THE ARRIVAL
On the other side of Good Children Street, and almost directly opposite
Madelon’s tiny cottage, was a double house of more pretentious
appearance than those just around it. It was a little higher, the door
was wider, and a good-sized window on each side had a small balcony,
more for ornament than use, as it was scarcely wide enough to stand on.
The roof projected well over the sidewalk, and there was some attempt
at ornamentation in the brackets that supported it. At one side was a
narrow yard with a stunted fig-tree, and a ragged rose-bush straggled
up the posts of a small side-gallery.
This house had been closed for some time. The former tenant having
died, his family, who were respectable, pleasant people, were obliged
to leave it, much to Pepsie’s sorrow, for she was always interested in
her neighbors, and she had taken a great deal of pleasure in observing
the ways of this household. Therefore she was very tired of looking
at the closed doors and windows, and was constantly wishing that some
one would take it. At last, greatly to her gratification, one pleasant
morning, late in August, a middle-aged woman, very well dressed in
black, who was lame and walked with a stick, a young man, and a lovely
little girl, appeared on the scene, stopped before the empty house, and
after looking at it with much interest mounted the steps, unlocked the
door, and entered.
The child interested Pepsie at once. Although she had seen very few
high-bred children in her short life, she noticed that this little
one was different from the small inhabitants of Good Children Street.
Her white frock, black sash, and wide black hat had a certain grace
uncommon in that quarter, and every movement and step had an elegant
ease, very unlike the good-natured little creoles who played around
Pepsie’s window.
However, it was not only the child’s beauty, her tasteful, pretty
dress, and high-bred air that interested Pepsie; it was the pale,
mournful little face, and the frail little figure, looking so wan and
ill. The woman held her by the hand, and she walked very slowly and
feebly; the robust, black-eyed young man carried a small basket, which
the child watched constantly.
Pepsie could not remove her eyes from the house, so anxious was she to
see the child again; but, instead of coming out, as she expected they
would after they had looked at the house, much to her joy she saw the
young man flinging open the shutters and doors, with quite an air of
ownership; then she saw the woman take off her bonnet and veil, and
the child’s hat, and hang them on a hook near the window. Presently,
the little girl came out on the small side-gallery with something in
her arms. Pepsie strained her eyes, and leaned forward as far as her
lameness would allow her in order to see what the child had.
“It’s a cat; no, it’s a dog; no, it isn’t. Why, it must be a
bird. I can see it flutter its wings. Yes, it’s a bird, a large,
strange-looking bird. I wonder what it is!” And Pepsie, in her
excitement and undue curiosity, almost tipped out of her chair, while
the child looked around her with a listless, uninterested air, and
then sat down on the steps, hugging the bird closely and stroking its
feathers.
“Certainly, they’ve come to stay,” said Pepsie to herself, “or they
wouldn’t open all the windows, and take off their things. Oh, I wonder
if they have; I’ll just get my cards, and find out.”
But Pepsie’s oracle was doomed to remain silent, for, before she got
them spread on the table, there was a rumbling of wheels in the street,
and a furniture-wagon, pretty well loaded, drove up to the door. Pepsie
swept her cards into the drawer, and watched it unload with great
satisfaction.
At the same moment, the active Tite Souris entered like a whirlwind,
her braids of wool sticking up, and her face all eyes and teeth. She
had been out on the _banquette_, and was bursting with news.
“Oh, Miss Peps’, Miss Peps’, sum un’s done tuk dat house ov’ yon’er,
an’ is a-movin’ in dis ver’ minit. It’s a woman an’ a boy, an’ a littl’
yaller gal. I means a littl’ gal wid yaller ha’r all ove’ her, an’ she
got a littl’ long-legged goslin’, a-huggin’ it up like she awful fond
uv it.”
“Oh, stop, Tite; go away to your work,” cried Pepsie, too busy to
listen to her voluble handmaid. “Don’t I see them without your telling
me? You’d better finish scouring your kitchen, or mama’ll get after you
when she comes home.”
“Shore ’nuff, I’se a-scourin’, Miss Peps’, an’ I’se jes a dyin tu git
out on dat _banquette;_ dat _banquette’s_ a-spilin’ might’ bad ter be
cleaned. Let me do dat _banquette_ right now, Miss Peps’, an’ I’s gwine
scour lak fury bymeby.”
“Very well, Tite; go and do the _banquette_,” returned Pepsie, smiling
indulgently. “But mind what I say about the kitchen, when mama comes.”
Such an event as some one moving in Good Children Street was very
uncommon. Pepsie thought every one had lived there since the flood,
and she didn’t blame Tite Souris to want to be out with the other
idle loungers to see what was going on, although she understood the
_banquette_ ruse perfectly.
At last all the furniture was carried in, and with it two trunks, so
large for that quarter as to cause no little comment.
“_Par exemple!_” said Monsieur Fernandez, “what a size for a trunk!
That madame yonder must have traveled much in the North. I’ve heard
they use them there for ladies’ toilets.”
And, straightway, madame acquired greater importance from the
conclusion that she had traveled extensively.
Then the wagon went away, the door was discreetly “bowed,” and the
loungers dispersed; but Pepsie, from her coign of vantage, still
watched every movement of the new-comers. She saw Raste come out with
a basket, and she was sure that he had gone to market. She saw madame
putting up a pretty lace curtain at one window, and she was curious to
know if she intended to have a parlor. Only one blind was thrown open;
the other was “bowed” all day, yet she was positive that some one was
working behind it. “That must be madame’s room,” she thought; “that
big boy will have the back room next to the kitchen, and the little
girl will sleep with madame, so the room on this side, with the pretty
curtain, will be the parlor. I wonder if she will have a carpet, and a
console, with vases of wax-flowers on it, and a cabinet full of shells,
and a sofa.” This was Pepsie’s idea of a parlor; she had seen a parlor
once long ago, and it was like this.
So she wondered and speculated all day; and all day the pale, sorrowful
child sat alone on the side-gallery, holding her bird in her arms; and
when night came, Pepsie had not sugared her pecans, neither had she
read her prayers, nor even played one game of solitaire; but Madelon
did not complain of her idleness. It was seldom the child had such a
treat, and even Tite Souris escaped a scolding, in consideration of the
great event.
The next morning Pepsie was awake very early, and so anxious was she to
get to the window that she could hardly wait to be dressed. When she
first looked across the street, the doors and shutters were closed,
but some one had been stirring; and Tite Souris informed her, when
she brought her coffee, that madame had been out at “sun up,” and had
cleaned and “bricked” the _banquette_ her own self.
“Then I’m afraid she isn’t rich,” said Pepsie, “because if she was
rich, she’d keep a servant, and perhaps after all she won’t have a
parlor.”
Presently there was a little flutter behind the bowed blind, and lo!
it was suddenly flung open, and there, right in the middle of the
window, hung a very tasty gilt frame, surrounding a white center, on
which was printed, in red and gilt letters, “_Blanchisseuse de fin,
et confections de toute sorte_,” and underneath, written in Raste’s
boldest hand and best English, “Fin Washun dun hear, an notuns of
al sort,” and behind the sign Pepsie could plainly see a flutter of
laces and muslins, children’s dainty little frocks and aprons, ladies’
collars, cuffs, and neckties, handkerchiefs and sacks, and various
other articles for feminine use and adornment; and on a table, close
to the window, were boxes of spools, bunches of tape, cards of buttons,
skeins of wool, rolls of ribbons; in short, an assortment of small
wares, which presented quite an attractive appearance; and, hovering
about them, madame could be discerned, in her black skirt and fresh
white sack, while, as smiling and self-satisfied as ever, she arranged
her stock to the best advantage, and waited complacently for the
customers who she was sure would come.
For the first time since the death of the young widow in Gretna,
she breathed freely, for she began to feel some security in her new
possessions. At last, everything had turned out as Raste predicted,
and she had worked her plans well. The young mother, sleeping in the
Bergeron tomb, could never testify against her, and the child was too
young to give any but the most sketchy information about herself. She
did not even know the name of her parents, and since her recovery from
the fever she seemed to have forgotten a great deal that she knew
before. Her illness had left her in a pitiable condition; she was weak
and dull, and did not appear to care for anything but the blue heron,
which was her constant companion. Whether she was conscious of her
great loss, and was mourning for her mother, madame could not decide.
At first, she had asked constantly for her, and madame had told her
kindly, and with caresses, which were not returned, that her mother had
gone away for a while, and had left her with her Tante Pauline; and
that she must be a good little girl, and love her Tante Pauline, while
her mother was away.
Lady Jane looked at madame’s bland face with such solemnly scrutinizing
eyes, that she almost made her blush for the falsehood she was telling,
but said nothing; her little thoughts and memories were very busy, and
very far away; she had not forgotten as much as madame fancied she had,
neither did she believe as much as madame thought she did. Whatever of
doubt or regret passed through her little brain, she made no sign, but
remained quiet and docile; she never laughed, and seldom cried; she
was very little trouble, and scarcely noticed anything that was going
on around her. In fact, she was stupefied and subdued, by the sudden
misfortunes that had come upon her, until she seemed a very different
being from the bright, spirited child of a few weeks before.