SHE SAYS GOOD-BY TO THE SOAP MAN.
The readers of the Little Pitcher stories will recognize this young man.
Flora met him one day in a crowd around a peddler's wagon, drawn thither
by a poor blind kitten that had been brought to light from the depths of
the peddler's rag-bag. She had not forgotten him, but he never would
have thought of her again, if she had not addressed him by the odd name
he had given her as his own. That refreshed his memory, and he laughed
to think that she really believed him when he told her his name was
Hodge Podge.
As the little cart was jerked along over the rough ground, Flora became
very chatty. She did not in the least mind being jolted, and she was not
afraid of falling from the seat for she held fast to the driver's greasy
frock. The blue box behind her was full of soap grease, but the cover
was down, and the baskets that hung upon the iron hooks that bristled
from all sides, were filled with bottles and scraps of various kinds,
that made a pleasant jingle as they were jostled against each other by
the motion of the cart. She had never enjoyed a ride so much. Her
father's easy carriage, with cushioned seat and elastic springs, could
not be compared to the soap man's little box on red wheels. Besides,
papa's horse could not dance, he had never learned how; and he ran so
fast that she could not see the flowers and the pretty sights as they
rode along. She was not at all concerned as to how the ride would end,
and where she was going she had not the slightest idea. So the old horse
jogged along, carrying her farther and farther from home every minute,
and she chatted sociably with Mr. Podge, and never felt so happy in her
life.
The soap man was going home. He felt good-natured and comfortable, for
he had had a prosperous day. It was only four o'clock, but his little
cart was well loaded, and his last call had been made. And that was the
reason he did not stop at any of the houses in the village. If he had,
somebody would have recognized Flora. And they passed a very few persons
on the road, but not one who knew that the little girl in the blue dress
did not belong to the man in the blue frock. When he thought Flora had
rode far enough, he stopped the cart and told her to "hop down." But she
was not ready to hop down; she was just beginning to enjoy the ride.
"You won't know the way back," he said, warningly.
"I shall," said Flora.
"And if you ride any farther, I may not let you go home at all. You
don't know where you are now."
"I do. Going to take a ride."
"It will be dark by-and-by."
"Not dark now."
"And it is going to rain."
"Make the horse jump."
The old horse started off once more, and this time a little faster. He
seemed to know that he was heading towards home. The driver was really
troubled about Flora, for he knew the little girl had rode far enough.
He was willing to indulge her by carrying her a little way but he wanted
her to get down when he said the word. He tried to frighten her by
saying he should not stop the horse again.
"Don't want to stop," she answered, taking the musk from her pocket and
holding it to his nose. "Smell?"
He started back and made a wry face.
"What is that?" he asked.
"My 'fumery."
"Your fumery."
"It is. Bertie caught it in a trap."
"_That's_ what I have been smelling all along."
"Yes," said Flora.
"I thought there was a musquash somewhere near."
"It is only me."
She took a prolonged sniff, and restored the precious perfume to her
pocket.
"Mamma don't like it, and Grandma don't. I do. And Dinah does. And you
do."
"Not much, I don't."
"Smells good?"
"Good and strong, yes. Now little musquash, farewell."
"No," said Flora.
"Look here, miss. Won't you catch it for running away?"
"Why, Mr. Podge! What a funny man! Ain't running away. Taking a ride.
Runned away once. To Deacon Brown. Had dinner and a nap."
"Didn't you tell me you was one of the Sunday children?"
"I did."
"Don't believe it."
Flora's eyes flashed. Not believe that she was one of the Sunday
children!
"I don't," he repeated solemnly. "They know how to behave. Sunday
children don't run away, they don't, and good girls mind their mother."
"I do."
"A tough one to mind you are."
"Do, too, Mr. Podge. Want to go home now."
"You can't stop the horse."
"I can. Whoa!"
But he did not stop, for his master slyly urged him on. She was in
earnest now: she really wanted to go home, and she called "Whoa!" again,
but the old horse still jogged on.
"I told you so," said the driver.
"Oh, Mr. Horse!" she cried in alarm. "Won't you please to stop. I want
to get out. Just one minute, dear Mr. Horse, if you please."
This appeal seemed to touch his feelings, and, to her great delight, he
stopped.
"He knows what politeness is, he does," said the driver. "Now look sharp
before you get down, and see if you ever were in this place before."
Flora did as she was bid, and she saw orchards white with blossoms, a
rustic bridge, a few scattering houses; but not one familiar object.
They had passed out of the village, and the country was strange to her.
In vain she looked for papa's house, or Grandma's; they were nowhere to
be seen.
"Well, Miss Fiddle-de-dee?"
Flora sighed heavily.
"You are lost, eh?"
"Can't see papa's house. Too bad!"
"I thought so."
He took up the reins, and the poor tired horse turned about unwillingly.
He did not want to go back, and would not believe his master was in
earnest till he felt a sharp tingle from the whip.
"Don't want to ride any more," said Flora, wearily; "want to get out."
"Getting scared, eh?"
"Flora is tired."
She was beginning to realize her situation, and felt in a hurry to see
home again.
"I shan't dump you here, miss," said the man, "so you may as well set
still a while longer. If you are lost, likely as not somebody will blame
me. I will carry you back a piece, and when you think you know the road
I will put you down. Lean your head against my arm if you are tired."
Flora would not do that for she suddenly discovered that the sleeve was
greasy, and she moved as far away from it as the narrow seat would
permit. But she did not dare let go for the cart jolted worse than ever.
The man drove slowly along, and she anxiously scanned the houses as they
passed. Once or twice he stopped, but Flora could not tell where she
was, and not till they got into the village did the surroundings look
familiar. Then she exclaimed--
"Goody! I know now."
"You are sure?"
"I am. Go that way," pointing in the right direction.
"Well, then, hop down; and when you beg a ride again, be sure you know
the driver before you get in. Do you hear?"
"I do. Good-by, Mr. Podge."