_THE COLONEL IN TROUBLE._
"Bessie," said Harry, as the children were at their supper, and he saw
his little sister sitting with her spoon in her hand and her eyes fixed
on the table as if she had forgotten the bread and butter and berries
before her,--"Bessie, what are you thinking of."
"Of Miss Adams," said the little girl.
"Nurse said she was talking to you ever so long," said Fred; "what was
she saying?"
"I don't think she meant me to talk about it," said Bessie; "she didn't
want nurse to hear, and so I shall only tell mamma and Maggie. You
know I must tell mamma everything, and I couldn't help telling my own
Maggie."
"She is a queer dick," said Fred, "pulling your hair, and tormenting
you out of your life one time, and telling you secrets another. The
idea of a grown woman telling secrets to a little snip like you!"
"No snip about it!" said Maggie; "and if I was everybody, I'd tell
Bessie every one of my secrets."
"That's right, Maggie. You always stand up for Bessie and fight her
battles; don't you?"
"But, Bessie," said Harry, "did Miss Adams tell you you mustn't repeat
what she said?"
"No," said Bessie.
"Then there's no harm in telling."
"Oh, Harry!" said Fred. "If Bessie knows Miss Adams don't want her to
talk about it, she ought not to tell any more than if she had promised;
ought she, father?"
"Certainly not," said Mr. Bradford; "it would be unkind as well as
dishonorable."
"Yes," said Maggie; "it is not to do to others as I would that they
should do to me."
"Exactly, little woman," said her father, "and remember, dear
children, that is a very safe rule to be guided by, when we do not feel
sure whether a thing is fair or not."
"Bessie," said Fred, "tell us what ails the colonel. I suppose you
know, for all the grown-uppers seem to be telling you their secrets."
"Why, that's not a secret! His leg is cut off."
"Don't think I don't know that. I mean, what makes him so grumpy? He
isn't like the same fellow he was when he first came down here."
"Fred," said Bessie, giving him a reproving look, "you're not polite at
all to talk that way about my soldier. He's not a fellow, only boys are
fellows, and he's a big gentleman. And he's not that other thing you
called him,--I sha'n't say it, because it is a very ugly word."
"And it's saucy to say it about the colonel," said Maggie.
"I don't care," said Fred. "It's true; isn't it, Hal? He used to be
the best company in the world,--always ready to tell us boys stories
by the hour, and full of his fun and jokes. But for the last few days
he has been as solemn as an owl, with no fun to be had out of him, and
if one can get him to talk, it always seems as if he were thinking of
something else. He's as cross as a bear too. Now don't fire up, Bess;
it's so. Starr, his man, says he was never half so impatient or hard to
please all the time he was sick as he has been for the last ten days."
"Fred," said Mrs. Bradford, "you should not talk to a servant of his
master's faults."
"He didn't, mother," said Harry,--"at least, not in a way you would
think wrong. The colonel was dreadfully dull and out of sorts the
other day, though he declared that nothing ailed him, and seemed quite
provoked that we should ask, though any one could see with half an eye
that something was the matter. Starr was hanging round, bringing him
this and that, books and newspapers, coaxing him to have something
to eat or drink. At last he asked him if there was _nothing_ he could
do for him, and the colonel thundered at him and said, 'Yes, leave me
alone.' Then he got himself up on his crutches and went off, and would
not let Starr help him. The man looked as if he had lost every friend
he had in the world. So Fred told him he didn't believe the colonel
meant anything. Starr said he was sure he did not, for he was the best
master that ever lived. But he was troubled about it, for he was sure
that something was wrong with him. Fred said perhaps his wounds pained
him worse; but Starr said no, the wounds were doing nicely, and the
colonel was not a man to make a fuss about them if they did pain him,
for all the time he was suffering so dreadfully that no one thought he
could live, he never heard a complaint or a groan from him. And it was
then he said the colonel was far harder to please, and more impatient
than when he was so ill."
"Maybe he wants to get back to his regiment," said Fred.
"No, it is not that,--at least, Mrs. Rush says it is not; for this
morning, when I was standing in the hall, the doctor came out of the
room with Mrs. Rush, and he said her husband had something on his mind,
and asked if he were fretting to be with his regiment. And she said,
'Oh, no, the colonel never frets himself about that which cannot be.'"
"Didn't she tell him what it was?" asked Fred.
"No, but I guess she, too, thinks there's something wrong with him,
for the doctor told her she must not let anything worry him, and she
did not say a word. And when he went, and she turned to go back to her
room, her face was so very sad."
"She's just the sweetest little woman that ever was made," said Fred,
who was a great admirer of Mrs. Rush, "and I don't know what he can
have to make him fret. I should think he had everything a man could
want."
"Except the one great thing," said Grandpapa Duncan, in a low voice to
himself.
Mr. Bradford, who had been listening to what his children were saying,
but had not spoken, now walked out on the piazza, where he stood
watching the clearing away of the storm. In a moment or two Bessie
followed him, and silently held out her arms to him to be taken up.
"Papa," she said, as he lifted her, "do you think my soldier has a
trouble in his mind?"
"I think he has."
"Wont you help him, papa?" said Bessie, who, like most little children,
thought her father able to help and comfort every one.
"I could only show him where he could find help, my darling, and I do
not think he cares to have me tell him."
"Then is there no one that can help him, papa?"
"Yes, there is One who can give him all the help he needs."
"You mean the One who lives up there?" said Bessie, pointing to the sky.
"Yes. Will my Bessie pray that her friend may receive all the help he
needs from that great merciful Father?"
"Oh, yes, papa, and you'll ask him, and my soldier will ask him, and
he'll be sure to listen; wont he?"
Mr. Bradford did not tell his little girl that the colonel would not
ask such aid for himself; he only kissed her and carried her in. Bessie
did not forget her friend that night when she said her evening prayers.
Maggie and Bessie went over to the hotel the next morning with their
mother. After making a visit to their grandma, they thought they would
go to see the colonel, so they ran away to his room. Mrs. Rush was
there busy, and she told them the colonel was out on the piazza. He
was reading the newspaper, but threw it down when they came, and was
very glad to see them. Bessie looked at him earnestly, to see if she
could see any signs of trouble about him. But he seemed much as usual,
laughing and talking pleasantly with them. But she could not forget
what Harry had said, and she turned her eyes so often upon him with a
questioning look that he noticed it, and said, "Well, my pet, what is
it? What do you want to know?"
"Does something trouble you?" asked Bessie.
"Trouble me!" he repeated. "What should trouble me?"
"I don't know," she answered; "but I thought maybe something did."
"What have I to trouble me?" he again asked, carelessly. "Have I not
the dearest little wife and two of the dearest little friends in the
world, as well as pretty much everything else a reasonable man could
want? To be sure, another leg would be a convenience, but that is a
small matter, and we will see what Palmer can do for me one of these
days; he will make me as good as new again."
Bessie was not quite satisfied. Though the colonel spoke so gayly, she
felt sure there had been something wrong, if there was not now. She
still watched him wistfully, and the colonel, looking into her loving
eyes, said, "If I were in any trouble, you would help me out of it,
Bessie; would you not?"
"If I could," she answered; "but I couldn't do very much, I'm too
little. But we know who can help us; don't we? and we can tell Him.
Mamma has a book named 'Go and tell Jesus.' Aint that a pretty name? I
asked her to read it to me, and she said I couldn't understand it now.
When I am older, she will; but I can understand the name, and I like to
think about it when I have been naughty or have a trouble."
"May your troubles never be worse than they are now, little one," said
the colonel fondly, with a smile; "and one of your troubles is done
with, Bessie. Do you know that your enemy, Miss Adams, is gone?"
"Oh, she is not my enemy any more," said Bessie; "we are friends now,
and I am glad of it, for I don't like to be enemies with people."
"Ho, ho!" said the colonel. "How did that come about? I thought she
wanted to make it up with you, but I did not see how it was to come
about when you were off like a lamp-lighter every time she came near
you."
Then Bessie told how Miss Adams' presence of mind had saved Franky from
falling into the stream, "And then we talked a little," she said, "and
I told her I was sorry I had been saucy, and kissed her, and so we are
all made up."
"That was the way; was it?" said the colonel. "I do not think you were
the one to ask pardon."
"Oh, she did too," said Bessie; "she said she was sorry she teased me."
"And what else did she say?"
"I don't think she meant me to talk about it, 'cause she didn't want
nurse to hear."
"Then I wont ask you, honorable little woman."
"And she sent us home in the pony-carriage when the rain was coming,
and ran all the way to our house herself, and mamma was very much
obliged to her," said Maggie.
"Well," said the colonel, "I suppose I shall have to forgive her
too, since she saved you from a wetting, and took a bad cold in your
service. We all wondered how she came to be so drenched, but she would
not tell us how it happened."
"Did she take cold?" asked Maggie. "Mamma said she would, but she said
nothing ever hurt her."
"Something has hurt her this time. They say she was really ill when she
went away this morning, and some of the ladies tried to persuade her to
wait until she was better. But go she would, and go she did. Here comes
Mrs. Rush to take me for a walk. Will you go with us?"
The children were quite ready, and, mamma's permission gained, they
went off with their friends.
But although this was the last they saw of Miss Adams, it was not the
last they heard of her. Mrs. Bradford was right. Miss Adams had been
wet to the knees in the brook, and much heated by her long run; and
then again thoroughly drenched in the rain, and when she reached home,
the foolish girl, for the sake of making people wonder at her, would
not change her clothes. She took a violent cold, but, as the colonel
had said, insisted on travelling the next morning, and went on till she
was so ill that she was forced to give up. She had a long illness, from
which it was thought she would never recover, but she afterwards said
that this was the happiest thing that had ever happened to her in her
life.
Sometime after this, about Christmas time, came a letter and a little
parcel to Bessie. The letter said,--
"MY DEAR LITTLE BESSIE,--
"Tell your mother I scorned her advice the day we were
caught in the rain, and paid well for my folly, for I was
very ill; but there was a good, kind doctor, who came and
cured me, and now he is going to 'take care of me and my
money, and make me behave myself.' He thinks he can make
the 'kitchen lady' less of a mad-cap; but I do not know but
that my long illness has done that already. While I lay
sick, I had time to think, and to feel sorry that I had
acted so wildly and foolishly as to leave myself without a
true friend in the world. I shall never forget you, Bessie,
and I hope you will sometimes think kindly of me, and that
you may do so, will you ask your mother to let you wear
this bracelet in remembrance of