It was on Wednesday that a little party of girls came hurrying into the
Brookside station, as if they had not a minute to lose, when one of them
exclaimed: "Why, our train has gone; look at that!" pointing to the
indicator. "The next train goes at 1.40. We shall have only twenty
minutes to get from the Boston station to the Museum."
"Time enough," answered Mary Dering; "we always go too early. But
there's our little girl. We shall have ample opportunity now to buy all
the flowers we want. Dolly," to her younger sister, who was marching up
and down the platform with a friend of her own age, "Dolly, don't you
want to buy some flowers?"
"Flowers? Oh, yes!" and Dolly came racing up, calling out in a loud
whisper, as she joined the group, "Say, Mary, is that your wonderful
flower-girl?"
"Hush, Dolly; don't!"
"Don't what?"
"Don't whisper so loudly; she can hear you."
Dolly laughed. "What if she does? I didn't say anything that wasn't
nice."
The group of girls pressed around Hope, and bought lavishly of her
stock. Dolly and her friend Lily Styles were the latest of the buyers,
for coming up last they were on the outside of the group. As they stood
alone with Hope, they picked and pecked first at one bouquet, and then
another. This was fuller, and that was bigger, and still another was
prettier and pinker. At last they made a choice, and Hope breathed a
sigh of relief at the thought that now her exacting purchasers would
leave her to herself. But Dolly Dering had no notion of leaving Hope to
herself. No sooner was the purchase concluded than Miss Dolly, lifting
her big black eyes with a curious gaze to Hope's face, asked abruptly,--
"Do you like to sell flowers on the street?"
Hope flushed hotly. "I don't sell flowers on the street."
"Well, in a station, then. I should think that was just the same as on
the street; it's out-of-doors in a public place."
Hope made no further reply. She would have moved away if she could have
done so easily, but the two girls stood directly in front of her,
completely shutting her into her corner. Perhaps, however, they would go
away if she busied herself with her flowers, and she began to re-arrange
and spray them with water. But Dolly, at sight of this operation, began
with fresh interest, "Oh! is that the way you keep 'em fresh? How nice!
let me try it, do!" and before Hope could say "yes" or "no," she had
seized the sprayer out of her hands. Her first effort, instead of
benefiting the flowers, sent a sharp little sprinkle directly against
Hope's light cloth jacket. Hope started back with an exclamation of
dismay.
"Oh, it won't hurt it!" cried Dolly. Then, as she saw Hope rubbing the
wet place with her handkerchief, she asked, "Will your mother punish you
if she finds the jacket spotted?"
"Punish me?" exclaimed Hope, looking up at the questioner.
"Yes, punish you; whip you, perhaps."
"My mother--whip me?" ejaculated Hope, staring at Dolly, as if she
thought her out of her mind.
"Yes, whip you; I didn't know--"
"Would _your_ mother whip _you_ if you got spots on _your_ jacket?"
inquired Hope, in a sharp, indignant voice.
"_My_ mother? No."
"Then why should you think _my_ mother would whip _me_?"
Dolly was not a very sensitive young person, but she could not blurt out
exactly what was in her mind,--that she thought all poor people,
working-people, whipped their children when they offended them in any
way. Her ideas of poor people were very vague, and gathered partly from
the talk of her elders about the North End poor that the Associated
Charities assisted. In this talk a word now and then concerning the
careless way in which these people beat their children for the slightest
offence impressed her more than anything. Then Bridget Kelly, who had
been Dolly's nurse, had often related stories of her own childish
naughtinesses, for her--Dolly's--benefit, and she had almost invariably
wound up these stories with the remark, "And didn't my mother beat me
well for being such a bad girl!"
Dolly had put this and that together, and come to the conclusion that
poor people were all alike,--a good deal as her sister had included all
mechanical workers together. But if Miss Dolly couldn't blurt out all
that was in her mind, she had very little tact of concealment, and when
she replied to Hope's question something about people's being different,
and that she knew that some people beat their children for doing things
they didn't like them to do, she unwittingly made things quite clear
enough to Hope, with her fine, keen intelligence, so clear that she
comprehended at once the whole state of the case. What would have
happened when this moment of comprehension suddenly came to Hope, what
she would have said if there had been time to say anything, it is
needless to conjecture, for there wasn't an instant of time for a word,
as at that very moment, pouf, pouf, pouf, the train steamed into the
station, and Dolly Dering and her friend Lily ran scampering down the
platform.
Hope looked after them, with eyes blinded by hot, angry tears. The last
few minutes had been a revelation to her of the thoughtless
misunderstandings of the world. To think that she--Hope Benham--should
be ranked with that vast ignorant class of "poor people" who "lived
anyhow," all because she was selling flowers in a public place! "They
might have known better, if they had any sense; they might have known at
a glance!" And with this indignant thought, Hope went into the ladies'
waiting-room, and surveyed herself in the mirror that hung there. What
did she see? A bright-faced girl, clean and fresh, with neatly braided
hair; clothed in a little fawn-colored jacket, a brown dress, and with a
pretty plain brown felt hat upon her head. To be sure, she wore no
gloves; but her hands were nicely kept, the nails well cut and rosily
clean. To mix her up with poor people who "lived anyhow"! Perhaps they
fancied, those girls, that the fawn-colored jacket and the brown dress
and the hat were given to her,--gifts of charity! Yes, that was what
they fancied, of course. They had talked her over. "Is that your
wonderful flower-girl?" she had overheard the younger girl say to the
older. She had been called this because she was dressed decently,
because she behaved herself decently. They couldn't understand--these
rich people--how any one who sold flowers, who sold anything--_on the
street_--yes, that was what they called it--could be decent. Oh, it was
they who were ignorant,--these rich people! They didn't know anything
about other people's lives,--other people who were not rich like
themselves.
Hope's little purse was full of shining silver pieces as she went back
to Riverview, but her heart was fuller of bitterness.
"You look tired, Hope," said her mother, anxiously, as Hope walked into
the house. But Hope declared that she was not in the least tired, that
it was only the tiresomeness of some of her customers,--fussy folk, who
picked and pecked and asked questions. Not a word more did she say. She
was not going to worry her mother, hurt her feelings as hers had been
hurt with the foolish, ignorant talk of those foolish, ignorant, rich
girls,--not she! So she comforted herself by counting up her silver
pieces, and reckoning how much nearer she was to the "good little
fiddle." She tried to keep the little fiddle and the sweet strain the
shopkeeper had drawn from it, continually in her mind, as she stood in
the station again that night on the arrival of the 5.30 train. The good
little fiddle, with the sweet strain, should be the shield against
tormenting questioners and questions. But she was not to be tormented
that night by any one.
Dolly Dering did not even look at her, as she skipped by. Dolly was too
eager to secure a place beside her father on the front seat of the
carriage, as they drove home, to see or think about anything else. Even
Mary Dering did not find time, as she went by, to cast an interested
glance towards that "wonderful flower-girl." There were plenty of
purchasers, however, without the little matinee group,--ladies and
gentlemen just returning from shopping or business,--plenty of
purchasers; and Hope went home with only the sweet sense of success
stirring at her heart,--a success unalloyed by any new bitterness. She
had not needed a shield against tormentors. Thursday and Friday were
equally pleasant and fairly profitable. Saturday would, of course, be
the best day of all, and bring her sales up to almost if not quite the
desired amount. But she dreaded Saturday, for she was quite sure that
"that girl" would be at the station, and she could not help keeping a
nervous look-out from the moment she took her stand in her chosen
corner. The 12.35, the 1, and the 1.15 trains, however, went in, and
Dolly was not to be seen. If she was not on the 1.40 train, there was
little danger, Hope thought, that she would be there at all, for the
1.40 was the last early afternoon train. The next was 3.30, and Hope
would be back at Riverview by that time, preparing another stock of
flowers for her 5.30 sale. Just before the 1.40 steamed in, Hope heard a
gay chatter of voices. There she was! But no; a glance at the party
sufficed to show that Dolly Dering was not one of the party, and Hope
drew a deep breath of relief. The week would end without further
annoyance, and with _such_ a heap of bright silver pieces.