FLUFF GOES TO SEE GRANDPAPA.
Thou, like a little curious fly
That fusses through the air,
Dost pry and pry
With thy keen inquisitive eye.
And with many questions, ever
Rippling like a restless river,
Puzzling many an older brain
Dost thou hour by hour increase thy store
Of marvelous lore.
Thus a squirrel, darting deftly,
Up and down autumnal trees,
Sees its hoard of chestnuts growing swiftly
In a heap upon the leaf-strewn leas.
CLAUDE LAKE.
"And now, I look almost as smart as the Princess Dove herself."
"I really think you do, Fluff, though you remember her dress was a
curious embroidery of rainbows and dew-drops sewn all over with
peacocks' eyes; but I assure you I like your white frock much better;
and the new hat is very pretty."
"But Fern!--"
"But Fluff!--"
"If I were to be lost--really and truly lost, you know--would the
funny old town-crier tell a long story about me as he did about the
dog when we were down by the sea last summer?"
"Of course he would, and mother and I would stand and listen to him
and try not to laugh. 'Lost, stolen, or strayed, a little witch-girl
in a clean white frock, rather too much starched; a frilled cape that
crackles when she moves, and a pretty broad-brimmed hat.' Well,
Fluffy, what does that mysterious look mean? you are very rude to
interrupt the old crier," and Fern tried to frown, while Fluff nodded
her head sagaciously.
"It would not be stolen or lost, it would be strayed like the sheep in
the turnip-field, when the shepherd turned them all out because they
had no business there. Supposing I strayed on purpose, Fern, you must
send a crier covered all over with gold lace to find me."
"Indeed! have you lost your senses, Fluff?"
"Never mind the senses; I saw them all five in china in Mrs. Watkins's
left hand corner-cupboard, china images she called them, and I thought
them so pretty. Give me the fourpence half-penny for buns, Fern--one
Bath, two plain, and a half-penny to the sweeper that takes me best
over the crossing."
"Oh, Fluff, Fluff, do be careful, and mind you do not go too far; come
back soon, like a good child."
"Of course I am good on my birthday. What did they do to Ananias and
Sapphira, Fern?"
"Dear me, what an odd question, Fluffy!"
"Never mind that; in the Sunday-school the teacher always answers the
children's questions directly; she is a very nice teacher though she
has red hair, but she can not help that."
"Oh, indeed! so I must tell you about Ananias and Sapphira. What is
the matter? how pale you look, my pet. Well, they fell down dead
because they had told a lie."
Fluff shifted her pence uneasily.
"That was the lie they told about the land and money that they wanted
to keep themselves. I think they were greedy people; one Bath, two
plain, and a half-penny for the sweeper. Here is the fourpence, Fern;
I don't think I shall be hungry until tea-time. Now, good-bye, I must
go."
"Why, Fluff, what nonsense! here, Fluff;" but Fluff was scuttling
down-stairs as fast as she could go, and Fern was only in time to see
her little feet whisking through the shop door.
"I don't believe there is such another child in the United Kingdom,"
she said to herself, laughing. "She is terribly young for her age, but
so amusing; how dull it will be without her this afternoon, and poor
Crystal so far away, I wish mother had not let her go, or that she
were safe home again;" and Fern sighed as she looked round the empty
room.
Now it so happened that Fluff had coaxed her mother to let her take a
walk alone on her birthday; this was the treat she had selected for
the occasion.
She was to wear her best frock and her new hat that Crystal had
trimmed for her as a parting present; and she had promised to be very
careful, and not go too far. The four-pence was to be expended in
buns--so she and her mother had arranged, but Fluff had secretly
intended to put it to another purpose, until her conscientious
scruples had obliged her to leave it at home instead of paying the
omnibus fare that was to save her poor little legs; they would get
sorely tired before they reached their destination.
Fluff ran down several streets, till she was out of breath, and then
she fell into a little trot; but first she gave the half-penny to a
ragged boy, and begged him earnestly never to tell stories; and after
that she asked him the way to Belgravia. Not getting a lucid answer
from him, as he only told her that he had been a cripple from his
birth and had sold lucifers ever since, which, being brimstone, was
bad for the rheumatics, Fluff told him that she would have repeated
the whole story of Ananias and Sapphira to him, only she had no time,
and then she resumed her walk with much dignity.
And the method of it was this--if method it could be called which had,
in its sidelong movements, the similitude of a crab. First she went
into every baker's shop she passed, and, shaking her head sorrowfully
at the fresh currant-buns on the counters, asked in a confidential
whisper the quickest and shortest way to Belgravia; and when they
wished to know what part, or asked her business, in a kindly way, she
pursed up her mouth and said that was not the question, and would they
please confine themselves to facts, or some such speech, in her odd
abrupt way.
And she looked such a little lady as she spoke, and held her little
head up so proudly, that most of them answered her with civility; and
one big baker's boy, just starting on his afternoon round, said he
would see her past the dangerous crossing in the next street, and put
her a little on her way. Fluff said she was very much obliged to him,
and trotted confidingly by his side, adapting her conversation to her
hearer as she thought best, for she enlarged in a rambling way on the
Miracle of the Loaves, and told him what her teacher said on the
subject of the fishes; and then she became confidential, and explained
to him that she bore an innocent partiality for the moist peely bits
of soft crusts that one could pare off a loaf without showing a sad
deficiency, and how she always liked to take in the bread at Mrs.
Watkins's for the purpose; and lastly, she told him in a weary little
voice that she was going to see grandpapa, who lived in a big house in
Belgravia, but that she was getting very tired, for she had a bone in
her leg--two bones, she thought--and might she sit please on the top
of his little cart to rest her poor legs when he went into the next
house?
The baker's boy was a good-natured fellow, but, as he expressed it
afterward, he thought her the rummiest little lady he had ever met;
indeed, he confided his suspicions to a grocer's lad that she "was a
bit cracky;" but he let her sit on his cart for all that, and trundled
her the length of two or three streets; and further revived her
drooping spirits by a dab of hot brown bread, scooped skillfully out
of the side of a loaf which, as he said, would never show.
After that they got facetious, and admired a Punch and Judy show
together, and parted with deep regret, when a policeman desired them
to move on.
Fluff began to feel rather lonely after this. It was getting late, she
was afraid, and those little legs of hers ached dreadfully; but she
fell in at the park gates with a playful flower-girl, who ran a race
with her, basket and all, and then stood and jeered in broad Irish
because she was beaten, while Fluff sat down, sulky and exhausted, on
a bench under the trees.
It was nearly tea-time now, she thought; in another hour or so Fern
would be sending the old crier after her. She wondered how she was to
get back. She was very thirsty, and felt half inclined to cry; and
then it struck her that the large splendid-looking building opposite
might be Belgrave House, and she ran up to a workman just passing and
asked him.
"No," he said, eying her wondering, "that was not Belgrave House, it
was in the next square;" and when she heard that she clapped her hands
joyfully, and went and drank out of a little iron bowl in company with
a sweep. She asked him if she might drink first, and he said, "Oh,
laws, yes! you ain't near so smutty as me," which speech Fluff took as
a compliment. But she had fallen down twice, and her nice white frock
had got unsightly patches of green on it.
But she felt as though her troubles were over when she stood in front
of Belgrave House, its many windows shining like gold.
What a grand place it was--finer than the Crystal Ball Palace where
Princess Dove and Prince Merrydew lived; and, oh dear, what joy, the
door was open!
The footman had just run out to the pillar box, and another footman
was fast asleep in a chair that looked like a baby's cradle turned
upside down.
Fluff ran up the steps and looked in.
There was a beautiful scent of flowers as she crept timidly into the
hall, such sleepy warm flowers Fluff thought, only they made her head
drowsy; and there was a great staircase with carved balustrades and
dark slippery stairs, and the doors were all shut, and there was not a
sound in the whole house, except the singing of some birds. Fluff
began to feel giddy.
But it was babyish to feel frightened in her own grandpapa's house, so
she took courage, and passing the sleepy footman on tiptoe, crept
softly up the stairs, holding very tightly to the balustrades, for she
felt as though she were slipping every step, and presently she came to
a sunny landing-place with a conservatory, where some canaries were
singing. Here she saw a half-open door, and pushed it open, and then
she thought she was in fairy-land.
It was such a large beautiful room, with marble ladies standing in the
corners, with wonderful green plants growing in gilded baskets, and
satin couches, and lace draperies, and lovely china; and in an
arm-chair a gentleman asleep, for he had his eyes shut.
Fluff stole in and peeped at him; no, he was not asleep, for his eyes
opened, and yet he did not seem to see her, perhaps he was thinking.
His face looked very nice and kind, and with the unerring instinct of
childhood she laid her hand on his knee.
"If you please, sir, will you tell me where I can find grandpapa?"
The gentleman raised his eyes--as Fluff told her mother afterward, "he
looked at me without seeing me;" and then his hand closed quietly over
the child's. Nothing ever seemed to startle Raby Ferrers in that
strange dreamy life of his.
"Who are you, my child, and who is your grandpapa?"
"My grandpapa's name is Mr. Huntingdon, and he lives in this
house--Belgrave House it is called, and I am Florence Trafford, but
they call me Fluff at home."
The name roused him effectually; ah, he was startled now. "Florence
Trafford, did you say; do you mean that you live at Beulah Place in
the Elysian Fields."
"Yes, at Mrs. Watkins's--mother, and Fern, and I, and Crystal too,
only she went away this morning."
"Away--what do you mean?" and Fluff's poor little hands were held so
tightly that they were quite red and sore afterward.
"Oh, she has gone to America with that horrid Miss Campion; yes, and
she is horrid to take our dear Criss-crass away. Fern cried so this
morning, and Crystal cried too, but she had to go, she said, so it was
no use making a fuss about it; and she does not mean to come back for
a long time. What is the matter?" peering curiously in his face, "does
your head ache?"--for Raby had uttered a low groan, and had dropped
Fluff's hands, and he was pushing back the heavy dead-brown hair as
though he were suddenly oppressed.
Fluff did not wait for his answer; she chattered on very much at her
ease.
"Mother and Fern only think I am taking a walk, but I always meant to
come and see grandpapa on my birthday. I should think he ought to be
very glad to see me; and if he is not," here her lip quivered a
little, "I should tell him he is very naughty to live in this
beautiful house while poor mother is so poor, and goes out teaching."
But, as she spoke, the door had opened softly, and a tall gray-haired
man, with a thin erect figure, walked slowly into the room, leaning on
Erle's arm, while Percy followed him.
Fluff gave a little exclamation at the sight of the two young men, and
then ran toward Mr. Huntingdon, her broad-brimmed hat falling on her
neck, and her dark eyes all aglow with excitement.
"I have come to see you, grandpapa," she said, holding out her hand
with the air of a little princess; and then, as he did not take it,
she continued rather piteously, "please, dear grandpapa, don't be
angry with me, for I have come all this way of my own accord, and I am
so tired and hungry."
If a thunder-bolt had fallen in the midst of that stately room it
could not have created a greater sensation.
Erle flushed and looked uncomfortable, a dark frown crossed her
brother's face; Mr. Huntingdon's was inscrutable as usual, only a gray
tint seemed to spread over his features, and there was a slight
trembling in the hand that held Erle's arm.
Fluff looked from one to the other, and then she touched Erle
coaxingly.
"Do ask grandpapa to be kind to me, Mr. Erle," she pleaded. "Percy is
always cross, but you have been so good to me and Fern." But a stern
voice interrupted her.
"Do you know this child, Erle? she seems to recognize you."
"Yes, sir," stammered Erle, losing color now as fast as he had gained
it; his embarrassment was not lessened by the look on Percy's face. "I
have seen her when I have been with Percy. She is Florence Trafford,
Mrs. Trafford's youngest child, and I expect what she says is quite
true, and that she has come of her own accord, though I have no idea
how she found her way here."
"How should you, Mr. Erle," returned Fluff, nestling up to her
favorite, "when I never told you a word about it, or any of them
either? Why, bless me, the stupidest of all those stupid owls in the
Zoölogical Gardens, that we laughed at so much, knew more about it
than you did. Oh, you need not frown, Percy, you do not come half so
often to see poor mother as Mr. Erle does, and he is far kinder to
Fern."
"I think you had better hold you tongue, Fluff," replied her brother;
but he evidently enjoyed the sight of Erle's discomfiture. "I don't
see why you are to be troubled with this sort of scene," he continued,
addressing Mr. Huntingdon, who was eying Fluff gloomily all this time.
"If you wish it I will ring for Roger to take her home."
"No, no, let her be for a moment," he replied, quickly; and Fluff, who
had looked terrified at Percy's proposition, came closer and rubbed
her curls delightedly against his coat-sleeve.
"That's right, grandpapa. I have not spoken to you yet, have I? and I
have so much to say. I was that little baby you know whom mother
carried through the snow that night. Yes," as Mr. Huntingdon
shuddered, "I heard mother tell Fern all about it one night when they
thought I was asleep--only I got sleepy and lost half; but I said to
myself, 'I shall go and tell grandpapa that poor mother is very
miserable and unhappy, and that he must come and take care of her.'"
"There, there, you have said your lesson very prettily," observed Mr.
Huntingdon with a sneer. "Children are apt parrots;" but Erle saw that
his sneer was forced, and that he sat down like an old man, and he
said, earnestly:
"Oh, sir, do not think so badly of your daughter. She has not sent the
child on this errand. I would stake my life on it."
"And how long have you taken upon yourself to defend my daughter, Mrs.
Trafford?" asked his uncle coldly. Erle almost repented of his
generous impulse when he heard that hard relentless voice. They had
not noticed their visitor, and Raby, at the other end of the great
room, lost much of what was passing, he was so absorbed with his own
bitter disappointment. As Erle was silent a moment, Mr. Huntingdon
repeated his question.
"Since he knew I had a pretty sister," replied Percy, carelessly.
Erle turned round and their eyes met, but Percy's fell before that
glance of utter contempt; Mr. Huntingdon intercepted the look between
the young men.
"I was not speaking to you, Percy," he observed, curtly; "I should
have thought it was your place to take your mother's part, but you
chose to be silent. Well, it is no affair of mine. Erle, will you be
good enough to answer me a question or two, and then I will trouble
you to send the child home. How often have you visited at my
daughter's house?"
"I can hardly answer that question, sir; I have been several times."
"Did Percy take you?"
"In the first instance, yes; but I have been there alone too," for
Erle's truthful nature scorned subterfuge. The crisis he had dreaded
had come on him at last; but Percy should not see that he was afraid.
He might be weak and vacillating, but he was a gentleman, and a lie
was abhorrent to him. Percy's innuendo might work deadly mischief, but
all the same he would not shelter himself behind a falsehood.
Mr. Huntingdon's hard look involuntarily softened. This show of
manliness on his nephew's part pleased him.
"Of course you went there, knowing that I should disapprove of such
visits. Tell me, is this Fern of whom my grandson speaks so very
attractive?"
"She is very pretty."
"That is all I want to know. Now, will you order the carriage to take
the child home? No, stop, I think Roger had better fetch a cab." But
at this point Fluff began to cry.
"Oh, I am so tired and hungry," she sobbed, "and all those dreadful
bones in my legs, and the crier not come yet. What is the good of a
grandpapa if he has no cakes and things, and on my birthday too!"
Mr. Huntingdon smiled grimly.
"Very well, order the child some refreshment, Erle. After all, she is
but a starved bit of a thing; see she has what children like best.
Percy, come with me a moment, I want to speak to you."
"Oh, thank you, grandpapa," exclaimed Fluff, cheering up at this; and
as the door closed on Mr. Huntingdon, Erle knelt down by the child,
and wiped the tears from the tired dirty little face that had brought
such trouble to him.
And the heart of Fluff was glad within her, for they brought her fruit
and cakes and sweet wine on a gold salver, so that she feasted like a
king's daughter or like the Princess Dove herself; and Erle sat by and
watched her all the time, though he looked rather grave and unhappy,
Fluff thought.
Both of them were rather startled when Mr. Ferrers groped his way
toward them. He had been hidden by the curtain, and Erle had not
noticed him.
"Mr. Erle, if you will allow me, I should like to take the child
home."
"Of course," rousing himself, and looking a little bewildered, "we
were both to have gone this evening. I had ordered the brougham, but I
am afraid now that I must ask you to excuse me. There are
circumstances--and," here Erle paused and bit his lips.
"There is no need for you to go," returned Raby, sorrowfully; "the
bird has flown. This child," putting his hand lightly on Fluff's curly
head, "told me before you came in that Crystal had gone to
America--she started this morning."
"To America?" exclaimed Erle, in an incredulous voice.
"Yes, but she has told me no particulars. It is hard, very hard, is it
not. I find one does not get used to disappointment. It is a heavy
blow to my faith. I thought that to-night we should certainly have
met."
"I am awfully sorry, Mr. Ferrers, I am indeed. I wish I could have
come with you."
"You could not help me. I will take the child home, and talk to those
kind friends who have sheltered Crystal; at least I shall hear about
her, and know her future movements."
"I think I hear the cab, Mr. Ferrers, and Fluff is fast asleep."
"We will not wake her, poor little thing," returned Raby, lifting her
up as he spoke. Fluff grunted contentedly as her head dropped on his
broad shoulder. Erle watched them as Roger guided them to the cab. How
he longed to accompany them. The next moment he turned with a start,
as his uncle's slow footstep paused beside him.
"Erle," he said, "look at this," and he held out a costly ring, a half
hoop of diamonds. "I have heard all I wish from Percy. His sense of
honor is none of the finest, but he is useful to me. You and I need
not heat ourselves in a perfectly useless discussion. Miss Selby has a
right to expect this ring. You are treating her very shabbily, Erle.
Come to me to-morrow and tell me you have placed it on her finger."
"And if I refuse?" Erle's pale lips could hardly frame the question.
Mr. Huntingdon smiled ironically.
"I do not think you will refuse, Erle. You are too much a gentleman to
treat a woman badly. All the world is saying you and Miss Selby are
engaged. You can hardly allow a girl to be talked about."
"But if I prefer another?" stammered Erle.
"Tut, tut, boy, you will soon get over your fancy," returned Mr.
Huntingdon, impatiently. "Most young men have half a dozen flirtations
before they settle down. I suppose I need not tell you that I strictly
prohibit any visits to Mrs. Trafford for the future. If you infringe
this rule it will be at your own risk;" and then he continued more
earnestly--"Erle, I am determined that you shall not disappoint me.
You are my adopted son, and I trust my future heir. I have a right to
count on your obedience. Come to me to-morrow, and tell me you and
Miss Selby are engaged, and all will be well between us." Then,
pressing his shoulder gently, and in a voice no one had heard from him
since his daughter's loss--"I am an old man, and my life has not been
a happy one. Do not let me feel that you have disappointed me too."