THE BLUE PARASOL.
[Illustration: The Blue Parasol]
As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollections
spring up as fast as dust in August.
Ruphelle seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, all
pure and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a prickly
thistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes,
and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and to
console myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather have
black shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have black
shoes I'd go barefoot."
Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I could
not help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes to
church.
I pined and fretted because I could not have nice things like her.
She had a coral necklace, and a blue silk bonnet, and a white dress,
with flowers worked all over it with a needle. Did _my_ best dress
have flowers worked over it with a needle? I should think not. And I
hadn't a speck of a necklace, nor any bonnet but just straw. I did not
know that Squire Allen was one of the wealthiest men in the state, and
could afford beautiful things for his little daughter, while my father
was poor, or at least not rich, and my mother had to puzzle her brains
a good deal to contrive to keep her little romping, heedless,
try-patience of a daughter looking respectable.
Once, when I was about six years old, I did a very naughty thing. Why,
Fly, what makes your eyes shine so? Can it be you like to hear naughty
stories? Queer, isn't it? Ah, but this story makes me ashamed, even
now that I am a grown-up woman. Wait a minute; I must go back a
little; it was the parasol that began it.
When Fel and I were going home from school one night, we stopped to
take some of our make-believe slides. Not far from our house, near the
river-bank, were two sloping mounds, between which a brook had once
run. These little mounds were soft and green, and dotted with white
innocence flowers; and what fun it was to start at the top of one of
them, and roll over and over, down into the valley. Somehow, Fel,
being a lady-child, never stained her cape bonnet, while mine was all
streaks; and she never tore her skirts off the waist; but what if I
did tear mine? They always grew together again, I never stopped to
think how.
This time, as we were having a jolly roll, Madam Allen rode along in
the carryall, with Tempy Ann driving.
"Stop, and let us see what those children are doing," said she; and
Tempy Ann stopped.
Fel and I danced upon our feet, and started to run to the carryall,
but of course I tumbled down before I got there. While I was picking
my foot out of the hole in my frock, I heard Fel exclaim, joyfully,
"O, mamma, is it for me? What a beauty, beauty, beauty!"
"Yes, dear, I bought it for you, but if you are going to be a gypsy
child, I suppose you won't want it."
I looked and saw the cunningest little sunshade, with its head
tipped on one side, like a great blue morning glory. Never again shall
I behold anything so beautiful. Queen Victoria's crown and Empress
Eugenie's diamonds wouldn't compare with it for a moment. They say we
feel most keenly those joys we never quite grasp; and I know that
parasol, swinging round in Fel's little hand, was more bewitching to
me than if I had held it myself. O, why wasn't it mine? I thought of
Fel's coral necklace, and blue silk bonnet, and the white dress with
needlework flowers, and now if she was going to have a parasol too, I
might as well die and done with it.
"O, Marjie, Marjie!" cried she, dancing up to me with her sweet little
face in a glow, "_do_ you see what I've got?"
I never answered. I just lay there and kicked dirt with my shoe. The
carryall was in front of us, and Madam Allen could not see how I
behaved.
"Come, little daughter," called she, "jump in and ride home."
But Fel thought she would rather walk with me, for I hadn't noticed
her parasol yet. So her mother drove off.
"Isn't it a teenty tonty beauty?" cried she, waving it before me.
I shut my teeth together and kicked.
"You haven't looked, Marjie; see what a teenty tonty beauty!"
She never could quite enjoy her pretty things till I had praised
them. I knew that, and took a wicked pleasure in holding my tongue.
"Why, Marjie," said she, in a grieved tone, "why don't you look? It's
the teenty tontiest beauty ever you saw."
"There, that's the _threeth_ time you've said so, Fel Allen."
"Well, it's the truly truth, Madge Parlin."
"No, it isn't neither; and you're a little lie-girl," snapped I.
This was an absurd speech, and I did not mean a word of it, for I
doubt if Fel had ever told a wrong story in her life. "You're a little
lie-girl. _Got a parasol, too!_"
She only looked sorry to see me so cross. She couldn't be very
unhappy, standing there stroking those soft silk tassels.
"I hope your mamma 'll give you one, too," murmured the dear little
soul.
I sprang up at that.
"O, do you s'pose she would?" I cried; and by the time I had taken
another roll down the bank my spirits rose wonderfully, and I let her
put the parasol in my hand, even exclaiming,--
"No, I never did see anything so nice!" But I secretly hoped my own
would be nicer still.
"Come home to my house," said I, "and ask my mamma if I can have a
parasol too."
We were very near the house, and she went in with me. Mother was in
the kitchen, stewing apple-sauce for supper. I remember what a tired
look she had on her face, and how wearily she stirred the apple-sauce,
which was bubbling in the porcelain kettle.
"You speak now," whispered I to Fel. "You speak first."
This was asking a great deal of the dear little friend I had just
called a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than I
deserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called up
all her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to my
mother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her black
silk apron.
"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is."
That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled and
kissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"
I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still.
Mother was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn't
refuse her. I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "We
will see about it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extra
hug, and answered sorrowfully,--
"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to be
thought of."
I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried.
"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it is
wicked to throw away money."
"O, mamma, _did_ you s'pose I'd let it fall in the _hoss troth_?"
screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the green
vine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't never
carry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n this
world. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet, where
there don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor ask
to see it, nor--"
"There, that'll do," said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I would
be glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but I
have said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish it
is to tease."
Didn't I know, to my sorrow? As foolish as it would be to stand and
fire popguns at the rock of Gibraltar.
I rushed out to the barn, and never stopped to look behind me. Fel
followed, crying softly; but what had I to say to that dear little
friend, who felt my sorrows almost as if they were her own?
"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, and that's why she wouldn't give me
no pairsol."
No thanks for the kind office she had performed for me; no apology for
calling her a lie-girl. Only,--
"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, Fel Allen."
She choked down one little sob that ought to have broken my heart,
and turned and went away. You wonder she should have loved me. I
suppose I had "good fits;" they say I was honey-sweet sometimes; but
as I recall my little days, it does seem to me as if I was always,
always snubbing that precious child. When she was out of sight, I
dived head first into the hay, and tried for as much as ten minutes to
hate my mother. After a long season of sulks, such as it is to be
hoped none of _you_ ever indulged in, I stole back to the house
through the shed, and Ruth, who did not know what had broken my heart,
exclaimed,--
"Why, Maggie, what ails you? You've fairly cried your eyes out,
child!"
I climbed a chair, and looked in the glass, which hung between the
kitchen windows, and sure enough I was a sight to behold. My eyes,
always very large, were now red and swollen, and seemed bursting from
their sockets. I had never thought before that eyes could burst; but
now I ran to Ruthie in alarm.
"I _have_ cried my eyes out! O, Ruthie, I've _started_ 'em!"
She laughed at my distress, kissed me, and set me at ease about my
eyeballs; but the parasol was denied me, and I was sure that, blind or
not, I could never be happy without it.
The little bits of girls had afternoon parties that summer; it was
quite the fashion; and not long after this Madam Allen made one for
Fel. Everybody said it was the nicest party we had had; for Tempy Ann
made sailor-boy doughnuts, with sugar sprinkled on, and damson tarts,
and lemonade, to say nothing of "sandiges," with chicken in the
middle. I loved Fel dearly, I know I did; but by fits and starts I was
so full of envy that I had to go off by myself and pout.
"A party and a pairsol the same year! And Fel never 'spected the
pairsol, and didn't ask real hard for the party. But that was always
the way; her mamma wanted her to have good times, and so did Tempy
Ann. _Some_ folks' mammas didn't care!"
I was willing nice things should fall to Fel's lot; but I wanted just
as nice ones myself.
Fel showed the girls her "pairsol," and they all said they meant to
have one too; all but me; I could only stand and look on, with my
eyeballs just ready to pop out of my head.
I remember what sick dolls we had that afternoon; and when any of
them died, the live dolls followed them to the grave with weeping and
wailing, and their wee handkerchiefs so full of grief that you could
trace the procession by the tears that dripped upon the carpet. Yes;
but the mourners all had the cunningest little "pairsols" of
nasturtium leaves. There wasn't a "single one doll" that marched
without a pairsol, not even my Rosy Posy; for I had a motherly heart,
and couldn't mortify _my_ child! She _should_ have "sumpin to keep
the sun off," if it cost the last cent her mamma had in the world!
I had a dismal fit just before supper, and went into Grandpa
Harrington's room, back of the parlor. He was always fond of little
folks, but very queer, as I have told you. He had a fire in the
fireplace, and was sitting before it, though it was summer. He looked
up when I went in, and said, "How do, darling? My feet are as cold as
a dead lamb's tongue; does your father keep sheep?"
Next minute he said,--
"My feet are as cold as a dog's nose; does your father keep a dog?"
That was the way he rambled on from one thing to another. But when
he saw I was low-spirited, and found by questioning me that I needed a
parasol, and couldn't live long without one, he took me on his knee,
and said kindly,--
"Never mind it, Pet; you shall have a parasol. I will give you one."
I could hardly speak for joy. I did not feel ashamed of myself till
afterwards, for Grandpa Harrington did not seem like other people, and
I saw no harm in whining to him about my troubles.