"Another Rhoda!" I exclaimed, with a gasp, frowning at him.
"Wouldn't you like a little sister to play with?" he inquired,
tenderly. "To sleep with you in your crib? And sit by you at the table?"
"No, father."
"Oh, yes, yes, you would, Rhoda!"
"No, no, no!" I screamed, breaking into angry tears.
He tried to comfort me in a blundering, laughing manner, but in the
midst of all my sorrow grandmother's voice called to him from above.
"Robert!"
When the room cleared before my eyes I saw that I was alone.
At that same moment I had decided on my course of action. Very quickly,
very quietly, I collected my plate and mug, my woolly dog and pleasant
faced doll, and the yellow basket with the red handle, and stowed them
all away in a dark corner under the sofa, where they were hidden from
sight. My blue hood which hung in the hall, and was something quite new
and precious, I put on my head, where it would be safest. Then half
terrified, half defiant, I took up my position at the window to watch
for the arrival of that other self which would dispute my realm. Every
second I dreaded to hear the flutter of wings as the bird passed over
the house, and to see another Rhoda standing expectant in the garden, to
see my father, perhaps, hurrying to meet her with outstretched arms. It
was a terrible hour.
In my need, however, I found a new friend, Norah from out the kitchen. I
had known her before, as a person owning unlimited cake, and apt to
display a strong liking for myself, but then she had been only an
outsider, while now she was almost nearer to me than my mother. I threw
myself straight into her willing arms, and told my story.
Norah was evidently astonished, and almost incredulous. She did not
believe that there could be another Rhoda. She had never heard of any
bird, but when I persisted she shared my views, and entered into my
position with great partisanship.
"But, sure, I'd not worrit my mind," Norah said, consolingly. "No burrd
in her sinses would take a baby out in such weather as this."
To be sure it was raining. I had not thought of that before. A fierce
storm was beating against the house, and pools of water stood under the
trees. The raindrops on the window pane ran down in small rivulets, and
splashed against the sill just as my tears had done before.
"She'll get her feathers all wet," I cried, triumphantly.
"And she'll not dry them at my kitchen fire!" Norah declared, with
stupendous daring.
We were out in the kitchen now. It was a very pleasant homely place. A
kettle sang on the stove, and a cat purred on the hearth, and the carpet
had beautiful red stripes that seemed too pretty to walk on. Norah was
very good to me. She had my high-chair ranged at the side of the hearth,
and the cat, under compulsion, sat on my lap, and they all sang,--the
kettle, the cat, and Norah, in their several fashions, as if they were
happy. They acted very much as if they were entertaining royalty.
If it had not been for my sorrow I should have enjoyed myself, but the
thought of that bird would pass across my mind. She had come once when
she was sent for, bearing me from my lily leaf to my own home. The rain
might fall, and the day might be very dark, but who was to know if that
conscientious bird would not still fulfill her mission? Why, there were
five children in the next house, and the bird must have brought them
all! When the bell rang, as it rang many times in the course of the day,
I would creep to the kitchen door to listen, and feel greatly relieved
when I found that it was only men and women who wanted to come in.
"It was no burrd," Norah would say, reporting on each occasion.
"Did you lock the door?" I asked, anxiously.
"I did that. There's no burrd shall make her way into this house
to-day," she answered, with a great show of determination.
Even as she spoke there came a faint strange sound from upstairs, a
wailing cry, as though something very weak was angry and frightened, and
wanted matters arranged to suit its own will and convenience. For one
moment I thought Norah heard the sound, too. She seemed to smile; but on
the instant she broke into a queer, elfish song, and began to dance
before the fire in an irresistible way that brought me capering beside
her in a burst of glee. The bird had passed out of my mind, and I was
Rhoda again, the little queen of the household, to whom all deferred,
even grandmother in her tenderer moments.
It was very late that afternoon when I heard my father calling to me in
an eager, excited manner. He came out into the kitchen where I and the
cat were both in Norah's lap, indistinguishable in the growing darkness.
"Where is Rhoda?" he cried. "Where is my little daughter? I've got
something to show her."
I went to him quickly. It was nice to have him back again, and to be
kissed in the old fond way. He threw me upon his shoulder and started
off; but even as we stepped into the hall he called back to Norah, still
with that boyish eagerness in his voice.
"You can come, too, Norah," he said, generously. "I want you to see what
we've got upstairs."
Norah joined us without comment, and followed behind through the hall
and upstairs into mother's room. There it was very dark, for the
curtains were drawn, and the only light came from the fire on the
hearth, in front of which grandmother was sitting. She sat in a new
majestic style, and on her lap there was something bundled up which she
patted from time to time, and she trotted her feet in a funny seasaw
fashion. When she saw us come in she smiled, and then very slowly she
folded down a covering, and showed us a pillow, and on the pillow there
were two little babies' heads.
"Twins!" Norah cried, and threw up her arms in the air. "Now the saints
be good to us," she said, piously.
"S-s-sh--Not so loud, Norah," grandmother whispered, in rebuke, and
trotted her feet a little harder.
"Let Rhoda see," father exclaimed. "Let Rhoda come quite close."
I went up closer by grandmother's knee and looked at them. It was a new
experience, and for a moment I felt sorry for myself. Those about me
must have shared the feeling, for their eyes grew kinder, and father
patted my back, and Norah muttered under her breath.
"Sure it's a come down in the world," I heard her say, pityingly.
Then, suddenly, those two little creatures half opened their eyes, and
gazed at me. They smiled at me! They knew that I was their big sister!
Oh, the wonder of the two little heads on the pillow, the mystery of the
eyes that looked at me so placidly, with that smile of kinship in their
depths! I forgot the bird, I forgot my jealousy. I was ready to give
them anything, anything, even the woolly dog and the yellow basket with
the red handle, for the simple honor of their acquaintanceship. They
were so young, and they were so weak! They could not walk, and they
could not talk. They had everything to learn. I felt very old beside
them, although I did not know that in that first moment when grandmother
turned the covering down I had become the eldest child.
"Oh, grandma," I cried, radiantly, "you may have one, but the other one
shall belong all to me!"
There was a movement in the bed, and some one called to me. I ran into
the darkness and found my mother. There on the pillow beside her pretty
dark hair she made a place for me, where we could see each other's eyes.
Her arm was about me in a protecting way, as if she knew how hard the
world had become for me.
"Rhoda," she said, with that smile which always seemed so wise,
"mother's heart is a big, big place! There is room in it both for dear
little Rhoda and the dear little babies."