robbers. It was Marianne's theory for one thing; for another, she
recollected that Archie must have taken his apples and gingerbread with
him, and his spade. "Is it likely that thieves would stop to pack up
things like that?" she asked Marianne, who was highly indignant at the
question. The afternoon came, still Mr. Gray had not returned, and there
were no tidings of Archie. Mrs. Gray, half ill with anxiety and
headache, went to her room to lie down. Marianne was describing the
exact appearance of the imaginary robbers to a crony, who stood outside
the kitchen window. "Six foot high, ivery bit, and a face as black as
chimney sut," Louisa heard her say. "Pshaw," she called out; but sitting
still became unbearable; and the motion of her needle in and out of the
work made her feel half crazy. She flung down the work,--it was a jacket
for Archie,--and, tying on her bonnet, set off by herself in the
direction of the woods. Where she was going she did not
know,--somewhere, anywhere, to search for her lost boy!
The blind wood paths puzzled Louisa more than they had puzzled Archie in
the morning; for she wanted to keep her way, which he did not. She lost
it, however, continually. Her eyes were scratched by boughs and
brambles, the tree roots tripped her up, her dress caught in a briar and
was torn. "Archie! Archie!" she cried, as she went along. Her voice came
back from the forest in strange echoing tones which made her start. At
last, after winding and turning for a long time, she found herself again
upon the main path, not far from the place where she had entered the
wood. She was hot, tired, and breathless; her voice was hoarse with
crying and calling. "I'll wait here awhile," she thought. "Perhaps the
blessed little dear'll come this way; but, whether he does or not, I'm
too tired to move another step till I've had some rest." She found a
smooth place under an oak, sat down, and leaned her back against the
stem.
"Cheep, cheep, chickeree," sang one bird to another. "What a stupid girl
that is! I could tell her which way to go. Why, there's the mark of his
big foot on the moss close by. Why doesn't she see it and follow? Cheep,
cheep."
"Cluck, cluck, whirr, whillahu," sang the other bird. "Human beings are
_too_ stupid."
Poor stupid Louisa, her eyes blurred with tears, did not heed the birds'
songs or understand those plain directions for finding Archie which they
were so ready to give. The tree trunk felt comfortable against her back.
The air came cool and spicy from the wood depths to steal the smart from
her hot face. The rustle of the leaves was pleasant in her ear. So the
faithful maid waited.
Mr. Gray meantime had tracked Archie for a little way by the traces of
his small feet on the dewy grass. Then the marks became too confused to
help him longer; he lost the track, and, after a long and weary walk,
found himself on the far side of the wood, near a little village. There
he hired a wagon, and drove home; resolving to rouse the neighbors, and
give the wood a thorough search, even should it keep them out all night.
While he was bargaining for his wagon in the distant village, Archie, in
the midst of his nest of moss, was waking up. He had slept three hours,
and so soundly that, at first arousing, he could not in the least
remember where he was. He rubbed his eyes, and stared about him
wonderingly. "Why, I'm out in the woods!" he said in a surprised voice.
Gradually he recollected how he had built the house, chased a hen, and
lost his hammer. This last accident troubled him a little. "Papa said I
mustn't touch that big hammer ever," he thought to himself, "'cause I'd
be sure to spoil it. But I'll tell him it isn't spoiled, and he can pick
it up and put it back into the drawer; then he won't mind."
One of the striped squirrels came down from a bough overhead, and
stopped just in front of the place where Archie sat. Archie looked at
him; he looked at Archie. The squirrel put its paws together and rubbed
its nose. It chippered a minute, twinkled its bead-like eyes, then, with
a final flick of its tail, it was off, and up the tree again like a
flash. Archie looked after it delighted.
"What a pretty bunny!" he said out loud.
"Now I'll go home," was his next remark, getting suddenly up from the
ground.
The cause of this resolution was a little gnawing sensation which had
begun within him and was getting stronger every moment. In other words,
he was hungry. Gingerbread and apples do not satisfy little boys as
roast beef does. Archie's stomach was quite empty, and began to cry with
an unmistakable voice, "I want my dinner, I want my dinner. Give me my
dinner quick, or I shall do something desperate." Everybody in the world
has to listen when voices like these begin to sound inside of them. All
at once home seemed the most attractive spot in the world to Archie.
Visions of Mamma and bread and milk and a great plate full of something
hot arose before his eyes, and an immense longing for these delights
took possession of him. So he shouldered his spade and set forth, not
having the least notion--poor little soul!--as to which side home lay,
but believing, with the confidence of childhood, that now he wanted to
go that way, the way was sure to be easily found. Refreshed by his long
sleep, he marched sturdily on, taking any path which struck his eye
first.
There is a pretty picture--I wonder if any of you have ever seen it?--in
which a little child is seen walking across a narrow plank which bridges
a deep chasm, while behind flies a tall, beautiful angel, with a hand on
either side the child, guiding it along. The child does not see the
angel, and walks fearlessly; but the heavenly hands are there, and the
little one is safe. It may be that just such a good angel flew behind
our little Archie that afternoon to guide him through the mazes of the
wood. Certain it is that, without knowing it, he turned, or something
turned him, in the direction of home. It was far for such small feet to
go, and he made the distance farther by straying, now to left and now to
right; but, after each of these strayings, the unseen hands brought him
back again to the right path and led him on. He did not stop to play
now, for the hungry voices grew louder each minute, and he was in a
hurry to get home. Speculations as to whether dinner would be all eaten
up crossed his mind. "But I dess not," he said confidently, "'cause it
isn't very long since morning." It was really four in the afternoon, but
Archie's long nap had cheated the time, and he had no idea that it was
so late.
The path grew wider, and was hedged with barberries and wild roses. The
lovely pink of the roses pleased Archie's eye. He stopped and tugged at
a great branch till it broke, then he laid it across his shoulder to
carry to Mamma. Suddenly, as he tramped along, a gasp and exclamation
was heard, and a tall figure rose up from under a tree and caught him in
its arms. It was Louisa, who had fallen half asleep at her post, and had
been roused by the sound of the well-known little feet as they went by.
"Master Archie, dear," she cried, sobbing, "how could you run away and
scare us so?"
"Why, it's Loo--isa," said Archie wonderingly. "Did you come out here to
build a house too, Loo--isa?"
"Where _have_ you been?" clamored Louisa, holding him tight in her arms.
"Oh, out there," explained Archie, waving his hand toward the woods
generally.
"How could you slip away and frighten Nursey so, and poor Mamma and
Papa? Papa's been all the day hunting you. And where are you going now?"
"Home! Stop a squeezing of me, Loo--isa. I don't like to be squeezed.
Has the dinner-bell runged yet? I want my dinner."
"Dinner! Why it's most evening, Master Archie. And nobody could eat,
because we was so frightened at your being lost."
"I wasn't lost!" cried Archie indignantly. "I was building a house. Come
along, Loo--isa, I'll show you the way."
So Archie took Louisa's hand and led her along. Neither of them knew the
path, but they were in the right direction, and by and by the trees grew
thinner, and they could see where they were, on the edge of Mr.
Plimpton's garden, not far from home.
Mr. and Mrs. Gray were consulting together on the piazza, when the click
of the gate made them look up, and behold! the joyful Louisa, displaying
Archie, who walked by her side.
"Here he is, ma'am," she cried. "I found him way off in the wood. He'd
run away."
"I didn't," said Archie, squirming out of his mother's arms. "I was
building houses. And you didn't find me a bit, Loo--isa. I found you,
and I showed you the way home!"
"Never mind who found who, so long as we have our little runaway back,"
said Mr. Gray, stooping to kiss Archie. "Another time we must have a
talk about boys who go to build houses without leave from their Mamma's
and Papa's, and make everybody anxious. Meantime, I fancy somebody I
know about is half-starved. Tell Marianne to send some dinner in at
once, Louisa."
"Yes, sir, I will." And Louisa hastened off to triumph over her friend
Marianne.
"Archie, darling, how could you go away and frighten us so?" asked Mrs.
Gray, taking him in her lap.
"Why, Mamma, were you frightened?" replied Archie wonderingly. "I was
building a house. It's a _beau_-tiful house. I'll let you come and sit
in it if you want to. And I've got a hen, and I'll give you all the eggs
she lays, to cook, you know. Only the hen's runned away, and I couldn't
find my house any more, and the hammer tumbled down, and I lost my
shoe. I know where the hammer is, I dess, and to-morrow I'll go back and
get it."--Here the expression of Archie's face changed. Louisa had
appeared at the door with a plate of something which smelt excessively
nice, and sent a little curl of steam into the air. She beckoned. He
jumped down from Mamma's lap, ran to the door, and both disappeared.
Nothing more was heard of him except his feet on the stairs, and by and
by the sound of Louisa's rocking-chair, as she sat beside his bed
singing Archie to sleep. Mamma and Papa went in together a little later
and stood over their boy.
"Oh, the comfort of seeing him safe in his little bed to-night!" said
Mrs. Gray.
Roused by her voice, Archie stirred. "I _dess_ I know where the hammer
is," he said drowsily. Then his half-opened eyes closed, and he was
sound asleep.
[Illustration]
RIDE A COCK-HORSE.
IT was a drizzly day in the old market-town of Banbury. The clouds hung
low: all the world was wrapped in sulky mist. When the sun tried to
shine out, as once or twice he did, his face looked like a dull yellow
spot against the sky, and the clouds hurried up at once and extinguished
him. Children tapped on window panes, repeating--
"Rain, rain, go away,
Come again some other day."
But the rain would not take the hint, and after awhile the sun gave up
his attempts, hid his head, and went away disgusted, to shine somewhere
else.
"It's too bad, it's _too_ bad!" cried Alice Flower, the Mayor's little
daughter, looking as much out of sorts as the weather itself.
"You mustn't say too bad. It is God who makes it rain or shine, and He
is always right," remarked her Aunt.
"Yes--I know," replied Alice in a timid voice. "But, Aunty, I did want
to go to the picnic very much."
"So did I. We are both disappointed," said Aunty, smiling.
"But I'm the _most_ disappointed," persisted Alice, "because you're
grown up, you know, and I haven't any thing pleasant to do. All my
doll's spring clothes are made, and I've read my story-books till I'm
tired of 'em, and I learned my lessons for to-morrow with Miss Boyd
yesterday, because we were going to the picnic. Oh, dear, what a long
morning this has been! It feels like a week."
Just then, Toot! toot! toot! sounded from the street below. Alice
hurried back to the window. She pressed her nose close to the glass, but
at first could see nothing; then, as the sound grew nearer, a man on
horseback rode into view. He was gorgeously dressed in black velveteen,
with orange sleeves and an orange lining to his cloak. He carried a
brass trumpet, which every now and then he lifted to his lips, blowing a
long blast. This was the sound which Alice had heard.
Following the man came a magnificent scarlet chariot, drawn by ten black
horses with scarlet trappings and scarlet feathers in their heads. Each
horse was ridden by a little page in a costume of emerald green. The
chariot was full of musicians in red uniforms. They held umbrellas over
their instruments, and looked sulky because of the rain, which was no
wonder. Still, the effect of the whole was gay and dazzling. Behind the
chariot came a long procession of horses, black, gray, sorrel, chestnut,
or marked in odd patches of brown and white. These horses were ridden by
ladies in wonderful blue and silver and pink and gold habits, and by
knights in armor, all of whom carried umbrellas also. Pages walked
beside the horses, waving banners and shields with "Visit Currie's
World-Renowned Circus" painted on them. A droll little clown, mounted on
an enormous bay horse, made fun of the pages, imitated their gestures,
and rapped them on the back with his riding-stick in a droll way. A long
line of blue and red wagons closed the cavalcade.
But prettiest of all was a little girl about ten years old, who rode in
the middle of the procession upon a lovely horse as white as milk. The
horse had not a single spot of dark color about him, and his trappings
of pale blue were so slight that they seemed like ribbons hung on his
graceful limbs. The little girl had hair of bright, pale yellow, which
fell to her waist in loose shining waves. She was small and slender, but
her color was like roses, and her blue eyes and sweet pink mouth smiled
every moment as she bent and swayed to the motion of the horse, which
she managed beautifully, though her bits of hands seemed almost too
small to grasp the reins. Her riding-dress of blue was belted and
buttoned with silver; a tiny blue cap with long blue plumes was on her
head; and altogether she seemed to Alice like a fairy princess, or one
of those girls in story-books who turn out to be kings' daughters or
something else remarkable.
"O Aunty! come here do come," cried Alice.
Just then the procession halted directly beneath the window. The
trumpeter took off his hat and made a low bow to Alice and her Aunt.
Then he blew a final blast, rose in his stirrups and began to speak.
Miss Flower opened the window that they might hear more distinctly. This
seemed to bring the pretty little girl on the horse nearer. She looked
up at Alice and smiled, and Alice smiled back at her.
This is what the trumpeter said:--
"Ladies and gentlemen,--I have the honor to announce to you the arrival
in Banbury of Signor James Currie's World-Renowned Circus and Grand
Unrivalled Troupe of Equestrian Performers, whose feats of equitation
and horsemanship have given unfeigned delight to all the courts of
Europe, her Majesty the Queen, and the nobility and gentry of this and
other countries. Among the principal attractions of this unrivalled
troupe are Mr. Vernon Twomley, with his famous trained steed Bucephalus;
Madame Orley, with her horse Chimborazo, who lacks only the gift of
speech to take a first class at the University of Oxford; M. Aristide,
the admired trapezeist; Goo-Goo, the unparalleled and side-splitting
clown; and last, but not least, Mademoiselle Mignon, the child
equestrienne, whose feats of agility are the wonder of the age! On
account of Mr. Currie's unprecedented press of engagements, his
appearance in Banbury is limited to a single performance, which will
take place this evening under the Company's magnificent tent, in the
Market Place, behind the old cross. Come one, come all! Performances to
begin at eight precisely. Admission, one-and-sixpence. Children under
ten years of age, half price. God save the Queen."
Having finished this oration, the trumpeter bowed once more to the
window, blew another blast, and rode on, followed by all the procession;
the little girl on the white horse giving Alice a second smile as she
moved away. For awhile the toot, toot, toot of the trumpet could be
heard from down the street. Then the sounds grew fainter. At last they
died in distance, and all was quiet as it had been before.
Alice was sorry to have them go. But the interruption had done her good
by taking her thoughts away from the rain and the lost picnic. She could
think and talk of nothing now except the gay riders, and especially the
pretty little girl on the white horse.
"Wasn't she sweet?" she asked her Aunt. "And didn't she ride
_beau_tifully. I wish I could ride like that. And what a pretty name,
Mademoiselle Mignon! It must be very nice to belong to a circus, I
think."
"I'm afraid that Mademoiselle Mignon does not always find it so nice,"
remarked Miss Flower.
"O Aunty, what makes you say so? She looks as if she were perfectly
happy! Didn't you see her laugh when the clown stole the other man's cap
from his head? And such a dear horse as she was riding! I never saw such
a dear horse in all my life. I wish I had one just like him."
"It _was_ a beauty. So perfectly white."
"Wasn't it! O Aunty, don't you wish Papa would take you and me to the
performance? There will only be one, you know, because Mr. Currie has
such un--un--unpresidential engagements. I mean to ask Papa if he won't.
There he is now! I hear his key in the door. May I run down and ask him,
Aunty?"
"Yes, indeed--"
Downstairs ran Alice.
"O Papa!" she cried, "_did_ you meet the Circus? It was the most
wonderful Circus, Papa. Just like a story-book. And such a dear little
girl on a white horse! Won't you please take me to see it, Papa--and
Aunty too? We both want to go very much. It's only here for one night,
the man said."
"We'll see," said the Mayor, taking off his coat. Alice danced with
pleasure when she heard this "we'll see," for with Papa "we'll see"
meant almost always the same thing as "yes." Alice was an only child,
and a petted one, and Papa rarely refused any request on which his
motherless little girl had set her heart.
She skipped upstairs beside him, full of satisfaction, and had just
settled herself on his knee for the half hour of frolic and talk which
was her daily delight and his, when a knock came to the door below, and
Phebe the maid appeared.
"Two persons to see you, sir."
"Show them in here," said the Mayor. Alice lingered and was rewarded,
for the "persons" were no other than Signor Currie himself and his
ring-master. Alice recognized them at once. Both were gorgeously dressed
in black and orange and velvet-slashed sleeves, and came in holding
their plumed hats in their hands. The object of the call was to solicit
the honor of the Mayor's patronage for the evening's entertainment. How
pleased Alice was when Papa engaged a box and paid for it!
"I shall bring my little daughter here," he told Signor Currie. "She is
much taken by a child whom she saw to-day among your performers."
"Mademoiselle Mignon, no doubt," replied the Signor solemnly. "She is,
indeed, a prodigy of talent,--one of the wonders of the age, I assure
your worship!"
"Well," said his worship, smiling, "we shall see to-night. Good-day to
you."
"O Papa, that is delightful!" cried Alice, the moment the men were gone.
"How I wish it were evening already! I can scarcely wait."
Evenings come at last, even when waited for. Alice had not time, after
all, to get _very_ impatient before the carriage was at the door, and
she and Papa and Aunty were in it, rolling away toward the market-place.
Crowds of people were going in the same direction. Half the Papas and
Mammas in Banbury had taken their boys and girls to see the show. There,
behind the market cross, rose the great tent, a flapping red flag on
top. Bright lights streamed from within. How exciting it was! The tent
was so big inside that there was plenty of room for all the people who
wished to come, and more. Ranges of benches ran up till they met the
canvas roof. Below were the boxes, hung with red and white cloth and
banners. Dazzling lights were everywhere, the band was playing, from
behind the green curtain came sounds of voices and horses whinnying to
each other. Alice had never been to a circus before. It seemed to her
the most beautiful and bewildering place which she had ever imagined.
By and by the performance began. How the Banbury children did enjoy it!
The clown's little jokes had done duty in hundreds of places before.
Some of them had even appeared in the almanac! But in Banbury they were
all new, and so funny that everybody laughed till their sides ached. And
the wonderful horses! Madame Orley's educated steed, which picked out
letters from a card alphabet and spelled words with them, went through
the military drill with the precision of a trooper, and waltzed about
the arena with his mistress on his back!--well, he was not a horse; he
was a wizard steed, like the one described in the "Arabian Nights
Tales." Alice almost thought she detected the little peg behind his ear!
She shuddered over the feats of the sky-blue trapezeist, who seemed to
do every thing but fly. The knights in imitation armor were real knights
to Alice; the pink and gold ladies were veritable damsels of romance,
undergoing adventures. But, delightful as all this was, she was
conscious that the best remained behind, and eagerly watched the door of
entrance, in hopes of the appearance of the white steed and the little
rider who had so fascinated her imagination in the morning. Papa noticed
it, and laughed at her; but, for all that, she watched.
At last they came, and Alice was satisfied. Mignon looked prettier and
daintier than ever in her light fantastic robe of white and spangles,
with silver bracelets on her wrists and little anklets hung with bells
about her slender ankles. Round and round and round galloped the white
horse, the fairy figure on his back now standing, now lying, now on her
knees, now poised on one small foot, or, again, dancing to the music on
top of the broad saddle, keeping exact time, every movement graceful and
light as that of a happy elf. Hoops, wreathed with roses and covered
with silver paper, were raised across her path. She bounded through them
easily, smiling as she sprang. The white horse seemed to love her, and
to obey her every gesture; and Mignon evidently loved the horse, for
more than once in the pauses Alice saw her pat and caress the pretty
creature. At length the final bound was taken, the last rose-wreathed
hoop was carried away, Mignon kissed her hand to the audience and
disappeared at full gallop, the curtain fell, and the ring-master
announced that Part First was ended, and that there would be an
intermission of fifteen minutes.
By this time Alice was in a state of tumultuous admiration which knew no
bounds.
"Oh, if I could only speak to her and kiss her, just once!" she cried.
"Isn't she the darlingest little thing you ever saw? I wish I could.
Don't you think they'd let me, Papa?"
"Would there be any harm in it, do you think?" asked the Mayor of his
sister. "She's a pretty, innocent-looking little creature."
"I don't quite like having Alice associate with such people," objected
Miss Flower. Then, softened by the wistful eagerness of Alice's face,
she added, "Still, in this case, the child is so young that I really
think there would be no harm, except that the manager might object to
having the little girl disturbed between the acts."
"I'll inquire," said Papa.
The manager was most obliging. Managers generally are, I fancy, when
Mayors express wishes. "Mademoiselle Mignon," he said, "would be very
pleased and proud to receive Miss Flower, if she would take the trouble
to come behind the scenes." So Alice, trembling with excitement, went
with Papa behind the big green curtain. She had fancied it a sort of
fairy world; but instead she found a great bare, disorderly place.
Sawdust was scattered on the ground; huge boxes were standing about,
some empty, some half unpacked. From farther away came sounds of loud
voices talking and disputing, and the stamping of horses' feet. It was
neither a pretty or a pleasant place; and Alice, feeling shy and half
frightened, held Papa's hand tight, and squeezed it very hard as they
waited.
Pretty soon the manager came to them with Mignon beside him. She looked
smaller and more childish than she had done on horseback. A little plaid
shawl was pinned over her gauzy dress to keep her warm. Alice lost her
fears at once. She realized that here was no fairy princess, but a
little girl like herself. Mignon's face was no less sweet when seen so
near. Her cheeks were the loveliest pink imaginable. Her blue eyes
looked up frankly and trustfully. When the Mayor spoke to her she
blushed and made a pretty courtesy, clasping Alice's hand very tight in
hers, but saying nothing.
"The performances will recommence in ten minutes," said Signor Currie,
consulting his watch. Then he and the Mayor moved a little aside and
began talking together, leaving the little girls to make acquaintance.
"I saw you this morning," said Alice.
Mignon nodded and smiled.
"Oh, did you see me? I thought you did, but I wasn't sure, because we
were up so high. Aunty and I thought the procession was beautiful. But I
liked your horse best of all. Is he gentle?"