A lovely Sunday morning dawned without a cloud; and even in the dingy
court the May sunshine shone warmly, and the spring breezes blew freshly
from green fields far away. Johnny begged to go out; and being much
better, his mother consented, helping him to dress with such a bright
face and eager hands that the boy said innocently,--
"How glad you are when I get over a bad turn! I don't know what you 'd
do if I ever got well."
"My poor dear, I begin to think you _will_ pick up, now the good weather
has come and you have got a little friend to play with. God bless her!"
Why his mother should suddenly hug him tight, and then brush his hair so
carefully, with tears in her eyes, he did not understand; but was in
such a hurry to get out, he could only give her a good kiss, and hobble
away to see how his gallery fared after the rain, and to take a joyful
"peek" at the enchanted garden.
Mrs. Morris kept close behind him, and it was well she did; for he
nearly tumbled down, so great was his surprise when he beheld the old
familiar wall after the good fairies Love and Pity had worked their
pretty miracle in the moonlight.
The ragged hole had changed to a little arched door, painted red. On
either side stood a green tub, with a tall oleander in full bloom; from
the arch above hung a great bunch of gay flowers; and before the
threshold lay a letter directed to "Signor Giovanni Morris," in a
childish hand.
As soon as he recovered from the agreeable shock of this splendid
transformation scene, Johnny sank into his chair, where a soft cushion
had been placed, and read his note, with little sighs of rapture at the
charming prospect opening before him.
DEAR GIOVANNI,--Papa has made this nice gate, so you can come in when
you like and not be tired. We are to have two keys, and no one else can
open it. A little bell is to ring when we pull the cord, and we can run
and see what we want. The paint is wet. Papa did it, and the men put up
the door last night. I helped them, and did not go in my bed till ten.
It was very nice to do it so. I hope you will like it. Come in as soon
as you can; I am all ready.
Your friend,
FAY.
"Mother, she must be a real fairy to do all that, mustn't she?" said
Johnny, leaning back to look at the dear door behind which lay such
happiness for him.
"Yes, my sonny, she is the right sort of good fairy, and I just wish I
could do her washing for love the rest of her blessed little life,"
answered Mrs. Morris, in a burst of grateful ardor.
"You shall! you shall! Do come in! I cannot wait another minute!"
cried an eager little voice as the red door flew open; and there stood
Fay, looking very like a happy elf in her fresh white frock, a wreath of
spring flowers on her pretty hair, and a tall green wand in her hand,
while the brilliant bird sat on her shoulder, and the little white dog
danced about her feet.
"So she bids you to come in,
With a dimple in your chin,
Billy boy, Billy boy,"
sung the child, remembering how Johnny liked that song; and waving her
wand, she went slowly backward as the boy, with a shining face, passed
under the blooming arch into a new world, full of sunshine, liberty, and
sweet companionship.
Neither Johnny nor his mother ever forgot that happy day, for it was the
beginning of help and hope to both just when life seemed hardest and the
future looked darkest.
Papa kept out of sight, but enjoyed peeps at the little party as they
sat under the chestnuts, Nanna and Fay doing the honors of the garden to
their guests with Italian grace and skill, while the poor mother folded
her tired hands with unutterable content, and the boy looked like a
happy soul in heaven.
Sabbath silence, broken only by the chime of bells and the feet of
church-goers, brooded over the city; sunshine made golden shadows on the
grass; the sweet wind brought spring odors from the woods; and every
flower seemed to nod and beckon, as if welcoming the new playmate to
their lovely home.
While the women talked together, Fay led Johnny up and down her little
world, showing all her favorite nooks, making him rest often on the
seats that stood all about, and amusing him immensely by relating the
various fanciful plays with which she beguiled her loneliness.
"Now we can have much nicer ones; for you will tell me yours, and we can
do great things," she said, when she had displayed her big
rocking-horse, her grotto full of ferns, her mimic sea, where a fleet of
toy boats lay at anchor in the basin of an old fountain, her fairy-land
under the lilacs, with paper elves sitting among the leaves, her swing,
that tossed one high up among the green boughs, and the basket of white
kittens, where Topaz, the yellow-eyed cat, now purred with maternal
pride. Books were piled on the rustic table, and all the pictures Fay
thought worthy to be seen.
Here also appeared a nice lunch, before the visitors could remember it
was noon and tear themselves away. Such enchanted grapes and oranges
Johnny never ate before; such delightful little tarts and Italian messes
of various sorts; even the bread and butter seemed glorified because
served in a plate trimmed with leaves and cut in dainty bits. Coffee
that perfumed the air put heart into poor Mrs. Morris, who half starved
herself that the boy might be fed; and he drank milk till Nanna said,
laughing, as she refilled the pitcher,--
"He takes more than both the blessed lambs we used to feed for Saint
Agnes in the convent at home. And he is truly welcome, the dear child,
to the best we have; for he is as innocent and helpless as they."
"What does she mean?" whispered Johnny to Fay, rather abashed at having
forgotten his manners in the satisfaction which three mugfuls of good
milk had given him.
So, sitting in the big rustic chair beside him, Fay told the pretty
story of the lambs who are dedicated to Saint Agnes, with ribbons tied
to their snowy wool, and then raised with care till their fleeces are
shorn to make garments for the Pope. A fit tale for the day, the child
thought, and went on to tell about the wonders of Rome till Johnny's
head was filled with a splendid confusion of new ideas, in which Saint
Peter's and apple-tarts, holy lambs and red doors, ancient images and
dear little girls, were delightfully mixed. It all seemed like a fairy
tale, and nothing was too wonderful or lovely to happen on that
memorable day.
So when Fay's papa at last appeared, finding it impossible to keep away
from the happy little party any longer, Johnny decided at once that the
handsome man in the velvet coat was the king of the enchanted land, and
gazed at him with reverence and awe. A most gracious king he proved to
be; for after talking pleasantly to Mrs. Morris, and joking Fay on
storming the walls, he proposed to carry Johnny off, and catching him
up, strode away with the astonished boy on his shoulder, while the
little girl danced before to open doors and clear the way.
Johnny thought he could n't be surprised any more; but when he had
mounted many stairs and found himself in a great room with a glass roof,
full of rich curtains, strange armor, pretty things, and pictures
everywhere, he just sat in the big chair where he was placed, and stared
in silent delight.
"This is papa's studio, and that the famous picture, and here is where I
work; and is n't it pleasant? and aren't you glad to see it?" said Fay,
skipping about to do the honors of the place.
"I don't believe heaven is beautifuller," answered Johnny, in a low
tone, as his eyes went from the green tree-tops peeping in at the
windows to the great sunny picture of a Roman garden, with pretty
children at play among the crumbling statues and fountains.
"I 'm glad you like it, for we mean to have you come here a great deal.
I sit to papa very often, and get _so_ tired; and you can talk to me,
and then you can see me draw and model in clay, and then we 'll go in
the garden, and Nanna will show you how to make baskets, and _then_ we
'll play."
Johnny nodded and beamed at this charming prospect, and for an hour
explored the mysteries of the studio, with Fay for a guide and papa for
an amused spectator. He liked the boy more and more, and was glad Fay
had so harmless a playmate to expend her energies and compassion upon.
He assented to every plan proposed, and really hoped to be able to help
these poor neighbors; for he had a kind heart, and loved his little
daughter even more than his art.
When at last Mrs. Morris found courage to call Johnny away, he went
without a word, and lay down in the dingy room, his face still shining
with the happy thoughts that filled his mind, hungry for just such
pleasures, and never fed before.
After that day everything went smoothly, and both children blossomed
like the flowers in that pleasant garden, where the magic of love and
pity, fresh air and sunshine, soon worked miracles. Fay learned
patience and gentleness from Johnny; he grew daily stronger on the
better food Nanna gave him, and the exercise he was tempted to take; and
both spent very happy days working and playing, sometimes under the
trees, where the pretty baskets were made, or in the studio, where both
pairs of small hands modelled graceful things in clay, or daubed amazing
pictures with the artist's old brushes and discarded canvases.
Mrs. Morris washed everything washable in the house, and did up Fay's
frocks so daintily that she looked more like an elf than ever when her
head shone out from the fluted frills, like the yellow middle of a daisy
with its white petals all spread.
As he watched the children playing together, the artist, having no great
work in hand, made several pretty sketches of them, and then had a fine
idea of painting the garden scene where Fay first talked to Johnny. It
pleased his fancy, and the little people sat for him nicely; so he made
a charming thing of it, putting in the cat, dog, bird, and toad as the
various characters in Shakspeare's lovely play, while the flowers were
the elves, peeping and listening in all manner of merry, pretty ways.
He called it "Little Pyramus and Thisbe," and it so pleased a certain
rich lady that she paid a large price for it; and then, discovering that
it told a true story, she generously added enough to send Johnny and his
mother to the country, when Fay and her father were ready to go.
But it was to a lovelier land than the boy had ever read of in his fairy
books, and to a happier life than mending shoes in the dingy court. In
the autumn they all sailed gayly away together, to live for years in
sunny Italy, where Johnny grew tall and strong, and learned to paint
with a kind master and a faithful young friend, who always rejoiced that
she found and delivered him, thanks to the wonderful hole in the wall.
[Illustration: She got too lazy to care for anything but sleeping and
eating. PAGE 219.]
X.
THE PIGGY GIRL.
"I won't be washed! I won't be washed!" screamed little Betty, kicking
and slapping the maid who undressed her one night.
"You 'd better go and live with the pigs, dirty child," said Maria,
scrubbing away at two very grubby hands.
"I wish I could! I love to be dirty,--I will be dirty!" roared Betty,
throwing the sponge out of the window and the soap under the table.
Maria could do nothing with her; so she bundled her into bed half wiped,
telling her to go to sleep right away.
"I won't! I 'll go and live with Mrs. Gleason's pigs, and have nothing
to do but eat and sleep, and roll in the dirt, and never, never be
washed any more," said Betty to herself.
She lay thinking about it and blinking at the moon for a while; then she
got up very softly, and crept down the back stairs, through the garden,
to the sty where two nice little pigs were fast asleep among the straw
in their small house. They only grunted when Betty crept into a corner,
laughing at the fun it would be to play piggy and live here with no
Maria to wash her and no careful mamma to keep saying,--
"Put on a clean apron, dear!"
Next morning she was waked up by hearing Mrs. Gleason pour milk into the
trough. She lay very still till the woman was gone; then she crept out
and drank all she wanted, and took the best bits of cold potato and
bread for her breakfast, and the lazy pigs did not get up till she was
done. While they ate and rooted in the dirt, Betty slept as long as she
liked, with no school, no errands, no patchwork to do. She liked it,
and kept hidden till night; then she went home, and opened the little
window in the store closet, and got in and took as many good things to
eat and carry away as she liked. She had a fine walk in her nightgown,
and saw the flowers asleep, heard the little birds chirp in the nest,
and watched the fireflies and moths at their pretty play. No one saw
her but the cats; and they played with her, and hopped at her toes, in
the moonlight, and had great fun.
When she was tired she went to sleep with the pigs, and dozed all the
next day, only coming out to eat and drink when the milk was brought and
the cold bits; for Mrs. Gleason took good care of her pigs, and gave
them clean straw often, and kept them as nice as she could.
Betty lived in this queer way a long time, and soon looked more like a
pig than a little girl; for her nightgown got dirty, her hair was never
combed, her face was never washed, and she loved to dig in the mud till
her hands looked like paws. She never talked, but began to grunt as the
pigs did, and burrowed into the straw to sleep, and squealed when they
crowded her, and quarrelled over the food, eating with her nose in the
trough like a real pig. At first she used to play about at night, and
steal things to eat; and people set traps to catch the thief in their
gardens, and the cook in her own house scolded about the rats that
carried off the cake and pies out of her pantry. But by and by she got
too lazy and fat to care for anything but sleeping and eating, and never
left the sty. She went on her hands and knees now, and began to wonder
if a little tail would n't grow and her nose change to a snout.
All summer she played be a pig, and thought it good fun; but when the
autumn came it was cold, and she longed for her nice warm flannel
nightgown, and got tired of cold victuals, and began to wish she had a
fire to sit by and good buckwheat cakes to eat. She was ashamed to go
home, and wondered what she should do after this silly frolic. She
asked the pigs how they managed in winter; but they only grunted, and
she could not remember what became of them, for the sty was always empty
in cold weather.
One dreadful night she found out. She was smuggled down between the
great fat piggies to keep warm; but her toes were cold, and she was
trying to pull the straw over them when she heard Mr. Gleason say to his
boy,--
"We must kill those pigs to-morrow. They are fat enough; so come and
help me sharpen the big knife."
"Oh, dear, what will become of _me_?" thought Betty, as she heard the
grindstone go round and round as the knife got sharper and sharper. "I
look so like a pig they will kill me too, and make me into sausages if I
don't run away. I 'm tired of playing piggy, and I 'd rather be washed
a hundred times a day than be put in a pork barrel."
So she lay trembling till morning; then she ran through the garden and
found the back door open. It was very early, and no one saw her, for
the cook was in the shed getting wood to make her fire; so Betty slipped
upstairs to the nursery and was going to whisk into bed, when she saw in
the glass an ugly black creature, all rags and dirt, with rumpled hair,
and a little round nose covered with mud.
"Can it be me?" she said. "How horrid I am!" And she could not spoil
her nice white bed, but hopped into the bathtub and had a good
scrubbing. Next she got a clean nightgown, and brushed her hair, and
cut her long nails, and looked like a tidy little girl again.
Then she lay down in her cosey crib with the pink cover and the lace
curtains, and fell fast asleep, glad to have clean sheets, soft
blankets, and her own little pillow once more.
"Come, darling, wake up and see the new frock I have got for you, and
the nice ruffled apron. It's Thanksgiving day, and all the cousins are
coming to dinner," said her mamma, with a soft kiss on the rosy cheek.
Betty started up, screaming,--
"Don't kill me! Oh, please don't! I 'm not a truly pig, I 'm a little
girl; and if you'll let me run home, I 'll never fret when I 'm washed
again."
"What is the dear child afraid of?" said mamma, cuddling her close, and
laughing to see Betty stare wildly about for the fat pigs and the stuffy
sty.
She told her mother all about the queer time she had had, and was much
surprised to hear mamma say,--
"It was all a dream, dear; you have been safely asleep in your little
bed ever since you slapped poor Maria last night."
"Well, I 'm glad I dreamed it, for it has made me love to be clean.
Come, Maria, soap and scrub as much as you like, I won't kick and scream
ever any more," cried Betty, skipping about, glad to be safe in her
pleasant home and no longer a dirty, lazy piggy girl.
[Illustration: She was rocking a small tadpole to sleep.--PAGE 238.]
XI.
THE THREE FROGS.
Hop, Croak, and Splash were three little frogs who lived in a pleasant
river, and had merry times swimming about or hopping on the green grass.
At night they sat on the bank and sung together, very sweetly they
thought; and if boats came by they skipped into the water, heels over
head, with a great splashing and noise.
Hop was not contented with this quiet life; he wanted to see the world,
and kept asking his brother Croak to go and travel with him.
"I 'm tired of poking about in this stupid river, with no fun but
leap-frog and singing. I want to know what is over that hill, and I 'm
going to find out. You can stay and doze in the mud if you please. I
've got more spirit than that, and I 'm off."
So away went Hop, singing gayly,--
"A frog he would a-wooing go,
Whether his mammy would let him or no,
With a roly-poly, gammon and spinach,
Heigh-ho, said Anthony Rowley."
His good little sister Splash begged him to stay, for the world was full
of danger and he was too young to go alone. But Hop told her not to
worry. Girls ought to keep at home, for they could n't take care of
themselves; but fine young fellows should see something of life before
they settled down. His friend Turtle had invited him to go; and if such
a slow chap as Creeper could start on a journey, of course the best
jumper in the river would get on all right.
While he was saying good-by, the turtle had crept up the bank and was
well on his way to the road beyond. Hop skipped after him; and when
they had got to the hill-top they stopped to rest,--Creeper in the road
on the warm sand, and Hop among some daisies close by.
"How big the world is!" he said, staring with his great eyes; for he had
never seen houses before, and the village looked as grand to him as
London would to us. "I like it, and I know I shall have a splendid
time. Come on, slow coach! I see fountains over there, and want a good
drink."
Just as he spoke a cart came by; and before poor Creeper could get out
of the way, a wheel crushed him to death.
"Mercy on us! what horrid monsters those are!" cried Hop, leaping as
fast as his legs could take him into a garden near by, where he lay
trembling and scared half out of his wits. He thought the cart was a
creature; and every time he heard the rumble of wheels his heart beat
and he clasped his hands in fear as he sat under the burdock leaves. At
last it seemed so quiet he ventured out, and had a lovely time in the
nasturtium-bed, catching flies and playing bo-peep with a little bird.
Then he hopped to the grass-plot, where the sprinkler was whizzing
round, and took a refreshing bath. He was just puffing his skin out and
winking with pleasure when a fat toad, who lived under the piazza, told
him very crossly to "clear out."
"You are a very rude old person, and I shall do as I like. This is not
your garden; so you need n't goggle at me," answered saucy Hop, opening
his wide mouth to laugh at the toad, who was so fat he could n't take
long leaps like the lively frog.
"Very well, dandiprat, I shall call the cat; and she will make you skip,
unless you want that fine green jacket torn off your back by her sharp
claws," said the toad, hopping slowly away to the sunny corner where a
gray cat lay dozing.
"Pooh'! I 'm not afraid," said Hop; for he had never seen a cat, and
thought the toad made it all up.
So he took a leisurely stroll down the walk, looking about him as if he
owned the whole garden. Presently he saw a pretty little creature
playing with leaves, and hurried on to speak to it, being eager to find
friends in this pleasant place. You see, when the toad told the cat
about the stranger, pussy only gaped and went to sleep again, not caring
to play with any one. But the kitten who lay beside her was curious to
see a frog, and ran off at once to find him. Hop did not know that this
was the cat's daughter, till kitty pounced on him as if he had been a
mouse, and instead of playing some nice game and telling all about the
new world, as Hop expected, she clawed and bit him, tossed him up, and
let him bump down again on the hard ground. He tried to get away, but
she let him hop a little and then pounced again, cuffing him with her
paws, and dragging him about till he was half dead.
He believed the old toad now, and thought the end of the world had come.
It would have been the end of the world for him, if a dog had not
bounced into the garden and made kitty fly up a tree, spitting and
glaring like a little dragon. Poor Hop crept under a gooseberry bush,
and lay there longing for gentle Splash to tie up his wounds and comfort
his pain with spearmint from the river side and a cool lily-pad for a
wet sheet to pack him in.
"It is an awful world, and I wish I was safe at home," he sighed, as the
sun grew hot, the water was turned off, and the wind stopped blowing.
But he was too feeble to hop away, and lay there panting till night,
when a shower saved his life; and early in the morning he started to
find the river before he got into any more troubles.
He went very slowly, being lame and sore; but got out of the garden and
was just planning to give one tremendous leap over the road, for fear he
should get crushed as Creeper did, when he heard a soft rustling behind
him, and saw a long, slender gray thing, with very bright eyes and a
little tongue that darted out and in like a flash.
"I see no cruel claws; so it can't be a cat," thought Hop, feeling timid
now about making new friends.
"Pretty fellow, come here and talk to me," hissed the snake, longing to
eat the nice little froggie.
Hop felt rather nervous, but wished to be polite; so he let the stranger
coil lovingly round him and look right into his face while listening to
the tale of woe he gladly told. Presently he found he could not stir at
all, nor move his eyes from the fiery eyes before him, and the darting
tongue seemed ready to sting. Then he was frightened, and tried to
escape; but he only gave one leap, for the snake caught him by the hind
legs and held him fast, while swallowing him slowly down.
"Help, help!" cried Hop, in despair. "Croak! Splash! oh, come and save
me, save me!"
But there was no help; and in a few moments there was no frog, for the
last leg had vanished down the snake's throat. Poor little Hop!
Croak was a noisy fellow, and kept up a great racket trying to sing
louder than any of the other frogs; for he was very proud of his voice,
and sat on a log at night saying, "Ker honk! ker honk!" till every one
was tired of hearing him.
The old ones told him not to wear his throat out till his voice was
stronger; but he thought they envied him its power and sweetness, and
croaked away louder than ever.
The boys who came to the river to bathe used to mock him, and try to see
which frog sung so loud. This pleased him; and instead of keeping still
and staying among his friends, silly Croak went and sat on a rock alone,
that all might see and hear the great singer.
"Now," said the boys, "we can catch him and keep him in a tub; and when
we are tired of his noise we can rap him on the head and make him be
still."
So while the vain frog sat croaking at the top of his voice, two of the
boys swam up to the rock and threw a net over him. He kicked and
struggled; but they had him fast, and tied him up in a bundle till they
got to the tub, and there they left him with a little grass, saying,--
"Now sing away, old fellow, and make yourself comfortable."
But Croak could not sing, he was so frightened and unhappy; for he was
hungry and tired, and they did n't give him the right things to eat, nor
any mossy log to rest on. They poked him with sticks, took him up to
look at his funny toes, opened his big mouth, and held him by one leg to
see him kick. He tried to climb out; but the sides of the tub were
slippery, and he had to give it up. He kept swimming and floating till
he was tired out, and ate bread-crumbs and grass to keep from starving;
but he was very miserable, though children came to hear him sing, and he
had nothing else to do.
"This is n't what I meant," sighed Croak, "and if ever I get out of this
old tub, I 'll keep very still and never try to make a noise in the
world again."
Among the children was one kind little girl who pitied the poor frog,
and one day when she was alone took him up carefully and put him on the
grass, saying,--
"Run away, froggie, home to your mamma, and don't tell the boys I set
you free."
"Thank you, my dear; those bad boys will never see or hear me again,"
answered Croak, hopping off as fast as he could go, never minding in his
hurry that he was not taking the road to the river.
After he had gone a long way he came to a tank where a great many frogs
seemed to be having a very nice time; for there was plenty of food,
stones to sit on, and fresh water flowing in all the time.
"Ah! these must be very elegant people to live in this luxurious way.
They sing pretty well, but not one has a splendid deep voice like mine.
I 'll jump in and astonish them with my best song," said Croak, after he
had watched and listened for a while.
If he had only known that these frogs were kept there to be fattened for
an old French gentleman to eat, he would have skipped away and saved his
life; but he was so anxious to show off his voice, that he gave a jump
and went splash into the tank, startling the others and making a great
commotion. He liked that; and getting up on the highest stone, gave
them his favorite "Ker honk" song, till the air rang with the sound.
The other frogs were much impressed, for they thought it fine music; so
they gathered round, and shook hands and welcomed the stranger, sure
that he must be a distinguished musician, he put on such airs. Now
Croak was in his glory, and puffed himself out, and goggled at the
lady-frogs till they put up their fans of green flag to hide their
smiles. The young fellows tried to imitate him, till the tank was such
a noisy place the old gentleman said to his cook,--
"Kill off a dozen of the fattest for dinner, and stop that din out
there."
The frogs had told Croak that every now and then some of them were
chosen to go and live in the great house; and all were eager to find out
what good fortune had happened to their friends, for none ever came back
to tell the sad truth. So when they saw the man in the white cap and
apron come to the tank and look down at them, they all began to skip and
prance, hoping to be chosen.
With a long-handled net the cook picked out the fattest and put them in
a covered pail till he had his dozen. Croak had not been there long
enough to get very plump, so he would have escaped that time if he had
held his tongue. But he could n't keep still, and made such a terrible
noise the cook said,--
"I must catch and quiet that rascal, or my master will go distracted."
So he held the net open; and that silly frog hopped in, little dreaming
that he had sung his last song.
"Now we shall see fine things. Good-by, you poor dears! Be patient
till your turn comes," he cried, as the bucket was carried away to the
kitchen.
Croak was disappointed when he saw nothing but pots and pans and a great
fire; for the vain fellow really thought he was chosen to sing before
some fine people. But his disappointment turned to horror when he saw
his friends taken out one by one and their poor little legs cut off to
fry for dinner. That was the only part the cook used, and the rest he
threw away. Croak was left to the last, as he was not to be eaten; and
while he waited his turn, he dashed distractedly round and round the
pail, trying to get away, and croaking so dismally it was a wonder the
cook did not take pity on him. But he did not, and was just going
toward the pail with the big knife in his hand, when the old gentleman
came down to see if his orders were obeyed, for he thought a great deal
of his dinner. All the poor little legs lay in the pan ready to cook;
and he was so pleased that he said, looking at the thin frog swimming
about in that lively way,--
"Ah! this is a very brisk fellow. I will put him in my aquarium; the
gold-fish and the crab will like a little society, I think."
Then, catching Croak by one leg, he carried him upstairs and threw him
into the great glass box where several pretty gold-fish and one cross
crab lived together. Croak was so glad to escape frying that he was
very quiet, humble, and good; and though his new home was a prison, he
tried to be contented, and never complained when the lovely fish called
him ugly and the cross crab nipped his toes. He was homesick, and
longed sadly for the pleasant river, the jolly games he used to have,
and his dear little sister. He never sang now, fearing to be killed if
he did; but when the windows stood open through the summer night and he
heard the music of his friends, he put his hands before his face and
cried such bitter tears that the water grew quite salt. He bore it as
long as he could; but his heart broke at last, and one day poor Croak
was found floating on the top of the tank quite dead. So that was the
end of him.
Good little Splash lived at home all safe and happy, and was so kind to
every one that her neighbors loved her dearly and sung her praises at
their evening concerts.
Now, the Frog Prince wished to marry, and was looking about for a wife,
as he was very particular. So he wrapped himself up in a dead-leaf
cloak, put an empty nut-shell on his head for a hood, and leaning on a
bulrush staff, went hobbling along by the river like a poor old woman,
begging at the different houses, that he might see how the lady-frogs
behaved at home.
When he rode out as the Prince on a field-mouse, with flags flying, and
all his court about him, the young lady-frogs stood modestly by their
mammas, all in their best, and curtsied sweetly as he went by. But now
he came to the back doors, a poor beggar, and it was very different.
Some were lazy and lay late in their beds of river weeds, while the
mothers did the work; some were greedy and ate all the best flies
themselves; others slapped and scolded their little brothers and sisters
instead of taking care of them; and nearly all were vain. The Prince
caught many looking at their bright eyes in still pools, or putting on
crowns of water flowers, or bathing in dew to keep the freckles from
their faces. They were always ready to dance at balls, to go boating,
or sing at the concerts where all could hear them; but few were busy,
sweet, and dutiful at home, and the Prince nowhere found the bride he
wanted. He was very fond of music; so he listened to the concerts, and
soon began to wonder why they all sang a song with this chorus,--
"Who is the fairest that swims in our river?
Who is the dearest frog under the sun?
Whose life is full of the sweetest endeavor?
Who is our busiest, happiest one?
Splash, Splash, darling thing!
All delight her praise to sing."
"I must find this lovely creature and see if she is all they say,
because if she is I 'll make a Princess of her in the twinkling of an
eye," said the Prince; and he set off to look for Splash, for he was a
very energetic frog.
He soon found her, for she was always busy doing something for her
neighbors; and he watched her teaching the little tadpoles to swim,
helping the old frogs out to sit in the sun when damp weather gave them
rheumatism, or taking care of the sick ones, or feeding the poor, or
running errands for busy mammas with large families and lazy daughters.
In her own little home all was as neat as wax, but so lonely she did not
like to stay there much. All day she helped others, and at evening sat
at her door and thought sadly of her lost brothers. She was very pretty
in her neat, gray gown and white apron, with her bright eyes, gentle
face, and sweet voice; though she seldom sung, except lullabies to the
little frogs and the sick folks.
She was rocking a small tadpole to sleep in this way one day, when the
disguised Prince came hobbling along, and asked for a bit to eat.
Putting little Wiggle in his cobweb hammock, Splash said kindly,--
"Yes, old mother, come in and rest while I get you some dinner. Here 's
a soft cushion of moss, and a leaf of water fresh from the spring."
The Prince sat a long time talking with her, and hearing about her
brothers, and seeing how sweet she was. He made up his mind to marry at
once; for frogs don't spend a long time and much money getting
ready,--they just wash up their green and gray suits, and invite their
friends to the wedding. The bride can always find a delicate cobweb on
the grass for a veil, and that is all she needs.
The Prince thought he would try one thing more; so he said to her,--
"I 'm very lame; will you take me to the palace? I want to see the
Prince. Do you know him?"
"No; I 'm only a humble creature, and he would n't care to know me,"
said Splash, modestly. "But I admire him very much, he is so brave and
just and good. I love to see him go by, and always peep behind my
curtain, he is such a splendid sight."
The Prince blushed under the nut-shell cap at such praise, and was sure,
from the way Splash spoke, that she loved him a little bit. So he was
very happy and wanted to dance, but kept quiet and leaned on her arm as
she led him down the bank, put him nicely on a lily-pad, and rowed away,
smiling at him and talking so sweetly he got fonder and fonder of her
every moment.
At last they came to the palace, all made of white water-lilies, with
red cardinal-flowers for flags, floors of green moss, and pink toadstool
tables spread with acorn cups of honey, berries, and all the dainties
frogs love; for the Prince had sent a telegram by the wind to have a
feast ready.
"Come in. I have something for you in return for your kindness to me.
I 'm not what I seem, and in a moment you shall see who your new friend
is," said the Prince, leading her into the great hall where the throne
was.
Then he left her, wondering what was to happen, while he hurried to
throw off his old things and to put on his green velvet suit, his crown
of cowslip, and the tall rush that was his sceptre. He looked very
splendid, with white silk stockings on his long legs, his fine eyes
shining, and his speckled waistcoat puffed out with the joy of his
heart.
The trumpets sounded; all the frogs of the court came marching in, with
the Prince at the head; and when they were seated at the tables, he took
astonished Splash by the hand, and said in a loud voice,--
"This is your Queen,--the best, the loveliest in the land! Bring the
wedding veil; let the bells ring, and shout with me, 'Hurrah! hurrah for
Queen Splash!'"
[Illustration: They did n't look like heroines, those two shabby little
girls. PAGE 242.]
XII.
BAA! BAA!
BAA THE FIRST.
They did n't look at all like heroines, those two shabby little girls,
as they trotted down the hill, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.
Their bare feet were scratched and brown, their hands were red with
berry stains, and their freckled faces shone with heat under the
flapping sun-bonnets. But Patty and Tilda were going to do a fine piece
of work, although they did not know it then, and were very full of their
own small affairs as they went briskly toward the station to sell
berries.
The tongues went as fast as the feet; for this was a great expedition,
and both were much excited about it
"Don't they look lovely?" said Tilda, proudly surveying her sister's
load as she paused to change a heavy pail from one arm to the other.
"Perfectly de-licious! I know folks will buy 'em, if we ain't too
scared to offer 'em," answered Patty, stopping also to settle the two
dozen little birch baskets full of red raspberries which she carried,
prettily set forth, on an old waiter, trimmed with scarlet
bunch-berries, white everlasting, and green leaves.
"I sha'n't be. I 'll go right along and holler real loud,--see if I
don't. I'm bound to have our books and boots for next winter; so just
keep thinking how nice they'll be, and push ahead," said stout-hearted
Tilda, the leader of the expedition.
"Hurry up. I want to have time to sprinkle the posies, so they'll look
fresh when the train comes. I hope there'll be lots of children in it;
they always want to eat, ma says."
"It was real mean of Elviry Morris to go and offer to sell cheaper up to
the hotel than we did, and spoil our market. Guess she'll wish she'd
thought of this when we tell what we 've done down here." And both
children laughed with satisfaction as they trudged along, never minding
the two hot, dusty miles they had to go.
The station was out of the village, and the long trains carrying summer
travellers to the mountains stopped there once a day to meet the stages
for different places. It was a pleasant spot, with a great pond on one
side, deep forests on the other, and in the distance glimpses of gray
peaks or green slopes inviting the weary city people to come and rest.
Every one seemed glad to get out during the ten minutes' pause, even if
their journey was not yet ended; and while they stood about, enjoying
the fresh air from the pond, or watching the stages load up, Tilda and
Patty planned to offer their tempting little baskets of fresh fruit and
flowers. It was a great effort, and their hearts beat with childish
hope and fear as they came in sight of the station, with no one about
but the jolly stage-drivers lounging in the shade.
"Plenty of time. Let's go to the pond and wash off the dust and get a
drink. Folks won't see us behind those cars," said Tilda, glad to slip
out of sight till the train arrived; for even her courage seemed to ooze
away as the important moment approached.
A long cattle-train stood on a side track waiting for the other one to
pass; and while the little girls splashed their feet in the cool water,
or drank from their hands, a pitiful sound filled the air. Hundreds of
sheep, closely packed in the cars and suffering agonies from dust and
heat and thirst, thrust their poor noses through the bars, bleating
frantically; for the sight of all that water, so near yet so impossible
to reach, drove them wild. Those farther down the track, who could not
see the blue lake, could smell it, and took up the cry till the woods
echoed with it, and even the careless drivers said, with a glance of
pity,--
"Hard on the poor critters this hot day, ain't it?"
"Oh, Tilda, hear 'em baa, and see 'em crowd this side to get at the
water! Let's take 'em some in our pickin' dishes. It's so dreadful to
be dry," said tender-hearted Patty, filling her pint cup, and running to
offer it to the nearest pathetic nose outstretched to meet it. A dozen
thirsty tongues tried to lap it, and in the struggle the little cup was
soon emptied; but Patty ran for more, and Tilda did the same, both
getting so excited over the distress of the poor creatures that they
never heard the far-off whistle of their train, and continued running to
and fro on their errand of mercy, careless of their own weary feet, hot
faces, and the precious flowers withering in the sun.
They did not see a party of people sitting near by under the trees, who
watched them and listened to their eager talk with smiling interest.
"Run, Patty; this poor little one is half dead. Throw some water in his
face while I make this big one stop walking on him. Oh, dear! There
are so many! We can't help half, and our mugs are so small!"
"I know what I 'll do, Tilda,--tip out the berries into my apron, and
bring up a nice lot at once," cried Patty, half beside herself with
pity.
"It will spoil your apron and mash the berries, but never mind. I don't
care if we don't sell one if we can help these poor dear lammies,"
answered energetic Tilda, dashing into the pond up to her ankles to fill
the pail, while Patty piled up the fruit in her plaid apron.
"Oh, my patience me! the train is coming!" cried Patty, as a shrill
shriek woke the echoes, and an approaching rumble was heard.
"Let it come. I won't leave this sheep till it's better. You go and
sell the first lot; I 'll come as quick as I can," commanded Tilda, so
busy reviving the exhausted animal that she could not stop even to begin
the cherished new plan.
"I don't dare go alone; you come and call out, and I 'll hold the
waiter," quavered poor Patty, looking sadly scared as the long train
rolled by with a head at every window.
"Don't be a goose. Stay here and work, then; I 'll go and sell every
basket. I 'm so mad about these poor things, I ain't afraid of
anybody," cried Tilda, with a last refreshing splash among the few
favored sheep, as she caught up the tray and marched off to the
platform,--a very hot, wet, shabby little girl, but with a breast full
of the just indignation and tender pity that go to redress half the
wrongs of this great world.
"Oh, mamma, see the pretty baskets! do buy some, I 'm so thirsty and
tired," exclaimed more than one eager little traveller, as Tilda held up
her tray, crying bravely,--
"Fresh berries! fresh berries! ten cents! only ten cents!"
They were all gone in ten minutes; and if Patty had been with her, the
pail might have been emptied before the train left. But the other
little Samaritan was hard at work; and when her sister joined her,
proudly displaying a handful of silver, she was prouder still to show
her woolly invalid feebly nibbling grass from her hand.
"We might have sold everyone,--folks liked 'em ever so much; and next
time we 'll have two dozen baskets apiece. But we 'll have to be spry,
for some of the children fuss about picking out the one they like. It's
real fun, Patty," said Tilda, tying up the precious dimes in a corner of
her dingy little handkerchief.
"So's this," answered the other, with a last loving pat of her patient's
nose, as the train began to move, and car after car of suffering sheep
passed them with plaintive cries and vain efforts to reach the blessed
water of which they were in such dreadful need.
Poor Patty could n't bear it. She was hot, tired, and unhappy because
she could do so little; and when her pitying eyes lost sight of that
load of misery, she just sat down and cried.
But Tilda scolded as she carefully put the unsold berries back into the
pail, still unconscious of the people behind the elder-bushes by the
pond.
"That's the wickedest thing that ever was; and I just wish I was a man,
so I could see about it. I 'd put all the railroad folks in those cars,
and keep 'em there hours and hours and hours, going by ponds all the
time; and I 'd have ice-cream, too, where they could n't get a bit, and
lots of fans, and other folks all cool and comfortable, never caring how
hot and tired and thirsty they were. Yes, I would! and then we'd see
how _they_ like it."
Here indignant Tilda had to stop for breath, and refreshed herself by
sucking berry-juice off her fingers.
"We _must_ do something about it. I can't be happy to think of those
poor lammies going so far without any water. It's awful to be dry,"
sobbed Patty, drinking her own tears as they fell.
"If I had a hose, I 'd come every day and hose all over the cars; that
would do some good. Anyway, we 'll bring the other big pail, and water
all we can," said Tilda, whose active brain was always ready with a
plan.
"Then we sha'n't sell our berries," began Patty, despondently; for all
the world was saddened to her just then by the sight she had seen.
"We 'll come earlier, and both work real hard till our train is in.
Then I 'll sell, and you go on watering with both pails. It's hard
work, but we can take turns. What ever shall we do with all these
berries? The under ones are smashed, so we 'll eat 'em; but these are
nice, only who will buy 'em?" And Tilda looked soberly at the spoiled
apron and the four quarts of raspberries picked with so much care in the
hot sun.
"I will," said a pleasant voice; and a young lady came out from the
bushes just as the good fairy appears to the maidens in old tales.
Both little girls started and stared, and were covered with confusion
when other heads popped up, and a stout gentleman came toward them,
smiling so good-naturedly that they were not afraid.
"We are having a picnic in the woods, and would like these nice berries
for our supper, if you want to sell them," said the lady, holding out a
pretty basket.
"Yes, ma'am, we do. You can have 'em all. They 're a little mashed; so
we won't ask but ten cents a quart, though we expected to get twelve,"
said Tilda, who was a real Yankee, and had an eye to business.
"What do you charge for watering the sheep?" asked the stout gentleman,
looking kindly at Patty, who at once retired into the depths of her
sun-bonnet, like a snail into its shell.
"Nothing, sir. Was n't it horrid to see those poor things? That's what
made her cry. She's real tender-hearted, and she could n't bear it; so
we let the berries go, and did what we could," answered Tilda, with such
an earnest little face that it looked pretty in spite of tan and
freckles and dust.
"Yes, it was very sad, and we must see about it. Here's something to
pay for the berries, also for the water." And the gentleman threw a
bright half-dollar into Tilda's lap and another into Patty's, just as if
he was used to tossing money about in that delightful manner.
The little girls did n't know what to say to him; but they beamed at
every one, and surveyed the pretty silver pieces as if they were very
precious in their sight.
"What will you do with them?" asked the lady, in the friendly sort of
voice that always gets a ready answer.
"Oh, we are saving up to buy books and rubber boots, so we can go to
school next winter. We live two miles from school, and wear out lots of
boots, and get colds when it's wet. We had _Pewmonia_ last spring, and
ma said we _must_ have rubber boots, and we might earn 'em in
berry-time," said Tilda, eagerly.
"Yes, and _she's_ real smart, and _she's_ going to be promoted, and
_must_ have new books, and they cost so much, and ma ain't rich, so we
get 'em ourselves," added sister Patty, forgetting bashfulness in
sisterly pride.
"That's brave. How much will it take for the boots and the books?"
asked the lady, with a glance at the old gentleman, who was eating
berries out of her basket.
"As much as five dollars, I guess. We want to get a shawl for ma, so
she can go to meetin'. It's a secret, and we pick every day real hard,
'cause berries don't last long," said Tilda, wisely.
"_She_ thought of coming down here. We felt so bad about losing our
place at the hotel, and did n't know what to do, till Tilda made this
plan. I think it's a splendid one." And Patty eyed her half-dollar
with immense satisfaction.
"Don't spoil the plan, Alice. I 'm passing every week while you are up
here, and I 'll see to the success of the affair," said the old
gentleman, with a nod; adding, in a louder tone, "These are very fine
berries, and I want you to take four quarts every other day to Miller's
farm over there. You know the place?"
"Yes, sir! yes, sir!" cried two eager voices; for the children felt as
if a rain of half-dollars was about to set in.
"I come up every Saturday and go down Monday; and I shall look out for
you here, and you can water the sheep as much as you like. They need it,
poor beasts!" added the old gentleman.
"We will, sir! we will!" cried the children, with faces so full of
innocent gratitude and good will that the young lady stooped and kissed
them both.
"Now, my dear, we must be off, and not keep our friends waiting any
longer," said the old gentleman, turning toward the heads still bobbing
about behind the bushes.
"Good-by, good-by. We won't forget the berries and the sheep," called
the children, waving the stained apron like a banner, and showing every
white tooth in the beaming smiles they sent after these new friends.
"Nor I my lambs," said Alice to herself, as she followed her father to
the boat.
"What will ma say when we tell her and show her this heap of money?"
exclaimed Tilda, pouring the dimes into her lap, and rapturously
chinking the big half-dollars before she tied them all up again.
"I hope we sha'n't be robbed going home. You 'd better hide it in your
breast, else some one might see it," said prudent Patty, oppressed by
the responsibility of so much wealth.
"There goes the boat!" cried Tilda. "Don't it look lovely? Those are
the nicest folks I ever saw."
"She's perfectly elegant. I 'd like a white dress and a hat just like
that. When she kissed me, the long feather was as soft as a bird's wing
on my cheeks, and her hair was all curling round like the picture we cut
out of the paper." And Patty gazed after the boat as if this little
touch of romance in her hard-working life was delightful to her.
"They must be awful rich, to want so many berries. We shall have to fly
round to get enough for them and the car folks too. Let's go right off
now to that thick place we left this morning, else Elviry may get ahead
of us," said practical Tilda, jumping up, ready to make hay while the
sun shone. But neither of them dreamed what a fine crop they were to
get in that summer, all owing to their readiness in answering that
pitiful "Baa! baa!"
BAA THE SECOND.
A very warm and a very busy week followed, for the berries were
punctually delivered at the farm, and successfully sold at the station;
and, best of all, the sheep were as faithfully watered as two little
pails and two little girls could do it. Every one else forgot them.
Mr. Benson was a busy old gentleman far away in the city; Miss Alice was
driving, boating, and picnicking all day long; and the men at the depot
had no orders to care for the poor beasts. But Tilda and Patty never
forgot; and, rain or shine, they were there when the long train came in,
waiting to do what they could, with dripping pails, handfuls of grass,
or green branches, to refresh these suffering travellers for whom no
thought was taken.
The rough stage-drivers laughed at them, the brakemen ordered them away,
and the station-master said they were "little fools;" but nothing
daunted the small sisters of charity, and in a few days they were let
alone. Their arms were very tired lifting the pails, their backs ached
with lugging so much water, and mother would not let them wear any but
their oldest clothes for such wet work; so they had their trials, but
bore them bravely, and never expected to be thanked.
When Saturday came round, and Miss Alice drove to meet her father, she
remembered the little girls, and looked for them. Up at the farm she
enjoyed her berries, and ordered them to be promptly paid for, but was
either asleep or away when they arrived, and so had not seen the
children. The sight of Patty, hastily scrambling a clean apron over her
old frock, as she waited for the train with her tray of fruit, made the
young lady leave the phaeton and go to meet the child, asking, with a
smile,--
"Where is the black-eyed sister? Not ill, I hope.
"No, ma'am; she's watering the sheep. She's so strong she does it
better 'n I do, and I sell the baskets," answered Patty, rejoicing
secretly in the clean faded apron that hid her shabbiness.
"Ah, I forgot _my_ lambs; but you were faithful to yours, you good
little things! Have you done it every day?"
"Yes, 'm. Ma said, if we promised, we _must_ do it; and we like it.
Only there 's such a lot of 'em, and we get pretty tired." And Patty
rubbed her arms as if they ached.
"I 'll speak to papa about it this very day. It will be a good time; for
Mr. Jacobs, the president of the road, is coming up to spend Sunday, and
they must do something for the poor beasts," said Miss Alice, ashamed to
be outdone by two little girls.
"That will be so nice. We read a piece in a paper our teacher lends us,
and I brought it down to show Mr. Weed, the depot man. He said it was a
shame, but nobody could help it; so we thought we 'd tell him about the
law we found." And Patty eagerly drew a worn copy of "Our Dumb Animals"
from her pocket to show the little paragraph to this all-powerful friend
who knew the railroad king.
Miss Alice read:--
"An act of Congress provides that at the end of every twenty-eight
hours' journey animals shall be given five hours' rest, and duly fed and
watered, unless shipped in cars having accommodations for the care of
live-stock on board."
"There!" cried Patty, "that's the law; and ma says these sheep come ever
so far, and ought to be watered. Do tell the president, and ask him to
see to it. There was another piece about some poor pigs and cows being
ninety-two hours without water and food. It was awful."
"I _will_ tell him. Here 's our train. Run to your berries. I 'll
find papa, and show him this."
As Miss Alice spoke, the cars thundered into the little station, and a
brief bustle ensued, during which Patty was too busy to see what
happened.
Mr. Benson and another stout old gentleman got out; and the minute Miss
Alice had been kissed, she said very earnestly,--
"Wait a little, please; I want to settle a very important piece of
business before we go home."
Then, while the gentlemen listened indulgently, she told the story,
showed the bit in the paper, and pointing out Patty, added warmly,--
"That's one good child. Come and see the other, and you will agree with
me that something ought to be done to relieve their kind little hearts
and arms, if not out of mercy to the animals, who can't be called dumb
in this case, though we have been deaf too long."
"My wilful girl must have her way. Come and get a whiff of fresh air,
Jacobs." And Mr. Benson followed his daughter across the track, glad to
get out of the bustle.
Yes, Tilda was there, and at work so energetically that they dared not
approach, but stood looking and laughing for a moment. Two pails of
water stood near her, and with a long-handled dipper she was serving all
she could reach; those which were packed on the upper tier she could
only refresh by a well-aimed splash, which was eagerly welcomed, and
much enjoyed by all parties,--for Tilda got well showered herself, but
did not care a bit, for it was a melting July day.
"That is a very little thing to do, but it is the cup of cold water
which _we_ have forgotten," said Miss Alice, softly, while the air was
full of cries of longing as the blue lake shone before the thirsty
beasts.
"Jacobs, we must attend to this."
"Benson, we will. I 'll look into the matter, and report at the next
meeting."
That was all they said; but Alice clapped her hands, for she knew the
thing would be done, and smiled like sunshine on the two old gentlemen,
who presently watched the long train rumble away, with shakes and nods
of the gray heads, which expressed both pity and determination.
The other train soon followed, and Patty came running over with her
empty tray and a handful of silver to join Tilda, who sat down upon her
upturned pail, tired out.
"Papa will see to it, children; and, thanks to you, the sheep will soon
be more comfortable," said Miss Alice, joining them.
"Oh, goody! I hope they'll be quick; it's so hot, there 's ever so many
dead ones to-day, and I can't help 'em," answered Tilda, fanning herself
with her bonnet, and wiping the drops off her red face.
Miss Alice took a pretty straw fan out of her pocket and handed it to
her, with a look of respect for the faithful little soul who did her
duty so well.
"Ask for me when you come to the farm to-night. I shall have some hats
and aprons for you, and I want to know you better," she said,
remembering the broad-brimmed hats and ready-made aprons in the village
store.
"Thank you, ma'am. We 'll come. Now we won't have to do this wet work
we 'd like to be neat and nice," said Patty, gratefully.
"Do you always sell all your berries down here?" asked Miss Alice,
watching Tilda tie up the dimes.
"Yes, indeed; and we could sell more if both of us went. But ma said we
were making lots of money, and it was n't best to get rich too fast,"
answered Tilda, wisely.
"That's a good thing for us to remember, Benson, especially just now,
and not count the cost of this little improvement in our cattle cars too
closely," said Mr. Jacobs, as the old gentlemen came up in time to hear
Tilda's speech.
"Your mother is a remarkable woman; I must come and see her," added Mr.
Benson.
"Yes, sir; she is. She'd be pleased to see you any day." And Tilda
stood up respectfully as her elders addressed her.
"Getting too rich, are you? Then I suppose it would n't do to ask you
to invest this in your business for me?" asked Mr. Jacobs, holding up
two silver dollars, as if he felt bashful about offering them.
Two pairs of eyes sparkled; and Patty's hand went out involuntarily, as
she thought how many things she could get with all that money.
"Would they buy a lamb? and would you like to use it that way?" asked
Tilda, in a business-like tone.
"I guess Miller would let you have one for that sum if Miss Alice makes
the bargain, and I _should_ very much like to start a flock if you would
attend to it for me," answered Mr. Jacobs, with a laughing nod at the
young lady, who seemed to understand that way of making bargains.
"We 'd like it ever so much! We 've wanted a lamb all summer; and we've
got a nice rocky pasture, with lots of pennyroyal and berry bushes and a
brook, for it to live in. We could get one ourselves now we are so
rich; but we 'd rather buy more things for ma, and mend the roof 'fore
the snow comes: it's so old, rain runs down on our bed sometimes."
"That's bad; but you seem fond of water, and look as if it agreed with
you," said Mr. Jacobs, playfully poking Tilda's soaked apron with his
cane.
They all laughed; and Mr. Benson said, looking at his watch,--
"Come, Alice, we must go. I want my dinner, and so does Jacobs.
Good-by, little water-witches. I 'll see you again."
"Do you s'pose they 'll remember the lambs and hats, and all they
promised?" asked Patty, as the others turned away.
"I don't believe they will. Rich folks are so busy having good times
they are apt to forget poor folks, seems to me," answered Tilda, shaking
her head like a little Solomon.
"Bless my heart, what a sharp child that is! We must not disappoint her;
so remind me, Alice, to make a memorandum of all this business,"
whispered Mr. Benson, who heard every word.
"The President is a _very_ nice man, and I know _he_ 'll keep his word.
See! he dropped the money in my tray, and I never saw him do it," cried
Patty, pouncing on the dollars like a robin on a worm.
"There's a compliment for you, and well worth the money. Such
confidence is beautiful," said Mr. Jacobs, laughing.
"Well, I 've learned a little lesson, and I 'll lay it to heart so well
I won't let either of you forget," added Alice, as they drove away;
while Tilda and Patty trudged home, quite unconscious that they had set
an example which their elders were not ashamed to follow.
So many delightful things happened after this that the children felt as
if they had got into a fairy tale. First of all, two nice rough straw
hats and four useful aprons were given them that very night. Next day
Miss Alice went to see their mother, and found an excellent woman,
trying to bring up her girls, with no one to help her.
Then somehow the roof got mended, and the fence, so that passing cattle
could not devastate the little beds where the children carefully
cultivated wild flowers from the woods and hills. There seemed to be a
sudden call for berries in the neighborhood,--for the story of the small
Samaritans went about, and even while they laughed, people felt an
interest in the children, and were glad to help them; so the dimes in
the spoutless teapot rose like a silver tide, and visions of new gowns,
and maybe sleds, danced through the busy little brains.
But, best and most wonderful of all, the old gentlemen did _not_ forget
the sheep. It was astonishing how quickly and easily it was all done,
when once those who had the power found both the will and the way.
Every one was interested now: the stage-drivers joked no more; the
brakemen lent a hand with the buckets while waiting for better means of
relief; and cross Mr. Weed patted Tilda and Patty on the head, and
pointed them out to strangers as the "nice little girls who stirred up
the railroad folks." Children from the hotel came to look at them, and
Elviry Morris was filled with regret that she had no share in this
interesting affair.
Thus the little pail of water they offered for pity's sake kept the
memory of this much-needed mercy green till the lake poured its full
tide along the channel made for it, and there was no more suffering on
that road.
The first day the new pumps were tried every one went to see them work;
and earliest of all were Tilda and Patty, in pink aprons and wreaths of
evergreens round their new hats, in honor of the day. It was sweet to
see their intense satisfaction as the water streamed into the troughs,
and the thirsty sheep drank so gratefully. The innocent little souls
did not know how many approving glances were cast upon them as they sat
on a log, with the tired arms folded, two trays of berries at their feet
now, and two faces beaming with the joy of a great hope beautifully
fulfilled.
Presently a party from the hotel appeared; and something was evidently
going to happen, for the boys and girls kept dodging behind the cars to
see if they were coming. Tilda and Patty wondered who or what, but kept
modestly apart upon their log, glad to see that the fine folks enjoyed
the sight about as much as they did.
A rattle was heard along the road, a wagon stopped behind the station,
and an excited boy came flying over the track to make the mysterious
announcement to the other children,--
"They 've got 'em, and they are regular beauties."
"More pumps or troughs, I guess. Well, we can't have too many," said
Tilda, with an eye to the business under way.
"I wish those folks would n't stare so. I s'pose it's the new aprons
with pockets," whispered bashful Patty, longing for the old cape-bonnet
to retire into.
But both forgot pumps and pockets in a moment, as a striking procession
appeared round the corner. Mr. Benson, trying not to laugh, but shining
with heat and fun, led a very white lamb with a red bow on its neck; and
behind him came Miss Alice, leading another lamb with a blue bow. She
looked very much in earnest, and more like a good fairy than ever, as
she carried out her little surprise. People looked and laughed; but
every one seemed to understand the joke at once, and were very quiet
when Mr. Benson held up his hand, and said, in a voice which was earnest
as well as merry,--
"Here, my little girls, are two friends of those poor fellows yonder
come to thank you for your pity, and to prove, I hope, that rich people
are not always too busy with their own good times to remember their
poorer neighbors. Take them, my dears, and God bless you!"
"I did n't forget my lambs this time, but have been taming these for
you; and Mr. Jacobs begs you will accept them, with his love," added
Miss Alice, as the two pretty creatures were led up to their new owners,
wagging their tails and working their noses in the most amiable manner,
though evidently much amazed at the scene.
Tilda and Patty were so surprised that they were dumb with delight, and
could only blush and pat the woolly heads, feeling more like story-book
girls than ever. The other children, charmed with this pleasant ending
to the pretty story, set up a cheer; the men joined in it with a will;
while the ladies waved their parasols, and all the sheep seemed to add
to the chorus their grateful "Baa! baa!"
_University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge._
* * * * *
_Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications._
LOUISA M. ALCOTT'S WRITINGS
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[Illustration: A PORTRAIT OF DOROTHY AT SIXTEEN.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
BY MARY MAPES DODGE.
Beautifully Illustrated and Bound. Price $2.00.
_An honest tribute from an admiring friend_.
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A NEW BOOK BY THE AUTHOR OF
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BY MARY P. W. SMITH,
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With frontispiece illustration. 16mo. Cloth. Price $1.00.
CONTENTS: I. Don does an Errand. II. It Snows. III. Border Warfare.
IV. The Boo. V. Don Figures as an Invalid. VI. The Flood. VII. Nan's
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