well, and isn't worth fussing about. There, will those be of any use
to you?" And she offered the nosegay with a much happier face than the
one Lizzie first saw.
"Oh, miss, they're just lovely! I'll copy that pink rose as soon as
ever I can, and when I've learned how to do 'em tip-top, I'd like to
bring you some, if you don't mind," answered Lizzie, smiling all over
her face as she buried her nose luxuriously in the fragrant mass.
"I'd like it very much, for I should think you'd have to be very clever
to make such pretty things. I really quite fancy those rose-buds in my
hat, now I know that you're going to learn how to make them. Put an
orange in your pocket, and the flowers in water as soon as you can, so
they'll be fresh when you want them. Good by. Bring home our hats
every time and tell me how you get on."
With kind words like these, Belle dismissed Lizzie, who ran downstairs,
feeling as rich as if she had found a fortune. Away to the next place
she hurried, anxious to get her errands done and the precious posy
safely into fresh water. But Mrs. Turretville was not at home, and the
bonnet could not be left till paid for. So Lizzie turned to go down
the high steps, glad that she need not wait. She stopped one instant
to take a delicious sniff at her flowers, and that was the last happy
moment that poor Lizzie knew for many weary months.
The new boots were large for her, the steps slippery with sleet, and
down went the little errand girl, from top to bottom, till she landed
in the gutter directly upon Mrs. Turretville's costly bonnet.
"I've saved my posies, anyway," sighed Lizzie, as she picked herself
up, bruised, wet, and faint with pain; "but, oh, my heart! won't Madame
scold when she sees that band-box smashed flat," groaned the poor
child, sitting on the curbstone to get her breath and view the disaster.
The rain poured, the wind blew, the sparrows on the park railing
chirped derisively, and no one came along to help Lizzie out of her
troubles. Slowly she gathered up her burdens; painfully she limped
away in the big boots; and the last the naughty sparrows saw of her was
a shabby little figure going round the corner, with a pale, tearful
face held lovingly over the bright bouquet that was her one treasure
and her only comfort in the moment which brought to her the great
misfortune of her life.
II.
FORGET-ME-NOTS.
"Oh, mamma, I am so relieved that the box has come at last! If it had
not, I do believe I should have died of disappointment," cried pretty
Belle, five years later, on the morning before her eighteenth birthday.
"It would have been a serious disappointment, darling; for I had set my
heart on your wearing my gift to-morrow night, and when the steamers
kept coming in without my trunk from Paris, I was very anxious. I hope
you will like it."
"Dear mamma, I know I shall like it; your taste is so good and you know
what suits me so well. Make haste, Marie; I'm dying to see it," said
Belle, dancing about the great trunk, as the maid carefully unfolded
tissue papers and muslin wrappers.
A young girl's first ball-dress is a grand affair,--in her eyes, at
least; and Belle soon stopped dancing, to stand with clasped hands,
eager eyes and parted lips before the snowy pile of illusion that was
at last daintily lifted out upon the bed. Then, as Marie displayed its
loveliness, little cries of delight were heard, and when the whole
delicate dress was arranged to the best effect she threw herself upon
her mother's neck and actually cried with pleasure.
"Mamma, it is too lovely! and you are very kind to do so much for me.
How shall I ever thank you?"
"By putting it right on to see if it fits; and when you wear it look
your happiest, that I may be proud of my pretty daughter."
Mamma got no further, for Marie uttered a French shriek, wrung her
hands, and then began to burrow wildly in the trunk and among the
papers, crying distractedly:
"Great heavens, madame! the wreath has been forgotten! What an
affliction! Mademoiselle's enchanting toilette is destroyed without
the wreath, and nowhere do I find it."
In vain they searched; in vain Marie wailed and Belle declared it must
be somewhere; no wreath appeared. It was duly set down in the bill,
and a fine sum charged for a head-dress to match the dainty
forget-me-nots that looped the fleecy skirts and ornamented the bosom
of the dress. It had evidently been forgotten; and mamma despatched
Marie at once to try and match the flowers, for Belle would not hear of
any other decoration for her beautiful blonde hair.
The dress fitted to a charm, and was pronounced by all beholders the
loveliest thing ever seen. Nothing was wanted but the wreath to make
it quite perfect, and when Marie returned, after a long search, with no
forget-me-nots, Belle was in despair.
"Wear natural ones," suggested a sympathizing friend.
But another hunt among greenhouses was as fruitless as that among the
milliners' rooms. No forget-me-nots could be found, and Marie fell
exhausted into a chair, desolated at what she felt to be an awful
calamity.
"Let me have the carriage, and I'll ransack the city till I find some,"
cried Belle, growing more resolute with each failure.
Mamma was deep in preparations for the ball, and could not help her
afflicted daughter, though she was much disappointed at the mishap. So
Belle drove off, resolved to have her flowers whether there were any or
not.
Any one who has ever tried to match a ribbon, find a certain fabric, or
get any thing done in a hurry, knows what a wearisome task it sometimes
is, and can imagine Belle's state of mind after repeated
disappointments. She was about to give up in despair, when some one
suggested that perhaps the Frenchwoman, Estelle Valnor, might make the
desired wreath, if there was time.
Away drove Belle, and, on entering the room, gave a sigh of
satisfaction, for a whole boxful of the loveliest forget-me-nots stood
upon the table. As fast as possible, she told her tale and demanded
the flowers, no matter what the price might be. Imagine her feelings
when the Frenchwoman, with a shrug, announced that it was impossible to
give mademoiselle a single spray. All were engaged to trim a
bridesmaid's dress, and must be sent away at once.
It really was too bad! and Belle lost her temper entirely, for no
persuasion or bribes would win a spray from Estelle. The provoking
part of it was that the wedding would not come off for several days,
and there was time enough to make more flowers for that dress, since
Belle only wanted a few for her hair. Neither would Estelle make her
any, as her hands were full, and so small an order was not worth
deranging one's self for; but observing Belle's sorrowful face, she
said, affably:
"Mademoiselle may, perhaps, find the flowers she desires at Miss
Berton's. She has been helping me with these garlands, and may have
some left. Here is her address."
Belle took the card with thanks, and hurried away with a last hope
faintly stirring in her girlish heart, for Belle had an unusually
ardent wish to look her best at this party, since Somebody was to be
there, and Somebody considered forget-me-nots the sweetest flowers in
the world. Mamma knew this, and the kiss Belle gave her when the dress
came had a more tender meaning than gratified vanity or daughterly love.
Up many stairs she climbed, and came at last to a little room, very
poor but very neat, where, at the one window, sat a young girl, with
crutches by her side and her lap full of flower-leaves and petals. She
rose slowly as Belle came in, and then stood looking at her, with such
a wistful expression in her shy, bright eyes, that Belle's anxious face
cleared involuntarily, and her voice lost its impatient tone.
As she spoke, she glanced about the room, hoping to see some blue
blossoms awaiting her. But none appeared; and she was about to despond
again, when the girl said, gently:
"I have none by me now, but I may be able to find you some."
"Thank you very much; but I have been everywhere in vain. Still, if
you do get any, please send them to me as soon as possible. Here is my
card."
Miss Berton glanced at it, then cast a quick look at the sweet, anxious
face before her, and smiled so brightly that Belle smiled also, and
asked, wonderingly:
"What is it? What do you see?"
"I see the dear young lady who was so kind to me long ago. You don't
remember me, and never knew my name; but I never have forgotten you all
these years. I always hoped I could do something to show how grateful
I was, and now I can, for you shall have your flowers if I sit up all
night to make them."
But Belle still shook her head and watched the smiling face before her
with wondering eyes, till the girl added, with sudden color in her
cheeks:
"Ah, you've done so many kind things in your life, you don't remember
the little errand girl from Madame Tifany's who stole a rose in your
hall, and how you gave her rubber boots and cake and flowers, and were
so good to her she couldn't forget it if she lived to be a hundred."
"But you are so changed," began Belle, who did faintly recollect that
little incident in her happy life.
"Yes, I had a fall and hurt myself so that I shall always be lame."
And Lizzie went on to tell how Madame had dismissed her in a rage; how
she lay ill till Mrs. Brown sent her to the hospital; and how for a
year she had suffered much alone, in that great house of pain, before
one of the kind visitors had befriended her.
While hearing the story of the five years, that had been so full of
pleasure, ease and love for herself, Belle forgot her errand, and,
sitting beside Lizzie, listened with pitying eyes to all she told of
her endeavors to support herself by the delicate handiwork she loved.
"I'm very happy now," ended Lizzie, looking about the little bare room
with a face full of the sweetest content. "I get nearly work enough to
pay my way, and Estelle sends me some when she has more than she can
do. I've learned to do it nicely, and it is so pleasant to sit here
and make flowers instead of trudging about in the wet with other
people's hats. Though I do sometimes wish I was able to trudge, one
gets on so slowly with crutches."
A little sigh followed the words, and Belle put her own plump hand on
the delicate one that held the crutch, saying, in her cordial young
voice:
"I'll come and take you to drive sometimes, for you are too pale, and
you'll get ill sitting here at work day after day. Please let me; I'd
love to; for I feel so idle and wicked when I see busy people like you
that I reproach myself for neglecting my duty and having more than my
share of happiness."
Lizzie thanked her with a look, and then said, in a tone of interest
that was delightful to hear:
"Tell about the wreath you want; I should so love to do it for you, if
I can."
Belle had forgotten all about it in listening to this sad little story
of a girl's life. Now she felt half ashamed to talk of so frivolous a
matter till she remembered that it would help Lizzie; and, resolving to
pay for it as never garland was paid for before, she entered upon the
subject with renewed interest.
"You shall have the flowers in time for your ball to-morrow night. I
will engage to make a wreath that will please you, only it may take
longer than I think. Don't be troubled if I don't send it till
evening; it will surely come in time. I can work fast, and this will
be the happiest job I ever did," said Lizzie, beginning to lay out
mysterious little tools and bend delicate wires.
"You are altogether too grateful for the little I have done. It makes
me feel ashamed to think I did not find you out before and do something
better worth thanks."
"Ah, it wasn't the boots or the cake or the roses, dear Miss Belle. It
was the kind looks, the gentle words, the way it was done, that went
right to my heart, and did me more good than a million of money. I
never stole a pin after that day, for the little rose wouldn't let me
forget how you forgave me so sweetly. I sometimes think it kept me
from greater temptations, for I was a poor, forlorn child, with no one
to keep me good."
Pretty Belle looked prettier than ever as she listened, and a bright
tear stood in either eye like a drop of dew on a blue flower. It
touched her very much to learn that her little act of childish charity
had been so sweet and helpful to this lonely girl, and now lived so
freshly in her grateful memory. It showed her, suddenly, how precious
little deeds of love and sympathy are; how strong to bless, how easy to
perform, how comfortable to recall. Her heart was very full, and
tender just then, and the lesson sunk deep into it never to be
forgotten.
She sat a long time watching flowers bud and blossom under Lizzie's
skilful lingers, and then hurried home to tell all her glad news to
mamma.
If the next day had not been full of most delightfully exciting events,
Belle might have felt some anxiety about her wreath, for hour after
hour went by and nothing arrived from Lizzie.
Evening came, and all was ready. Belle was dressed, and looked so
lovely that mamma declared she needed nothing more. But Marie insisted
that the grand effect would be ruined without the garland among the
sunshiny hair. Belle had time now to be anxious, and waited with
growing impatience for the finishing touch to her charming toilette.
"I must be downstairs to receive, and can't wait another moment; so put
in the blue pompon and let me go," she said at last, with a sigh of
disappointment; for the desire to look beautiful that night in
Somebody's eyes had increased four-fold.
With a tragic gesture, Marie was about to adjust the pompon when the
quick tap of a crutch came down the hall, and Lizzie hurried in,
flushed and breathless, but smiling happily as she uncovered the box
she carried with a look of proud satisfaction.
A general "Ah!" of admiration arose as Belle, mamma, and Marie surveyed
the lovely wreath that lay before them; and when it was carefully
arranged on the bright head that was to wear it, Belle blushed with
pleasure. Mamma said: "It is more beautiful than any Paris could have
sent us;" and Marie clasped her hands theatrically, sighing, with her
head on one side:
"Truly, yes; mademoiselle is now adorable!"
"I am so glad you like it. I did my very best and worked all night,
but I had to beg one spray from Estelle, or, with all my haste, I could
not have finished in time," said Lizzie, refreshing her weary eyes with
a long, affectionate gaze at the pretty figure before her.
A fold of the airy skirt was caught on one of the blue clusters, and
Lizzie knelt down to arrange it as she spoke. Belle leaned toward her
and said softly: "Money alone can't pay you for this kindness; so tell
me how I can best serve you. This is the happiest night of my life,
and I want to make every one feel glad also."
"Then don't talk of paying me, but promise that I may make the flowers
you wear on your wedding-day," whispered Lizzie, kissing the kind hand
held out to help her rise, for on it she saw a brilliant ring, and in
the blooming, blushing face bent over her she read the tender little
story that Somebody had told Belle that day.
"So you shall! and I'll keep this wreath all my life for your sake,
dear," answered Belle, as her full heart bubbled over with pitying
affection for the poor girl who would never make a bridal garland for
herself.
Belle kept her word, even when she was in a happy home of her own; for
out of the dead roses bloomed a friendship that brightened Lizzie's
life; and long after the blue garland was faded Belle remembered the
helpful little lesson that taught her to read the faces poverty touches
with a pathetic eloquence, which says to those who look,
"Forget-me-not."
V.
OLD MAJOR.
"O, mamma, don't let them kill him! He isn't doing any harm, and he's
old and weak, and hasn't any one to be good to him but Posy and me!"
cried little Ned, bursting into his mother's room, red and breathless
with anxiety and haste.
"Kill whom, dear? Sit down and tell me all about it."
"I _can't_ sit down, and I _must_ be quick, for they may do it while
I'm gone. I left Posy to watch him, and she is going to scream with
all her might the minute she sees them coming back!" cried Ned,
hovering restlessly about the doorway, as if expecting the call that
was to summon him to the rescue.
"Mercy on us! what is it, child?"
"A dear old horse, mamma, who has been hobbling round the road for a
week. I've seen him driven away from all the neighbors, so Posy and I
give him clover and pat him; and to-day we found him at our bars,
looking over at us playing in the field. I wanted him to come in, but
Mr. White came along and drove him off, and said he was to be killed
because he had no master, and was a nuisance. Don't let him do it!"
"But, Neddy, I cannot take him in, as I did the lame chicken, and the
cat without a tail. He is too big, and eats too much, and we have no
barn. Mr. White can find his master, perhaps, or use him for light
work."
Mamma got no further, for Ned said again,--
"No, he can't. He says the poor old thing is of no use but to boil up.
And his master won't be found, because he has gone away, and left Major
to take care of himself. Mr. White knew the man, and says he had Major
more than eighteen years, and he was a good horse, and now he's left to
die all alone. Wouldn't I like to pound that man?"
"It _was_ cruel, Neddy, and we must see what we can do."
So mamma put down her work and followed her boy, who raced before her
to tell Posy it would be "all right" now.
Mrs. West found her small daughter perched on a stone wall, patting the
head of an old white horse, who looked more like a skeleton than a
living animal. Ned gave a whoop as he came, and the poor beast hastily
hobbled across the road, pressing himself into a nook full of
blackberry vines and thorny barberry bushes, as if trying to get out of
sight and escape tormentors.
"That's the way he does when any one comes, because the boys plague
him, and people drive him about till he doesn't know what to do. Isn't
it a pity to see him so, mamma?" said tender-hearted Ned, as he pulled
a big handful of clover from his father's field close by.
Indeed, it was sad, for the poor thing had evidently been a fine horse
once; one could see that by his intelligent eye, the way he pricked up
his ears, and the sorrowful sort of dignity with which he looked about
him, as if asking a little compassion in memory of his long
faithfulness.
"See his poor legs all swelled up, and the bones in his back, and the
burrs the bad boys put in his mane, and the dusty grass he has to eat.
Look! he knows me, and isn't afraid, because I'm good to him," said
Ned, patting old Major, who gratefully ate fresh clover from the
friendly little hand.
"Yes, and he lets me stroke his nose, mamma. It's as soft as velvet,
and his big eyes don't frighten me a bit, they are so gentle. Oh, if
we could only put him in our field, and keep him till he dies, I should
be so happy!" said Posy, with such a wheedlesome arm about mamma's
neck, that it was very hard to deny her any thing.
"If you will let me have Major, I won't ask for any other birthday
present," cried Ned, with a sudden burst of generosity, inspired,
perhaps, by the confiding way in which the poor beast rubbed his gray
head against the boy's shoulder.
"Why, Neddy, do you really mean that? I was going to give you
something you want very much. Shall I take you at your word, and give
you a worn-out old horse instead?" asked mamma, surprised, yet pleased
at the offer.
Ned looked at her, then at old Major, and wavered; for he guessed that
the other gift was the little wheelbarrow he had begged for so
long,--the dear green one, with the delicious creak and rumble to it.
He had seen it at the store, and tried it, and longed for it, and
planned to trundle every thing in it, from Posy to a load of hay. Yes,
it must be his, and Major must be left to his fate.
Just as he decided this, however, Posy gave a cry that told him Mr.
White was coming. Major pressed further into the prickly hedge, with a
patient sort of sigh, and a look that went to Ned's heart, for it
seemed to say,--
"Good by, little friend. Don't give up any thing for me. I'm not
worth it, for I can only love you in return."
Mr. White was very near, but Major was safe; for, with a sudden red in
his freckled cheeks, Ned put his arm on the poor beast's drooping neck,
and said, manfully,--
"I choose _him_, mamma; and now he's mine, I'd like to see anybody
touch him!"
It was a pretty sight,--the generous little lad befriending the old
horse, and loving him for pure pity's sake, in the sweet childish way
we so soon forget.
Posy clapped her hands, mamma smiled, with a bright look at her boy,
while Mr. White threw over his arm the halter, with which he was about
to lead Major to his doom, and hastened to say,--
"I don't want to hurt the poor critter, ma'am, but he's no mortal use,
and folks complain of his being in the way; so I thought the kindest
thing was to put him out of his misery."
"Does he suffer, do you think? for if so, it would be no kindness to
keep him alive," said mamma.
"Well, no, I don't suppose he suffers except for food and a little
care; but if he can't have 'em, it will go hard with him," answered Mr.
White, wondering if the old fellow had any work in him still.
"He never should have been left in this forlorn way. Those who had had
his youth and strength should have cared for him in his age;" and Mrs.
West looked indignant.
"So they should, ma'am; but Miller was a mean man, and when he moved,
he just left the old horse to live or die, though he told me, himself,
that Major had served him well, for nigh on to twenty years. What do
you calculate to do about it, ma'am?" asked Mr. White, in a hurry to be
off.
"I'll show you, sir. Ned, let down the bars, and lead old Major in.
That shall be his home while he lives, for so faithful a servant has
earned his rest, and he shall have it."
Something in the ring of mamma's voice and the gesture of her hand made
Ned's eyes kindle, and Mr. White walk away, saying, affably,--
"All right, ma'am; I haven't a word to say against it."
But somehow Mr. White's big barn did not look as handsome to him as
usual when he remembered that his neighbor, who had no barn at all, had
taken in the friendless horse.
It was difficult to make Major enter the field; for he had been turned
out of so many, driven away from so many lawns, and even begrudged the
scanty pickings of the roadside, that he could not understand the
invitation given him to enter and take possession of a great, green
field, with apple trees for shade, and a brook babbling through the
middle of it.
When at last he ventured over the bars, it was both sad and funny to
see how hard he tried to enjoy himself and express his delight.
First, he sniffed the air, then he nibbled the sweet grass, took a long
look about him, and astonished the children by lying down with a groan,
and trying to roll. He could not do it, however, so lay still with his
head stretched out, gently flapping his tail as if to say,--
"It's all right, my dears. I'm not very strong, and joy upsets me; but
I'm quite comfortable, bless you!"
"Isn't it nice to see him, all safe and happy, mamma?" sighed Posy,
folding her hands in childish satisfaction, while Ned sat down beside
his horse, and began to take the burrs out of his mane.
"Very nice, only don't kill him with kindness, and be careful not to
get hurt," answered mamma, as she went back to her work, feeling as if
she had bought an elephant, and didn't know what to do with him.
Later in the day a sudden shower came up, and mamma looked about to be
sure her little people were under cover, for they played out all day
long, if possible. No chickens could the maternal hen find to gather
under her wings, and so went clucking anxiously about till Sally, the
cook, said, with a laugh,--
"Ned's down in the pastur', mum, holding an umberella over that old
horse, and he's got a waterproof on him, too. Calvin see it, and 'most
died a-laughing."
Mamma laughed too, but asked if Ned had on his rubber boots and coat.
"Yes, mum, I see him start all in his wet-weather rig, but I never
mistrusted what the dear was up to till Calvin told me. Posy wanted to
go, but I wouldn't let her, so she went to the upper window, where she
can see the critter under his umberella."
Mamma went up to find her little girl surveying the droll prospect with
solemn satisfaction; for there in the field, under the apple tree,
stood Major, blanketed with the old waterproof, while his new master
held an umbrella over his aged head with a patient devotion that would
have endeared him to the heart of good Mr. Bergh.