LITTLE VIVIAN
It was about ten minutes later when Pompton and his three charges came
out of the circus tent. There was a great crowd, and not seeing Marjorie
at first, Pompton waited until most of the people had gone away, and then
began to look around for her.
"I know she wouldn't go very far away," said King. "She must be quite
near here."
"I'm not so sure," said Kitty. "You know how Marjorie runs off if she
chooses, without thinking of other people."
"I'm greatly worried, Master King," said Pompton. "I suppose I ought not
to have let the child come out here alone. But she was so anxious to
come, and she promised she'd stay right here by the door. I couldn't come
with her, and look after the rest of you at the same time now, could I?"
"Of course you couldn't, Pompton," said Kitty. "You did quite right. And
I don't believe Marjorie is very far away; I think she'll be back in a
minute or two."
But they waited several minutes, and the people who had been in the
circus tent all went away. The grounds about were entirely cleared, and
save for a few workmen, there was no one in sight. Uncertain what to do,
Pompton appealed to the doorman, who just then came out with his hands
full of tickets.
"Do you know anything about a little girl, about twelve years old, who
came out of the tent a short time ago?" asked Pompton.
"Naw," returned the man, curtly, paying little attention to the inquiry.
"But you must have seen her come out," said King. "She came out alone,
before the performance was over. She had on a long tan-colored coat."
"Aw, that kid? Yes, I seen her, but I don't know where she went to."
"But we must find her! She's my sister!" said Kitty, and the tears came
into her eyes.
The doorman looked at Pompton. "You ought to keep yer kids together, an'
not let yer party get sep'rated."
"It wasn't Pompton's fault at all!" cried King, indignantly. "My sister
came out here to wait for us, and of course she's around here somewhere.
She must be in one of the tents. May we go and look for her?"
"Sure! Go where you like. I s'pose she's pokin' around somewhere to see
what's goin' on."
"Of course she's in one of the tents," said Kitty, brightening at the
idea. "Where shall we look first, King?"
Just then the man named Bill came along.
"Hello, youngsters," he said. "Lookin' fer that kid sister of yours? She
told me to tell you where she'd gone, but, bless my soul, I forgot all
about it!"
"Oh, where is she?" cried Kitty, clasping her hands, and looking up at
Bill with pleading eyes.
"There, there, little one! There ain't no use gettin' weepy about it.
Sister's all right. She just went in that there tent with Mademoiselle
Cora."
Bill pointed to the tent, and King and Kitty made a dash for it.
They fairly burst in at the door, and sure enough, there was Marjorie
sitting on a big packing box, watching a little girl who was performing
most remarkable athletic feats.
"Oh, hello," cried Marjorie, "I'm so glad you've come! Just sit down here
beside me, and watch Vivian. Mademoiselle Cora, this is my brother and
sister."
King pulled off his cap, and felt a little uncertain as to what sort of
etiquette this very strange situation demanded. But he bowed politely,
and as Mademoiselle Cora smiled, and asked the two newcomers to be
seated, and as there were plenty of packing boxes, King and Kitty sat
down.
"This is Vivian," said Marjorie, waving her hand toward the little
acrobat, who was turning double somersaults with lightning rapidity.
"She's only twelve, isn't she wonderful?"
The experience was so novel, it is scarcely to be wondered at that King
and Kitty fell under the spell, as Marjorie had done, and the three sat
breathlessly watching Vivian.
Mademoiselle Cora smiled at the enraptured audience, and in a far corner
of the tent sat a placid-looking woman knitting a shawl. This was the
mother of the two girls, but she took little interest in the visitors,
and except for an occasional glance at them, devoted herself to her
knitting.
After waiting a few moments, and seeing that the children did not
reappear, Pompton decided to go into the tent himself. He hesitated about
taking Rosamond in, but there was no help for it, so carrying the child
in his arms, he pushed aside the canvas flap which formed the tent door,
and stepped inside.
"My word!" he exclaimed, as he saw the youthful performer, and the
interested audience. "You children are the most surprising! I think you
had better come away now."
"I think so, too," remarked Vivian's mother, looking up for a moment from
her knitting. "Are there many more of you to come?"
"Now don't be uncivil, Mother," said Cora, with her pretty smile. "It
does no harm for these children to see Vivian perform. You know she
wasn't on the programme to-day."
"I'm only a beginner," said Vivian, standing on her feet once more, and
speaking to Marjorie and Kitty. "I've had quite a good deal of training,
and now I'm on the programme afternoons twice a week. Next year I'll be
on every afternoon."
"Do you like it?" asked Kitty, fascinated by this strange child. Vivian
was a pretty little girl, and she wore a garment of pink muslin, shaped
like children's rompers. She wore pink stockings and pink kid sandals,
and her golden hair was short, and curled all over her little head.
"Yes, I like it," replied Vivian, but a wistful look came into her blue
eyes. Gently, almost timidly, she touched Marjorie's pretty coat and
straw hat with her slender little fingers. "I like it,--but I think I'd
rather be a little home-girl like you."
"Cora, send those children away," said the mother, sharply. "They upset
Vivian completely when she sees them."
"I like to see them," said Vivian, and she sat down between Kitty and
Midget. "I like to see your pretty dresses, and real shoes and stockings.
Do you go to school?"
Marjorie felt strangely drawn to this little girl who seemed so to want
the privacy of a home life. She spoke to her very gently. "Yes, Vivian,
we all go to school,--though I don't go to a regular school, do you?"
"No, I don't. Mother and Cora say they'll teach me every day, while we're
on the road, but they never get time. And I have to practise a great
deal."
Marjorie looked around for a piano, and then suddenly realized that
Vivian meant she must practise her gymnastic exercises.
"Come, Miss Marjorie, we must be going," said Pompton, who felt moved
himself by the pathetic face of the little circus girl.
"Well, perhaps you'd better go now," said Cora, who had received
imperative glances from her mother. "But we've enjoyed seeing you, and
we thank you for your call."
Mademoiselle Cora had very polite manners, but she seemed to be under the
rule of her mother, and it was with evident reluctance that she bade the
visitors good-bye.
"I'll give you my picture," said Vivian to Marjorie, as they parted,
"because I want you to remember me. I would like to have your picture,
but Mother won't let me have little girls' photographs. She thinks it
makes me feel envious to see pictures of little home-girls."
"Well, I'll give you something to remember me by," said Marjorie,
impulsively, and she took from her neck a string of blue beads, and
clasped it round Vivian's throat.
"Oh, thank you," said Vivian, with sparkling eyes. "I shall wear them
always, and love them because you gave them to me. Good-bye, dear,
_dear_ little home-girl!"
The tears came into Marjorie's eyes at the tremor in Vivian's voice, and
she kissed her affectionately, and then bidding good-bye to Mademoiselle
Cora they followed Pompton out of the tent.
They were all rather silent as they trudged along to the trolley-car, and
then Kitty said slowly, "Isn't it awful to be like that? I suppose she
never has any home-life at all."
"Of course she hasn't, Miss Kitty, as she has no home," said Pompton;
"it's wicked to put a child like that in a circus, it certainly is! She's
a sweet little girl, and her sister is a fine young lady, too."
"The mother is horrid," said King. "She was awful cross about our being
there."
"Well," said Kitty, who sometimes saw deeper than the rest, "you mustn't
blame her too much. Couldn't you see she didn't want us there, because
just the sight of happy home-children makes little Vivian feel sorry that
she has to live in a circus?"
"Yes, that was it," said Marjorie. "I suppose they haven't any other way
to earn their living."
The children could scarcely wait to get home to tell their parents of
this wonderful experience.
They found Mr. and Mrs. Maynard waiting for them at the hotel, and
wondering a little because they were late.
"Oh," cried Marjorie, flinging herself into her mother's arms, "we've had
a most 'stonishing time! We visited a little circus girl in her own tent,
and here's her picture!"
Marjorie held up to her mother's amazed view the picture of little
Vivian. It was taken in stage costume, and represented Vivian in one of
her clever acrobatic feats. Her pretty child-face wore a sweet smile, and
the whole effect of the photograph was dainty and graceful. Across a
corner was scrawled the word "Vivian" in large, childish letters.
"Did you buy this?" asked Mrs. Maynard, knowing that circus performers
often sold their photographs.
"Oh, no, indeed, Mother; she gave it to me. And what do you think,
Mother? The poor little thing has to live in a tent, and she wants to
live in a home! And it made her awful sad to see us, 'cause we have a
home, and we can wear regular dresses and shoes, and she has to wear
queer bloomer things,--and sandals on her feet!"
"But I don't understand, Marjorie," said Mrs. Maynard. "How do you know
all this? Did you talk with the child?"
"Oh, yes, Mother; we went in her tent, and saw her mother and sister. I
don't think they mind being in the circus so much. But Vivian feels just
awful about it! And she's such a sweet little thing; and, Mother, I have
the loveliest plan! Don't you think it would be nice for us to 'dopt
her, and let her live with us?"
"Midget, what are you talking about?" and Mrs. Maynard's face showed so
plainly her dissent to the proposition that Marjorie jumped out of her
lap, and ran across to her father, in the hope of better success.
"Now, Father," she said as she threw her arms around his neck, and drew
his arms around her; "do please pay 'tention to my plan! You know we
ought to do some good in this world, and what _could_ be better than
rescuing a poor little sad circus girl, and letting her live in our own
happy home with us? It wouldn't cost much,--she could have half of my
clothes, and half of Kitty's,--we could each get along with half, I know.
And we could both eat less,--that is, I could,--I don't know about Kit.
But anyway, Father, won't you think about it?"
"Yes, dear," said Mr. Maynard, looking fondly at his impetuous daughter;
"I'll think about it right now,--and I'll express my thoughts aloud, as I
think them. I think, first, that you're a generous and kind-hearted
little girl to want to give this poor child a home. And I think next,
that having made your suggestion, you must leave it to Mother and me to
decide the matter. And our decision is that four children are quite
enough for this family, and we don't want to adopt any more! Besides
this, Marjorie, it is far from likely that the little girl would be
allowed to come to us. She is being trained for her profession, and
though I feel sorry that the child is not happy, yet she is with her own
people, and they are responsible for the shaping of her life and career.
Just now, you are carried away by sympathy for the little girl, and I
don't blame you at all, for it is a sad case. But you must trust your
father's judgment, when he tells you that he does not think it wise
to follow out your suggestion."
Marjorie looked disappointed, but she well knew that when her father
talked thus seriously, there was no use in pursuing the subject; so she
only said, "All right, Father; I know you know best. But it does seem too
bad for Vivian not to have any home pleasures, when I have so many!"
"It does seem too bad, Marjorie, but since you can't help her in any way,
turn your thoughts to feeling glad and grateful that you yourself have a
happy home, and can wear button boots."
Marjorie laughed at her father's last words, but she knew that "button
boots" stood for the civilized dress of the home-child, as contrasted
with the stage trappings of the little Vivian.
So she put the photograph away among her treasures, and often looked at
it, and wondered if Vivian still longed for the sort of happy home-life
that meant so much to Marjorie.