her tears to say how good and dear he was!--and once or twice she
laughed through her tears so heartily and triumphantly that Tilly was
quite horrified.
“Ow, if you please, don’t!” said Tilly. “It’s enough to dead and bury
the baby; so it is, if you please.”
“Will you bring him to see me sometimes,” inquired her mistress, “when
I don’t live here, and have gone to my old home?”
“Ow, if you please, don’t!” cried Tilly, throwing back her head. She
looked a great deal like Boxer when he howled. “Ow, if you please,
don’t! What has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, making
everybody so miserable? Ow-w-w!”
_Caleb Confesses His Deceit_
And she might have kept on, if just at that moment Caleb Plummer had
not come in, leading his daughter.
“Why, Mary” (which was Dot’s other name, you remember). “Why, Mary!”
said Bertha. “Not at the wedding?”
“I told her you would not be there, mum,” whispered Caleb. “I heard as
much last night. But bless you,” said the little man, “I don’t care
what they say. I don’t believe them. There ain’t much of me, but what
little there is would be torn to pieces sooner than I’d believe a word
against you!”
He put his arms around her neck and hugged her very much as a child
might have hugged one of the dolls he had made.
“Bertha wanted to come see you instead of going to the wedding,” said
Caleb, “so we started in good time. I often wish I had not deceived
her in regard to Tackleton, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d
better tell her the truth. You’ll stay with us while I tell her, won’t
you, mum?” he inquired, trembling from head to foot. “I don’t know what
effect it may have upon her. I don’t know what she’ll think of me; I
don’t know that she’ll ever care for her father afterwards. But it’s
best she should be undeceived, and I must bear the consequences as I
deserve.”
“Mary,” said Bertha, “where is your hand? I heard them speaking softly
last night of some blame against you. They were wrong. I told them so.
I scorned to hear a word! I know and trust you, Mary, so well that
could my sight be restored at this instant, I could choose you from a
crowd--my sister!”
Her father went on one side of her, while Dot remained on the other,
holding her hand.
“Bertha, my dear,” said Caleb, “I have something on my mind I want to
tell you while we three are alone. Listen kindly! I have a confession
to make to you.”
“A confession, Father?”
“Yes, my child; I have wandered from the truth,” said Caleb, with a
pitiable expression in his face. “I have wandered from the truth,
intending to be kind to you; and have been cruel.”
She turned toward him, and repeated the word, “Cruel?”
“He accuses himself too strongly, Bertha,” said Dot. “You’ll say so,
presently. You’ll be the first to tell him so.”
“He, cruel to me?” cried Bertha, with an unbelieving smile.
“Not meaning to be, my child,” said Caleb, “but I have been, although
I never knew it until yesterday. My dear blind daughter, forgive me.
The world, dear heart, is not as you imagine it. It is not as I have
represented it. The eyes you have trusted in have been false to you.”
She turned her wondering face toward him still, but drew back, and
clung closer to her friend.
“Your road in life was rough, my poor one,” said Caleb, “and I meant to
smooth it for you. I have pictured things to you as different from what
they are. I have even changed the characters of some people, to make
you happier. I have surrounded you with fancies.”
“But living people are not fancies,” she said, turning very pale. “You
can’t change them.”
“I have done so, Bertha,” Caleb told her. “There is one person you
know----”
“Oh, Father, why do you say I know?” she said. “I who am so miserably
blind.”
She stretched out her hands as if to feel her way.
“The marriage that takes place to-day,” Caleb continued, “is with a
stern, sordid, grinding man. He has been a hard master to you and me,
my dear, for many years. Ugly in his looks and in his nature. Cold and
callous always. Unlike what I have painted him to you in everything, my
child--in everything.”
“Oh, why,” cried the blind girl, “why did you ever do this? Teach me to
love a person who really never existed? It is like death!”
Her poor father hung his head and offered no reply in his penitence and
sorrow. Suddenly the cricket on the hearth, unheard by all but her,
began to chirp, not merrily, but so mournfully that her tears began to
flow; and when the fairy spirit which had been near the carrier all
night, appeared behind her, pointing toward her father, she turned to
Dot.
“Mary,” she said, “tell me what my home is like--what it is truly.”
“It is a poor place, Bertha; very poor and bare indeed. The house will
scarcely keep out the wind and rain another winter. It is as roughly
shielded from the weather, Bertha,” Dot continued in a low voice, “as
your poor father in his sackcloth coat.”
The blind girl, greatly agitated, rose and led the carrier’s wife a
little aside.
“Those presents that I treasured so much; that came almost at my wish,”
she said, trembling; “where did they come from? Did you send them?”
“No.”
“Who, then?”
Dot saw she knew already, and was silent. The blind girl spread her
hands before her face again, but in quite a different manner now.
“Dear Mary, a moment, please. Speak softly. Tell me truly. Look across
the room to where we were sitting just now--to where my father is--my
father, so kind and loving to me--and tell me what you see.”
“I see,” said Dot, who understood her well, “an old man sitting in a
chair, and leaning over sorrowfully with his head resting in his hands.
He looks as if his child should comfort him, Bertha.”
“Yes, yes. She will. Go on.”
“He is an old man, worn with care and work. He is a sad, thoughtful,
gray-haired man, who seems to have lost the object he most loved in the
world--his child for whom he lived.”
The blind girl broke away from her, and dropping on her knees before
him, threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, my Father! My dear, dear Father!” she cried. “I have been so
blind! But now my eyes are open. I never knew you. To think, I might
have died and never truly known the father who has been so loving to
me!”
Caleb managed to say, “My Bertha!”
“And in my blindness, I believed him to be so different,” said the
girl, still caressing him, “so young and gay!”
“The fresh, smart father in the blue coat--” said poor Caleb, “he’s
gone!”
“Nothing is gone,” she answered. “Dearest Father, no! Everything is
here--in you. But, Father----” She hesitated.
“Mary--Mary is just what you told me? There is no change in her? You
never told me anything of her that was not true?”
“I should have done so, I’m afraid,” said Caleb, “if I could have made
her better than she was. But I must have changed her for the worse, if
I had changed _her_ at all. Nothing could improve her, Bertha.”
The blind girl was delighted with this reply, even though she had felt
so sure of what it must be, and her renewed embrace of Dot was charming
to behold.
_The Dead Returns to Life_
Dot glanced at the clock, and saw that it was within a few minutes of
striking, and immediately became very excited.
“More changes than you think for may happen, though,” said Dot;
“changes for the better, I mean; changes for great joy to some of us.
You mustn’t let them startle you too much when they come. But listen!
You’ve a quick ear, Bertha. Do you hear wheels upon the road?”
“Yes--coming very fast.”
“I--I--I know you have a quick ear,” said Dot, holding her hand to her
heart and talking as fast as she could, “because I have often noticed
it, and because you were so quick to hear that strange step last night.
Though why you should have taken such quick notice of it, and said,
‘Whose step is that?’ seems strange. But, as I said just now, there are
great changes in this world; great changes, and we can’t do better than
prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything.”
Caleb wondered what she meant, for he saw that she was speaking to him
as much as to his daughter. He saw with astonishment, that she was
fluttered and distressed, and could scarcely breathe, as she held to a
chair to save herself from falling.
“They are wheels indeed!” she panted. “Coming nearer! Nearer! Very
close! And now you hear them stopping at the garden gate! And now you
hear a step outside the door--the same step, Bertha--is it not?--and
now!----”
She uttered a cry of delight; and running up to Caleb, put her hands
over his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and flinging his
hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them.
“Is it over?” cried Dot.
“Yes!”
“Happily over?”
“Yes!”
“Do you know the voice, dear Caleb? Did you ever hear one like it
before?” cried Dot.
“If my boy who went to South America had not died--if he were alive--”
said Caleb, trembling.
“He is alive!” shrieked Dot, taking her hands from his eyes, and
clapping them in ecstasy. “Look at him! See, here he stands before you,
healthy and strong! Your own dear son. Your own dear living brother,
Bertha!”
She turned to meet the sunburned sailor half way, and let him kiss her
heartily.
Just at this moment, the carrier entered. Upon seeing them thus, he
started back.
“Look, John!” cried Caleb. “Look here! My own son! Him that you fitted
out, and sent away yourself! Him you were always such a friend to!”
The carrier advanced to seize him by the hand, but stepped back as he
noticed his resemblance to the deaf man in the cart.
“Edward! Was it you?”
“Now tell him all!” cried Dot. “Tell him all, Edward, and don’t spare
me.”
“I was the man,” said Edward.
“And you stole, disguised, into the home of your old friend!” the
carrier said. “I would never have believed it of you! There was a true
and frank boy once--how many years is it, Caleb, since we heard that he
was dead, and had it proved, we thought? He would never have done that!”
“There was a generous friend of mine, once, a friend, who was more a
father than a friend; he never would have judged a man before he heard
his case. You were he. So I am certain you will hear me now.”
The carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, replied, “Well, that’s but
fair. I will.”
“You must know, then, that when I left here, a boy, I was in love, and
my love was returned, but the girl was very young, and couldn’t quite
make up her mind. Still I felt quite certain that she loved me as
dearly as I loved her.”
“You did!” exclaimed the carrier.
“Yes; and now I am sure she did. So all through the hardships and
perils of my years away, I was constantly thinking of when I should
come back to her. When I landed, twenty miles from here, I heard she
had bestowed herself upon another and a richer man. I did not wish to
find fault with her if she had preferred him. What I wanted to find out
was whether she had done this of her own free will. I wanted to judge
for myself just how she felt, so I disguised myself--you know how;
and waited on the road--you know where. You had no suspicion of me;
neither had she,” pointing to Dot, “until I whispered in her ear at the
fireside, and so startled her that she nearly betrayed me.”
“Oh, Dot!” exclaimed the carrier.
“But when she knew that Edward was alive, and had come back,” sobbed
Dot, now speaking for herself, as she had long wished to do, “and when
he told her why he had disguised himself, she advised him to keep his
secret close, by all means; for she knew that his old friend, John
Peerybingle, was too open in his nature to keep such a secret, no
matter how he tried. Then she--that’s me, John--told him all, how his
sweetheart had thought him dead; and how she had, after all the years,
been over-persuaded by her mother, because the silly, dear, old thing
called the marriage advantageous; and when she--that’s me, John--told
him they were not yet married (but soon would be) and that it would
be nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for there was no love on
her side; and when he went nearly wild with joy to hear it; when
she--that’s me again, John--said she would help him, and carry messages
to his sweetheart, as she had so often done as a girl; and she would
find out what his sweetheart thought was right----”
“Oh!” said John.
“And it was right, John,” Dot continued, catching her breath, “for they
were married, John, an hour ago! And here’s the bride! And Gruff and
Tackleton may die a bachelor! And I’m a happy little woman. May God
bless you!”
As she drew May forward and lavished all kinds of good wishes and
congratulations upon her, the carrier stood confounded. As he flew
towards her, Dot stretched out her hand to stop him.
“John, dear John, forgive me! It was wrong to have a secret from you.
I’m very sorry. I didn’t think it any harm until the night when I came
and sat down by you on the little stool. But when I looked at your
face, I knew you must have seen me walking in the wareroom with Edward,
and were suspicious of me. But oh, John, how could--how could you think
wrong of me?”
John Peerybingle would have caught her in his arms; but no, she
wouldn’t let him.
“Wait a minute, please, John dear, until you let me hear you tell me
that you believe me, and trust me, and that you know how much I love
you--so much that I’ll never have another secret from you; and that
you’ll never, never think of sending me from my home, and yours, John,
and our cricket on the hearth.”
Then you would have been delighted to see Dot run into the carrier’s
arms. You may be sure the carrier was in a state of perfect rapture;
and you may be sure that everybody, especially Miss Slowboy, wept
for joy, and she, wishing to include the baby, handed him around to
everyone in succession as if he were something to eat or drink.
But now the sound of wheels was heard again outside the door, and
somebody exclaimed that Gruff and Tackleton was coming back in. Soon he
appeared, looking warm and flustered.
“My, what in nation’s this, John Peerybingle!” said Tackleton. “There’s
some mistake. I had an appointment with Miss Fielding to meet me at the
church, and--oh, here she is!” seeing her with Edward, to whom he then
turned, saying:
“I beg your pardon, sir; I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you; but
if you can do me the favor to spare this young lady--she has a rather
particular engagement with me this morning.”
“But I can’t spare her,” said Edward. “I couldn’t think of it.”
“What do you mean, you vagabond?” exclaimed Tackleton.
“I mean--and I pardon you for being vexed--I mean that I am as deaf to
your harsh words as I was last night.”
Such a startled look as Tackleton gave him!
“It is too bad, sir,” said Edward, holding out May’s left hand,
especially the third finger, “that the young lady can’t accompany you
to the church; but as she has been there once this morning, perhaps
you’ll excuse her.”
Tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and took a ring out of his
waistcoat pocket.
“Miss Slowboy,” said Tackleton, “will you have the kindness to throw
that into the fire? Thank you.”
“It was a previous engagement, quite an old engagement, that prevented
my wife from keeping her appointment with you, I assure you,” said
Edward.
“Mr. Tackleton will do me the justice to say that I told him about this
old engagement many times, and that I never could forget it,” said May,
blushing.
“Oh, certainly,” said Tackleton. “Oh, to be sure! Oh, it’s all right,
it’s quite correct. You are now Mrs. Edward Plummer, I infer?”
“That’s the name,” said the bridegroom.
“Ah, I shouldn’t have known you,” said Tackleton. “I give you joy, sir.”
With these words, he hurried away, merely stopping at the gate to take
the flowers and favors off the horse’s head, and to kick the horse
once, just to relieve his feelings.
Of course, the next thing in order was the wedding feast; and Dot set
to work with all her might, even calling in some neighborly help, and
everybody, as if on the point of life or death, ran against each other
in all the doorways, and round all the corners, tumbling over Tilly
Slowboy and the baby everywhere.
Then there was an expedition to find Mrs. Fielding, and to apologize to
her, and to bring her back, happy and forgiving. At first, she would
not listen at all, and wouldn’t say anything but, “Now carry me to my
grave,” which seemed absurd, on account of her not being dead, or even
ill.
After a while she settled down into a dreadful calm, and advantage was
taken of this to get her into her coat and gloves, and carry her off to
John Peerybingle’s.
When they reached the house, there were Dot’s father and mother; and
May’s mother and Dot’s mother began to renew their acquaintance.
After a grand confusion of talk and action, they actually were seated
at the table. To have missed that dinner would have been to have missed
as good and as jolly a meal as man need eat.
After dinner, Caleb sang his song about the sparkling bowl; and, you
may not believe it, but he sang it through.
And, by-the-bye, a most unexpected thing occurred just as he finished
the last verse.
_Tackleton Does the Unexpected_
There was a tap at the door, and a man came staggering in with a big
round box, which he set on the table in the center of the nuts and
apples. He said:
“Mr. Tackleton’s compliments, and as he hasn’t got no use for the cake
himself, perhaps you’ll eat it.”
And with these words, he walked off.
There was some surprise among the company, as you may imagine. Mrs.
Fielding suggested that the cake might be poisoned, and told about a
cake which she had heard of that had turned a seminary of young ladies
blue. But, notwithstanding the story, the cake was cut by May with much
ceremony and rejoicing.
I don’t think any one had tasted it, when there came another tap at the
door, and the same man appeared again, having under his arm a big brown
paper parcel.
“Mr. Tackleton’s compliments, and he’s sent a few toys for the baby.
They ain’t ugly.”
The whole party would not have been able to find words to express their
astonishment even if they had had plenty of time. But they had none,
for the messenger had scarcely shut the door when there came another
tap, and Tackleton himself walked in.
“Mrs. Peerybingle!” said the toy merchant, hat in hand, “I’m sorry. I’m
sour by disposition, but I am going to try to do better. Caleb, I might
have had you and your daughter for dear friends. As it is, my house is
lonely to-night. I have not even a cricket on the hearth. I have scared
them all away. Be kind to me, please; let me join this happy party!”
He was at home in five minutes. You never saw such a fellow. _What_ had
he been doing with himself all his life, never to have known before how
much fun he had in him! Or what had the fairies been doing with him to
change him so!
There was but one more living creature wanted to make the party
complete, and in the twinkling of an eye, there he was, very
thirsty--with hard running, for Boxer had gone all the way with the
cart on its journey, and being disgusted at finding his master absent,
and unable to induce the horse to come with him, had turned tail and
trotted home.
There was a dance in the evening; but since the old people didn’t
dance, and Dot said her dancing days were over because, I believe, she
preferred to sit near the carrier really, Edward and May were the only
dancers, and they got up amid great applause, to dance alone, while
Bertha played her liveliest tune.
Well, if you’ll believe me, they had not been dancing five minutes,
when the carrier suddenly jumps up, takes Dot round the waist, dashes
out into the room, and starts off with her, toe and heel, quite
wonderfully. Tackleton no sooner sees this than he skims across to Mrs.
Fielding, and follows suit. Then Dot’s father and mother, and Caleb and
Tilly Slowboy join in.
* * * * *
Hark! how the cricket joins the music with its chirp! chirp! chirp! and
how the kettle hums!
THE RETURN HOME
GOOD-BY, MARY FRANCES. COME AGAIN!
THE RETURN HOME
XXXVII
GOOD-BY, MARY FRANCES. COME AGAIN!
IN the middle of the story, “The Cricket on the Hearth,” when everybody
was so anxious to hear more, there came the sound of many voices, and
then a loud scream. Mary Frances knew it was the voice of the old
witch, who had been listening.
“Let me be!” she was crying. “I don’t want to go away! I want to find
out who the old man was! I want to find out who the old man was! I want
to see if Tackleton did marry May Fielding! I won’t go! S-so there! Did
I tramp all the miles to get here just to be taken back again?”
Then came the deep, heavy voice of the giant: “Be quiet!” it said. “Be
quiet! No, you won’t have to go back. We’ll take you. This time we’ll
lock you up so tight you’ll stay where you’re put, and you’ll come when
you’re bid. That’s what you’ll do!”
“S-somebody tell me quick!” screamed the old witch. “Quick! Did May
Fielding marry Tackleton? Did she? Did she?” and Mary Frances heard her
screaming, “Did she? Did she?” until her voice died away.
How Mary Frances longed to tell her no, but she did not dare!
“She deserves her punishment,” the Queen whispered, and since she knew
that that was true, Mary Frances did not speak.
After the story was over, she received her copy from the Ready Writer
and slipped it into her story satchel with the rest of the stories.
Then she wandered down by the seashore alone. Near the shore there was
a boy with a feather in his cap sitting on a rock. She knew him in a
minute.
“Where did the giant take the old witch, do you think, Peter Pan?” she
asked.
“To the Devil’s Den,” said Peter. “I saw them go.”
“To the Devil’s Den!” cried Mary Frances. “How dreadful!”
“It’s not such a bad place,” said Peter. “It is just a deep cave. It is
lighted from a large opening in the top. Its name is the worst thing
about it; but the old witch cannot get out of it if they lock her in.”
“Oh, she got away from the giant’s basket, then?”
“She did. She was so crazy to hear a story through that she watched her
first chance to make off when the giant guard was asleep.”
“What about the pirate?” asked Mary Frances.
“He is chained to a rock in the Pirate’s Cove, and he spends his time
jumping in and out of the water. He has jumped so much and so hard that
the suds are rising all around him just as when you blow bubbles in a
bowl, holding the pipe down in the water. Poor thing! Some day the suds
will rise so high that the bubbles will cover him and smother him.”
“Is there no way for him to save himself?” asked Mary Frances.
“Certainly!” said Peter Pan. “All he has to do is to be good; but he
won’t be! He’s just naturally wicked. He’d murder fairies if he could,
and he’d steal all the stories in the world, and he’d feed children on
charcoal and castor oil--he told me so once. It was after I caught him
trying to steal my shadow.”
“He must have a wicked heart!” said Mary Frances.
“Once I asked him why he was so bad,” Peter told her “and what do you
think he said?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she returned.
“He said it was because his mother never kissed him.”
“His mother never kissed him!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “Why, what a
queer kind of mother! Now my mother----”
Suddenly she felt very homesick. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Why,
Peter!” she cried wistfully. “Why, Peter! It must be over a year since
my mother kissed me! Shall I turn wicked, too? Oh, I wish I could see
her--my own dear mother!”
As she finished speaking, a beautiful little sail-boat appeared before
them. It was smaller than The Good Ferry.
“Step aboard, then,” said Peter Pan, rising and leading her toward the
boat. “This is a fairy boat. You will be home in an hour. Sit in the
stern. Take the tiller in your hand. Hold it steady, and wish out loud
where you want to go.”
He helped Mary Frances into the boat.
“Oh, but I haven’t thanked the Story People for my wonderful, wonderful
time!” she exclaimed. “I wish I could thank them!”
Even as she spoke, every door and window of the castle opened and the
Story People appeared.
“Thank you all! Thank you forever--and--ever! Thank you for all the
girls and boys in the world!” cried Mary Frances.
“Have you your stories?” called the Story King.
“Yes, I have them here!” said Mary Frances, holding up her story
satchel.
“When you want more, come again, dear child,” called the Story Queen.
“Oh, yes, come again!” called all the Story People. “For we love you!
The Story People love all children. Take our love to all you can, and
good-by! Good-by! Good-by!”
“Good-by, dear, dear friends!” called Mary Frances, as the little boat
sailed away. “Good-by, and thank you!”
She watched until the island was too far away for her to make out the
forms of the people at the castle windows. Then she wished aloud,
“Home! Take me to my mother and father and my brother, little fairy
sail-boat!”