submitting ungraciously to a few caresses from the eager little
hands, she rose and retired majestically to a safer perch on the top
of the high wall which enclosed the garden. Being too lazy to jump,
she walked up the shelves of an old flower-stand moulding in a
corner, and by so doing, gave Rosy a brilliant idea, which she at
once put into action by following Tabby's example. Up this new sort
of ladder she went, and peeped over the wall, delighted at this
unexpected chance to behold the enemy's territory.
“Oh, what a pretty place!” she cried, clasping her grubby little
hands with rapture, as the beauties of the forbidden land burst upon
her view.
It was indeed a paradise to a child's eyes,--for flowers bloomed
along the winding paths; ripening fruit lay rosy and tempting in the
beds below; behind the wire walls that confined them clucked and
strutted various sorts of poultry; cages of gay birds hung on the
piazza; and through the open windows of the house one caught
glimpses of curious curtains, bright weapons, and mysterious objects
in the rooms beyond.
A gray-headed gentleman in a queer nankeen coat lay asleep on a
bamboo lounge under the great cherry-tree, with a purple silk
handkerchief half over his face.
“That's the missionary man, I s'pose. He doesn't look cross at all.
If I could only get down there, I'd go and wake him with a softly
kiss, as I do Papa, and ask to see his pretty things.”
Being quite unconscious of fear, Rosy certainly would have carried
out her daring plan, had it been possible; but no way of descending
on the other side appeared, so she sighed and sat gazing wistfully,
till Cousin Henny appeared for a breath of fresh air, and ordered
her down at once.
“Come and see if my balsam-seeds have started yet. I keep planting
them, but they WON'T come up,” she said, pointing out a mound of
earth newly dug and watered.
Rosy obediently scrambled up, and was trying to decide whether some
green sprouts were chickweed or the dilatory balsams when a sudden
uproar in the next garden made her stop to listen, while Miss Henny
said in a tone of great satisfaction, as the cackle of hens arose,--
“Some trouble with those horrid fowls of his. I detest them, crowing
in the night, and waking us at dawn with their noise. I wish some
thief would steal every one of them. Nobody has a right to annoy
their neighbors with troublesome pets.”
Before Rosy could describe the beauties of the white bantams or the
size of the big golden cock, a loud voice cried,--
“You rascal! I'll hang you if I catch you here again. Go home
quicker than you came, and tell your mistress to teach you better
manners, if she values your life.”
“It's that man! Such language! I wonder who he's caught? That bad
boy who steals our plums, perhaps.”
The words were hardly out of Miss Henny's mouth when her question
was answered in a sudden and dreadful way; for over the wall, hurled
by a strong arm, flew Tabby, high in the air, to fall with a thump
directly in the middle of the bed where they stood. Miss Henny
uttered a shrill scream, caught up her stunned treasure, and rushed
into the house as fast as her size and flounces permitted, leaving
Rosy breathless with surprise and indignation.
Burning to resent this terrible outrage, she climbed quickly up the
steps, and astonished the irate old gentleman on the other side by
the sudden apparition of a golden head, a red childish face, and a
dirty little finger pointed sternly at him, as this small avenging
angel demanded,--
“Missionary man, how COULD you kill my cousin's cat?”
“Bless my soul! who are you?” said the old gentleman, staring at
this unexpected actor on the field of battle.
“I'm Button-Rose, and I hate cruel people! Tabby's dead, and now
there isn't any one to play with over here.”
This sad prospect made the blue eyes fill with sudden tears; and the
application of the dirty fingers added streaks of mud to the red
cheeks, which much damaged the appearance of the angel, thought it
added pathos to the child's reproach.
“Cats have nine lives, and Tabby's used to being chucked over the
wall. I've done it several times, and it seems to agree with her,
for she comes back to kill my chicks as bold as brass. See that!”
and the old gentleman held up a downy dead chicken, as proof of
Tabby's sin.
“Poor little chicky!” groaned Rosy, yearning to mourn over the dear
departed and bury it with tender care. “It WAS very naughty of Tab;
but, sir, you know cats are made to catch things, and they can't
help it.”
“They will have to help it, or I'll drown the lot. This is a rare
breed, and I've but two left after all my trouble, thanks to that
rascal of yours! What are you going to do about it?” demanded Mr.
Dover, in a tone that made Rosy feel as if she had committed the
murder herself.
“I'll talk to Tabby and try to make her good, and I'll shut her up
in the old rabbit-house over here; then I hope she will be sorry and
never do it any more,” she said, in such a remorseful tone that the
old gentleman relented at once, ashamed to afflict such a tender
little soul.
“Try it,” he said, with a smile that made his yellow face pleasant
all at once. Then, as if ready to change the subject, he asked,
looking curiously at the little figure perched on the wall,--
“Where did you come from? Never saw any children over there before.
They don't allow 'em.”
Rosy introduced herself in a few words, and seeing that her new
acquaintance seemed interested, she added with the wheedling smile
Papa found so engaging,--
“It's pretty lonely here, I guess; so p'r'aps you'll let me peep at
your nice garden sometimes if it doesn't trouble you, sir?”
“Poor little soul! it must be desperately dull with those three
tabbies,” he said to himself, as he stroked the dead chicken in his
hand, and watched the little face bent toward him.
“Peep as much as you like, child; or, better still, come over and
run about. _I_ like little girls,” he added aloud, with a nod and a
wave of welcome.
“I told 'em I was sure you did! I'd love to come, but they wouldn't
let me, I know. I'm so sorry about the fight. Couldn't you make it
up, and be pleasant again?” asked Rosy, clasping her hands with a
beseeching gesture as her bright face grew sad and serious
remembering the feud.
“So they've told you that nonsense already, have they? Nice
neighbors THEY are,” said the old gentleman, frowning as if ill
pleased at the news.
“I'm glad I know; p'r'aps I can be a peace-maker. Mamma says they
are good to have in families, and I'd like to be one if I could.
Would you mind if I tried to peace-make a little, so I could come
over? I do want to see the red birds and the tiger skin awfully, if
you please.”
“What do you know about 'em?” asked the old gentleman, sitting down
on a garden chair, as if he didn't mind continuing the chat with
this new neighbor.
Nearly tumbling off the wall in her earnestness, Rosy repeated all
that Cousin Penny had said; and something in the reasonable words,
the flattering description of his treasures, and the sincere regret
of the old lady seemed to have a good effect upon Mr. Dover, for
when Rosy paused out of breath, he said in such an altered tone that
it was evident the peacemaking had already begun,--
“Miss Carey is a gentlewoman! I always thought so. You tell her,
with my compliments, that I'd be glad to see you any time if she has
no objection. I'll put my step-ladder there, and you can come over
instead of the cat. But mind you don't meddle, or I might give you a
toss like Tabby.”
“I'm not afraid,” laughed Rosy. “I'll go and ask right away, and I
won't touch a thing, and I know you'll like me for a friend. Papa
says I'm a dear little one. Thank you very much, sir. Good-by till I
come again;” and with a kiss of the hand, the yellow head sunk out
of sight like the sun going down, leaving a sense of darkness behind
when the beaming little face disappeared, though fresh stains of
green mould from the wall made it rather like the tattooed
countenances Mr. Dover used to see among his cannibal friends in
Africa.
He sat musing with the dead chicken in his hand, forgetful of time,
till a ring of his own door-bell called him in to receive a note
from Miss Penelope, thanking him for his invitation to little
Rosamond, but declining it in the most polite and formal words.
“I expected it! Bless the silly old souls! why can't they be
reasonable, and accept the olive branch when I offer it? I'll be
hanged if I do again! The fat one is at the bottom of this. Miss Pen
would give in if that absurd Henrietta didn't hold her back. Well,
I'm sorry for the child, but that's not my fault;” and throwing down
the note, he went out to water his roses.
For a week or two, Button-Rose hardly dared glance toward the
forbidden spot from her window, as she was ordered to play in the
front garden, and sent to take sober walks with Cicely, who loved to
stop and gossip with her friends, while the poor child waited
patiently till the long tales were told.
Nursing Tabby was her chief consolation; and so kind was she, that
the heart of the old cat softened to her, and she actually purred
her thanks at last, for all the saucers of cream, bits of chicken,
soft pats, and tender words bestowed upon her by the little girl.
“Well, I declare! Tab won't do that even for me,” said Miss Henny,
one day when she came upon the child sitting alone in the hall with
a picture-book and the cat comfortably asleep in her lap.
“Ammals always love me, if people don't,” answered Button-Rose,
soberly; for she had not yet forgiven the stout lady for denying her
the delights offered by the “missionary man.”
“That's because AN-I-MALS can't see how naughty you are sometimes,”
said Miss Henny tartly, not having recovered her temper even after
many days.
“I shall make EVERY one love me before I go away. Mamma told me to,
and I shall. I know how;” and Button smiled with a wise little nod
that was pretty to see, as she proudly cuddled her first conquest.
“We shall see;” and Miss Henny ponderously departed, wondering what
odd fancy the little thing would take into her head next.
It was soon evident; for when she came down from her long nap, later
in the afternoon, Miss Henny found Rosamond reading aloud to her
sister in the great dim parlor. They made a curious contrast,--the
pale, white-haired, feeble old lady, with her prim dress, high cap,
knitting, and shaded eyes; and the child, rosy and round, quaint and
sweet, a pretty little ornament for the old-fashioned room, as she
sat among the tea-poys and samplers, ancient china and furniture,
with the portraits of great grandfathers and grandmothers simpering
and staring at her, as if pleased and surprised to see such a
charming little descendant among them.
“Bless the baby! what is she at now?” asked Miss Henny, feeling more
amiable after her sleep.
“I'm reading to Cousin Penny, 'cause no one else does, and her poor
eyes hurt her, and she likes stories, and so do I,” answered Button,
with one chubby finger on the place in her book, and eyes full of
pride at the grown-up employment she had found for herself.
“So kind of the little dear! She found me alone and wanted to amuse
me; so I proposed a story to suit us both, and she does very well
with a little help now and then. I haven't read 'Simple Susan' for
years, and really enjoy it. Maria Edgeworth was always a favorite of
mine, and I still think her far superior to any modern writer for
the young,” said Miss Penny, looking quite animated and happy in the
new entertainment provided for her.
“Go on, child; let me hear how well you can read;” and Miss Henny
settled herself in the sofa-corner with her embroidery.
So Button started bravely on, and tried so hard that she was soon
out of breath. As she paused, she said with a gasp,--
“Isn't Susan a dear girl? She gives ALL the best things to other
people, and is kind to the old harper. She didn't send him away, as
you did the music-man to-day, and tell him to be still.”
“Organs are a nuisance, and I never allow them here. Go on, and
don't criticise your elders, Rosamond.”
“Mamma and I always talk over stories, and pick out the morals of
'em. SHE likes it;” with which remark, made sweetly not pertly,
Button went on to the end, with an occasional lift over a long word;
and the old ladies were interested, in spite of themselves, in the
simple tale read in that childish voice.
“Thank you, dear, it is very nice, and we will have one every day.
Now, what can I do for you?” asked Miss Penny, as the little girl
pushed the curls off her forehead, with a sigh of mingled weariness
and satisfaction.
“Let me go in the back garden and peep through the knot-hole at the
pretty roses. I do long to see if the moss ones are out, and the
cherries ripe,” said Rosy, clasping her hands imploringly.
“It can do no harm, Henrietta. Yes, dear, run away and get some
catnip for Tabby, and see if the balsams are up yet.”
That last suggestion won Miss Henny's consent; and Button was off at
once, skipping like a young colt all over the garden, which now
seemed delightful to her.
At the back of the summer-house was a narrow space between it and
the fence where certain plump toads lived; peeping in to watch them,
Rosy had spied a large knot-hole in the old boards, and through it
found she could get a fine view of several rose-bushes, a tree, and
one window of the “missionary man's” house. She had longed for
another peep since the flower-stand was gone, and climbing trees
forbidden; now with joy she slipped into the damp nook, regardless
of the speckled gentlemen who stared at her with dismay, and took a
good look at the forbidden paradise beyond.
Yes, the “moss ones” were in bloom, the cherries quite red, and at
the window was the gray head of Mr. Dover, as he sat reading in his
queer yellow dressing-gown.
Button yearned to get in, and leaned so hard against the hateful
fence that the rotten board cracked, a long bit fell out, and she
nearly went after it, as it dropped upon the green bank below. Now
the full splendor of the roses burst upon her, and a delightful
gooseberry bush stood close by with purplish berries temptingly
bobbing within reach. This obliging bush hid the hole, but left fine
openings to see through; so the child popped her curly head out, and
gazed delightedly at the chickens, the flowers, the fruit, and the
unconscious old gentleman not far away.
“I'll have it for my secret; or maybe I'll tell Cousin Penny, and
beg her to let me peep if I truly promise never to go in,” thought
Button, knowing well who her best friend was.
At bedtime, when the dear old lady came to give the good-night kiss,
which the others forgot, Rosy, as Miss Penny called her, made her
request; and it was granted, for Miss Penny had a feeling that the
little peacemaker would sooner or later heal the breach with her
pretty magic, and so she was very ready to lend a hand in a quiet
way.
Next day at play-time, Button was hurrying down her last bit of
gingerbread, which she was obliged to eat properly in the
dining-room, instead of enjoying out-of-doors, when she heard a
sudden flurry in the garden, and running to the window saw Roxy the
maid chasing a chicken to and fro, while Miss Henny stood flapping
her skirts on the steps, and crying, “Shoo!” till she was red in the
face.
“It's the white banty, and it must have come in my hole! Oh dear, I
hope they won't catch it! Cousin Henny said she'd wring the neck of
the first one that flied over the wall.”
Away went Rosy, to join in the hunt; for Miss Henny was too fat to
run, and Roxy found the lively fowl too much for her. It was a long
and hard chase; feathers flew, the maid lost her breath, Rosy
tumbled down, and Miss Henny screamed and scolded till she was
forced to sit down and watch in silence.
At last poor, hunted Banty ran into the arbor, for its clipped wings
would not lift it over the wall. Button rushed after it, and dismal
squalls plainly proclaimed that the naughty chicken was caught.
Miss Henny waddled down the path, declaring that she WOULD wring its
neck; and Roxy went puffing after her, glad to rest. But the old
summer-house was empty. No little girl, no ruffled bantam, appeared.
Both had vanished like magic; and mistress and maid stared at each
other in amazement, till they saw that the long-disused window was
open, and a gleam of light came in from the narrow opening behind.
“My patience! if that child hasn't crept out there, and bolted
through that hole in the fence! Did you ever, Miss?” exclaimed Roxy,
trying not to look pleased at being spared the distasteful task of
killing the poor chicken.
“Naughty girl!” began Miss Henny, when the sound of voices made both
listen. “Slip in there, and see what is going on,” said the
mistress, well knowing that her stout person never could be squeezed
into the small space between house and fence.
Roxy, being thin, easily obeyed, and in a whisper telephoned what
went on beyond the hole, causing Miss Henny much vexation, surprise,
and at last real pleasure, as the child performed her little part in
the mission she had undertaken.
“Oh, please, it's all my fault! I kept the hole open, Mr. Thomas,
and so Banty flied in. But it isn't hurt a bit, and I've brought it
home all safe, 'cause I know you love your chickies, and Tabby ate
lots of 'em,” said the childish voice in its most conciliatory tone.
“Why didn't you fling it over the wall, as I did the cat?” asked Mr.
Dover, smiling, as he shut up the truant fowl, and turned to look at
the rosy, breathless child, whose pink frock bore the marks of many
a tumble on grass and gravel.
“It would hurt Banty's feelings, and yours too, and not be polite.
So I came myself, to make some pollygies, and say it was my fault.
But, please, could I keep the hole to peep through, if I always put
up a board when I go away? It is so dull in there, and SO sweet in
here!”
“Don't you think a little gate would be nicer,--one just big enough
for you, with a hook to fasten it? We'll call it a button-hole,”
laughed Mr. Dover. “Then you could peep; or perhaps the ladies will
think better of it, and show that they pardon my ill treatment of
Tabby by letting you come in and pick some cherries and roses now
and then.”
This charming proposal caused the little girl to clasp her hands and
cry aloud,--
“That would be perfully sp'endid! I know Cousin Penny would like it,
and let me. P'r'aps she'd come herself; she's so thin, she could,
and she loves your mother and wants to see her. Only, Cousin Henny
won't let us be nice and friendly. S'pose you send HER some
cherries; she loves good things to eat, and maybe she will say yes,
if you send lots.”
Mr. Dover laughed at this artless proposal, and Miss Henny smiled at
the prospect of a gift of the luscious black-heart cherries she had
been longing for. Roxy wisely repeated only the agreeable parts of
the conversation; so nothing ruffled the lady's temper. Now, whether
Mr. Dover's sharp eye caught a glimpse of the face among the
gooseberry bushes, and suspected eavesdroppers, or whether the
child's earnest desire to make peace touched him, who shall say?
Certain it is that his eyes twinkled like a boy's, as he said rather
loudly, in his most affable tone,--
“I shall be most happy to send Miss Henrietta a basket of fruit. She
used to be a charming young woman. It's a pity she shuts herself up
so much; but that sad little romance of hers has darkened her life,
I suppose. Ah, well, I can sympathize with her!”
Rosy stared at the sudden change in his manner, and was rather
bewildered by his grown-up way of talking to her. But being intent
on securing something nice to carry home, she stuck to the cherries,
which she DID understand, and pointing to the piazza said with a
business-like air,--
“There's a basket; so we might pick 'em right away. I love to go up
in trees and throw 'em down; and I know Cousin Henny will like
cherries ever so much, and not scold a bit when I take some to her.”
“Then come on,” cried Mr. Thomas, relapsing into the hearty manner
she liked so much; and away he went, quite briskly, down the path,
with his yellow skirts waving in the wind, and Button skipping after
him in great glee.
“They actually ARE a-picking cherries, Miss, up in the tree like a
couple of robins a-chirpin' and laughin' as gay as can be,” reported
Roxy, from her peep-hole.
“Rip off the rest of that board, then I can see,” whispered Miss
Henny, quivering with interest now; for she had heard Mr. Dover's
words, and her wrath was appeased by that flattering allusion to
herself.
Off came the rest of the board, and from the window, half hidden in
woodbine, she could now see over the bushes into the next garden.
The peep-hole commanded the tree, and she watched with eager eyes
the filling of the basket to be sent her, planning the while a
charming note of thanks.
“Do look, Miss; they are resting now, and she's on his knee. Ain't
it a pretty picter?” whispered Roxy, unmindful of the earwigs, ants,
and daddy-long-legs promenading over her as she crouched in her
mouldy corner, intent on the view beyond.
“Very pretty! He lost several children in India and I suppose Rosy
reminds him of them. Ah, poor man! I can sympathize with him, for
_I_ too have loved and lost,” sighed Miss Henny, pensively surveying
the group on the rustic seat.
They were playing cherry-bob; and the child's laughter made pleasant
music in the usually quiet place, while the man's face lost its sad,
stern look, and was both gay and tender, as he held the little
creature close, and popped the ripe fruit into the red, laughing
mouth.
As the last sweet morsel disappeared Rosy said, with a long breath
of perfect content,--
“It's ALMOST as good as having Papa to play with. I do hope the
cousins WILL let me come again! If they don't, I think my heart will
break, 'cause I get so homesick over there, and have so many trials,
and no one but Cousin Penny ever cuddles me.”
“Bless her heart! We'll send her some flowers for that. You tell her
that Mrs. Dover is poorly, and would like very much to see her; and
so would Mr. Thomas, who enjoys her little niece immensely. Can you
remember that?”
“Every word! SHE is very nice to me, and I love her, and I guess she
will be glad to come. She likes MOSS-roses, and so do I,” added the
unblushing little beggar, as Mr. Dover took out his knife and began
to make the bouquet which was to be Miss Penny's bribe. He could not
bear to give up his little playmate, and was quite ready to try
again, with this persistent and charming ally to help him heal the
breach.
“Shall you send anything to Cis? You needn't mind about it, 'cause
she can't keep me at home, but it might please her, and make her
stop rapping my head with her thimble when I ask questions, and
slapping my fingers when I touch any of her pretty things,”
suggested Button, as the flowers were added to the fruit, making
a fine display.
“I never send presents to YOUNG ladies,” said Mr. Thomas shortly,
adding, with both hands out, and his most inviting smile, “But I
ALWAYS kiss nice little girls if they will allow me?”
Button threw both arms about his neck and gave him a shower of
grateful kisses, which were sweeter to the lonely old man than all
the cherries that ever grew, or the finest flowers in his garden.
Then Miss Rosamond proudly marched home, finding no trace of the
watchers, for both had fled while the “cuddling” went on. Roxy was
soberly setting the dinner-table, and Miss Henny in the parlor
breathing hard behind a newspaper. Miss Penny and Cicely were
spending the day out, so the roses had to wait; but the basket was
most graciously received, also the carefully delivered message, and
the child's heart was rejoiced by free permission to go and see “our
kind neighbor now and then, if Sister does not object.”
Rosy was in great spirits, and prattled away as they sat at dinner,
emboldened by the lady's unusual amiability to ask all sorts of
questions, some of which proved rather embarrassing to Miss Henny,
and very amusing to Roxy, listening in the china-closet.
“I wish _I_ had 'spepsia,” was the abrupt remark of the small person
as her plate of drum-sticks was removed and the pudding appeared,
accompanied by the cherries.
“Why, dear?” asked Miss Henny, busily arranging the small dish of
delicate tidbits, which left little but the skeleton of the roast
fowl for the kitchen.