innocent hopes, fears, desires and delights, and it _had_ been rather
hard to stand by while all the young neighbors were frolicking together.
When every one was gone, the tired children asleep, and the elders on
their way up to bed, Mrs. Murry suddenly remembered she had not covered
the kitchen fire. Aunt Jane said she would do it, and went down so
softly that she did not disturb faithful Patty, who had gone to see
that all was safe.
Aunt Jane stopped to watch the little figure standing on the hearth
alone, looking into the embers with thoughtful eyes. If Patty could
have seen her future there, she would have found a long life spent in
glad service to those she loved and who loved her. Not a splendid
future, but a useful, happy one; "only a servant," yet a good and
faithful woman, blessed with the confidence, respect and affection of
those who knew her genuine worth.
As a smile broke over Patty's face, Miss Jane said, with an arm round
the little blue-gowned figure,--
"What are you dreaming and smiling about, deary? The friends that are
to come for you some day, with a fine fortune in their pockets?"
"No, ma'am, I feel as if I'd found my folks, and I don't want any finer
fortune than the love they've given me to-day. I'm trying to think how
I can deserve it, and smiling because it's so beautiful and I'm so
happy," answered Patty, looking up at her first friend with full eyes
and a glad, grateful glance that made her lovely.
X.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OMNIBUS.
I was born in Springfield,--excuse me if I don't mention how many years
ago, for my memory is a little treacherous on some points, and it does
not matter in the least. I was a gay young 'bus, with a long, red
body, yellow wheels, and a picture of Washington on each side.
Beautiful portraits, I assure you, with powdered hair, massive nose,
and a cataract of shirt-frill inundating his buff vest. His coat and
eyes were wonderfully blue, and he stared at the world in general with
superb dignity, no matter how much mud might temporarily obscure his
noble countenance.
Yes, I was an omnibus to be proud of; for my yellow wheels rumbled
sonorously as they rolled; my cushions were soft, my springs elastic,
and my varnish shone with a brilliancy which caused the human eye to
wink as it regarded me.
Joe Quimby first mounted my lofty perch, four fine gray horses drew me
from obscurity, and Bill Buffum hung gayly on behind as conductor; for
in my early days there were no straps to jerk, and passengers did not
plunge in and out in the undignified way they do now.
How well I remember my first trip, one bright spring day! I was to run
between Roxbury and Boston, and we set out in great style, and an
admiring crowd to see us off. That was the beginning of a long and
varied career,--a useful one too, I hope; for never did an omnibus
desire to do its duty more sincerely than I did. My heart yearned over
every one whom I saw plodding along in the dust; my door opened
hospitably to rich and poor, and no hand beckoned to me in vain. Can
every one say as much?
For years I trundled to and fro punctually at my appointed hours, and
many curious things I saw--many interesting people I carried. Of
course, I had my favorites, and though I did my duty faithfully to all,
there were certain persons whom I loved to carry, whom I watched for
and received into my capacious bosom with delight.
Several portly old gentlemen rode down to their business every day for
years, and I felt myself honored by such eminently respectable
passengers. Nice, motherly women, with little baskets, daily went to
market; for in earlier days housewives attended to these matters and
were notable managers. Gay young fellows would come swarming up beside
Joe, and crack jokes all the way into town, amusing me immensely.
But my especial pets were the young girls,--for we had girls
then,--blithe, bonny creatures, with health on their cheeks, modesty in
their bright eyes, and the indescribable charm of real maidenliness
about them. So simply dressed, so quiet in manner, so unconscious of
display, and so full of innocent gayety, that the crustiest passenger
could not help softening as they came in. Bless their dear hearts!
what would they say if they could see the little fashion-plates
school-girls are now? The seven-story hats with jet daggers, steel
arrows, and gilt horse-shoes on the sides, peacocks' tails in front,
and quantities of impossible flowers tumbling off behind. The jewelry,
the frills and bows, the frizzled hair and high-heeled boots, and,
worst of all, the pale faces, tired eyes, and ungirlish manners.
Well, well, I must not scold the poor dears, for they are only what the
times make them,--fast and loud, frivolous and feeble. All are not
spoilt, thank heaven; for now and then, a fresh, modest face goes by,
and then one sees how lovely girlhood may be.
I saw many little romances, and some small tragedies, in my early days,
and learned to take such interest in human beings, that I have never
been able to become a mere machine.
When one of my worthy old gentlemen dropped away, and I saw him no
more, I mourned for him like a friend. When one of my housewifely
women came in with a black bonnet on, and no little lad or lass
clinging to her hand, I creaked my sympathy for her loss, and tried not
to jolt the poor mother whose heart was so heavy. When one of my
pretty girls entered, blushing and smiling, with a lover close behind,
I was as pleased and proud as if she had been my own, and every black
button that studded my red cushion twinkled with satisfaction.
I had many warm friends among the boys who were allowed to "hang on
behind," for I never gave a dangerous lurch when they were there, and
never pinched their fingers in the door. No, I gave a jolly rumble
when the steps were full; and I kept the father of his country beaming
so benignly at them that they learned to love his old face, to watch
for it, and to cheer it as we went by.
I was a patriotic 'bus; so you may imagine my feelings when, after
years of faithful service on that route, I was taken off and sent to
the paint-shop, where a simpering damsel, with lilies in her hair,
replaced G. Washington's honored countenance. I was re-christened "The
Naiad Queen," which disgusted me extremely, and kept to carry picnic
parties to a certain lake.
Earlier in my life I should have enjoyed the fun; but I was now a
middle-aged 'bus, and felt as if I wanted more serious work to do.
However, I resigned myself and soon found that the change did me good;
for in the city I was in danger of getting grimy with mud, battered
with banging over stones, and used up with the late hours, noise and
excitement of town life.
Now I found great refreshment in carrying loads of gay young people
into the country for a day of sunshine, green grass, and healthful
pleasure. What jolly parties they were, to be sure! Such laughing and
singing, feasting and frolicking; such baskets of flowers and fresh
boughs as they carried home; and, better still, such blooming cheeks,
happy eyes, and hearts bubbling over with the innocent gayety of youth!
They soon seemed as fond of me as I was of them, for they welcomed me
with shouts when I came, played games and had banquets inside of me
when sun or rain made shelter pleasant, trimmed me up with wreaths as
we went home in triumph, and gave three rousing cheers for the old 'bus
when we parted. That was a happy time, and it furnished many a
pleasant memory for duller days.
After several seasons of picnicking, I was taken to an asylum for the
deaf, dumb, and blind, and daily took a dozen or so out for an airing.
You can easily imagine this was a great contrast to my last place; for
now, instead of rollicking parties of boys and girls, I took a sad load
of affliction; and it grieved me much to know that while some of the
poor little creatures could see nothing of the beauty round them, the
others could hear none of the sweet summer sounds, and had no power to
express their happiness in blithe laughter or the gay chatter one so
loves to hear.
But it did me good; for, seeing them so patient with their great
troubles, I was ashamed to grumble about my small ones. I was now
getting to be an elderly 'bus, with twinges of rheumatism in my
axletrees, many cracks like wrinkles on my once smooth paint, and an
asthmatic creak to the hinges of the door that used to swing so smartly
to and fro. Yes, I was evidently getting old, for I began to think
over my past, to recall the many passengers I had carried, the crusty
or jolly coachmen I had known, the various horses who had tugged me
over stony streets or dusty roads, and the narrow escapes I had had in
the course of my career.
Presently I found plenty of time for such reminiscences, for I was put
away in an old stable and left there undisturbed a long, long time. At
first, I enjoyed the rest and quiet; but I was of a social turn, and
soon longed for the stirring life I had left. I had no friends but a
few gray hens, who roosted on my pole, laid eggs in the musty straw on
my floor, and came hopping gravely down my steps with important "cut,
cut, ka da cuts!" when their duty was done. I respected these worthy
fowls, and had many a gossip with them; but their views were very
limited, and I soon tired of their domestic chat.
Chanticleer was coachman now, as in the days of Partlet and the nuts;
but he never drove out, only flew up to my roof when he crowed, and sat
there, in his black and yellow suit, like a diligence-driver sounding
his horn. Interesting broods of chickens were hatched inside, and took
their first look at life from my dingy windows. I felt a grandfatherly
fondness for the downy things, and liked to have them chirping and
scratching about me, taking small flights from my steps, and giving
funny little crows in imitation of their splendid papa.
Sundry cats called often, for rats and mice haunted the stable, and
these gray-coated huntsmen had many an exciting chase among my
moth-eaten cushions, over the lofts, and round the grain-bags.
"Here I shall end my days," I thought, and resigned myself to
obscurity. But I was mistaken; for just as I was falling out of one
long doze into another, a terrible commotion among the cats, hens, and
mice woke me up, and I found myself trundling off to the paint-shop
again.
I emerged from that fragrant place in a new scarlet coat, trimmed with
black and ornamented with a startling picture of a salmon-colored
Mazeppa, airily dressed in chains and a blue sheet, hanging by one foot
to the back of a coal-black steed with red nostrils and a tempestuous
tail, who was wildly careering over a range of pea-green mountains on
four impossible legs. It was much admired; but I preferred George
Washington, like the loyal 'bus that I am.
I found I was to live in the suburbs and carry people to and from the
station of a new railway, which, with the town, seemed to have sprung
up like mushrooms. Well, I bumped passengers about the half-finished
streets; but I did not like it, for every thing had changed much during
my retirement. Everybody seemed in a tearing hurry now,--the men to be
rich, the women to be fine; the boys and girls couldn't wait to grow
up, but flirted before they were in their teens; and the very babies
scrambled out of their cradles as if each was bent on toddling farther
and faster than its neighbor. My old head quite spun round at the
whirl every thing was in, and my old wheels knew no rest, for the new
coachman drove like Jehu.
It is my private opinion that I should soon have fallen to pieces if a
grand smash had not settled the matter for me. A gay young fellow
undertook to drive, one dark night, and upset his load in a ditch,
fortunately breaking no bones but mine. So I was sent to a carriage
factory for repairs; but, apparently, my injuries were past cure, for I
was left on a bit of waste land behind the factory, to go to ruin at
leisure.
"This is the end of all things," I said, with a sigh, as year after
year went by and I stood there alone, covered with wintry snow or
blistered by summer sunshine. But how mistaken I was! for just when
all seemed most sad and solitary, the happiest experience of my life
came to me, and all the world was brightened for me by the coming of my
dearest friends.
One chilly spring night, when rain was falling, and the wind sighed
dismally over the flats, I was waked from a nap by voices and the
rustling of straw inside my still strong body.
"Some tramp," I thought, with a yawn, for I had often taken lodgers for
a night, rent free. But the sounds I now heard were the voices of
children, and I listened with interest to the little creatures chirping
and nestling in there like the chickens I told you of.
"It's as nice as a house, Hans, and so warm I'll soon be dry," said one
of the homeless birds who had taken shelter in my bosom.
"It's nicer than a house, Gretchen, because we can push it about if we
like. I wish we could stay here always; I'm so tired of the streets,"
sighed another young voice.
"And I'm so hungry; I do wish mother would come," cried a very tired
baby voice, with a sob.
"Hush, go to sleep, my Lina! I'll wake you if mother brings us bread,
and if not you will feel no disappointment, dear."
Then the elder sister seemed to wrap the little one close, and out of
my bosom came a soft lullaby, as one child gave the other all she
had,--love and care.
"In the shed yonder I saw a piece of carpet; I shall go and bring it to
cover us, then you will not shiver so, dear Gretchen," said the boy;
and out into the rainy darkness he went, whistling to keep his spirits
up and hide his hunger.
Soon he came hurrying back with the rude coverlet, and another voice
was heard, saying, in the tone that only mothers use,--
"Here is supper, dear children. Eat all; I have no wish for any more.
People were very good to me, and there is enough for every one."
Then, with cries of joy, the hungry birds were fed, the motherly wings
folded over them, and all seemed to sleep in the poor nest they had
found.
All night the rain pattered on my old roof, but not a drop went
through; all night the chilly wind crept round my windows, and breathed
in at every broken pane, but the old carpet kept the sleepers warm, and
weariness was a sure lullaby. How pleased and proud I felt that I
could still be useful, and how eagerly I waited for day to see yet more
of my new tenants! I knew they would go soon and leave me to my
loneliness, so I longed to see and hear all I could.
The first words the mother said, as she sat upon the step in the warm
April sun, pleased me immensely, for they were of me.
"Yes, Hans, it will be well to stay here a day at least, if we may, for
Lina is worn out and poor Gretchen so tired she can go no more. You
shall guard them while they sleep, and I will go again for food, and
may get work. It is better out here in the sun than in some poor place
in the city, and I like it well, this friendly old carriage that
sheltered us when most we needed it."
So the poor woman trudged away, like a true mother-bird, to find food
for the ever-hungry brood, and Hans, a stout lad of twelve, set about
doing his part manfully.
When he heard the workmen stirring in the great factory, he took
courage, and, going in, told his sad tale of the little tired sisters
sleeping in the old omnibus, the mother seeking work, the father lately
dead, and he (the young lad) left to guard and help the family. He
asked for nothing but leave to use the bit of carpet, and for any
little job whereby he might earn a penny.
The good fellows had fatherly hearts under their rough jackets, and
lent a helping hand with the readiness the poor so often show in
lightening one another's burdens. Each did what he could; and when the
mother came back, she found the children fed and warmed, cheered by
kind words and the promise of help.
Ah! it was a happy day for me when the Schmidts came wandering by and
found my door ajar! A yet happier one for them, since the workmen and
their master befriended the poor souls so well that in a week the
houseless family had a home, and work whereby to earn their bread.
They had taken a fancy to me, and I was their home; for they were a
hardy set and loved the sun and air. Clever Hans and his mother made
me as neat and cosy as possible, stowing away their few possessions as
if on shipboard. The shed was given to mother Schmidt for a
wash-house, and a gypsy fire built on the ground, with an old kettle
slung over it, in which to boil the clothes she washed for such of the
men as had no wives. Hans and Gretchen soon found work selling chips
and shavings from the factory, and bringing home the broken food they
begged by the way. Baby Lina was a universal pet, and many a sixpence
found its way into her little hand from the pockets of the kindly men,
who took it out in kisses, or the pretty songs she sang them.
All that summer my family prospered, and I was a happy old 'bus. A
proud one, too; for the dear people loved me well, and, in return for
the shelter I gave them, they beautified me by all the humble means in
their power. Some one gave Gretchen a few scarlet beans, and these she
planted among the dandelions and green grass that had grown about my
wheels. The gay runners climbed fast, and when they reached the roof,
Hans made a trellis of old barrel hoops, over which they spread their
broad leaves and bright flowers till Lina had a green little bower up
aloft, where she sat, as happy as a queen, with the poor toys which her
baby fancy changed to playthings of the loveliest sort.
Mother Schmidt washed and ironed busily all day in her shed, cooked the
soup over her gypsy fire, and when the daily work was done sat in the
shadow of the old omnibus with her children round her, a grateful and
contented woman. If any one asked her what she would do when our
bitter winter came, the smile on her placid face grew graver, but did
not vanish, as she laid her worn hands together and answered, with
simple faith,--
"The good Gott who gave us this home and raised up these friends will
not forget us, for He has such as we in His especial charge."
She was right; for the master of the great factory was a kind man, and
something in the honest, hard-working family interested him so much
that he could not let them suffer, but took such friendly thought for
them that he wrought one of the pleasant miracles which keep a rich
man's memory green in grateful hearts, though the world may never know
of it.
When autumn came and the pretty bower began to fade, the old omnibus to
be cold at night, and the shed too gusty even for the hardy German
laundress, a great surprise was planned and gayly carried out. On the
master's birthday the men had a holiday, and bade the Schmidts be ready
to take part in the festival, for all the factory people were to have a
dinner in one of the long rooms.
A jovial time they had; and when the last bone had been polished off,
the last health drunk, and three rousing cheers for the master given
with a will, the great joke took place. First the Schmidts were told
to go and see what had been left for them in the 'bus, and off they
ran, little dreaming what was to come. _I_ knew all about it, and was
in a great twitter, for I bore a grand part in it.
The dear unsuspecting family piled in, and were so busy having raptures
over certain bundles of warm clothes found there that they did not mind
what went on without. A dozen of the stoutest men quietly harnessed
themselves to the rope fastened to my pole, and at a signal trotted
away with me at a great pace, while the rest, with their wives and
children, came laughing and shouting after.
Imagine the amazement of the good Schmidts at this sudden start, their
emotions during that triumphal progress, and their unspeakable surprise
and joy when their carriage stopped at the door of a tidy little house
in a lane not far away, and they were handed out to find the master
waiting to welcome them home.
Dear heart, how beautiful it all was! I cannot describe it, but I
would not have missed it for the world, because it was one of the
scenes that do everybody so much good and leave such a pleasant memory
behind.
That was my last trip, for the joyful agitation of that day was too
much for me, and no sooner was I safely landed in the field behind the
little house than one of my old wheels fell all to pieces, and I should
have tumbled over, like a decrepit old creature, if the men had not
propped me up. But I did not care; my travelling days were past, and I
was quite content to stand there under the apple-trees, watching my
family safe and busy in their new home.
I was not forgotten, I assure you; for Germans have much sentiment, and
they still loved the old omnibus that sheltered them when most forlorn.
Even when Hans was a worker in the factory he found time to mend me up
and keep me tidy; pretty Gretchen, in spite of much help given to the
hard-working mother, never forgot to plant some common flower to
beautify and cheer her old friend; and little Lina, bless her heart!
made me her baby-house. She played there day after day, a tiny matron,
with her dolls, her kitten and her bits of furniture, as happy a child
as ever sang "Bye-low" to a dirty-faced rag-darling. She is my
greatest comfort and delight; and the proudest moment of my life was
when Hans painted her little name on my door and gave me to her for her
own.
Here my story ends; for nothing now remains to me but to crumble slowly
to ruin and go where the good 'busses go; very slowly, I am sure, for
my little mistress takes great care of me, and I shall never suffer
from rough usage any more. I am quite happy and contented as I stand
here under the trees that scatter their white petals on my rusty roof
each spring; and well I may be, for after my busy life I am at rest;
the sun shines kindly on me, the grass grows greenly round me, good
friends cherish me in my old age, and a little child nestles in my
heart, keeping it tender to the last.
XI.
RED TULIPS.
"Please ma'am, will you give me one of them red tulips?"
The eager voice woke Helen from her reverie, and, looking up, she saw a
little colored girl holding on to the iron railing with one hand, while
the other pointed to a bed of splendid red and yellow tulips waving in
the sunshine.
"I can't give you one, child, for they don't belong to me," answered
Helen, arrested by the wistful face, over which her words brought a
shadow of disappointment.
"I thought maybe you lived in this house, or knew the folks, and I do
want one of them flowers dreadful bad," said the girl, regarding the
gay tulips with a look of intense desire.
"I wish I could give you one, but it would be stealing, you know.
Perhaps if you go and ask, the owner may let you have one, there are so
many."
And having offered all the consolation in her power, Helen went on,
busy with a certain disappointment of her own, which just then weighed
very heavily on her girlish heart.
Half an hour later, as she came down the street on the opposite side,
she saw the same girl sitting on a door-step, still gazing at the
tulips with hopeless admiration.
The child looked up as she approached, and recognizing the pretty young
lady who had spoken kindly to her, smiled and nodded so confidingly,
that Helen could not resist stopping to say,--
"Did you ask over there?"
"Yes, ma'am, but the girl said, 'No,' and told me to clear out; so I
come over here to set and look at the pretties, since I can't have
none," she answered, with a patient sigh.
"You _shall_ have some!" cried Helen, remembering how easily she could
gratify the innocent longing of the poor child, and feeling a curious
sympathy with all disappointed people. "Come with me, dear; there is a
flower shop round the corner, and you shall have a posy of some sort."
Such wonder, gratitude and delight shone in Betty's face, that Helen
felt rejoiced for her small kindness. As they walked, she questioned
her about herself, and quite won her heart by the friendly interest
expressed in Betty's mother, Betty's kitten, and Betty's affairs
generally.
When they came to the flower shop little Bet felt as if she had got
into a fairy tale; and when Helen gave her a pot with a blue hyacinth
and a rosy tulip blooming prettily together, she felt as if a lovely
fairy had granted all her wishes in the good old way.