish immigrants
had formed a colony. Maria, shaking her finger violently, as she did
when she wished to enforce a command, insisted always that neither
Angelina nor Louisa should make friends or play with the Irish children
there. “They throw stones--they are badly brought up,” she declared.
Up to this time, good little Angelina and Louisa had never come so
close to these other tenements. But they wandered closer in their
search for the little brown bird. It was Angelina who first spoke to
the little boys that they met flinging stones there. “Have you seen a
little brown bird?” she asked. “It might be our little bird that we
have lost. Have you seen one anywhere, perhaps?”
But the little boys simply made up faces and stuck out their tongues.
No, they had not seen any brown birds to tell of--nor did they care.
They would have thrown stones, had not a little smile from Angelina
prevented it. Angelina felt sorry for the bad little boys who were rude.
Louisa drew her away. “Come, Ange, we will look in another place,” she
urged. “If he has been hurt we will find him, maybe. I do not think
they have hurt him,” she comforted. But in her heart she feared it.
So they pattered back toward home through the black chilly mud,
searching the roadside. Quite suddenly Louisa came upon him lying limp
and cold under a tree by the way. He would never twitter or chirp
again. He would never come to the window or eat from their fingers
or build a nest in spring. The two little sisters sat there by the
roadside and cried and then they carried the little brown bird home and
cried some more. Maria stopped her work and tried to be comforting.
There was little to say. She did not scold very hard about the trip
abroad in bare feet.
They put him in the beautiful box that was Maria’s treasure--a box with
a picture on its cover, a beautiful picture all red roses. They took
him to a sunny spot near the roadside and gathered last autumn’s leaves
to cover him. One could see the place from the window.