A NIGHT IN A SLEEPING-CAR
The moonlight was so beautiful that Mrs. March did not like to go
back into the car; and Rob and Nelly begged so hard to sit up, that
she let them stay long past their bedtime. At last she
exclaimed:--
"Come, come! this won't do! We must go to bed," and she opened the
car door. As soon as she looked in she started back, so that she
nearly knocked Mr. March and Nelly off the platform.
"Why, what has happened?" she said.
Mr. March laughed.
"Oh, nothing," he said: "this is the way a sleeping-car always looks
at night."
Curtains were let down on each side the aisle its whole length. It
was very dark, and the aisle looked very narrow. Not a human being
was in sight.
"Where are our sections?" said Mrs. March.
"These are ours, I think," said Mr. March, pulling open a curtain on
the left.
"Let my curtain alone," called somebody from inside, "Go away."
Mr. March had opened the wrong curtain.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, madam," he said, much mortified that he
should have broken open a lady's bedroom.
Mrs. March and Rob and Nelly stood close together in the middle of
the aisle, at their wits' end. They did not dare to open another
curtain, for fear it should be somebody's else bedroom, and not
their own.
"I'll call Ben," said Mr. March; "he'll know."
But Ben was nowhere to be found. At last they found him sound asleep
in a little state-room at the end of the car.
"Ben, come show us which are our sections," said Mr. March.
Ben was very sleepy. He came stumbling down the aisle, rubbing his
eyes.
"Reckon there is your berths; I made 'em up all ready for you," said
Ben, and pulled open the very curtain Mr. March had opened before.
"Oh! don't open that one; there's a lady in there," cried Mrs.
March; but she was too late. Ben had thrown the curtains wide open.
The same angry voice as before called out:--
"I wish you'd let my curtain alone. What are you about?"
"Done made a mistake this time, sure," said Ben, composedly drawing
the curtains together again; but not before Mrs. March and Nelly and
Rob had had time to see into the bed, and had seen that it held the
mother with five children. There they all lay as snug as you please:
the three little ones packed like herrings in a box, across the foot
of the bed, and the two others on the inside; and the mother lying
on the outer edge almost in the aisle. As Ben pushed back the
curtains, she muttered:--
"There ain't any room to spare in this berth, if that's what you're
looking for."
Rob and Nelly gave a smothered laugh at this.
"Hush, children!" whispered Mrs. March. "You wouldn't like to be
laughed at."
"Oh, mamma, it's so funny!" said Rob. "We can't help it."
Mrs. March did not think it funny at all. She began to be in despair
about the night.
The very next section to the one with the five children was one of
Mr. March's, and luckily those were the next curtains Ben opened.
"Here you are! you're all right!" he said, cheerfully. "Here's all
your things: I done piled 'em up first-rate for you."
Piled up they were indeed. The lunch-basket, the strapped bundle of
blankets, the overcoats, the water-proofs, the leather bags, all one
above the other on one bed.
"Where are we to sleep, mamma?" exclaimed Nelly.
"On top," said Rob. "Hurrah! hurrah!" and he was about to jump on
the top of the pile.
"Be quiet, Rob," said his father: "we must go to bed as quietly as
we can, and not wake people up. We ought to have come earlier.
Almost everybody is asleep, I think."
At this point, rose two great snores, so close that Mrs. March
started.
"Mercy!" she exclaimed. "How that frightened me!"
Snore! snore! snore! The sounds came as regularly as the striking of
a clock: they were most uncommonly loud snores. Mr. March looked at
his wife and smiled. Mrs. March did not smile in return: she did not
like this state of things at all.
At last they had sorted out the things they needed, and the rest of
the things they pushed under their berths,--all but the big
lunch-basket: Mr. March had to carry that out to the end of the car,
and set it by the stove. Then Mr. March and Rob climbed into their
bed, and shut the curtains; and Mrs. March and Nelly climbed into
theirs, and shut their curtains, and began to undress. Presently,
Mr. March called across in a whisper:--
"Wife, what shall I do with Rob's clothes?"
Mrs. March was at that moment trying to find some place to put
Nelly's and hers.
"I'm sure I don't know," she replied. "There isn't a sign of a hook
here to hang any thing on."
"Nor here," replied Mr. March: "I'll leave them all in a pile on the
foot of the bed."
"That'll do very well for a man's clothes," thought Mrs. March; "but
I must hang up our gowns and skirts." At last, she had a bright
thought. She stood up on the edge of the bed, and hooked the skirts
over the rod the curtains were swung from. It was all she could do
to reach it; and, just as she was hooking the last skirt on, the car
gave a lurch, and out she fell, out into the aisle, and across it,
through the curtains of Mr. March's berth, right on to his bed.
"Goodness alive, Sarah! is this you?" he exclaimed, jumping up,
frightened. He was just falling asleep.
"Well, I believe so," she said: "I'm not sure."
"Oh, mamma, did it hurt you?" called Nelly, anxiously.
"No, no, dear," replied her mother. "I'm coming right back." But,
before she went, she whispered in her husband's ear:--
"Robert March, I think a sleeping-car is the most detestable place I
ever got into in my life. Suppose I'd tumbled into some stranger's
berth, as I did into yours just now."
Mr. March only laughed, and Mrs. March heard him laughing to himself
after she had gone back, and it did not make her feel any pleasanter
to hear this. At last she and Nelly were both undressed and in bed.
Their clothes and dressing-cases and travelling-bags were piled up
on their feet.
"You mustn't kick, Nelly," said Mrs. March. "If you do, you'll upset
all the things out on the floor."
"I'm afraid I always kick, mamma," replied honest Nelly. "I won't
while I'm awake; but when I'm asleep I don't know."
Nelly was fast asleep in two minutes; but Mrs. March could not
sleep. The air in the car was so close and hot it made her head
ache. She had pinned her curtains tight together before she lay
down, so that nobody could look in on her as she had on the poor
lady with five children. Now she sat up in bed and unpinned them,
and looked out into the aisle. It was dark: the car was dashing
along at a tremendous rate; the air was most disagreeable, and there
were at least six people snoring different snores.
"I can't stand this. I must open the window at the foot of the
berth," said Mrs. March. So she crept down and tried to open it. She
had not observed in the daytime how the windows were fastened: she
fumbled about in the dark till she found the fastening; she could
not move it; she took the skin off her knuckles; she wrenched her
shoulder; all this time sitting cross-legged on the bed. At last she
gave a shove with all her strength, and the window flew up: in one
second, an icy blast blew in full of smoke and cinders. "This won't
do, either," said Mrs. March; and she tried to get the window down.
This took longer than to get it up; finally, in despair, she propped
it open about two inches with one of her boots; then she sank back
exhausted, and came down hard on her watch and broke the crystal:
then she had a difficult time picking up all the little bits of
glass in the dark, and then, after she had picked them up, she did
not know what to do with them. There was some stiff paper in her
travelling-bag, if she could only get at it; at last she found it,
but, in drawing it out, she knocked the cork out of the hartshorn
bottle, and over went the bottle in the bag, all the hartshorn
poured out, and such a strong smell of hartshorn filled the berth it
waked Nelly up.
"Oh, mamma! what is it? and what smells so?" she said, sleepily.
"Only hartshorn, dear," said her mother, in a despairing tone. "I've
upset it all over every thing. Go to sleep, dear: it won't smell so
very long."
Nelly dozed off again, saying: "I'm going to get up just as soon as
it's light. I hate this bed: don't you, mamma?"
"Yes, Nell, I do," said Mrs. March; "I would rather have sat up all
night: but I am so tired and sleepy now I shall go to sleep, I
think."
When Nelly waked, it was just beginning to be light. Her mother was
sound asleep. Nelly leaned over her, and looked out into the aisle.
Nobody was up except Ben, who was blacking boots at the end of the
aisle.
"I'll get up as still as I can, and get all dressed before mamma
wakes up," thought Nelly. "Poor mamma! What a time she had last
night!"
At that moment, as Nelly turned her head, she saw a sight which so
frightened her that, in spite of herself, she screamed. "What is it,
Nell?" asked her mother, waking instantly. Nelly could not speak,
but pointed to the wall at the back of their berth. Mrs. March sat
upright in bed, and gazed with astonishment and alarm almost as
great as Nelly's. What could it mean? There, in the smooth panel of
black walnut, which was almost as shining as a looking-glass, was
the reflection of a man's face. It was the face of the man who had
been eating the cheese and brown bread and onions. He had a red
handkerchief tied about his head for a nightcap; and he was sound
asleep, with his mouth wide open. While Mrs. March and Nelly sat
gazing breathlessly at this unaccountable sight, the head slowly
turned on the pillow, and a hand came up and rubbed one eye. Nelly
nearly screamed again. Her mother put her hand quickly over her
mouth.
"Hush, Nell!" she said; "do not be frightened. I see how it is."
The partitions which separated the sleeping-berths one from the
other did not come up close to the wall of the car. There was room
to put your hand through between. The black walnut lining of the car
was so polished that it reflected like a looking-glass; so each
person could see, in the back of his berth, the face of the person
who was lying in the berth next before his.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. March; "if we can see into that berth,
they can see into this one;" and she seized one of the pillows, and
set it up against the crack. Then she looked down, and saw a similar
opening at the foot of the berth. This one she stopped up with
another pillow.
"There, Nell," she said, "now we can dress without being
overlooked."
Nelly did not quite understand how these shining black walnut panels
could have acted like looking-glasses, and she was a little afraid
still that the queer, shaggy face with the red silk nightcap would
glare out at her again; but she hurried on her clothes, and in a few
minutes was ready to go to the little wash-room which was provided
for ladies at the end of the car.
"We are so early," said Mrs. March, "that I think we will be the
first ones there."
Ah, how mistaken she was! When they reached the little room, there
stood two women waiting for their turn at the wash-stand; a third
was washing her face. As Mrs. March and Nelly appeared, one of those
who were waiting called out:--
"Come in. Don't go away. If you do, you'll lose your turn: there'll
be lots more here directly."
"Thank you," said Mrs. March: "my daughter and I will wait there,
just outside the door. We will not intrude upon you."
At this, all three of the women laughed, and one said:
"H'm! there ain't much question of intrudin' in these sleepin'-cars.
It's just a kind o' big bedroom, that's all."
Mrs. March smiled, and said: "Yes, I think so;" and the women went
on talking. They were relating their experiences in the night. One
of them said:--
"Well, I got along very well till somebody opened a window, and then
I thought I should ha' froze to death; but my husband he called the
conductor up, and they shut all the ventilators up; but I just
shivered all night. Real good soap this is: ain't it?"
Mrs. March looked warningly at Nelly, who was just about to speak.
"Keep quiet, Nell," she said. But Nelly whispered: "Do you suppose
that was our window, mamma?"
"I dare say," answered Mrs. March, in a still lower whisper: "keep
still, Nell."
"Well, I wa'n't too cold," said the woman at the washbowl. She had
her false teeth in her hand, and was washing them under the little
slow stream running from the faucet: so she could not speak very
distinctly. "Well, I wa'n't too cold," she said, "but I'll tell you
what did happen to me. In the middle o' the night I felt somethin'
against my head, right on the very top on't; and what do you think
it was? 'Twas the feet of the man in the next section to our'n.
'Well,' says I, 'this is more'n I can stand;' and I gave 'em a real
shove. I reckon he waked up, for I didn't feel 'em no more."
At this Nelly had to run away. She could not keep the laugh back
any longer. And Mrs. March thought it better to let her go, for she
did not know what might be coming next in the conversation of these
women. At the other end of the car, Nelly saw Rob, carrying
something done up in newspaper in his hand. She ran after him. He
put his finger on his lips as she drew near him, and made signs to
her not to speak. She could not imagine what he was carrying. He
went very fast to the outside door of the car, opened it, and threw
the parcel out.
"What was it, Rob?" said Nell, eagerly.
"I won't tell you," said Rob: "you'll tell."
"Oh! I won't; I won't; indeed I won't," said Nell.
"Honest Indian?" said Rob.
"Honest Indian," said Nelly.
This was the strongest form of pledge which Rob and Nelly ever gave.
It was like a sort of oath among the children in Mayfield. If a
child broke his promise after he had said "Honest Indian," there was
nothing too bad for him.
"Well," said Rob, coming very close to Nelly, and speaking in a low
whisper, "it was those people's string of onions!"
"Why, Rob!" cried Nelly, in a horrified tone, "why, Rob! that's
stealing. How could you?"
"'Tain't stealing either, Nell March," said Rob, stoutly; "I haven't
got 'em. Stealing is taking things. I haven't got them. I didn't
want the old, horrid things. I just threw them away. That ain't
taking."
Nelly still looked distressed. "Papa wouldn't like it," she said,
"nor mamma either. They were all those people had to eat, except
bread and cheese. Oh, Rob! I think it was awful mean in you."
"I don't care: I wish I hadn't told you. I don't think it was mean.
It was good enough for them for making such a smell in the cars. I
heard some of the gentlemen saying they hadn't any business with
onions in the car,--that the conductor ought to make them throw them
away. Anyhow, Nell, you promised not to tell."
"Yes," said Nell, "but I never once thought of its being such a
thing as this. What do you suppose they'll do? They might have you
took up and put in prison, Rob."
Rob looked a little disturbed, but he replied bravely:
"Oh, pshaw! I don't know whose onions they were anyhow. I just found
them rolling round on the floor, and I picked them up: they weren't
anybody's when they were out loose in the car. I don't care: we
won't have such a horrid smell here to-day."
Nelly walked away looking very unhappy. She disliked the smell of
onions as much as Rob did; but she would rather have had the string
of onions in her lap all day than have had Rob do such a thing as
this; and she felt sure it would all be known, somehow, before the
day came to an end,--as you will see that it was.
After everybody had got up, and the beds and pillows and blankets
were all packed away in the little cupboards overhead, and the car
was put in order for the day, the people who had lunch-baskets began
to eat their breakfasts. Nelly sat very still in her seat, and
watched to see what would happen when the onions were found to be
missing. Rob had walked away, and stood at the farther door of the
car. He seemed to be very busy looking out at the scenery.
Mrs. March had a good little breakfast of boiled eggs and bread and
butter and tea and milk, all ready on the table.
"Call Rob," she said to Nelly. Nelly walked to the end of the car,
and said:--
"Come, Rob. Mamma's got breakfast all ready."
Without looking round, Rob whispered:--
"Have they missed 'em?"
"I don't know: I haven't heard any thing," answered Nelly, in the
same low tone. And they walked back together, Nelly looking much
more anxious than Rob did. Mrs. March noticed their grave faces as
they took their seats, and she said:--
"You are tired: aren't you, children?"
"Oh, no, mamma!" they both exclaimed; "we aren't a bit tired!"
But their faces did not brighten. If the whole truth were told, it
must be owned that they were both very unhappy. The more Rob thought
about those onions, the more he felt afraid that it was stealing to
have thrown them away; and this made him wretched enough.
And the more Nelly thought about it, the surer she felt that Rob was
going to get into trouble before the thing was done with. Neither of
them ate much breakfast; they were both listening to what was going
on in the next section. They could hear such sentences as:--
"I know I left 'em here last night."
"Perhaps they went out of the window."
"They couldn't: they were on the floor."
"That black rascal's got 'em, you may be sure."
At this last sentence, Nelly gave Rob a push under the table with
her foot, and his face turned very red.
In a moment more, Ben entered the car; as he was passing the
Marches' table, the angry man from the next section called out, in a
very rude way:--
"Here, you nigger, what'd you do with my onions?"
Ben stood stock-still, he was so astonished.
"Ungyuns!" he exclaimed; "I never seed no ungyuns."
"Yes, you did! You must have: you've stowed 'em away somewhere. Now
jest you pass 'em out, or I'll report you."
Ben had never been accused of stealing before. He looked the man
full in the face, and said:--
"You can do all the reportin' yer want to, mister. I never seed your
ungyuns." And he was about to pass on; but the man was so angry, and
so sure that Ben must have taken his onions, that he stood in the
middle of the aisle, right in Ben's way, and would not let him pass.
"Hand 'em over now," he said, in the most insulting tone; "hand 'em
over."
Mr. March, who had been watching the scene with some amusement, was
very much astonished, on looking at Rob at this moment, to see his
cheeks flushed, his lips parted as if he were about to speak.
"Why, Rob," he said, "do you know where the onions are?"
"No," said Rob.
Nelly gave an involuntary gasp, under her breath, "Oh!"
Mr. March looked at her in still greater surprise.
"Do you, Nell?" he said.
Nelly did not reply, but looked at Rob, who said:--
"I don't know where they are now." But his expression was a very
guilty one.
"Rob!" said his father, sternly, "you know something about those
onions: tell me this moment."
Nelly clasped her hands tight, and gave a little cry, "Oh, Rob!"
Now that the final moment had come, Rob spoke up like a man.
"Papa, I threw them out of the car door,--they made such a smell. I
found them close to our berth when I first got up, and they smelled
so horrid I threw them away. Perhaps they weren't this man's
onions," said poor Rob, clutching at a last hope.
Mr. March could hardly believe his ears.
"You! You took what did not belong to you, and then threw it away!
Why, Rob! I am ashamed of you! Why, Rob, I wouldn't have believed
it!" exclaimed Mr. March. "You will pay for those onions out of your
allowance." And he looked at Rob more sternly than he had ever done
in his life.
"Come, now, immediately," he continued, "and apologize to the man."
And he took Rob by the hand and led him to the next seat.
"I am very sorry to tell you, sir," he said, "that my little boy
here took your onions and threw them away. He shall buy some for you
at the very first station where we can."
"What'd yer throw 'em away for?" said the man, looking curiously and
not unkindly at Rob, whose face was enough to make anybody sorry for
him.
"Because I hate the smell of them so," said Rob, sturdily; "and my
mamma hates them too; and I found them rolling round on the floor,
by our berth; and I just picked them up and threw them away. I
didn't think about their being anybody's,--not until afterwards," he
added; "and I'm very sorry, sir. I'll buy you some more out of my
own money."
Mr. March smiled at this little explanation: he saw that Rob had not
really intended to do wrong.
"No, no, my boy, you needn't do that," said the man; "we're going to
get off before dinner time; an' we've got a bin full o' onions at
home. I expect they do smell kind o' strong to folks that ain't used
to 'em, but they're mighty healthy."
Rob walked back to his seat somewhat relieved, but still very much
ashamed. He glanced up in his mother's face. She looked mortified;
still there was a twinkle in her eyes: in the bottom of her heart,
she sympathized with Rob's impulse to be rid of the onions at any
cost.
"Oh, Rob!" she said, "how could you do such a thing? You knew they
must belong to somebody."
"Well, I did afterwards,--after I told Nell; but, when I picked them
up, I didn't think any thing except how they smelt. It was a good
riddance anyhow."
The sick lady, who had to lie down all the way, was in the section
next but one to Mr. March's. She had looked much amused during all
this conversation, which she could not help hearing. Mrs. March
noticed her pleasant smile, and thought she would like to do
something for her. So she gave Nelly a nice cup of hot tea to take
over to her. The lady was very grateful.
"Oh!" she said, "this is the first good tea I have tasted since I
left home."
Then she made Nelly sit down on the bed beside her, and talked to
her so sweetly that Nelly felt as if she had known her all her life;
and pretty soon she told her all about Mrs. Napoleon.
"Bring her here. Let me see her," said the lady.
"Oh, I can't bear to have anybody see her!" said Nelly: "she looks
awful."
"Never mind: we'll draw the curtains, and nobody else shall see."
So she called her nurse, who was sitting near; and, as soon as Nelly
had climbed up into the berth, the nurse drew the curtains tight and
shut them together. It seemed to Mrs. March a long time before Nelly
came out. When she came she had two small parcels in her hands. They
were both in nice white tissue paper, tied up with pink ribbon.
Nelly looked as if she had been crying, but yet she looked happy;
and the sick lady had a most beautiful smile on her face. Nelly gave
one of the parcels to her mother, and said:--
"Mamma, will you please pack this in the bag? It is the Empress's
clothes. Perhaps I may have another doll some day that they will
fit."
Then she handed the other parcel to her father, and said:--
"Please throw this out of the window, papa?"
"What is it, Nell?" he said, surprised.
Nelly's voice trembled a little; but she answered bravely.
"Mrs. Napoleon, papa. That nice lady looked at her, and said she
never could be mended; and if she were me, she'd throw her right
away. She says I'll feel better as soon as she is out of my sight."
Mr. March looked over at the sick lady and bowed and smiled.
"She is quite right, Nell. You'll forget all about it much quicker.
Good-by, Mrs. Napoleon," he said, and threw the white parcel with
its pink ribbons as far as he could throw it.
"I don't want to forget about it, papa," replied Nelly, and pressed
her face close against the window-pane, so as not to lose that last
glimpse of the package.
Never were people gladder to reach any place than Mr. and Mrs. March
and Nelly and Rob were to reach Denver. They were so tired that they
went right to bed as soon as they entered the hotel. They did not
want any supper. The next morning, however, they were up early, all
rested and ready to look at every thing. The first thing they saw as
they walked out of the hotel door, was a long range of high
mountains to the south. They looked down the street on which the
hotel stood, and saw these mountains rising up like a great wall
across the end of the street. They were covered with snow
two-thirds of the way down. The lower part which was not covered
with snow was of a very dark blue color; and the upper part, where
the snow lay, shone in the sun so dazzling bright that it made their
eyes ache to look at it. The sky was as blue as blue could be, and
had not a cloud in it; and some of the sharp peaks of the mountains
looked as if they were really cutting through the sky. Mr. and Mrs.
March and Nelly and Rob all stood still in the middle of the street
looking at the beautiful sight. Several carriages and wagons came
very near running over them, but they hardly observed it. No one of
them spoke for some minutes: even Rob was overawed by the grandeur
of the mountains. But his overawed silence did not last long. In a
few minutes, he broke out with:--
"Bully mountains! ain't they? Come on!" Mr. and Mrs. March laughed.
"Well, Rob," said his father, "you've brought us to our senses:
haven't you? But I do wish you wouldn't talk slang."
"No, Rob," said his mother. "How many times have I asked you not to
say 'bully'?"
"I know it, mother," replied Rob; "but you don't tell me any other
word to say instead of it. A fellow must say something; and 'bully'
's such a bully word. I don't believe there's any other word that's
good for any thing when things are 'bully.'"
"Oh, dear Rob! dear Rob! Three times in one sentence! What shall we
do to you? We will really have to hire you to leave off that word,
as grandpa hired you to drink cold water, at so much a week."
"Mamma," said Rob, solemnly, "you couldn't hire me to leave off
saying 'bully.' Money wouldn't pay me: I try not to say it often,
because you hate it so; but I don't expect to leave it off till I'm
a man. I just have to say it sometimes."
"Oh, Rob, you don't 'have' to say it!" exclaimed Nell. "Nobody 'has
to say' any thing."
"Girls don't," said Rob, patronizingly: "but girls are different;
I'm always telling you that girls don't need words like boys. It's
just like whistling: girls needn't whistle; but a boy--why, a boy'd
die if he couldn't whistle."
"I can whistle," said Nell. "I can whistle most as well as you."
"You can't, Nell," exclaimed Rob, utterly astonished.
For reply, Nelly quietly whistled a bar of Yankee Doodle. Rob stared
at her.
"Why, so you can!" said he. "I didn't know girls ever whistled: I
thought they were made so they couldn't."
"Oh, no!" said Mrs. March; "I used to be a great whistler when I was
a girl; but I never let anybody hear me, if I could help it. And
Nelly knows that it is not lady-like for a girl to whistle. She
likes to whistle as well as you like to say 'bully,' however; so you
might leave off that as well as she can leave off whistling."
"But you used to whistle all alone by yourself," persisted Rob; "and
it is just as good fun to whistle all alone as with other people;
but it wouldn't be any fun to go off all alone, and say 'bully!
bully! bully!'"
Mrs. March put her hands over her ears, and exclaimed: "Oh, Rob!
Rob! That makes six times! That dreadful word!"
"Oh!" said Rob, pretending to be very innocent, "do you mind my
saying it that way? That wasn't saying it really: only talking about
it," and Rob gave his mother a mischievous look.
The streets were thronged with people; everybody seemed in a hurry;
the shop windows were full of just such things as one sees in shop
windows at the East; through street after street they walked,
growing more and more surprised every moment.
"Why, Robert," said Mrs. March, "except for the bustling and excited
air of the people, I should not know that I was not in an Eastern
city."
"Nor I," said Mr. March: "I am greatly astonished to see such a
civilized-looking place."
Just then an open carriage rolled past them. It was a beautiful
carriage, lined with red satin.
"Oh, mamma! there is the nice lady who was in the cars," said Nelly:
"let me go and speak to her."
The lady saw them and stopped her carriage: she was very glad to see
their faces; she felt so lonely in this strange place. She was all
alone with her doctor and nurse; and already she was so homesick she
was almost ready to turn about and go home.
"Oh! do let your little girl jump in and take a drive with me," she
said. "It will be a great favor to me if you will."
"Oh, mamma! let me; let me," cried Nelly; and, almost before her
mother had fully pronounced the words giving her permission, she was
climbing up the carriage steps. As she took her seat by the lady's
side, she looked wistfully back at Rob. Mrs. Williams (that was the
lady's name) observed the glance, and said: "Won't you let the
little boy come too? Would you like to come, dear?"
"No, thank you," said Rob: "I'd rather walk. I can see better."
"Oh, Rob! how can you?" exclaimed Nelly, but the driver touched his
horses with the whip, and they were off.
What a drive that was for Nelly! She never forgot it. It was her
first sight of the grand Rocky Mountains. The city of Denver lies on
a great plain; about thirty miles away stands the mountain range;
between the city and the mountains runs a river,--the Platte
River,--which has green trees along its bank. Mrs. Williams took
Nelly out on high ground to the east, from which she could look over
the whole city, and the river, and out to the beautiful mountains.
Some of the peaks were as solid white as white clouds, and looked
almost like clouds suddenly made to stand still in the skies. Mrs.
Williams loved mountains very much; and, as she looked at Nelly's
face, she saw that Nelly loved them too. Nelly said very little; but
she kept hold of Mrs. Williams's hand, and, whenever they came to a
particularly beautiful view, she would press it so hard that once or
twice Mrs. Williams cried out: "Dear child, you hurt me: don't
squeeze so tight;" upon which Nelly, very much ashamed, would let go
of her hand for a few minutes, but presently, in her excitement,
would be holding it again as tight as ever. Mrs. Williams was a
widow lady: she had lost her husband and her only child--a little
girl about Nelly's age--only two years before, and she had been an
invalid ever since. As soon as she saw Nelly's face in the cars, she
had fancied that she looked like her little girl who was dead. Her
name was Ellen too, and she had always been called Elly; so that
Nelly's name had a familiar sound to her. Mrs. Williams was a very
rich lady; and, if Nelly's father and mother had been poor people,
she would have asked them at once to give Nelly to her. But, of
course, she knew that that would be out of the question; so all she
could do was to try to make Nelly have a good time as long as she
was with her. After they had driven all about the city, and had seen
all there was to see, she said to the driver:
"Now go to the best toy store in the city." Nelly did not hear this
direction: she was absorbed in looking at the mountains. So she was
much surprised when they stopped at the shop, and Mrs. Williams
said:--
"Now, Nelly dear, I want you to go in and buy something for me: will
you? I can't get out of the carriage myself."
"Yes indeed," exclaimed Nelly, "if I can; but I never went into a
shop alone in my life. Mamma always goes with me. Can't I bring what
you want out here for you to look at?"
Mrs. Williams laughed.
"You'll be a better judge of it than I, Nell," she said. "It is a
wax doll I want for a young friend of mine,--just about such an one
as you had in the cars."
Wasn't Nelly a very simple little girl never to think that Mrs.
Williams meant to buy it for her? She never so much as thought of
it. "Oh!" said she, "how glad she'll be! I hope she'll have better
luck with it than I had. You tell her not to take her on any
journeys. Is it your own little girl?"
Then Nelly saw the tears come in Mrs. Williams's eyes: her lips
quivered, and she said:--
"My own little girl is in heaven; but this doll is for a little girl
I love very much, who looks like my little girl. Run in, dear, and
see what you can find."
The shopkeeper looked quite surprised to see such a little girl
coming up to the counter, and asking if he had any big wax dolls
with eyes which would open.
"Yes, sis," he said, "we have two; but they cost too much money for
you, I reckon."
Nelly did not like being called "sis."
"My name is not sis," she said, "and the doll is for a sick lady out
in the carriage. Won't you please bring them out for her to look
at?" and Nelly turned, and walked out of the shop.
"Hoity toity!" said the man. "What airs we put on, don't we, for
small fry! Eastern folks, I reckon;" but he went to a drawer, and
took out his two wax dolls, and carried them to the carriage. Each
doll was in a box by itself. One was dressed in pink satin, and one
in white muslin.
"Which is the prettiest, Nelly?" said Mrs. Williams.
"Oh, the one in white muslin,--ever so much the prettiest! My mamma
says satin is very silly on dolls, and I think so too. Mrs. Napoleon
had a blue satin dress, and I gave it to Mabel Martin. She never
wore it but once,--the day she came; she had it on when she was in
the stocking; but I hated it on her."
"In the stocking!" said Mrs. Williams; "that big doll never went
into a stocking. What do you mean?"
"Oh, not into a common stocking!" said Nelly; "into one of my
grandpa's stockings. Mamma always hangs his stockings up for us at
Christmas."
Mrs. Williams was still more perplexed.
"Why, child," she said, "how big is your grandpa? Is he a giant?"
"Oh, no!" laughed Nelly, "he isn't very big; but these are great
stockings he had made to sleep in. They come all the way up his
legs,--both parts of his leg,--way up above his knee, as far as his
legs go, so as to keep him warm when he's asleep. He doesn't sleep
in any night-gown."
Mrs. Williams laughed heartily at this, and was about to ask Nelly
some other questions, when the storekeeper interrupted her with:--
"Can't stand here all day, mum. Do ye want the dolls or not: say
quick."
Mrs. Williams was not accustomed to be spoken to in this manner, and
she looked at him in surprise.
"Oh!" he said, in answer to her look, "you ain't in the East, you'll
find out. We Western men've got too much to do to dangle round all
day on a single trade. Do ye want the dolls? If not, I'll take 'em
back."
"I am sorry you are in such a hurry all the time, sir," said Mrs.
Williams, slowly: "it must be very disagreeable. I will take one of
these dolls as soon as this little girl has decided which one is the
prettiest."
"Oh, the white-muslin-gown one, ever so much," exclaimed Nelly.
"Very well. You may put it up for me," said Mrs. Williams, taking
out her purse. "How much does it cost?"
"Ten dollars," said the man.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed Nelly, "mine was only five, and it was just as
big as this one."
The man looked a little embarrassed. The doll did not really cost
ten dollars: it had only cost five; but he thought Mrs. Williams
looked like a rich lady, and he might as well ask all he could get.
"Well, this cost me six dollars in New York," he said; "but there
isn't much sale for them here: you can have it for seven."
Mrs. Williams paid him the seven dollars, and they drove away with
the box with the doll in it, lying in Nelly's lap. Presently Nelly
said:--
"Oh, Mrs. Williams, won't you let me send all Mrs. Napoleon's
clothes to the little girl this dolly's for? I think they'd fit this
dolly: don't you?"
"You dear little thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Williams; "would you really
send all those pretty clothes to a little girl you don't know?"
"But you know her," said Nelly, "and you said you loved her; so I'd
like to have her have them. Besides, I don't believe I'll ever have
another dolly like Mrs. Napoleon: at any rate, not for a great many
years."
"Very well, dear," replied Mrs. Williams: "I will take them. She
will be all the more pleased to get so many extra suits. When we
stop at the hotel, you can give them to me."
"The waterproof is torn some," said Nelly: "I guess mamma'll mend
it."
"Oh, never mind!" said Mrs. Williams. "This little girl's mamma is a
very kind mamma: she can mend it."
When they stopped at the hotel, Nelly raced upstairs and burst into
her mother's room.
"Mamma!" she exclaimed almost as breathlessly as Rob was in the
habit of speaking, "mamma, give me all Mrs. Napoleon's clothes. The
sick lady's bought a beautiful wax doll--just Mrs. Napoleon's
size--her name's Mrs. Williams--I asked her--and she's going to send
it to a little girl she loves very much--her own little girl's
dead--and I want her to have those clothes too, because Mrs.
Williams is so kind; oh, she's the sweetest lady! Give me the
clothes, quick!"
Mrs. March was looking in a trunk for them while Nelly ran on. She
smiled as she handed them to Nelly.
"Are you sure you will not want them yourself, Nell?" she said; "you
might have a doll that they'd just fit."
"I don't believe I ever will, mamma," said Nelly, "and even if I do,
I'd rather give these clothes away. Mrs. Williams is such a sweet
lady--you don't know, mamma!" And Nelly ran downstairs with the
package in her hand. As she left the room, Rob said to his
mother:--
"Mamma, I bet she's bought the doll for Nell! Wouldn't that be fun?
Nell's such a goose she'd never suspect any thing!"
"Hush, Rob!" said Mrs. March; "don't put such an idea into Nell's
head. It isn't at all likely."
"Well, you'll see, mamma. I'll bet you any thing."
"Ladies don't 'bet,' Rob; and you know mamma hates to hear you say
the word."
"Oh, dear, mamma!" groaned Rob, "you hate all the nice words! I wish
ladies were just like boys!"
Late that evening, after Rob and Nelly were fast asleep, a large
parcel was brought to their rooms, addressed to Mrs. March. She
opened it, and found inside--sure enough, as Rob had said--the
beautiful wax doll which Nelly had told them about; and, in the box
with the doll, the little bundle of all Mrs. Napoleon's clothes. A
note from Mrs. Williams to Mrs. March was pinned on the outside of
the package. She said:--
"MY DEAR MRS. MARCH,--Will you allow me to give this doll to
your dear, sweet little daughter, to supply the place of the
lost Mrs. Napoleon. If you knew how great a pleasure it is to
me to do this, I am sure you would not refuse it. Your little
girl reminds me so strongly of my own little Elly, who died two
years ago, that I only wish I could have her always with me.
"Truly your friend, although a stranger,
"ISABELLA WILLIAMS."
"Well, Rob was right!" exclaimed Mrs. March, as she read this note.
"See, Robert, what a beautiful doll has come for Nelly from that
invalid lady she went to drive with this afternoon. Rob said she had
bought it for Nelly, but I didn't believe it. I don't exactly like
to take such a valuable present from a stranger."
Mr. March was reading the note.
"But we could not refuse," he said. "It would be cruel, when she
wants to give it to Nelly because she looks so like her little child
that is dead."
"No," said Mrs. March; "of course we could not refuse."
"She had one of the sweetest and saddest faces I ever saw," said Mr.
March. "I do not think she will live long. I wish we could do
something for her."
"I will go and see her to-morrow morning, and thank her for the
doll," said Mrs. March; "and then I will find out whether we can do
any thing for her or not. I shall not let Nelly know any thing about
the doll till we are all settled. I will pack it away in my trunk."
"Yes, that will be much wiser," said Mr. March; "we won't have a
second Mrs. Napoleon disaster."
Later in the evening, Deacon and Mrs. Plummer arrived; and the next
day was very much taken up in discussing plans with them, and making
arrangements for going on their journey; and it was late in the
afternoon before Mrs. March found time to go to the hotel where Mrs.
Williams was staying. She found, to her great sorrow, that Mrs.
Williams had left town at noon. She had gone, the landlord said, to
Idaho Springs; where he believed she was to take the hot baths. Mrs.
March wrote a note to her immediately, and the landlord said he
would forward it; but he was not sure of her address, and Mrs. March
was very much afraid it would never reach her.
The Marches stayed in Denver a week, but they did not hear a word
from Mrs. Williams, and Mrs. March reproached herself very much for
not having gone to see her early the next morning after the doll
came.
"It is evident," she said, "that she never got my note; and what
must she have thought of us for not acknowledging such a beautiful
present. It will worry me always, as often as I see the doll."