FLO'S KITTEN.
MRS. EYRE was busy in the kitchen for an hour or more. Then she came
gently into the parlour, and found Flo sleeping and Hetty crying. She
beckoned the girl out into the hall.
"What is wrong, Hetty?"
"Nothing, ma'am. I didn't mean to cry, but I'm that sorry for little
Miss Flo. 'Tis so hard on her, the little creature! Oh, ma'am, will she
ever be well?"
"I cannot tell you that, Hetty. God knows, and you know He loves her.
The great London doctor thought she would recover—Dr. Haddon, our
doctor here, was not so hopeful."
"And what is it, ma'am? Was she hurt in any way? I seem to remember
mother saying it was a fall, but I did not heed it."
"Yes; two years ago she had a fall. She fell down the kitchen stairs.
She did not seem so much hurt at first, but she must have got some
terrible twist or strain, for not one day's health has she had since
then, and as to growing, if I did not know it was impossible, I would
say she has grown smaller. If we even knew exactly what was wrong,—but
no one can find out. Come, Hetty, I have a lot of mending to do. Can
you work nicely?"
"Not like Matty, ma'am. She's fond of it."
"And you are not?"
"Not I, ma'am. I'd rather scrub floors any day."
"Ah, well, we can't do only what we like, you know. Try to mend this
for me. Miss Flo will not sleep long."
She might have slept a little longer, though, if Lina had not bounced
into the room, clattering in her thick boots, to get something that she
and Edgar wanted. Flora started, and probably hurt herself, for she
began to cry piteously.
This occupied Mrs. Eyre, and Lina made off, for she knew very well
that she had done wrong. However, she did not escape, for when Flo was
quieted, Mrs. Eyre went out into the tiny strip of ground at the back
of the house, which she called the garden, and brought in both the
children. Edgar was supplied with a box of wooden bricks, with which he
made himself happy in a quiet corner, and Lina was placed on a chair
with her face to the wall, and kept there for some time.
"I have spoken to you for your heedless, noisy ways very often, Lina.
You know that Flo is never to be startled, yet you rush in, making as
much noise as a big rough boy."
"I forgot," said Lina; and she cried a little as she sat in punishment.
Foolish Hetty thought that Mrs. Eyre was hard upon the child, but it
had been well for her if her mother had taught her to think of what she
was doing when she was Lina's age.
Mr. Eyre came home very tired at seven o'clock. He was accountant and
book-keeper at Messrs. Miller & Cartwright's great establishment, in
the city of which the place where he lived was now a suburb, though
it retained its old name of Little Hayes, given when it was a village
three or four miles from B—. Tram lines now came to the end of the
trim new road, with its red brick terraces, crescents, and villas; but
the straggling village street in which the Hardys lived was as yet
unchanged. Every year, to Mrs. Eyre's great grief, a new villa or a
row of small 'genteel' houses appeared like magic on the pretty bit of
common; she feared that before her children were grown up there would
be no common left for them to play on.
Mr. Eyre came out of town on the tram-car, and Mrs. Eyre had tea ready
in five minutes after he arrived. She had made a little meat pie, and
had prepared a green salad that Mr. Eyre said would have made a man eat
even if he were not hungry: which, he added, was not his case. Hetty
had her tea all by herself in the kitchen, and was young enough to feel
quite grand at having her own little teapot. Indeed, she could not feel
lonely while she had that sixpence in her pocket.
The remaining days of that week passed uneventfully, until Saturday
came. Mrs. Eyre was watchful, and Hetty had no great opportunity of
distinguishing herself. She felt very well satisfied with herself, for,
as she said, "The first week was nearly over, and she had only broken
one plate, and sat down on Mrs. Goodenough's bonnet, which seemed none
the worse."
But the week was not quite over.
"Celia," said Mr. Eyre, "this is Saturday, you know, and I shall be
home by four o'clock. Now that you have that good-natured girl to
see after Flo, don't you think you and the others might come out for
a walk? It seems ages since we had a walk together, and these long
evenings are delightful."
Mrs. Eyre, poor thing, felt nervous at leaving Flo even for a short
time, knowing as she did that Hetty was rather giddy. Still, it was
very hard upon her John to have to take his weekly walk alone, when all
he cared for was to have his wife and children with him. She thought it
would be unreasonable to refuse. So it was arranged that they were to
be ready to set forth when he came home.
"Hetty, as I'm going to walk in the evening, I shall not go now. Will
you take Miss Flo, and walk up and down before these houses? Now,
Hetty, do not on any account leave the terrace."
"Mamma, why may not I go in the evening too?" asked Flo, in her precise
little voice. "Hetty could carry me. Oh, mamma, do please let me go."
"No, my dearie; you know the doctor said you must not be out in the
evening. Now my little Flo must be good—not selfish, you know."
"May Hetty take me up to the common? I do not like being here in the
road."
"It is only for one day, dear. Now you know I want you to be good.
Here's your nice pretty shawl. Let me—"
"I want to wear a jacket, like Lina, mamma. I hate being wrapped up in
a shawl!"
"This is best for you, love. You know putting on a jacket hurts you."
"Come, Miss Flo," said Hetty. "I'll tell you stories all the time—new
ones."
"Don't be f'etful, Flo," remarked Lina, who did not go to school on
Saturday.
"You would be fr-r-r-etful if you were me," Flo answered, sounding the
r very finely. "Yes, and more, too."
Hetty carried her off, thus bringing these personal remarks to a
conclusion.
When Mr. Eyre came home, he found the party ready to set off. Going
into the parlour for a word with Flo, he found her apparently asleep;
so he stole out, and got the other children quietly out of the house,
shutting the door softly. Hetty, sitting darning socks, presently saw a
pair of tearful eyes opened.
"Hetty, it is wicked, I know, but I do feel that it is very hard on me."
"Miss Flo, dear, you know it is God's will, and He knows what is good
for us. Mother always says so. She tells us not to murmur, because God
sends what is good for us."
"Yes; but it's easy to say that," replied poor little Flo tearfully.
"Well, miss, when father died, quite sudden, and mother was left to
feed and clothe us all without any help, not one word of a grumble did
she ever say; but said it was God's doing, and He'd help her to bear
it."
"Your mother must be very good, Hetty."
"That she is, Miss Flo. Come now, shall we play cat's cradle, or
draughts? or shall I get Master Edgar's bricks, and we'll fix this tray
with one end on the back of the sofa, and the other on the back of this
chair; yes, it's quite steady. You were wishing only yesterday that you
could have a play with these bricks. Now we'll see if we can build a
tower, as Master Edgar does."
The bricks were a novelty, and as such they pleased the child for about
half an hour. But Flo could only begin the tower; she could not stretch
up her little arms to build it very high. Hetty was not very expert,
and altogether the tower was a failure. Then poor Flo began to reflect
again that it was very sad for her to be left at home when the others
went on the common with papa.
"But you were there only yesterday, Miss Flo."
"Oh, but when papa goes, it is quite different. They will walk on and
on, ever so far; they will get into a lane at the other side of the
common, where there are flowers, woodbine, and pink and white roses, so
pretty! They will stop at Mr. Gibson's, and see his lambs. I saw them
last year, for then I could go in the little carriage, you know. They
were so pretty; they skipped and jumped about so merry. I like to see
things jump and run about. But I never see anything now, since papa
brought the big doctor from London to see me. He was here, you know, to
see some rich lady, and papa went to him, and told him about me, and he
came. It was good of him, I know, but I wish he had not been so good,
for he said I must lie still, and never be wheeled in the carriage. Oh,
Hetty, take away the tray and the bricks. I think I hate them; it can't
be wrong to hate dead bricks—only live things you know. What makes you
cry, Hetty?"
"Because I am so sorry for you, Miss Flo, and I'd do anything to make
you happy. Oh, Miss Flora, I have the loveliest thought! Mrs. Fenton,
that lives not far from here, and is a friend of mother's, she has a
beautiful Persian cat that her mistress—I mean the lady in London that
was her mistress before she married—sent her for a Christmas box. And
Minnie—that's her name—has kittens, and I know that last week they were
not all given away, because she offered mother one, but mother couldn't
have a second cat. Now I'm very sure that Mrs. Fenton would give me
that kitten for you, and as soon as ever your mamma comes home, we'll
ask if you may have it."
"Oh, Hetty, how lovely! What a very nice girl you are, Hetty! Mamma
will let me have it, I know; for she said lately that she wished I had
a kitten. What colour is it, Hetty?"
"Snow-white, with beautiful blue eyes; a real blue, not green, like
common cats. And its fur is long and soft, and its tail as thick as a
fur boa. They were the prettiest kittens I ever saw, and so merry! Mrs.
Fenton had a big cork tied by a cord to the back of a chair, and those
kittens were jumping at it and tumbling over each other; it was a sight
to see. I'm only afraid they may be all gone, every one admires them
so."
"This very moment," said Flo solemnly, "Mrs. Fenton may be going to
give away the last of the kittens—the very last. Hetty, I'm afraid I'm
going to cry. I should love that kitten so."
"Oh, don't cry, Miss Flo. Look, now; you promise me to lie quite quiet
until I come back, and I'll just run round to Mrs. Fenton's, and sec if
there's a kitten to be had."
"I will indeed; I'll lie here and never move. I always do when I
promise. Do go, Hetty. I am longing for the kitten."
Without stopping to think, Hetty ran off. It really was but a step;
she would have been back with Flo in ten minutes, but for one little
obstacle. It was raining now, though the evening had promised so well.
Hetty ran to Mrs. Fenton's, made her request, and got the kitten, the
very last. Mrs. Fenton had made up her mind to keep it for herself,
but gladly gave it when she heard for whom it was wanted. Hetty flew
back through the fast-increasing rain, and very soon reached the door,
when it suddenly dawned on her that having shut the said door when she
left the house, she had no means of entering. If she knocked for ever,
there was no one to let her in; and what would be worse, Flo might get
frightened—might even try to reach the door. Clasping the kitten in her
arms, Hetty sat down on the wet step, and cried in utter desolation.
She would be sent home at once, that was quite certain. For had not
Mrs. Eyre told her not to leave Miss Flo, except to run down to
the kitchen and put the pudding, which she had prepared, into the
oven?—that pudding which was to form the great feature in the hungry
children's meal when the walkers came home.
Hetty knew that if she were that moment in the kitchen, putting the
pudding into the oven, instead of lamenting herself on the door-step,
and adding to the dampness of the evening by shedding floods of tears,
it would be too late, for she had quite forgotten to do it at the right
time. This reflection did not raise her spirits, and the kitten began
to wish itself back with its mother, so cold and damp and alarmed did
it feel.
Presently steps were heard; then a voice saying cheerfully, "There,
Lina; well done—you have run like a lamplighter. Are you very wet,
Celia? Here we are safe at home, and nobody a bit the worse. Hilloa!
What's this? Who are you, girl? What are you doing here? Why, Celia, it
is Hetty!"
"Hetty!" exclaimed Mrs. Eyre, hurrying forward. "Oh, Hetty! how did
this happen? Some one knocked, I suppose, and the door shut of itself;
that happened to me once. Oh, my poor little Flo! You should have been
more careful, Hetty. John, dear, open the door; you have the latchkey."
John put his hand into his pocket, felt all about, tried other pockets,
and finally said, "What a stupid! I forgot to bring it. Now I must
clamber over the garden wall; which I shouldn't mind only for my good
clothes. Well, it can't be helped."
"Let me go, sir; I never thought of that!" cried Hetty. "I'm sure I can
get over, sir. And then I'll let you in, and give Miss Flo the kitten.
You'll let me do that before I have to go, won't you, ma'am?"
She ran along the side of the house towards the garden wall, and as she
went she tied the kitten up in her apron. Putting the struggling little
bundle on the top of the wall, she was over in a moment, for she was
very active. Seizing the kitten, she ran into the house; she had soiled
her neat calico apron, and torn two long strips out of it; but she
was quite past fretting over that. She flew up the kitchen stairs and
opened the hall door.
Mrs. Eyre hurried in and looked at Flo; the child was asleep, and
seemed very comfortable.
"Oh, ma'am, you need not be afraid for Miss Flo, for I was very careful
not to make any noise, and she was willing for me to go. I know you
told me not to leave her, but I forgot. The poor little thing fretted
so because she could not see the lambs, and I told her I thought I
could get her a kitten, and then she wanted to get it at once; but I
forgot what you said about leaving her, and I shut the door. Oh, dear,
I am very sorry."
"Is that you, Hetty? How quick you went!" cried Flo, whom the sound of
voices had awakened. "Had Mrs. Fenton a kitten left?"
"Oh, Miss Flo! Yes, my dear, she had. I've got it here."
She went up to the sofa, and Mrs. Eyre saw how the child's face
brightened.
"Why, you are wet, Hetty! Is it raining? Oh! oh! what a beauty! Oh! you
dear, darling kitten. Hetty, you are so kind; I will not fret a bit
more. See how she curls herself up in my arms! And, oh, Hetty, it's
actually purring! I didn't know such little cats could purr."
Hetty stooped and kissed the child; then she went out into the hall,
where Mr. and Mrs. Eyre stood, watching the little scene. Lina was
watching, too, with her hands full of sweet wild flowers; the two
little boys were in the basket carriage, and were both asleep.
"Ma'am," said Hetty, "must I go to-night? I'm very, very sorry. It was
dreadful careless of me—and to forget the pudding, too! I'll go this
moment if you wish it, ma'am."
"Not to-night, Hetty. There is no real harm done, I am thankful to say.
To-morrow I will decide. You may go down now, and get the things ready
for tea. Put the pudding into the oven; we must use it cold to-morrow.
The children must have some bread and jam to-night."
Here Edgar, who was generally a good-tempered child, and not given to
greediness, raised a howl because he could have no pudding. He was only
half awake, which must be his excuse. The noise roused Flo from rapt
contemplation of the kitten.
"Oh, mamma! Have you come home? Come here and see what Hetty has
brought me."
"Edgar, stop that noise at once! I'm ashamed of you; run upstairs with
Lina. Yes, Flo, I see. It is a very pretty kitten—a Persian, I think."
"And Hetty was so kind, mamma; so sorry to see me cry, because I could
not go with you all. She ran ever so quick to get the kitten from Mrs.
Fenton, and I promised not to move, and I fell asleep; so she was
back in a moment. Mamma, Hetty's mother is a very good woman. When
her father died, she said it was God's will, and she did not fret.
Hetty told me because I was fretting. Wasn't she very good, mamma? her
mother, I mean."
Here Hetty came in with the tea-tray, and Flo was soon very busy,
feeding her kitten with some milk, and laughing with delight to see its
little tongue go in and out as it lapped.