THE BUNCH OF VIOLETS.
For a long time after John left the room Lizzie did not look round at
Violet. She could not trust herself to do so. Bitter tears were running
quickly down her own cheeks, and she dreaded to see the face of the
child, so she sat by the stove and covered her eyes with her hands,
grieving, oh, so sorely, that there was yet another farewell to be gone
through, and that Violet's small stock of strength and brave little
spirit must be tried still further.
She was surprised, therefore, when about a quarter of an hour after
John's departure Violet called to her in a low, quiet voice,--
"Aunt Lizzie, is the flower-shop far from here?"
"No, my darling; it is only just round the corner."
"I mean the stall where Fritz buys the flowers for mother. I forget the
name."
"I do not know the name either," replied her aunt, rising and brushing
the tears off her face; "but yesterday afternoon, when I was walking
from the station, I noticed beautiful flowers for sale in a shop close
to this house."
"Didst thou see any violets there?"
"Yes, plenty of them."
There was a short pause, and then Violet said earnestly,--
"Aunt Lizzie, wilt thou go to the shop and buy me some violets? It is
not far, thou saidst, and I have some money in my new desk."
"Of course I will go," said Aunt Lizzie, turning at once to look for
her hat. "Never mind the money, darling; they will not cost much."
"But I should like to give the money. And please, Aunt Lizzie, buy a
large bunch, and very sweet. Sometimes Fritz buys violets that have no
smell, and I do not care for them."
"All right; Aunt Lizzie will choose the very sweetest she can find. And
now here is the desk, and while Aunt Lizzie is tying on her hat thou
canst take out the money."
Violet opened her new possession, and with trembling, eager fingers,
removed the little secret receptacle which held her newly-acquired
money and drew out several silver coins.
She placed them on the counterpane and waited for her aunt to turn
round.
"Aunt Lizzie, wilt thou do one more thing for Violet?"
"Certainly, anything. What is it, my little darling?" for the child's
face was covered with a crimson blush which darkened in its distress to
almost a purple hue. "Darling, what is it?"
"The cake, Aunt Lizzie, which father put by last night in the cupboard.
May I have it?"
"Certainly." Then, seeing her increased confusion, she added
thoughtfully, "Aunt Lizzie is too glad that Violet should care to
have the cake. It was made for thee, dearest, and madame would be so
disappointed if thou didst not eat some of it."
Violet did not speak. She lifted her eyes nervously to her aunt's face,
and moved her hands restlessly to and fro on the counterpane.
"I suppose I had better cut a slice for thee, the dish is so heavy; and
now I may give thee some milk, dearest. Thou hast had no breakfast."
"Please don't cut the cake, Aunt Lizzie."
"Well, here it is. I will put it on the table beside thee; and here is
the milk."
Violet nodded her head with that silent acquiescence which so often
with her took the place of words, and Aunt Lizzie went down the stairs
perplexed and wondering. When she reached the little side street she
found the flower-stall literally besieged with women and children
purchasing bouquets and bunches of flowers, to give to their dear ones
ere they started for the war--beautiful blue forget-me-nots, moss
roses, lilies of the valley. It seemed this morning as if the poorest
child in the town had a penny to spare for this purpose.
Aunt Lizzie could scarcely force her way to the back of the stall,
where a basket of sweet purple violets not yet unpacked had caught her
eye.
"No, no," cried the woman excitedly as Lizzie put down her hand to
select a bunch; "these cannot be touched until the others on the
counter are sold."
"Oh, it is for a little sick child. I promised I would bring her home
the sweetest in thy shop; and she will pay thee well, too, poor little
girl."
"Who is the child?" asked the woman, curiously looking up at the young
wife's pleading face, a something in the eyes and the voice stirring up
old recollections. "Is it little Violet who has sent thee for them?"
"Yes, yes, the same."
"Take then what thou wilt, and from where thou wilt. There are even
better bunches in the little tub under the table--real sweet violets
from the king's garden; but they are not too good for her."
Lizzie knelt down and selected the finest bunch she could find in the
tub--deep purple violets with the dew still on them and their stalks
bound up with soft green moss.
"Thanks a thousand times; these are real beauties," she said
gratefully. "How much do I owe thee for them?" and she held out her
hand, in the palm of which lay Violet's money.
"Nothing," said the woman quickly. "Go, take them to her; she is
welcome to them."
"But Violet wished to pay; she will be grieved."
"Don't let her grieve, then. She has enough pain in her heart for this
day, I warrant. If she says anything, tell her that I will call some
day myself for my payment; and that will be one look at her sweet
little face. There, take a bunch of those blue forget-me-nots beside
thee, and don't stop to thank me. My hands are too full this morning
for such needless waste of time;" and she turned away quickly to attend
to her other customers.
Lizzie went back with her hands full of flowers and her eyes full of
tears. How this little girl was beloved by all the town!--she a poor,
sick, crippled child; and yet she seemed to have cords of love binding
her to almost every heart in the town. Aunt Lizzie smiled as she said
to herself, "For of such is the kingdom of heaven;" and a vision full
of comfort passed before her eyes of the Lord Jesus standing with
outstretched arms waiting patiently to gather this little suffering
lamb into his arms.
When she reached the house she paused a moment at the door, for she
was anxious to give Violet time to eat some of the breakfast which she
had left beside her, and, in the nervous state in which she had left
her, she felt sure the little girl would not be able to do so if any
one were beside her. So, leaning against the entrance door of the house
with the flowers and money in her hand, she stood a little aside from
the crowd, lost in a sorrowful reverie.
It was not until a figure had darkened the doorway for a full minute or
so that she looked up and perceived the policeman standing in front of
her.
"How goes it with the little girl upstairs?" he said, in a dry,
matter-of-fact voice.
"Pretty well, thank you," she replied, wondering at the interruption.
"Does she sleep? can she eat? is she heart-broken?" He spoke abruptly,
and Lizzie noticed with surprise that his lip was trembling beneath his
thick frizzled mustache.
"She is making a brave fight," replied she warmly; "but the worst is to
come."
"Yes, that is it," he said quickly. "Once he is gone there will be no
keeping her. She will fade away, poor little flower, and be no more
seen. Good-morning. It is well for her to-day that she has one kind
heart to fly to."
He touched his hat with military punctilio as he departed, but his
eyes, which looked straight before him out into the street, were full
of tears.
"How does he know about her?" thought Aunt Lizzie wonderingly as she
went slowly up the stairs; "and what a soft heart he must have beneath
that hard and battered exterior."
When she opened the door of Violet's room she found the child sitting
up in her bed with her face flushed and her eyes unnaturally bright.
She had her desk open on the counterpane beside her, and immediately
in front of her, resting on her knees, was the piece of cake which
yesterday she had refused to allow her father to cut.
Her aunt went over to the bedside with her bunch of deep purple violets
and the blue forget-me-nots and laid them on the coverlet. As she did
so, Violet looked up and said, rather wearily,--
"Aunt Lizzie, canst thou help me?"
"Certainly; what is it?"
"It is so hard to print such a long word;" and she pointed with a
nervous hesitation to the pink letters on the cake.
Her aunt saw it all now--the little scrap of paper covered with almost
illegible letters, and the shy action of the child to hide the effort
from her eyes.
"Couldst not thou hold my hand on the pencil and show me how?" she
asked almost piteously. "Violet prints so badly."
"Of course I can. Wait but one moment until I take off my hat and
cloak, and we will do it beautifully together. It is not, after all,
so badly done," she added comfortingly as she took up the paper and
examined it. "I can read the 'Auf' quite plainly, and the other letters
can be easily improved."
In a little time the words were printed quite distinctly--"Auf
wiedersehen" (To meet again). Violet drew a deep breath as they were
finished, and lay back on her pillows; but after a time she roused
herself up again and said,--
"Still one thing more, Aunt Lizzie. Violet wants to print her own name
on the paper, all by herself. She must do it quite by herself alone;
but thou canst print it first, and then Violet can do it afterwards
ever so like."
Aunt Lizzie saw at once what the child wanted, and so one letter at a
time was drawn by her on a separate piece of paper, and Violet copied
it painfully, until at last, with many shaky strokes and trembling
uplines and places where there were no lines visible at all, the name
"Violet" was printed in, crookedly enough, beneath the farewell words
of love and hope.
"'To meet again'--those are lovely words, Aunt Lizzie, are they not?"
and Violet smiled, for her task of love was finished.
Then with hands that trembled painfully she fastened the crumpled paper
to the bunch of violets lying on the bed, and looked up at her aunt.
"I will not put these," she said simply, touching the blue flowers,
which lay beside the other bunch on the counterpane. "Father will not
forget his Violet; for thou seest I am his little Violet--am I not,
Aunt Lizzie? and he would much rather have those. I know he would."
There was such questioning anxiety in her eyes that her aunt hastened
to reassure her.
"The violets are far the best," she said with decision. "The
forget-me-nots are a present from the flower-woman to thyself."
"Oh, how kind--how lovely!" she said, almost in a whisper, as she
lifted the blue flowers to cover the fast-rising blushes which
the painful excitement of the moment kept ever driving to her
cheeks.--"Aunt Lizzie, what is that?" She started up with a bitter
cry. "It is the drum, it is the drum, and Violet is not dressed."
It _was_ the drum. Her aunt went over to the window and looked out.
Far, far away, down at the foot of the hill close by the church, she
could see soldiers marching out of the Market-place and defiling into
the square in front of the large fountain.
"Aunt Lizzie, is it the drum? Violet knows it is the drum, and she is
not dressed to see father go by."
The cry grew to a shriek. Lizzie's face was deathly pale as she turned
round, but she said quietly,--
"Do not fret, thou dear angel. Aunt Lizzie will put on thy
dressing-gown and hold thee in her arms at the window."
"Quick, quick!" screamed Violet, snatching up the bunch of violets;
"they are coming quite close; I hear them."
"They are still a long way off," said her aunt reassuringly; "it will
take them nearly ten minutes to reach to the top of the hill."
"But my father--he will watch for me, he will look up for me; he will
think I am not there."
"Hush! quiet a moment, or I cannot lift thee in my arms. Oh, what a
little tiny thing thou art! Now where are the violets?"
"Here, here," cried the child, stretching out her hand; "now open the
window quick! Aunt Lizzie, there he is; I see him. My father! my dear
father!"
The band was playing a familiar martial air, the drums thundered and
shook the air, the trumpet-blasts seemed to cut all hearts in sunder;
the old men and children in the windows screamed and shrieked, while
the women in the streets, rushing along wildly beside the soldiers,
uttered loud cries and bitter lamentations; and yet above all was heard
one voice, one little child's voice, uplifted high in its misery.
"My father! my father! look up, look at thy Violet; she is here at
the window.--Aunt Lizzie, hold me tight. I cannot see. The ground is
moving. My father, where is he? I saw him a moment ago."
"He is just approaching; he is now beneath thee in the street, darling.
Lean out; Aunt Lizzie will not let thee fall."
"Father, father! farewell, farewell! come back to Violet."
She flung the violets, as she spoke, far out into the quivering air.
They fell first upon the heads of the surging crowd beneath, and then
upon the ground. The men were marching on, John had passed by, and Aunt
Lizzie groaned as she saw that in another moment they must be trampled
under foot; but while Violet still cried aloud, "Farewell, farewell,"
some one in the crowd had pushed forward, stooped down hurriedly, and
picked them up. It was the policeman; and with a quick onward rush he
had overtaken John in his march and thrust the flowers into his hand.
John gave one glance at the little paper, which had unrolled itself in
its fall and displayed its farewell message to his aching eyes.
He turned his head, waved the violets high above his shining helmet,
and looked lingeringly back at the face so deathly pale at the open
window.
"He sees thee, my darling; he is waving his hand to thee," cried her
aunt with choking tears.
"Farewell, farewell, farewell--'To meet again,'" cried Violet with
failing voice. "Dear father--'To meet again'--to--;" but the black
moving mass had passed out of sight, the helmets had ceased to glitter,
and Violet's head sank on Aunt Lizzie's shoulder with a sob.