_NURSE TAKEN BY SURPRISE._
Nurse and Jane had taken all the children for a long walk. About a
mile up the shore lived the woman who took in Mrs. Bradford's washing.
Mrs. Bradford wished to send her a message, and told Jane to go with
it. There were two ways by which this house could be reached: one by
the shore, the other by a road which ran farther back, part of the
way through the woods. About a quarter of a mile this side of the
washer-woman's, it turned off nearer to the shore; and here it was
crossed by the brook, which also crossed the road to the station. It
was wider here, and deeper, and ran faster towards the sea. Over it was
built a rough bridge. Two beams were laid from bank to bank; on these
were placed large round logs, a foot or two apart, and above these
were the planks, with a miserable broken rail. It was a pretty place
though, and the walk to it was shady and pleasant,--pleasanter than the
beach on a warm day.
Nurse said she would walk to the bridge with the children, and rest
there, while Jane went the rest of the way. When Harry and Fred heard
this, they said they would go too, for the brook was a capital place
to fish for minnows. So they all set off, the boys carrying their
fishing-rods and tin pails.
But when they reached the bridge, they found there would be no fishing.
The rains of the great storm a few days ago had swollen the brook very
much, and there had been several heavy showers since, which had kept it
full, so it was now quite a little river, with a muddy current running
swiftly down to the sea. The tiny fish were all hidden away in some
snug hole, and the boys knew it was of no use to put out their lines.
"Oh, bother!" said Harry. "I thought the water would be lower by this
time. Never mind, we'll have some fun yet, Fred. Let's go in and have
a wade!"
"I don't believe father would let us," said Fred. "He said we must not
the day before yesterday, and the water is as high now as it was then."
"Let's go back, then," said Harry. "I don't want to stay here doing
nothing."
"No," said Fred. "Let's go on with Jane to the washer-woman's. She has
a pair of guinea-fowls, with a whole brood of young ones. Bessie and I
saw them the other day, when Mr. Jones took us up there in his wagon.
We'll go and see them again."
Maggie and Bessie asked if they might go too, but nurse said it was
too far. Bessie did not care much, as she had seen the birds once, but
Maggie was very much disappointed, for she had heard so much of the
guinea-fowls, that she was very anxious to have a look at them. So Jane
said, if nurse would let her go, she would carry her part of the way.
So at last nurse said she might. Then Franky said he wanted to go too,
but he was pacified by having a stick with a line on the end of it
given to him, with which he thought he was fishing.
A tree which had been blown down by the gale lay near the bridge, and
on this nurse sat down with baby on her knee, and Bessie and Franky
beside her. Franky sat on the end of the log, toward the water, where
he was quite safe, if he sat still, and nurse meant to keep a close eye
on him. But something happened which made her forget him for a moment
or two.
"And I'll tell you Cinderella," said nurse to Bessie, as the others
went off.
"I'd yather hear about when you were a little girl on your father's
farm," said Bessie.
Nurse liked to talk of this, so she began to tell Bessie of the time
when she was young, and lived at home in far-off England. Bessie had
heard it all very often, but she liked it none the less for that.
Franky sat still, now and then pulling up his line, and saying, "Not
one fis!" and then throwing it out again.
Suddenly the sound of wheels was heard, and looking round, they saw
Miss Adams' pony carriage, with the lady driving, and the little groom
behind.
Several times since the day when Miss Adams had teased Bessie, and
Bessie had called her a kitchen lady, she had shown a wish to speak to
the little girl; but she could never persuade her to come near her.
Once or twice, as Bessie was passing through the hall of the hotel,
Miss Adams had opened her door and called to her in a coaxing voice;
but Bessie always ran off as fast as possible, without waiting to
answer. As Miss Adams passed, she nodded, drove on a little way, and
then turned back. She pulled in her horses close to nurse and Bessie.
Baby crowed and shook her little hands at the carriage. It was a pretty
affair, the low basket, softly cushioned, the black ponies with their
bright, glittering harness, and the jaunty groom in his neat livery;
but Bessie had no wish to get in it when Miss Adams said, "Come,
Bessie, jump in and take a ride."
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Bessie, drawing closer to nurse.
"Yes, come," said Miss Adams, coaxingly. "I'll give you a nice ride,
and bring you back quite safe to your nurse, or take you home, as you
like."
"I'd yather not," said Bessie, taking hold of nurse's dress, as if she
feared Miss Adams might take her off by force.
"You don't know how pleasant it is," said Miss Adams,--"come."
"I don't want to yide," said Bessie.
All this time nurse had been looking very grim. She was quite an old
woman, and had lived in the family a great many years, for she had
taken care of Mrs. Bradford herself when she was a little girl. She
loved her and her children dearly, and would have done anything in
the world for them, and if any one brought harm or trouble to her
nurslings, she ruffled up her feathers like an old hen, and thought
herself at liberty to do or say anything she pleased.
"And she wouldn't be let, if she did want to," she said sharply to Miss
Adams.
The young lady looked at the old woman with a sparkle in her eye.
"I'll take the baby, too, if you like," she said, mischievously; "I can
drive quite well with her on my lap, and Bessie can sit beside me."
"My baby!" said nurse, who seemed to think the baby her own special
property,--"my baby! Do you think I'd risk her neck in a gimcrack like
that? There isn't one of them I'd trust a hand's breadth with ye, not
if ye was to go down on your bended knees."
"I'm not likely to do that," said Miss Adams, turning round and driving
off once more, "Well, good-by, Bessie, since you wont come."
She had gone but a short distance, when she drew in the ponies again,
jumped out, tossed the reins to the groom, and ran back to the bridge.
"Bessie," she said, "I want to speak to you; will you come over on the
other side of the road?"
Bessie looked as shy as Maggie might have done. "No, ma'am," she
answered.
"But I have something very particular to say to you, and I shall not
tease or trouble you at all. Come, dear, that is a good child. If you
do not, I shall think you are angry with me still."
"No, I'm not," said Bessie. "Well, I'll go."
"Not with my leave," said nurse. "If you have anything to say, just say
it here, miss. You can't have anything to tell this child her old nurse
can't hear."
"Yes, I have," said Miss Adams. "Come, Bessie. I shall not pull your
hair. I want to speak to you very much. Don't you wish to do as you
would be done by?"
"I think I'd better go; bett'n't I?" said Bessie. "I don't want her to
think I'm angry yet."
"Sit ye still," said nurse, without looking at Miss Adams. "I sha'n't
let ye go to have I know not what notions put into your head."
Miss Adams looked vexed, and bit her lip, then she laughed. "Now, don't
be cross, nurse. I am not going to say anything to Bessie which you or
her mother would not approve."
"Maybe," said nurse, dryly.
"And if Mrs. Bradford were here, I am sure she would let Bessie come."
"Maybe," said nurse again, beginning to trot baby rather harder than
she liked.
Miss Adams stood tapping the toe of her gaiter with her riding whip.
"I promise you," she said, "that I will let her come back to you in
a moment or two, and that I will not do the least thing which could
trouble or tease her."
"Promises and fair words cost nothing," said nurse.
"How dare you say that to me?" she said, losing her temper at last.
"Whatever else I may have done, I have never yet broken my word!
Bessie,"--she said this in a softer tone,--"don't think that of me,
dear. I would not say what was not true, or break a promise, for the
world." Then to nurse again: "You're an obstinate old woman, and--Look
at that child!"
These last words were said in a startled tone and with a frightened
look.
Nurse turned her head, started up, and then stood still with fear and
amazement. Finding himself unnoticed, Master Franky had concluded
that he had sat quiet long enough, and slipping off his stone, he had
scrambled up the bank and walked upon the bridge. About the centre of
this he found a broken place in the railing through which he put the
stick and line with which he was playing to fish. Putting his head
through after it, he saw that it did not touch the water and that just
in front of him was the projecting end of one of the logs. Here, he
thought, he could fish better, and slipping through, he was now where
Miss Adams told nurse to look at him, stooping over, with one fat hand
grasping the railing and with the other trying to make his line touch
the water. The bridge was four or five feet above the stream, and
although a fall from it might not have been very dangerous for a grown
person, a little child like Franky might easily have been swept away by
the current, which was deepest and swiftest where he was standing.
"Don't speak," said Miss Adams, hastily, and darting round to the other
side of the bridge, she walked directly into the water, and stooping
down, passed under the bridge and came out under the spot where Franky
stood. As she had expected, the moment he saw her, he started and fell,
but Miss Adams was ready for him. She caught him in her arms, waded
through the water, and placed him safe and dry on the grass.
"Oh, you naughty boy!" said nurse, the moment she had done so, "what am
I to do with you now?"
"Nosin' at all; Franky dood boy. Didn't fall in water."
"And whose fault is that I should like to know," said Miss Adams,
laughing and shaking her dripping skirts, "you little monkey? I do not
know but I should have done better to let you fall into the water and
be well frightened before I pulled you out."
"Franky not frightened; Franky brave soldier," said the child.
"You're a mischievous monkey, sir," said the young lady.
"That he is," said nurse, speaking in a very different way from that in
which she had spoken before. "And where would he have been now but for
you and the kind Providence which brought you here, miss? What would I
have done, with the baby in my arms and he standing there? I'd never
have thought of catching him that way. It was right cute of you, miss."
"I saw it was the only way," said Miss Adams. "I knew he would be off
that slippery log if he was startled."
"I thank you again and again, miss," said the nurse, "and so will his
mother; there's your beautiful dress all spoiled."
"Oh! that's nothing," said Miss Adams, giving her dress another shake;
"it was good fun. But now, when I have saved one of your chickens from
a ducking, you cannot think I would hurt the other if you let me have
her for a moment."
"Surely I will," said nurse; "but you are not going to stand and talk
in such a pickle as that? You'll catch your death of cold."
"No fear," said Miss Adams, "I am tough. Come now, Bessie." She held
out her hand to the little girl, and now that she had saved her
brother, she went with her willingly. She was not afraid of her any
more, though she wondered very much what the lady could have to say to
her which nurse might not hear.
"You'll excuse me for speaking as I did before, miss, but I'm an old
woman, and cross sometimes, and then you see--" Nurse hesitated.
"Yes, I see. I know I deserved it all," said Miss Adams, and then she
led Bessie to the other side of the road. "Suppose I lift you up here,
Bessie; I can talk to you better." She lifted her up and seated her on
the stone wall which ran along the road.
"Now," she said, leaning her arms upon the wall, "I want to ask you
something."
"I know what you want to ask me," said Bessie, coloring.
"What is it, then?"
"You want me to say I'm sorry 'cause I said that to you the other day,
and I am sorry. Mamma said it was saucy. But I didn't mean to be saucy.
I didn't know how to help it, you asked me so much."
"You need not be sorry, Bessie. I deserved it, and it was not that I
was going to speak about. I wanted to ask you to forgive me for being
so unkind to you. Will you?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am! I did forgave you that day, and mamma told me
something which made me very sorry for you."
"What was it? Would she like you to repeat it?"
"I guess she wont care. She said your father and mother died when you
were a little baby, and you had a great deal of money, more than was
good for you, and you had no one to tell you how to take care of it; so
if you did things you ought not to, we ought to be sorry for you, and
not talk much about them."