PRIMROSE BOWER.
Flaxie did not hear this conversation, or she would have built various
castles in the air in regard to "going to Congress." It is true, people
often talked before her of the coming "election," and spoke of Dr. Gray
as a "candidate;" but the words were mysterious, and soon faded out of
her mind.
The snow and mud had disappeared. Dandelions were shining everywhere in
the tender grass, and Ethel said, gleefully,--
"Oh, see the _dandy-diddles_!"
The birds burst forth into song and the trees into leaves. Flaxie
pointed to the soft, fresh leaf-buds slowly unfolding, and said to her
mother, "Miss Pike calls them the beautiful thoughts the trees have
kept all winter shut up in their hearts. Miss Pike is so funny!"
Summer came, and by the last of June Grandpa and Grandma Curtis and
Grandma Hyde arrived from Kentucky. This made three grandmothers
in the house at one time. The Gray family were remarkably rich in
grandmothers; and there was still another, a fourth one, who might have
come if she had not been too feeble, and that was dear Grandma Pressy.
The two from Kentucky were entirely unlike, yet each in her way was
excellent and charming,--tall, queenly Grandma Hyde, wearing gray silk
and a turban, and always piecing together a silk patch-work quilt;
roly-poly Grandma Curtis, clad entirely in black, and always knitting
children's stockings with needles that clicked. But they were alike
in one respect; they both remembered everything they had ever seen or
heard of, and everything that had ever happened since the world began.
Yes, and they were both gifted with wondrous powers of story-telling.
Tiny Grandma Gray, with her sweet, low voice, had hardly a chance to
speak; for the Kentucky ladies were talking morning, noon, and night.
It was delightful to hear them, and Grandma Gray listened and laughed,
her white cap-strings fluttering, and said she was renewing her youth.
But by-and-by it began to tire her head, for she was very delicate
indeed, and she complained that she could not sleep. Still she _would_
stay in the parlor, she enjoyed the talking so much; and Mrs. Prim came
one day, and declared she should carry her off.
"You must stay with me a while and be quiet," said Mrs. Prim, who liked
to manage everything, "and Mary shall come with you to take care of
you."
Flaxie did not spring up and exclaim, "Oh, Auntie Prim, thank you,
thank you, I'd be so glad to go!" for the truth was she did not wish
to go in the least. At the same time, she felt it a high honor to be
invited to Mrs. Prim's to take care of Grandma Gray. She could remember
the time, not so very long ago, when she had been sent away from home
because Grandma Gray could not bear the noise she made.
"I'm growing a great deal stiller and a great deal better as I grow
up," thought the little girl, with a throb of pride, "but I didn't
suppose Auntie Prim knew it."
"We don't like to spare our dear little Mary," said both the Kentucky
grandmothers in a breath; and then Flaxie felt prouder than ever.
"Oh, she can come home every day to see you, and you will be surprised
at the number of pillow-cases she will make; she always sews very
steadily at my house," replied Mrs. Prim. "Run now, Mary, and get your
hat."
Mrs. Prim had the finest house and grounds in Laurel Grove, but it was
very still there, oh, altogether too still! The gardener never talked,
except to himself, the chambermaid was rather deaf, and Kitty, the
cook, did not like any one in her nice, orderly kitchen. Flaxie thought
it a very dull place, except at the hours when Mr. Prim came home to
his meals.
One day she sat in the parlor, sewing "over and over" upon a
pillow-case. Out of doors it was a lovely June day. The trees, and
grass, and birds, and flowers, were nodding at one another, and having
a gay time, and Flaxie longed to be with them. But no, at "Primrose
Bower," as Mr. Prim called his home, it was necessary to stay in the
house; for Auntie Prim thought a little girl nine years old ought to
"sew her seams," and _then_ she might play, perhaps, if she found any
time.
Strange there shouldn't be any dog at Primrose Bower, or even a cat;
but Grandma Gray was there, and that was a comfort. The more Flaxie
waited upon the silver-haired, sweet-voiced, fairy grandmother, the
better she loved her; only dear Grandma Gray was always going to sleep
on the sofa, and then you had to keep still enough to hear a pin drop
for fear of waking her up.
"Well," said Auntie Prim, coming into the parlor with her bonnet on, "I
gave you work enough to last a good while, didn't I, Mary?"
"Yes, 'm, ever so long," replied Flaxie, with a sorrowful glance at the
pillow-case.
"So you won't mind staying in the house with grandma, will you? I'm
going to the stores to buy a calico dress and various things; but when
I come back you may run home, and stay as long as you like."
"Yes, 'm," said Flaxie, meekly.
She thought Auntie Prim spent a good deal of time at the stores, and
was afraid if she bought "various things" it would be pretty late by
the time she came back; and Flaxie did want to ask Grandma Curtis a
few questions about Venus, the colored girl who lived at her house in
Kentucky, and she wanted a ride before dark on Preston's pony.
"Let me see," said Auntie Prim, thoughtfully, "perhaps it would be
better for you to promise me not to leave this room while I'm gone.
You mean well, Mary, but you're _so_ fond of running! Yes, on account
of Grandma Gray, I think I should feel easier if you were to make me a
promise."
"Yes, 'm, I will promise! I'll stay right here. I'll not go out of this
room," replied Flaxie, so sweetly that Mrs. Prim never suspected the
child's sensitive pride was wounded.
"She thinks I'm a horrid little girl. She thinks I'm just awful," said
Flaxie to herself, as she looked out of the window and watched her aunt
walking away with a gray-fringed parasol in one hand and a shopping-bag
in the other. "My mamma would have trusted me without any promise!
She'd _know_ I wouldn't run off and leave Grandma Gray!" Very soon
Grandma Gray came in and said she was going to _try_ to get a nap on
the sofa, and hoped Flaxie would keep pretty still. "Yes, 'm," sighed
Flaxie; and after this she breathed as softly as possible for fear of
making a noise.
Grandma was asleep in two minutes, with her handkerchief over her eyes,
and that made the room seem more lonesome than ever. Outside a stray
cat came and sat on the window-sill, begging to come in; and as she
opened her mouth to mew, she looked, Flaxie thought, like a wee, wee
old lady, whose little teeth were more than half gone. Flaxie loved
cats; why not let her in?
_But no!_ The window had a fly-screen, and besides, Auntie Prim didn't
approve of cats. "It's _no, no, no_, all the time. I don't like
Primrose Bower," thought poor Flaxie, dropping her work and stealing on
tiptoe to the mantel, to smell the flowers in the bronze vase.
They were lovely roses and lilies, but they looked as if they longed to
be out of doors, where they could bend their tired heads. The chairs
seemed rather uncomfortable, too, standing up so stiff and straight
against the gilded walls. Even the gilded fireboard looked as if it was
set in the fireplace very hard, and had no hope of ever coming out.
"Oh, it's so still here, and so shut up! I wish there was something
alive in the room," thought the little sewing-girl, going back to her
task.
She did not know that close behind her there _was_ something
alive--dreadfully alive--a cross, disappointed, hungry bee! How had he
got there, into that shut-up room where even the little flies never
dared come?
But there he was, and he would not go away without doing mischief.
Perhaps he had had some family trouble, which had soured his temper;
or perhaps he mistook Flaxie for a new variety of blush rose, of great
size and sweetness. At any rate, he flew straight toward her, and
without the least ceremony stung her on the wrist. Poor Flaxie! Was
it not rather severe? Particularly as she dared not scream. "I must
scream, I will scream," she thought in agony; "I will, I will!"
_But no._ For grandma was fast asleep. She must not wake grandma,
though the sky should fall.
"I'll run out-doors. I'll run home to mamma. I _must_ go where I can
scream."
_But no!_ She couldn't even go into the entry. Hadn't she promised? And
you must know Flaxie belonged to the sort of little girls who hold a
promise to be as sacred as the oath of a queen.
So she stayed where she was, and bore the anguish in silence. She
could not possibly help hopping up and down, but she hopped softly;
she could not help groaning, but she groaned in whispers; she could
not keep the tears back, but she sobbed them noiselessly into her
handkerchief. I don't know what you think of this, little reader, but I
think it was truly grand and heroic.
Are you nine years old, and have you ever borne the sting of a bee, or
the drawing of a tooth, without uttering a sound? Ah, you have! Then I
would like to see you, and shake hands!
Grandma Gray woke presently, and saw Flaxie shaking with sobs, her head
buried in the cushion of Uncle Prim's chair. You may be sure she was
not long in learning what the matter was, and in calling Kitty from the
kitchen to bathe the poor puffed wrist with arnica.
"Ah, thin, and a bee always knows what is swate," said Irish Kate,
bathing the wrist softly.
"The blessed little darling!" murmured grandma, not referring, of
course, to the bee. "To think you shouldn't have made one bit of noise
to disturb your grandmother! I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd
screamed with all your might."
"But, grandma, I promised you I wouldn't make a noise."
"So you did, precious child. I forgot that."
"And I promised Auntie Prim I'd stay in this room. Oh, how I did want
to go out and scream!"
"Little Mary," said gentle Grandma Gray, taking Flaxie in her arms,
"I'm proud of you, my dear!"
"Ah, wasn't it worth all Flaxie had suffered to hear such words as
these? When had anybody been proud of her before?"
The pain was over, but the little wrist was still "a sight to behold"
when Auntie Prim came home with her calico dress and "various things"
in her bag; and grandma said, in a ringing voice,--
"Mrs. Prim, we have a little girl here who is quite a heroine. Yes, a
heroine, I say!"
"Do you mean our little Mary? Why, what has she done?" asked auntie,
coolly, as she put away her bonnet and parasol. But she wasn't quite so
cool after she had heard the story.
"Why, you good, high-minded little girl! A grown woman couldn't have
been braver," said she, and actually kissed Flaxie.
"It is a great pity I bound you by a promise; I needn't have done it.
Some little girls can be trusted without any promises," she added,
looking at grandma with an approving smile.
Flaxie blushed for joy. She had always had a vague feeling of being
looked down upon by Auntie Prim, as a wild little girl who was "_so_
fond of running"; and now to have this stern, good woman praise her so!
"But," said auntie, unrolling the dotted brown calico and laying it
across her lap, "how came that bee in _here_, with the doors shut and
the fly-screens all in?"
As she spoke, _two_ bees buzzed and circled slowly above her head. In
her surprise I must confess Mrs. Prim screamed. Flaxie was delighted.
Mrs. Prim, however, was a little ashamed, for the minister, Mr. Lee, at
that moment entered the door.
"Ah, what's this?" said he, laughing; "are you hiding away my bees?"
"_Your_ bees?" cried Mrs. Prim; and she looked up at Mr. Lee, who
stood, hat in hand, his bald head shining, as Flaxie had once fancied,
like the ivory ball on Julia's parasol.
"Yes, ma'am, _my_ bees! They swarmed this afternoon, and your gardener
told me he suspected some of them had come down here, and settled in
your chimney. He saw them flying over the roof of the house."
Mrs. Prim was a good woman, and had a high respect for her pastor.
It seemed very strange and very improper that she should set a trap
for his bees; but she laughed, and they all laughed, and she said
Stillwater, the gardener, should go out on the roof through the
sky-window, and look down the parlor chimney, and see what was going on
inside.
Stillwater did so, and reported that a fine family of bees had begun
housekeeping in the chimney.
"Yes," said Mr. Prim, who came in just then, "and they are making
themselves too much at home altogether! Why, they think they have a
right not only to the chimney, but to the whole parlor, and mean to
creep out around the edges of the fireboard, and peep at us whenever
they choose.
"But they needn't have stung my good little Mary, and they must not
sting her again," said Mr. Lee, patting her head. He had been very
much pleased of late by Flaxie's attentive behavior at church; and
he thought now, as he looked at her fine young face, that she was
improving faster in character than any other little girl he knew in
Laurel Grove.
And to prevent further mischief from the bees, the fireboard was
fastened in very firmly. Uncle Prim did this with little wads of gilt
paper; and even Auntie Prim, who was so particular, declared no one
could have made it look better.
"I'm glad you like my beehive, ladies," said Uncle Prim, with a low
bow. "And now I hope the bees will do their duty, and fill it with the
very nicest honey, from the very sweetest flowers that grow in Primrose
garden; and Mr. Lee is heartily welcome to every drop!"
"Thank you, sir," returned Mr. Lee, "but if the honey is going to
belong to me, I shall take pleasure in presenting it to little Mary.
She has well earned it by being such a martyr this afternoon."
Flaxie had no clear idea what a martyr meant, but was sure from Mr.
Lee's tone it must be something he approved. Therefore, she ran home in
the finest spirits, to relate the stirring events of the afternoon to
her family, and the two admiring grandmothers.
"And mamma," asked she, as soon as she saw her mother alone, "may I
give the honey to Sadie Stockwell next Christmas? Let me go my own
self, please, with Blackdrop and the little sleigh, and carry it."
"Perhaps so, my dear. But it is quite uncertain where you will be next
Christmas," replied Mrs. Gray, who had strong reason to think she might
be in Washington.
Flaxie, however, had forgotten all about Washington. "Oh, perhaps I'm
going to Hilltop," thought she. "But that wouldn't be quite so splendid
as to have Milly come to my house. If she can come to my house next
winter, and go to school to Miss Pike in the pink chamber, I'll be
perfectly happy."
The little girl's dreams that night were of going to some wonderful
country she had never seen before. It must have been somewhere in
fairyland, for
"Everything was strange and new,
And honey-bees had lost their stings,
And horses were born with eagles' wings."