A lovely Sunday morning dawned without a cloud; and even in the dingy
court the May sunshine shone warmly, and the spring breezes blew freshly
from green fields far away. Johnny begged to go out; and being much
better, his mother consented, helping him to dress with such a bright
face and eager hands that the boy said innocently,--
"How glad you are when I get over a bad turn! I don't know what you'd do
if I ever got well."
"My poor dear, I begin to think you _will_ pick up, now the good weather
has come and you have got a little friend to play with. God bless her!"
Why his mother should suddenly hug him tight, and then brush his hair
so carefully, with tears in her eyes, he did not understand; but was in
such a hurry to get out, he could only give her a good kiss, and hobble
away to see how his gallery fared after the rain, and to take a joyful
"peek" at the enchanted garden.
Mrs. Morris kept close behind him, and it was well she did; for he
nearly tumbled down, so great was his surprise when he beheld the old
familiar wall after the good fairies Love and Pity had worked their
pretty miracle in the moonlight.
The ragged hole had changed to a little arched door, painted red. On
either side stood a green tub, with a tall oleander in full bloom;
from the arch above hung a great bunch of gay flowers; and before
the threshold lay a letter directed to "Signor Giovanni Morris," in a
childish hand. As soon as he recovered from the agreeable shock of this
splendid transformation scene, Johnny sank into his chair, where a soft
cushion had been placed, and read his note, with little sighs of rapture
at the charming prospect opening before him.
DEAR GIOVANNI,--Papa has made this nice gate, so you can come
in when you like and not be tired. We are to have two keys, and no one
else can open it. A little bell is to ring when we pull the cord, and
we can run and see what we want. The paint is wet. Papa did it,
and the men put up the door last night. I helped them, and did not go
in my bed till ten. It was very nice to do it so. I hope you will like
it. Come in as soon as you can; I am all ready.
Your friend,
FAY.
"Mother, she must be a real fairy to do all that, mustn't she?" said
Johnny, leaning back to look at the dear door behind which lay such
happiness for him.
"Yes, my sonny, she is the right sort of good fairy, and I just wish
I could do her washing for love the rest of her blessed little life,"
answered Mrs. Morris, in a burst of grateful ardor.
"You shall! you shall! Do come in! I cannot wait another minute!" cried
an eager little voice as the red door flew open; and there stood Fay,
looking very like a happy elf in her fresh white frock, a wreath of
spring flowers on her pretty hair, and a tall green wand in her hand,
while the brilliant bird sat on her shoulder, and the little white dog
danced about her feet.
"So she bids you to come in,
With a dimple in your chin,
Billy boy, Billy boy,"
sung the child, remembering how Johnny liked that song; and waving her
wand, she went slowly backward as the boy, with a shining face, passed
under the blooming arch into a new world, full of sunshine, liberty, and
sweet companionship.
Neither Johnny nor his mother ever forgot that happy day, for it was the
beginning of help and hope to both just when life seemed hardest and the
future looked darkest.
Papa kept out of sight, but enjoyed peeps at the little party as they
sat under the chestnuts, Nanna and Fay doing the honors of the garden to
their guests with Italian grace and skill, while the poor mother folded
her tired hands with unutterable content, and the boy looked like a
happy soul in heaven.
Sabbath silence, broken only by the chime of bells and the feet of
church-goers, brooded over the city; sunshine made golden shadows on
the grass; the sweet wind brought spring odors from the woods; and every
flower seemed to nod and beckon, as if welcoming the new playmate to
their lovely home.
While the women talked together, Fay led Johnny up and down her little
world, showing all her favorite nooks, making him rest often on the
seats that stood all about, and amusing him immensely by relating the
various fanciful plays with which she beguiled her loneliness.
"Now we can have much nicer ones; for you will tell me yours, and we
can do great things," she said, when she had displayed her big
rocking-horse, her grotto full of ferns, her mimic sea, where a fleet of
toy boats lay at anchor in the basin of an old fountain, her fairy-land
under the lilacs, with paper elves sitting among the leaves, her swing,
that tossed one high up among the green boughs, and the basket of white
kittens, where Topaz, the yellow-eyed cat, now purred with maternal
pride. Books were piled on the rustic table, and all the pictures Fay
thought worthy to be seen.
Here also appeared a nice lunch, before the visitors could remember it
was noon and tear themselves away. Such enchanted grapes and oranges
Johnny never ate before; such delightful little tarts and Italian messes
of various sorts; even the bread and butter seemed glorified because
served in a plate trimmed with leaves and cut in dainty bits. Coffee
that perfumed the air put heart into poor Mrs. Morris, who half starved
herself that the boy might be fed; and he drank milk till Nanna said,
laughing, as she refilled the pitcher,--
"He takes more than both the blessed lambs we used to feed for Saint
Agnes in the convent at home. And he is truly welcome, the dear child,
to the best we have; for he is as innocent and helpless as they."
"What does she mean?" whispered Johnny to Fay, rather abashed at having
forgotten his manners in the satisfaction which three mugfuls of good
milk had given him.
So, sitting in the big rustic chair beside him, Fay told the pretty
story of the lambs who are dedicated to Saint Agnes, with ribbons tied
to their snowy wool, and then raised with care till their fleeces are
shorn to make garments for the Pope. A fit tale for the day, the child
thought, and went on to tell about the wonders of Rome till Johnny's
head was filled with a splendid confusion of new ideas, in which Saint
Peter's and apple-tarts, holy lambs and red doors, ancient images and
dear little girls, were delightfully mixed. It all seemed like a
fairy tale, and nothing was too wonderful or lovely to happen on that
memorable day.
So when Fay's papa at last appeared, finding it impossible to keep away
from the happy little party any longer, Johnny decided at once that the
handsome man in the velvet coat was the king of the enchanted land, and
gazed at him with reverence and awe. A most gracious king he proved
to be; for after talking pleasantly to Mrs. Morris, and joking Fay on
storming the walls, he proposed to carry Johnny off, and catching him
up, strode away with the astonished boy on his shoulder, while the
little girl danced before to open doors and clear the way.
Johnny thought he couldn't be surprised any more; but when he had
mounted many stairs and found himself in a great room with a glass
roof, full of rich curtains, strange armor, pretty things, and pictures
everywhere, he just sat in the big chair where he was placed, and stared
in silent delight.
"This is papa's studio, and that the famous picture, and here is where
I work; and isn't it pleasant? and aren't you glad to see it?" said Fay,
skipping about to do the honors of the place.
"I don't believe heaven is beautifuller," answered Johnny, in a low
tone, as his eyes went from the green tree-tops peeping in at the
windows to the great sunny picture of a Roman garden, with pretty
children at play among the crumbling statues and fountains.
"I'm glad you like it, for we mean to have you come here a great deal. I
sit to papa very often, and get _so_ tired; and you can talk to me, and
then you can see me draw and model in clay, and then we'll go in the
garden, and Nanna will show you how to make baskets, and _then_ we'll
play."
Johnny nodded and beamed at this charming prospect, and for an hour
explored the mysteries of the studio, with Fay for a guide and papa for
an amused spectator. He liked the boy more and more, and was glad Fay
had so harmless a playmate to expend her energies and compassion upon.
He assented to every plan proposed, and really hoped to be able to help
these poor neighbors; for he had a kind heart, and loved his little
daughter even more than his art.
When at last Mrs. Morris found courage to call Johnny away, he went
without a word, and lay down in the dingy room, his face still shining
with the happy thoughts that filled his mind, hungry for just such
pleasures, and never fed before.
After that day everything went smoothly, and both children blossomed
like the flowers in that pleasant garden, where the magic of love and
pity, fresh air and sunshine, soon worked miracles. Fay learned patience
and gentleness from Johnny; he grew daily stronger on the better food
Nanna gave him, and the exercise he was tempted to take; and both spent
very happy days working and playing, sometimes under the trees, where
the pretty baskets were made, or in the studio, where both pairs of
small hands modelled graceful things in clay, or daubed amazing pictures
with the artist's old brushes and discarded canvases.
Mrs. Morris washed everything washable in the house, and did up Fay's
frocks so daintily that she looked more like an elf than ever when her
head shone out from the fluted frills, like the yellow middle of a daisy
with its white petals all spread.
As he watched the children playing together, the artist, having no great
work in hand, made several pretty sketches of them, and then had a fine
idea of painting the garden scene where Fay first talked to Johnny. It
pleased his fancy, and the little people sat for him nicely; so he made
a charming thing of it, putting in the cat, dog, bird, and toad as the
various characters in Shakspeare's lovely play, while the flowers were
the elves, peeping and listening in all manner of merry, pretty ways.
He called it "Little Pyramus and Thisbe," and it so pleased a certain
rich lady that she paid a large price for it; and then, discovering that
it told a true story, she generously added enough to send Johnny and his
mother to the country, when Fay and her father were ready to go.
But it was to a lovelier land than the boy had ever read of in his fairy
books, and to a happier life than mending shoes in the dingy court. In
the autumn they all sailed gayly away together, to live for years in
sunny Italy, where Johnny grew tall and strong, and learned to paint
with a kind master and a faithful young friend, who always rejoiced that
she found and delivered him, thanks to the wonderful hole in the wall.
[Illustration: She got too lazy to care for anything but sleeping and
eating.]
X.
THE PIGGY GIRL.
"I won't be washed! I won't be washed!" screamed little Betty, kicking
and slapping the maid who undressed her one night.
"You'd better go and live with the pigs, dirty child," said Maria,
scrubbing away at two very grubby hands.
"I wish I could! I love to be dirty,--I _will_ be dirty!" roared Betty,
throwing the sponge out of the window and the soap under the table.
Maria could do nothing with her; so she bundled her into bed half wiped,
telling her to go to sleep right away.
"I won't! I'll go and live with Mrs. Gleason's pigs, and have nothing to
do but eat and sleep, and roll in the dirt, and never, never be washed
any more," said Betty to herself.
She lay thinking about it and blinking at the moon for a while; then she
got up very softly, and crept down the back stairs, through the garden,
to the sty where two nice little pigs were fast asleep among the straw
in their small house. They only grunted when Betty crept into a corner,
laughing at the fun it would be to play piggy and live here with no
Maria to wash her and no careful mamma to keep saying,--
"Put on a clean apron, dear!"
Next morning she was waked up by hearing Mrs. Gleason pour milk into the
trough. She lay very still till the woman was gone; then she crept out
and drank all she wanted, and took the best bits of cold potato and
bread for her breakfast, and the lazy pigs did not get up till she was
done. While they ate and rooted in the dirt, Betty slept as long as she
liked, with no school, no errands, no patchwork to do. She liked it, and
kept hidden till night; then she went home, and opened the little window
in the store closet, and got in and took as many good things to eat and
carry away as she liked. She had a fine walk in her nightgown, and
saw the flowers asleep, heard the little birds chirp in the nest, and
watched the fireflies and moths at their pretty play. No one saw her
but the cats; and they played with her, and hopped at her toes, in the
moonlight, and had great fun.
When she was tired she went to sleep with the pigs, and dozed all the
next day, only coming out to eat and drink when the milk was brought
and the cold bits; for Mrs. Gleason took good care of her pigs, and gave
them clean straw often, and kept them as nice as she could.
Betty lived in this queer way a long time, and soon looked more like a
pig than a little girl; for her nightgown got dirty, her hair was never
combed, her face was never washed, and she loved to dig in the mud till
her hands looked like paws. She never talked, but began to grunt as the
pigs did, and burrowed into the straw to sleep, and squealed when they
crowded her, and quarrelled over the food, eating with her nose in the
trough like a real pig. At first she used to play about at night, and
steal things to eat; and people set traps to catch the thief in their
gardens, and the cook in her own house scolded about the rats that
carried off the cake and pies out of her pantry. But by and by she got
too lazy and fat to care for anything but sleeping and eating, and never
left the sty. She went on her hands and knees now, and began to wonder
if a little tail wouldn't grow and her nose change to a snout.
All summer she played be a pig, and thought it good fun; but when
the autumn came it was cold, and she longed for her nice warm flannel
nightgown, and got tired of cold victuals, and began to wish she had a
fire to sit by and good buckwheat cakes to eat. She was ashamed to go
home, and wondered what she should do after this silly frolic. She asked
the pigs how they managed in winter; but they only grunted, and she
could not remember what became of them, for the sty was always empty in
cold weather.
One dreadful night she found out. She was smuggled down between the
great fat piggies to keep warm; but her toes were cold, and she was
trying to pull the straw over them when she heard Mr. Gleason say to his
boy,--
"We must kill those pigs to-morrow. They are fat enough; so come and
help me sharpen the big knife."
"Oh, dear, what will become of _me_?" thought Betty, as she heard the
grindstone go round and round as the knife got sharper and sharper. "I
look so like a pig they will kill me too, and make me into sausages if
I don't run away. I'm tired of playing piggy, and I'd rather be washed a
hundred times a day than be put in a pork barrel."
So she lay trembling till morning; then she ran through the garden and
found the back door open. It was very early, and no one saw her, for
the cook was in the shed getting wood to make her fire; so Betty slipped
upstairs to the nursery and was going to whisk into bed, when she saw in
the glass an ugly black creature, all rags and dirt, with rumpled hair,
and a little round nose covered with mud.
"Can it be me?" she said. "How horrid I am!" And she could not spoil her
nice white bed, but hopped into the bathtub and had a good scrubbing.
Next she got a clean nightgown, and brushed her hair, and cut her long
nails, and looked like a tidy little girl again.
Then she lay down in her cosey crib with the pink cover and the
lace curtains, and fell fast asleep, glad to have clean sheets, soft
blankets, and her own little pillow once more.
* * * * *
"Come, darling, wake up and see the new frock I have got for you, and
the nice ruffled apron. It's Thanksgiving day, and all the cousins are
coming to dinner," said her mamma, with a soft kiss on the rosy cheek.
Betty started up, screaming,--
"Don't kill me! Oh, please don't! I'm not a truly pig, I'm a little
girl; and if you'll let me run home, I'll never fret when I'm washed
again."
"What is the dear child afraid of?" said mamma, cuddling her close, and
laughing to see Betty stare wildly about for the fat pigs and the stuffy
sty.
She told her mother all about the queer time she had had, and was much
surprised to hear mamma say,--
"It was all a dream, dear; you have been safely asleep in your little
bed ever since you slapped poor Maria last night."
"Well, I'm glad I dreamed it, for it has made me love to be clean. Come,
Maria, soap and scrub as much as you like, I won't kick and scream ever
any more," cried Betty, skipping about, glad to be safe in her pleasant
home and no longer a dirty, lazy piggy girl.