LITTLE NELL AND THE BUN-SHOP
Even when you are very old, too old to care about playing games or
racing with the cloud-shadows on the grass when the west wind is taking
the big white ones that look like ships so gaily across the sky, even
then your feel pretty good at the first beginning of spring.
Long before the grass shows a tint of green down by the fence corners
and along the brookside there is a new smell to the air, a smell that
makes you want to jump up and down and shout. Then come the
pussy-willows, grey, demure, and fluffy, as if they had no notion how
important they were. And after that—but we haven’t got farther than that
just yet.
For that is where the spring stood when Rose and Ruth returned from
their first ride of the season to the next ranch with Marmie. A yellow
and rose sky looked at them calmly from the west as they reached home
and jumped off their ponies.
“Wasn’t it a _heavenly_ ride, Marmie?” exclaimed Rose, hauling off her
saddle, the fine new saddle she was so proud of, and turning her horse
into the corral. “Just think, it will soon be summer and we can stay
outdoors all day long, and go on camping trips again. Jimminy-kingsy, it
seems as if one couldn’t wait another minute!”
“What lots of waiting there is in life, isn’t there, Marmie?” said Ruth.
Marmie laughed. “Come to think of it, Ruth, you’re right. And now it’s
supper we’re waiting for, or at least Dad is. Will it cheer you up to
know we are going to have waffles?”
“Oh, Marmie! Umm—and just when we’re so hungry, too.”
“And after supper you two will have to amuse yourselves alone, for Dad
and I are going to be busy all evening.”
Fortunately there were enough waffles, though Rose and Ruth had both
doubted the possibility; they were so hungry that it seemed as though
the world in all its length and breadth could hardly hold enough waffles
to satisfy them. But when Daddy dared them to eat another they only
sighed.
And when they went into the living room while Marmie and Dad departed to
the den, where they always worked over the new schemes for the ranch
together, there was the fairy waiting for them!
Of course they didn’t see her. But the room was full of a wavy kind of
music, and they felt at once that she was dancing.
“Is it you, Fairy Honeysqueak? And are you dancing?—what scrumptious
music it is.”
“I’ve been chatting with Spring,” answered Honeysqueak, “and that always
leaves me in a dancy mood. That music was the echo of her talk—it always
lingers awhile. Why, even you mortals dance to her.”
“Is that what makes one feel so light and jumpy? But we never heard her
before.”
“You mean you didn’t know you heard; but you did, all the same. And now,
unless you don’t want the trouble, I’m going to take you to London to
see a little girl who has never been anything else but just a little
girl.”
“Of course we want to go ... trouble! Oh, Fairykins!” That was Rose.
Ruth wanted to know who the little girl was.
“She’s Little Nell, and I want you to be awfully nice to her, for she
doesn’t get much fun, you know.”
You may be sure they would be nice to her, and mighty glad of the
chance. So the fairy clasped their hands and led them once again through
the Magic Gate. When they opened their shut eyes, after that
well-remembered little jar of landing on the other side, they found
themselves in a street.
It was a busy, crowded street, with carts rattling down the middle and
people hurrying along the pavements, some with parcels and baskets, all
with umbrellas, for a thin rain was falling. Rose and Ruth found
themselves neatly clad in long waterproof cloaks of a circular pattern
that fell almost to their feet, with little hoods framing their faces,
and they also had an umbrella, a big one for the two of them. Before
them, smiling at them gently, was a little girl of a sweet and tender
beauty, with a threadbare cloak of the same pattern as their own and a
small and somewhat battered-looking umbrella. She carried a little
basket on one arm.
“It’s Nell,” said Rose, “isn’t it? We’ve come to play with you, and we
are going to have a lovely time.”
Nell looked a bit startled.
“But I have work that must be done,” she said. “And my grandfather needs
me, I fear. Maybe you will come with me and see him?”
“Later,” said Rose. “But really this is a good-time day. The fairy said
so, and we are going to be happy every minute. You don’t have any little
girls to play with, Nell. And now you are going to play with us.” Rose
was decidedly firm. She had always wanted Nell to have some real fun,
and here she was with a chance to give it her.
Ruth, dodging from under the umbrella, caught Little Nell by the hand.
“Come on, you sweet little thing,” she told her. “And first of all let’s
get out of the rain. Is there a place near here where we can get some
ice-cream or something good to eat? I’m hungry.”
[Illustration:
“LADIES,” SAID DICK SWIVELLER, “I WILL ACCEPT YOUR KIND, NAY YOUR
PRINCELY OFFER. LET US DRINK CONFUSION IN THIS TEA—CONFUSION TO DIRE
DESTINY”
]
Nell seemed to abandon her doubts. An expression of gaiety dawned in her
serious blue eyes, and she squeezed Ruth’s hand impulsively.
“There’s a bun-shop just round the corner,” she answered, “and we can
find anything we want there. I’ve been doing a number of errands, and my
feet are so wet—it will be pleasant to get to a fire.”
“Then let’s hurry,” said Rose, and the sisters, flanking Nell on either
side, with the rain dripping cheerily down their necks, hurried along
the way she led them. As they went they chattered joyfully and laughed
considerably. For it seemed exceedingly jolly to be scuttling along the
shining pavement, with the roar of traffic in their ears, the passers-by
smiling at them, and Little Nell looking shyly up, a flush on her cheeks
and excitement all over her.
“I was so happy when I knew you were coming,” she confided, “only I
really did not see how I could take so much time just to be a little
girl in. But I feel I can, somehow, and it’s such a wonderful feeling.”
“Do you know, I think you are _too_ good,” said Rose. “I never knew any
girl on earth so good as you, Nell. You’re what Marmie calls
Conscientious, and that makes you work too hard. Don’t you think so,
Ruth?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Ruth. “You know, if we are good very long Marmie
thinks we can’t be feeling quite well. I don’t mean that we are bad, you
know, but just kind of—oh, _enterprising_.”
Nell shook her solemn little head. And she looked so sweet and
old-fashioned and lovely as she did that the sisters both wanted to hug
her, but the umbrellas prevented.
“Life has always seemed rather a stern and difficult business, and all I
can do is to hope that I shall not prove entirely useless in carrying
out my share of it,” she replied, quaintly. “You speak as though it were
something to play through—and you almost make me feel that you are
right.” She added this with a tiny sigh and a downward look, as though
half frightened by the boldness of her conclusion.
“You bet we’re right,” said Rose. “Is this the bun-shop?”
It was. A window displayed cakes and pastries, and a sign invited those
who felt the pangs of hunger to step inside.
Indoors a door led them into a neat, pretty room with a bright fire at
one end, some pots of geranium blazing quite as brilliantly on the
window board, a red carpet with huge bunches of yellow and green posies,
and snowy curtains. A couple of tables and a number of wide-armed,
comfortable chairs, with a dresser, completed the furniture of the
place. At one of these tables a young man was sitting, with a pot of tea
and some muffins before him.
“What a dandy room,” exclaimed the sisters, squeezing Nell’s hands in
rapture. “Come close to the fire, Nell, and dry yourself, or you’ll
catch an awful cold. My, you _are_ wet!”
And they busied themselves in helping her out of her cloak and bonnet,
and in sitting her before the blaze with her feet stretched out on the
fender. A motherly woman came in while they were busy with this and
asked them smiling, “Would they have tea?”
Nothing could be better, they said, though they felt daring, because
Marmie only allowed them to have it on their birthdays, as an immense
treat. But they thought the present occasion warranted a real spree.
So tea came, with buns and toasted crumpets, which had been timidly
suggested by Little Nell. The motherly woman helped them draw one table
close to the fire, in which she was assisted by the young man, who
sprang forward, asserting loudly that lovely woman should not overburden
her strength when _he_ was present. The landlady laughed, calling him
Mr. Richard.
“It’s an odd fish you are, Mr. Richard,” she said, “and no mistake.
There, I think that will do nicely for the young ladies.”
“Thanks ever so much,” supplemented Rose. “Wouldn’t you like to sit
nearer the fire too?” she added, addressing the youth. “There’s plenty
of room.”
“Room and to spare at the board,” announced this personage, with a
flourish of the hand, “so, ladies, I will accept your kind, nay, your
princely offer. Let us sit together, and let us drink confusion—in this
tea—confusion to dire destiny.”
“What’s that?” said Ruth.
“The providence that shapes our ends, roughhew them how we will!” And
carrying his cup, plate and pot of tea, the young man made the transfer
to the circle by the fire. “Your health, young ladies, though this is
not the ruby,” he finished, lifting his cup high before setting it to
his lips.
The girls, including Nell, giggled.
“You’re funny,” said Rose. “What’s your name?”
“Richard Swiveller, at your service. And yours, fair ones?”
They introduced each other gravely. And then began to make away with the
delicious provender before them.
“We have met,” said Dick, buttering a muffin, “we have encountered each
other in this singular spot for a reason—but what that reason may be,
that indeed ’twere difficult to say. Unless you know?”
“We’ve come to give Nell a good time,” declared Ruth, who felt a strong
liking for the dauntless Richard. “You see, she is so good and so
helpful and so busy that she has no time to play, and we want to
play—after we’ve eaten.” And she bit into her bun.
Nell laughed. She began to look rosy, what with the comfort of the fire
and the glow imparted by the tea.
“How shall we begin?” she asked.
“On with the dance, let joy be unconfined,” proclaimed Mr. Swiveller.
With the words he drew from the bosom of his bottle-green coat a fife.
“Here is linked sweetness, long drawn out, or shall be. And now, if you
have finished eating, let us push aside the tables and begin.”
Suiting the action to the word, and gladly assisted by the three girls,
he cleared the centre of the room, and sitting in an easy and careless
position on one corner of the table, he set his instrument to his lips,
beginning at once to pipe a melody, somewhat jerky, to be sure, but
certainly lively and provocative.
With much laughter, the two sisters set to work to teach Nell the
one-step. She was apt enough, and graceful as a kitten at play, once the
newness of the experience wore off. Dick himself insisted upon joining
the dancers, playing the while as well as might be, and more
discordantly than ever, but with a sense of time that made up for the
rest of his defects as a musician. Presently he showed them a jig, and
in this Ruth soon became expert, distancing the two other girls, and
evoking from her instructor the most rapturous praise.
But at last, exhausted by the vigour of their efforts, they all sank
laughing into chairs, unable to take another step.
“Let’s play something quiet,” said Rose. “Do you know Up Jenkins, Mr.
Swiveller?”
“No, princess,” returned Dick, sadly. “In some respects my education has
been shamefully neglected. I never so much as heard of Mr. Up Jenkins.”
So they laughed at that, and then the sister instructed Nell and Dick in
the mysteries of the game. Seated at the table, Rose and Nell on one
side and Dick and Ruth at the other, they brought out a nice new
shilling from Rose’s reticule. The business of the game was for the side
holding the shilling to bring it down, concealed in one of the four
hands, flat upon the table at the command “Down Jenkins” from the
captain of the opposing side. His business it was, or hers, to order up
one by one the four out-spread hands, saying sternly “Up Jenkins,” to
each. The one under which the shilling lay to be the last. If the
captain, consulting freely with the other member of his side, guessed
accurately, the shilling changed over; if not, it remained in the
possession of the foe. But if the enemy made the mistake of obeying the
command of any one but the captain, or lifted a hand when it was simply
pointed to, without waiting for the command, or broke several other
rules, why the shilling was lost to them. It was a good, noisy game and,
played with the fervour devoted to it by this little party, afforded
endless amusement. Dick in especial proved a wonder, for his sly methods
of causing the opposing captain to think the shilling was under his hand
when it really lay cosily with Ruth, his extraordinary flow of language,
his quick, stern commands when he was not the captain, these and
numerous other tricks kept his new friends in an almost unbroken storm
of laughter.
Suddenly a gleam of sunlight fell across the table, and looking out the
four saw that the rain had passed. The motherly landlady entering the
room at the same moment, they told her they must go. But first Rose had
her fill the little basket with a variety of good things to eat, which
were to be taken to Nell’s grandfather. Then, bidding Dick good-bye,
though he placed his hand on his heart and declared solemnly that he
should not be able to support life unless he were allowed to play Up
Jenkins at least twice a day with them in future, they walked out into
the sunlight, which gleamed from low in the west, for evening was
approaching.
Cheerily, with their umbrellas under their arms, the three threaded the
crowded streets, where hucksters were calling their wares, where
donkeys, drawing funny little carts, disputed the way with immense dray
horses, and sprightly-looking hansoms dashed by the huge busses,
top-heavy with their loads of passengers. The pavements were gay with
gentlemen in wide-bottomed, full-skirted coats of brilliant blues,
greens and snuff browns, with curly-brimmed high hats atop of whiskered
faces, and striped, tight-fitting trousers on their legs, as well as
with ladies in hoop-skirts and shawls and bonnets, demure as pansies
when they were young and slight, but resembling overblown peonies or
immense inverted cabbages of the purple variety when they were elderly
and fat.
Everybody seemed to know every one, and there was much nodding and
greeting to and fro. Several nodded kindly to the Little Nell, having
seen her pass the same way often before. One or two stopped to speak a
word, and complimented her on her rosy cheeks and bright eyes.
“You look blooming as a wild rose, child,” said one. “And your friends
too. It does an old woman good to see such happy faces.”
“She often speaks to me,” said Nell, “but I know not who she is, except
that she hath, so she has told me, a daughter Barbara. She is a kind
soul.”
And now they reached the door of the queer old shop where Nell and her
grandfather lived. There he stood, peering out under his hand, waiting.
When he saw the three girls coming toward him, he smiled gently.
“We’ve had such a good time,” said Rose, when Nell had introduced her
and Ruth. “We’ve been playing together all the afternoon. And see, we’ve
brought a little basketful of good things for you, too.”
So they went in and unpacked the goodies. Then the old man took them all
over his shop, showing them numerous things, some queer, some beautiful,
all old. Then it was time to say good-bye, for it was growing dark. The
two sisters shook hands with Nell’s grandfather, and then turned to Nell
herself, clasping her warmly in their arms.
“You are a dear little thing, and as pretty as a picture,” Ruth told
her. “We have loved being with you.”
Rose kissed her, saying that she would never forget their jolly
afternoon, and Little Nell, serious once more, embraced them tenderly,
murmuring that no one had a right to be sad in a world that held such
persons as Rose and Ruth, not to speak of Dick.
With which the two sisters found themselves once more safe and sound at
home—after the properest good-bye they’d ever taken, as Ruth remarked.
“It’s usually just ‘swish,’ and we’re off. But this time we really took
leave.”
“And how much fun we had!” sighed Rose contentedly.