Spring was late that year, but to Jill it seemed the loveliest she had
ever known, for hope was growing green and strong in her own little
heart, and all the world looked beautiful. With the help of the brace
she could sit up for a short time every day, and when the air was mild
enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out at the open window
into the garden, where the gold and purple crocuses were coming bravely
up, and the snowdrops nodded their delicate heads as if calling to
her,--
“Good day, little sister, come out and play with us, for winter is over
and spring is here.”
“I wish I could!” thought Jill, as the soft wind kissed a tinge of color
into her pale cheeks. “Never mind, they have been shut up in a darker
place than I for months, and had no fun at all; I won't fret, but think
about July and the seashore while I work.”
The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was the custom of the
children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before
May-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would
hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two. Jill had more leisure
as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she amused herself
with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes, sizes, and
colors, quite confident that they would be filled, though not a flower
had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions, and here and there a
small cluster of saxifrage.
The violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was warmer,
the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east wind, the ferns
kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel jackets, and little
Hepatica, with many another spring beauty, hid away in the woods, afraid
to venture out, in spite of the eager welcome awaiting them. But the
birds had come, punctual as ever, and the bluejays were screaming in
the orchard, robins were perking up their heads and tails as they went
house-hunting, purple finches in their little red hoods were feasting
on the spruce buds, and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the
grapevine trellis where they had lived all winter, warming their little
gray breasts against the southern side of the house when the sun shone,
and hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell.
“That tree is a sort of bird's hotel,” said Jill, looking out at the
tall spruce before her window, every spray now tipped with a soft green.
“They all go there to sleep and eat, and it has room for every one. It
is green when other trees die, the wind can't break it, and the snow
only makes it look prettier. It sings to me, and nods as if it knew I
loved it.”
“We might call it 'The Holly Tree Inn,' as some of the cheap
eating-houses for poor people are called in the city, as my holly bush
grows at its foot for a sign. You can be the landlady, and feed your
feathery customers every day, till the hard times are over,” said Mrs.
Minot, glad to see the child's enjoyment of the outer world from which
she had been shut so long.
Jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs on the window ledge
for the chippies, who came confidingly to eat almost from her hand.
She threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty robins, and the
neighbors' doves, who came with soft flight to trip about on their pink
feet, arching their shining necks as they cooed and pecked. Carrots
and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the window for the marauding gray
rabbit, last of all Jack's half-dozen, who led him a weary life of it
because they would _not_ stay in the Bunny-house, but undermined the
garden with their burrows, ate the neighbors' plants, and refused to
be caught till all but one ran away, to Jack's great relief. This old
fellow camped out for the winter, and seemed to get on very well among
the cats and the hens, who shared their stores with him, and he might
be seen at all hours of the day and night scampering about the place, or
kicking up his heels by moonlight, for he was a desperate poacher.
Jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners, who soon learned to
love “The Holly Tree Inn,” and to feel that the Bird Room held a caged
comrade; for, when it was too cold or wet to open the windows, the doves
came and tapped at the pane, the chippies sat on the ledge in plump
little bunches as if she were their sunshine, the jays called her in
their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell, and the robins tilted on
the spruce boughs where lunch was always to be had.
The first of May came on Sunday, so all the celebrating must be done on
Saturday, which happily proved fair, though too chilly for muslin gowns,
paper garlands, and picnics on damp grass. Being a holiday, the boys
decided to devote the morning to ball and the afternoon to the flower
hunt, while the girls finished the baskets; and in the evening our
particular seven were to meet at the Minots to fill them, ready for the
closing frolic of hanging on door-handles, ringing bells, and running
away.
“Now I must do my Maying, for there will be no more sunshine, and I want
to pick my flowers before it is dark. Come, Mammy, you go too,” said
Jill, as the last sunbeams shone in at the western window where her
hyacinths stood that no fostering ray might be lost.
It was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl who used to be the
life of the wood-parties now carefully lifting herself from the couch,
and, leaning on her mother's strong arm, slowly take the half-dozen
steps that made up her little expedition. But she was happy, and stood
smiling out at old Bun skipping down the walk, the gold-edged clouds
that drew apart so that a sunbeam might give her a good-night kiss as
she gathered her long-cherished daisies, primroses, and hyacinths to
fill the pretty basket in her hand.
“Who is it for, my dearie?” asked her mother, standing behind her as
a prop, while the thin fingers did their work so willingly that not a
flower was left.
“For My Lady, of course. Who else would I give my posies to, when I love
them so well?” answered Jill, who thought no name too fine for their
best friend.
“I fancied it would be for Master Jack,” said her mother, wishing the
excursion to be a cheerful one.
“I've another for him, but _she_ must have the prettiest. He is going to
hang it for me, and ring and run away, and she won't know who it's from
till she sees this. She will remember it, for I've been turning and
tending it ever so long, to make it bloom to-day. Isn't it a beauty?”
and Jill held up her finest hyacinth, which seemed to ring its pale
pink bells as if glad to carry its sweet message from a grateful little
heart.
“Indeed it is; and you are right to give your best to her. Come away
now, you must not stand any longer. Come and rest while I fetch a dish
to put the flowers in till you want them;” and Mrs. Pecq turned her
round with her small Maying safely done.
“I didn't think I'd ever be able to do even so much, and here I am
walking and sitting up, and going to drive some day. Isn't it nice that
I'm not to be a poor Lucinda after all?” and Jill drew a long sigh of
relief that six months instead of twenty years would probably be the end
of her captivity.
“Yes, thank Heaven! I don't think I _could_ have borne that;” and the
mother took Jill in her arms as if she were a baby, holding her close
for a minute, and laying her down with a tender kiss that made the arms
cling about her neck as her little girl returned it heartily, for all
sorts of new, sweet feelings seemed to be budding in both, born of great
joy and thankfulness.
Then Mrs. Pecq hurried away to see about tea for the hungry boys, and
Jill watched the pleasant twilight deepen as she lay singing to herself
one of the songs her friend taught her because it fitted her so well.
“A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air,
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there:
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee!
“Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please
Doth listen to my song,
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.”
“Now we are ready for you, so bring on your flowers,” said Molly to the
boys, as she and Merry added their store of baskets to the gay show Jill
had set forth on the long table ready for the evening's work.
“They wouldn't let me see one, but I guess they have had good luck,
they look so jolly,” answered Jill, looking at Gus, Frank, and Jack, who
stood laughing, each with a large basket in his hands.
“Fair to middling. Just look in and see;” with which cheerful remark Gus
tipped up his basket and displayed a few bits of green at the bottom.
“I did better. Now, don't all scream at once over these beauties;” and
Frank shook out some evergreen sprigs, half a dozen saxifrages, and two
or three forlorn violets with hardly any stems.
“I don't brag, but here's the best of all the three,” chuckled Jack,
producing a bunch of feathery carrot-tops, with a few half-shut
dandelions trying to look brave and gay.
“Oh, boys, is that all?”
“What _shall_ we do?”
“We've only a few house-flowers, and all those baskets to fill,” cried
the girls, in despair; for Merry's contribution had been small, and
Molly had only a handful of artificial flowers “to fill up,” she said.
“It isn't our fault: it is the late spring. We can't make flowers, can
we?” asked Frank, in a tone of calm resignation.
“Couldn't you buy some, then?” said Molly, smoothing her crumpled
morning-glories, with a sigh.
“Who ever heard of a fellow having any money left the last day of the
month?” demanded Gus, severely.
“Or girls either. I spent all mine in ribbon and paper for my baskets,
and now they are of no use. It's a shame!” lamented Jill, while Merry
began to thin out her full baskets to fill the empty ones.
“Hold on!” cried Frank, relenting. “Now, Jack, make their minds easy
before they begin to weep and wail.”
“Left the box outside. You tell while I go for it;” and Jack bolted, as
if afraid the young ladies might be too demonstrative when the tale was
told.
“Tell away,” said Frank, modestly passing the story along to Gus, who
made short work of it.
“We rampaged all over the country, and got only that small mess of
greens. Knew you'd be disgusted, and sat down to see what we could do.
Then Jack piped up, and said he'd show us a place where we could get
a plenty. 'Come on,' said we, and after leading us a nice tramp, he
brought us out at Morse's greenhouse. So we got a few on tick, as we had
but four cents among us, and there you are. Pretty clever of the little
chap, wasn't it?”
A chorus of delight greeted Jack as he popped his head in, was promptly
seized by his elders and walked up to the table, where the box was
opened, displaying gay posies enough to fill most of the baskets if
distributed with great economy and much green.
“You are the dearest boy that ever was!” began Jill, with her nose
luxuriously buried in the box, though the flowers were more remarkable
for color than perfume.
“No, I'm not; there's a much dearer one coming upstairs now, and he's
got something that will make you howl for joy,” said Jack, ignoring his
own prowess as Ed came in with a bigger box, looking as if he had done
nothing but go a Maying all his days.
“Don't believe it!” cried Jill, hugging her own treasure jealously.
“It's only another joke. I won't look,” said Molly, still struggling to
make her cambric roses bloom again.
“I know what it is! Oh, how sweet!” added Merry, sniffing, as Ed set the
box before her, saying pleasantly,--
“You shall see first, because you had faith.”
Up went the cover, and a whiff of the freshest fragrance regaled the
seven eager noses bent to inhale it, as a general murmur of pleasure
greeted the nest of great, rosy mayflowers that lay before them.
“The dear things, how lovely they are!” and Merry looked as if greeting
her cousins, so blooming and sweet was her own face.
Molly pushed her dingy garlands away, ashamed of such poor attempts
beside these perfect works of nature, and Jill stretched out her hand
involuntarily, as she said, forgetting her exotics, “Give me just one to
smell of, it is so woodsy and delicious.”
“Here you are, plenty for all. Real Pilgrim Fathers, right from
Plymouth. One of our fellows lives there, and I told him to bring me a
good lot; so he did, and you can do what you like with them,” explained
Ed, passing round bunches and shaking the rest in a mossy pile upon the
table.
“Ed always gets ahead of us in doing the right thing at the right time.
Hope you've got some first-class baskets ready for him,” said Gus,
refreshing the Washingtonian nose with a pink blossom or two.
“Not much danger of _his_ being forgotten,” answered Molly; and
every one laughed, for Ed was much beloved by all the girls, and his
door-steps always bloomed like a flower-bed on May eve.
“Now we must fly round and fill up. Come, boys, sort out the green and
hand us the flowers as we want them. Then we must direct them, and, by
the time that is done, you can go and leave them,” said Jill, setting
all to work.
“Ed must choose his baskets first. These are ours; but any of those you
can have;” and Molly pointed to a detachment of gay baskets, set apart
from those already partly filled.
Ed chose a blue one, and Merry filled it with the rosiest may-flowers,
knowing that it was to hang on Mabel's door-handle.
The others did the same, and the pretty work went on, with much fun,
till all were filled, and ready for the names or notes.
“Let us have poetry, as we can't get wild flowers. That will be rather
fine,” proposed Jill, who liked jingles.
All had had some practice at the game parties, and pencils went briskly
for a few minutes, while silence reigned, as the poets racked their
brains for rhymes, and stared at the blooming array before them for
inspiration.
“Oh, dear! I can't find a word to rhyme to 'geranium,'” sighed Molly,
pulling her braid, as if to pump the well of her fancy dry.
“Cranium,” said Frank, who was getting on bravely with “Annette” and
“violet.”
“That is elegant!” and Molly scribbled away in great glee, for her poems
were always funny ones.
“How do you spell _anemoly_--the wild flower, I mean?” asked Jill, who
was trying to compose a very appropriate piece for her best basket, and
found it easier to feel love and gratitude than to put them into verse.
“Anemone; do spell it properly, or you'll get laughed at,” answered Gus,
wildly struggling to make his lines express great ardor, without being
“too spoony,” as he expressed it.
“No, I shouldn't. This person never laughs at other persons' mistakes,
as some persons do,” replied Jill, with dignity.
Jack was desperately chewing his pencil, for he could not get on at
all; but Ed had evidently prepared his poem, for his paper was half full
already, and Merry was smiling as she wrote a friendly line or two for
Ralph's basket, as she feared he would be forgotten, and knew he loved
kindness even more than he did beauty.
“Now let's read them,” proposed Molly, who loved to laugh even at
herself.
The boys politely declined, and scrambled their notes into the chosen
baskets in great haste; but the girls were less bashful. Jill was
invited to begin, and gave her little piece, with the pink hyacinth
basket before her, to illustrate her poem.
“TO MY LADY
“There are no flowers in the fields,
No green leaves on the tree,
No columbines, no violets,
No sweet anemone.
So I have gathered from my pots
All that I have to fill
The basket that I hang to-night,
With heaps of love from Jill.”
“That's perfectly sweet! Mine isn't; but I meant it to be funny,” said
Molly, as if there could be any doubt about the following ditty:--
“Dear Grif,
Here is a whiff
Of beautiful spring flowers;
The big red rose
Is for your nose,
As toward the sky it towers.
“Oh, do not frown
Upon this crown
Of green pinks and blue geranium
But think of me
When this you see,
And put it on your cranium.”
“O Molly, you will never hear the last of that if Grif gets it,” said
Jill, as the applause subsided, for the boys pronounced it “tip-top.”
“Don't care, he gets the worst of it any way, for there is a pin in that
rose, and if he goes to smell the mayflowers underneath he will find a
thorn to pay for the tack he put in my rubber boot. I know he will play
me some joke to-night, and I mean to be first if I can,” answered Molly,
settling the artificial wreath round the orange-colored canoe which held
her effusion.
“Now, Merry, read yours: you always have sweet poems;” and Jill folded
her hands to listen with pleasure to something sentimental.
“I can't read the poems in some of mine, because they are for you; but
this little verse you can hear, if you like: I'm going to give that
basket to Ralph. He said he should hang one for his grandmother, and I
thought that was so nice of him, I'd love to surprise him with one all
to himself. He's always so good to us;” and Merry looked so innocently
earnest that no one smiled at her kind thought or the unconscious
paraphrase she had made of a famous stanza in her own “little verse.”
“To one who teaches me
The sweetness and the beauty
Of doing faithfully
And cheerfully my duty.”
“He will like that, and know who sent it, for none of us have pretty
pink paper but you, or write such an elegant hand,” said Molly, admiring
the delicate white basket shaped like a lily, with the flowers inside
and the note hidden among them, all daintily tied up with the palest
blush-colored ribbon.
“Well, that's no harm. He likes pretty things as much as I do, and I
made my basket like a flower because I gave him one of my callas, he
admired the shape so much;” and Merry smiled as she remembered how
pleased Ralph looked as he went away carrying the lovely thing.
“I think it would be a good plan to hang some baskets on the doors of
other people who don't expect or often have any. I'll do it if you can
spare some of these, we have so many. Give me only one, and let the
others go to old Mrs. Tucker, and the little Irish girl who has been
sick so long, and lame Neddy, and Daddy Munson. It would please and
surprise them so. Will we?” asked Ed, in that persuasive voice of his.
All agreed at once, and several people were made very happy by a bit of
spring left at their doors by the May elves who haunted the town that
night playing all sorts of pranks. Such a twanging of bells and
rapping of knockers; such a scampering of feet in the dark; such droll
collisions as boys came racing round corners, or girls ran into
one another's arms as they crept up and down steps on the sly; such
laughing, whistling, flying about of flowers and friendly feeling--it
was almost a pity that May-day did not come oftener.
Molly got home late, and found that Grif had been before her, after all;
for she stumbled over a market-basket at her door, and on taking it
in found a mammoth nosegay of purple and white cabbages, her favorite
vegetable. Even Miss Bat laughed at the funny sight, and Molly resolved
to get Ralph to carve her a bouquet out of carrots, beets, and turnips
for next time, as Grif would never think of that.
Merry ran up the garden-walk alone, for Frank left her at the gate,
and was fumbling for the latch when she felt something hanging there.
Opening the door carefully, she found it gay with offerings from her
mates; and among them was one long quiver-shaped basket of birch bark,
with something heavy under the green leaves that lay at the top. Lifting
these, a slender bas-relief of a calla lily in plaster appeared, with
this couplet slipped into the blue cord by which it was to hang:--
“That mercy you to others show
That Mercy Grant to me.”
“How lovely! and this one will never fade, but always be a pleasure
hanging there. Now, I really have something beautiful all my own,” said
Merry to herself as she ran up to hang the pretty thing on the dark
wainscot of her room, where the graceful curve of its pointed leaves and
the depth of its white cup would be a joy to her eyes as long as they
lasted.
“I wonder what that means,” and Merry read over the lines again, while
a soft color came into her cheeks and a little smile of girlish pleasure
began to dimple round her lips; for she was so romantic, this touch
of sentiment showed her that her friendship was more valued than she
dreamed. But she only said, “How glad I am I remembered him, and how
surprised he will be to see mayflowers in return for the lily.”
He was, and worked away more happily and bravely for the thought of
the little friend whose eyes would daily fall on the white flower which
always reminded him of her.