FLORA NEVER OPENS THE BIG GATE.
Flora seemed to be none of the worse for her perilous adventure. After a
refreshing sleep, she awoke happy and bright, not the least like the
miserable child of the night before. And indeed, she could not remember
how miserable she had been. When she tried to think how cold and wet and
lonely it was out there in the night, she could not; for now it was no
longer cold; the sun was shining, and there was no more darkness. Papa
had said she would never forget that day; she had almost forgotten it
already. So hard is it to realize our perils, when we look back upon
them. But there was the blue dress that never could be worn again, and
the water-soaked garden hat. The sight of these brought back a momentary
feeling of loneliness, and when she looked out upon the pleasant
morning, there was Jack Midnight's dog, with his nose between the bars
of the big gate. It was really true, then, the groping about in the
dark, and all the rest; and Towzer had not forgotten yet. When Flora
appeared at the window, he dropped his ears and turned sadly away. He
was looking for his friend of the night before, the little girl that
clung so closely around his neck, and begged him to take her to mamma.
He did not know Flora. But when she called to him, he answered with a
joyful cry. He knew the voice.
"Keep away from the big gate," she said, warningly. "Must not open
that."
"Bow-wow!" said Towser; "I don't care a straw for the big gate. I would
jump over it if I was younger, and I would squeeze myself through the
bars if the space was only wide enough. Bow-wow, who cares for the big
gate?"
"Go round the other side," said Flora, "and I will let you in."
Towzer wagged his tail, and started off, as if he meant to go round, but
he was only making believe. He was back again in a moment, dancing about
like a young puppy. You would never have supposed him to be the old,
sedate dog that he was.
"What makes you so frisky," asked Flora.
"Bow-wow," said he. "Cannot a poor old cur be frisky when he is happy?"
He was happy, because a stream of sunshine had struggled into his sober
life. It promised him friends and kind words, and that which he needed
most of all,--a streak of fat to cover his bare bones. Flora said they
were "nice, fat bones;" she called them fat because they were so large;
and indeed they were sadly large and prominent. Bertie's plaster proved
to be the proper remedy.
Under its influence the bones gradually disappeared, and, according to
Flora's theory, became leaner and smaller. Jack declared that the way
that dog was a picking up, beat all nature! Flora never admitted Towzer
at the big gate, and he very soon learned to go round. It was the big
gate that opened the way to Flora's troubles, and she had a wholesome
fear of it in consequence.
"Never open it again," she said, when she had finished the story of her
trials.
And she never did, without permission. The little blue cart and the
limping horse sometimes passed, and, although the soap man was always on
the lookout, he never again found Flora waiting to take a ride. She did
not forget what mamma told her: "Ladies do not ride in carts, and they
never ask to ride with strangers. Little girls cannot be expected to
_do_ right always; but good children always _try_ to do right."
"I am glad I did not see you riding with the soap man," said Amy. "I
should have felt ashamed of my little sister."
"She would have come off that box in a hurry if I had been anywhere
about," added Charley, in a threatening tone.
That stirred up the Baby Pitcher.
"Wouldn't either," she answered, tartly.
Charley tossed his head in a provoking way, that made Bertie say
"Don't!"
"I shall do so again," said Flora.
"I wouldn't," said Bertie.
"Wouldn't you, truly?"
"No," answered Bertie, seriously, "not if I were a little girl."
"Then I won't, and Dinah won't. Oh! She has gone to be a blackbird--I
forgot."
Amy kissed her little sister and talked to her in a gentle, soothing
manner, that smoothed out all the wrinkles. And then Charley felt sorry
he had roused the "Leo spunk," and he told such funny stories that Flora
felt very placid and comfortable, and quite at peace with everybody. In
losing the perfumery she lost a treasure, and for that she was sorry;
but she was glad to be restored to all her social rights and privileges.
She was no longer obliged to stand out on the door-stone when she talked
to Grandma, for the odor of musk was dying out. Grandma's doors were
thrown wide open, and no one was more welcome than the Baby Pitcher.