FLORA WAITS FOR THE SUN TO DRINK UP THE WATER.
The next morning there was sunshine everywhere; inside of the palace and
out. The long storm was over. Flora waited in the porch for the sun to
drink up the moisture from the soaked ground, that she might run about
and enjoy her freedom. She had been housed so long--three whole days!
And now the grass was springing up all around, and the swelling buds
were ready to burst forth into leaves. And the birds were singing gaily
as if they too were glad to come out and play.
Flora watched them as they hopped from twig to twig, and wished she
could borrow their brown wings, for she wanted to fly away over the tops
of the houses and sing with them a joyful song. But she could not borrow
the brown wings, and she could not turn herself into a bird. So she sat
down on the upper step which the sun had dried, and tried to feel
satisfied with the nimble feet and curious fingers that God had given to
her instead of wings and claws.
The steam was rising from the ground, and the bright drops sparkled on
the tender blades of grass. When the last bright drop had disappeared,
and there was no longer any steam, she was at liberty to go where she
pleased. She felt very comfortable in her thick jacket and leather
boots, for it was as yet too early in the season to lay them by, but if
she could have had her own way, she would have welcomed the pleasant
morning in ankle-ties and a shaker.
"Mamma knows best," she whispered to Dinah, the black baby, with blue
buttons for eyes and ravelled-out yarn for hair. "Mamma knows best, and
I hope you are 'vinced of it."
The sun had gone away from the step, and Flora was somewhat chilly, so
she pinned the shawl tightly about Dinah and walked up and down the
porch. "You don't know everything," she said, sharply, "because you
ain't old enough. And I ain't. Did you think I was? No. I will tell you
who is. Mamma is. She is ever so old, and she knows all there is in the
world. When she tells me to put on my warm jacket, I don't cry. But you
do, and you ought to be ashamed of it. Will you do it without crying
next time? Eh?" She gave the baby a little shake and went on with her
lecture. "Naughty children say 'no' when mamma says 'yes.' Good ones
don't. Good ones say just as mamma says. And naughty children tell
stories. I don't tell stories and good children don't. If you say you
don't cry when you do cry, that's a story. And if you say you do cry
when you don't cry, _that's_ a story. It is a story both ways, and both
ways are wicked. Mamma says so, and she knows. When you are as old as
mamma, you will know too. And I will. So don't ask any more questions
about it."
Dinah had come out to take the air and be company for Flora. To be sure,
Amy, the tall princess spoken of in the last chapter, was sitting at the
window that opened on to the porch; but then she was busy. She could not
be company for anybody, for she was studying her home lesson. Flora
pitied her very much, for she looked very sober and kept repeating to
herself words that Flora could not understand. It was a hard lesson, and
Amy was determined to conquer it. Flora felt like talking, and there
was no one to talk to but Dinah. Dinah was a good listener, but not much
of a talker. In fact, she could not speak a word; so if she had any
ideas, she did not express them. Flora was tired of having everything
her own way. She thought it would be a great deal nicer if Amy would put
down that stupid book, and pay some attention to her; but she did not
say so aloud. She whispered it to Dinah in a tone that only Dinah could
hear. By and by Amy did put down the book, and with it the sober,
earnest look.
"Goody!" said Flora, clapping her hands, regardless of Dinah's peril.
But Dinah did not fall. Flora caught her by the neck just in time to
prevent a terrible blow. When Flora said "Goody," Amy opened the window.
"It is you, is it?" she said. "I thought it was a mouse."
"It is only me," said Flora. "I am going out when the sun has drunk up
all the water."
"The sun is a thirsty fellow, my dear."
"He is," sighed Flora. "Dinah is tired of waiting."
"Flora is tired of waiting, I guess."
"Yes, Flora is."
"And what would she like to do while the sun is drinking?"
"Have fun," said Flora, laying the black baby down for a nap, with the
shawl drawn up over her head. "Dinah is asleep and I am ready."
"You are a dear little thing for keeping so still while I was studying,
and we will have some fun."
"Oo!" said Flora. "I have fifteen minutes to do whatever I please with,
and then I must be off. Now, what would you like to do?"
"Play something," said Flora, joyfully.
"Well."
"I should like to get out my china set and play dinner, with real sugar
in the sugar bowl, and apple cut up for meat."
"That would be jolly if we only had the time; but we have not."
"Oh!" sighed Flora.
Amy put on hat and coat, and tightened the strap around her books.
"How would you like 'mother' or 'tag?'"
"First rate," said Flora. "I will be the mother, and you may be 'it.'"
"All at once?"
"Yes. But if you catch me, it won't be fair."
"No, indeed," said Amy. "And you musn't start till I get my hand on the
post."
"No."
"And if you don't 'bey the rules we must begin over again."
"Yes."
"Ready?"
"Ready."
As Flora started to run, somebody called "Holloa!" So she stopped short
and asked, "Who is that?"
It was Charley passing by on his way to school, alone.
"You had better hurry up," he cried. "If you stop there fooling with the
Baby Pitcher, you will be late."
"It is early yet," said Amy; but Flora was angry and she stamped her
foot and screamed,
"'Taint late, either, Charley Waters; and you are an ugly boy to call me
that. My name ain't Baby Pitcher; my name is Flora Lee!"
"Whew!" said Charley. "The Lee spunk is running away with the little
pet. Catch it somebody!"
"You must not tease her," said Amy; "she wants to play."
"Don't either," pouted Flora.
"I thought you did."
"She wants coaxing," said Charley.
"Don't either, Charley Waters."
"You will play to oblige sister, won't you?" said Amy, soothingly.
No, Flora would not. Charley had interfered with their plans and ruffled
her temper. It was too bad of Charley, but then Charley was not wholly
to blame, for the Baby Pitcher's temper was easily ruffled. And now it
was really time for Amy to go. The fifteen minutes had melted away.
"I do not like to leave the little sister with such a sour face," she
whispered in Flora's ear. "If you will brush away the black looks and
be pleasant, you may ask mamma to let you write on my white slate."
"Till you come home?"
"Yes."
Flora with a quick motion brushed away the gloomy clouds and held up her
sunny face for a kiss.
"That is a lady," said Amy, approvingly.
"I will be very careful, and I won't break it," said Flora, gratefully;
"and Dinah must not touch it."
"Well! If you haven't got an April face I wouldn't say so," declared
Charley, at the risk of banishing the smiles.
But Flora did not care. She was thinking of the pretty white slate. She
had never held it in her hands but once, and then Amy stood by to watch
and to caution her. Now she was to have it all to herself.
"I am off," said Charley. "Will somebody kiss me before I go?"
"Dinah will."
Flora held up the black baby, but Charley made a wry face and said
"Pah!" That amused Flora, and she ran after Charley and insisted upon
his kissing Dinah, but before she knew it, Charley caught her in his
arms and left a kiss on the tip of her nose. He did not mean to leave it
there, he was trying to put it on her cheek, but the little nose was
right in the way, so it caught the kiss.
"Ho, ho!" laughed Charley. "Let me take it back and put it where it
belongs."
So Flora held quite still, and Charley made believe take it back; and he
put another one on the cheek. Then he and Amy trudged along to school,
leaving Flora and Dinah in a very happy mood.