my pudding, and the butteryest slices of toast, and ALL the cream
for my tea, as you do. It isn't a VERY bad pain, is it?” asked Rosy,
in such perfect good faith that Miss Henny's sudden flush and Roxy's
hasty dive into the closet never suggested to her that this innocent
speech was bringing the old lady's besetting sin to light in the
most open manner.
“Yes, child, it is VERY bad, and you may thank your stars that I try
to keep you from it by feeding you on plain food. At my age, and
suffering as I do, the best of everything is needed to keep up my
strength,” said Miss Henny, tartly. But the largest plate of
pudding, with “heaps of sauce,” went to the child this day, and when
the fruit was served, an unusually small portion was put away for
the invalid, who was obliged to sustain nature with frequent lunches
through the day and evening.
“I'm s'prised that you suffer much, Cousin Henny. How brave you must
be, not to cry about it, and go round in horrid pain, as you do, and
dress so nicely, and see people, and work 'broidering, and make
calls! I hope I shall be brave if I ever DO have 'spepsia; but I
guess I shan't, you take such care to give me small pieces every
time.”
With which cheerful remark Rosy closed that part of the conversation
and returned to the delights of her new friend's garden. But from
that day, among other changes which began about this time, the
child's cup and plate were well filled, and the dread of adding to
her own sufferings seemed to curb the dyspeptic's voracious
appetite. “A cheild was amang them takin' notes,” and every one
involuntarily dreaded those clear eyes and that frank tongue, so
innocently observing and criticising all that went on. Cicely had
already been reminded of a neglected duty by Rosy's reading to Miss
Penny, and tried to be more faithful in that, as in other services
which she owed the old lady. So the little missionary was evidently
getting on, though quite unconscious of her work at home, so
absorbed was she in her foreign mission; for, like many another
missionary, the savage over the way was more interesting than the
selfish, slothful, or neglected souls at home.
Miss Penny was charmed with her flowers and the friendly message
sent her, and to Rosy's great delight went next day, in best bonnet
and gown, to make a call upon the old lady “who was poorly,” for
that appeal could not be resisted. Rosy also, in honor of the great
occasion, wore HER best hat, and a white frock so stiff that she
looked like a little opera dancer as the long black legs skipped
along the street; for it was far too grand a visit to be paid
through a hole in the wall.
In the basket were certain delicacies for the old lady, and a card
had been prepared, with the names of Miss Carey and Miss Rosamond
Carey beautifully written on it by Cis, who was dying to go, but
dared not after Rosy had told her Mr. Dover's remark about young
ladies.
As the procession of two paused at the door, both the young and the
old heart fluttered a little, for this was the first decided step
toward reconciliation, and any check might spoil it all. The maid
stared, but civilly led these unexpected guests in and departed with
the card. Miss Penny settled herself in a large chair and looked
about with pensive interest at the familiar room. But Rosy made a
bee-line for the great tiger-skin, and regardless of her clean
frock lay down on it to examine the head, which glared at her with
yellow eyes, showing all its sharp teeth in the most delightfully
natural manner.
Mr. Dover came in with a formal bow, but Miss Penny put out both
hands, and said in her sweet old voice,--
“Let us be friends again for the sake of your mother.”
That settled the matter at once, and Mr. Thomas was so eager to do
his part that he not only shook the hands heartily, but kept them in
his as he said like an honest man,--
“My dear neighbor, I beg your pardon! _I_ was wrong, but I'm not too
proud to own it and say I'm glad to let by-gones be by-gones for the
sake of all. Now come and see my mother; she is longing for you.”
What went on in the next room Rosy never knew or cared, for Mr.
Thomas soon returned, and amused her so well, showing his treasures,
that she forgot where she was till the maid came to say tea was
ready.
“Are we going to stay?” cried the little girl, beaming from under a
Feejee crown of feathers, which produced as comical an effect upon
her curly head as did the collar of shark's teeth round her plump
neck or the great Japanese war-fan in her hand.
“Yes, we have tea at five; come and turn it out. I've ordered the
little cups especially for you,” said her host, as he changed the
small Amazon to a pretty child again and led her away to preside at
the table, where the quaint china and silver, and the dainty cake
and bread and butter proved much more attractive than the little old
lady in a big cap who patted her head and smiled at her.
Never had Rosy enjoyed such a delicious meal; for the rapture of
pouring real tea out of a pot shaped like a silver melon, into cups
as thin as egg-shells, and putting in sugar with tongs like claws,
not to mention much thick cream, also spicy, plummy cakes that
melted in one's mouth, was too great for words.
The little maid was so absorbed in her new duties that she never
minded what the elders talked about, till the plates were empty, the
pot ran dry, and no one could be prevailed on to have any more tea.
Then she leaned back in her chair and remarked with an air of calm
satisfaction, as she looked from one to the other, and smiled that
engaging smile of hers,--
“Isn't being friends a great deal nicer than fighting and throwing
cats over walls and calling bad names?”
It was impossible not to laugh, and that cheerful sound seemed to
tune every one to the sweetest harmony, while the little peacemaker
was passed round as if a last course of kisses was absolutely
necessary.
Then the party broke up, and Mr. Dover escorted his guests to their
own gate, to the great amazement of the neighbors and the very
visible pride of Miss Button-Rose, who went up the walk with her
head as high as if the wreath of daisies on her little hat had been
a conqueror's crown.
Now that the first step had been taken, all would have gone smoothly
if Cicely, offended because Mr. Thomas took no notice of HER, had
not put it into Miss Henny's head that as the original quarrel began
between her and their neighbor, it would not be dignified to give in
till Mr. Dover had come and begged pardon of HER as well as of Miss
Penny. This suited the foolish old lady, who never could forget
certain plain words spoken in the heat of battle, though the kindly
ones lately heard had much softened her heart toward the offender.
“No, I shall not forget my dignity nor humble myself by going over
there to apologize as Penelope has. SHE can do as she likes; and now
that he has asked to be forgiven, there is perhaps no harm in HER
seeing the old lady. But with me it is different. _I_ was insulted,
and till Thomas Dover comes here and solemnly asks my pardon I will
NOT cross his threshold, no matter what bribes he sends,” said Miss
Henny, with an air of heroic firmness.
But it did cost her a pang when her sister went every now and then
to take tea with the old lady and came home full of pleasant news;
while Rosy prattled of the fine things she saw, the nice things she
had to eat, and never failed to bring some gift to share, or to
display to the exiles from Paradise. They ate the “bribes,” however,
as they called the fruit, admired the pretty trinkets and toys, and
longed to share in the mild festivities of the pleasant house over
the way, but stood firm in spite of all Rosy's wiles, till something
unexpected happened to touch their hearts, conquer their foolish
pride, and crown the little peacemaker's efforts with success.
One August afternoon Cicely was discontentedly looking over her
small store of ornaments as she made ready for a party. She loved
gayety, and went about a great deal, leaving many duties undone, or
asking the little girl to attend to them for her, neglecting,
however, to show any gratitude for these small services so
cheerfully done.
As she sat tossing over her boxes, Button-Rose came in looking
tired and listless, for it was a hot day, and she had been out twice
to do errands for Cicely, besides trotting busily up and down to
wait on the old ladies while the young one put fresh ribbons on her
dress and curled her hair for the evening.
“Could I lie on your sofa, please, Cis? My head aches, and my legs
are SO tired,” said little Button, when her tap had been answered by
a sharp “What do you want, child?”
“No, I'm going to lie there myself and have a nap as soon as I'm
done here. It's cooler than the bed, and I must be fresh for
to-night,” said Cicely, too intent on her own affairs to see how
used up Rosy looked.
“Then could I look at your pretty things if I don't touch 'em?”
asked the child, longing to peep into the interesting boxes
scattered on the table.
“No, you can't! I'm busy, and don't want you asking questions and
meddling. Go away and let me alone.”
Cicely spoke crossly, and waved her hand with a warning gesture,
thereby upsetting the tray which held the beads of the necklace she
had decided to wear for want of something better.
“There, now see what you've done! Pick up every one, and be quick,
for I'm in a hurry.”
“But I didn't touch 'em,” began poor Button, as she crept about
hunting for the black and white beads that looked like very ugly
marbles.
“Don't talk; pick them up and then scamper; you are always in
mischief!” scolded Cis, vexed with herself, and the heat, and the
accident, and the whole world just then.
Rosy said no more, but several great tears dropped on the carpet as
she groped in corners, under the bed, and behind the chairs for the
run-aways; and when the last was found she put it in her tyrant's
hand, saying, with a wistful look,--
“I'm very sorry I troubled you. Seems to me if _I_ had a little
cousin, I'd love to have her play with my things, and I wouldn't be
cross to her. Now I'll go and try to AMOOSE myself with Bella; SHE
is always good to me.”
“Run along then. Thank goodness that doll came when it did, for I'm
tired of 'amoosing' small girls as well as old ladies,” said Cis,
busy with her beads, yet sorry she had been so petulant with patient
little Button, who seldom reproached her, being a cheery child, and
blessed with a sweet temper.
Rosy felt too languid to play; so when she had told Bella, the
London doll, her trials, and comforted herself with some kisses on
the waxen cheeks, she roamed away to the summer-house, which was
cool and quiet, longing for some one to caress her; for the little
heart was homesick and the little head ached badly.
The “button-hole” had been made, the alley swept out, to the great
dismay of the spiders, earwigs, and toads, who had fled to quieter
quarters, and Rosy had leave to go and come when she liked if Mr.
Dover did not object. He never did; and it was her greatest delight
to walk in the pretty garden at her own sweet will, always with the
hope of meeting its kindly owner, for now they were firm friends.
She had been too busy for a run there that day; and now, as she
peeped in, it looked so shady and inviting, and it seemed so natural
to turn to her dear “missionary man” for entertainment, that she
went straight up to his study window and peeped in.
He too seemed out of sorts that hot afternoon, for he sat leaning
his head on both hands at the desk strewn with piles of old letters.
Button-Rose's tender heart yearned over him at once, and stepping
quietly in at the long open window she went to him, saying in her
tenderest tone,--
“Does your head ache, sir? Let me soft it as I do Papa's; he says
that always makes it more better. Please let me? I'd love to
dearly.”
“Ah, my darling, I wish you could. But the pain is in my heart, and
nothing will ever cure it,” sighed Mr. Thomas, as he drew her close
and put his wrinkled yellow cheek to her soft one, which looked more
like a damask rose than usual.
“You have trials too, I s'pose. Mine trouble me to-day, so I came
over to see you. Shall I go away?” asked Rosy with a sigh and the
wistful look again.
“No, stay, and we will comfort each other. Tell me your troubles,
Button, and perhaps I can help them,” the kind old gentleman said as
he took her on his knee and stroked the curly head with a paternal
touch.
So Rosy told her latest grief, and never saw the smile that crept
about the lips that asked in a tone of deep interest,--
“Well, what do you mean to do to that unkind Cicely?”
“For a minute I wanted to slap her back when she tried to spat my
hands. Then I 'membered that Mamma said a kiss for a blow was a good
thing, so I picked up the beads and planned to do it; but Cis looked
SO cross I couldn't. If I had a pretty necklace I'd go and give it
to her, and then maybe she'd love me better.”
“My dear little missionary, you SHALL have beads to win the heart of
YOUR heathen, if that is all you need. See here; take anything you
like, and give it with the kiss.”
As he spoke, Mr. Dover pulled open a drawer in the desk and
displayed a delightful collection of pretty, quaint, and curious
trinkets picked up in foreign lands, and kept for keepsakes, since
no little daughters of his own lived to wear them.
“How perf'ly dorgeous!” cried Rosy, who often fell into baby talk
when excited; and plunging in her hands, she revelled for some
minutes in sandal-wood cases, carved ivory fans, silver bangles,
barbaric brooches, and necklaces of coral, shells, amber, and golden
coins, that jingled musically.
“What SHALL I take for her?” cried the little maid, bewildered by
such a mine of wealth. “You pick out one, Mr. Thomas, that will
please her so much, 'cause you never send her anything, and she
don't like it,” said Rosy, fearing that her own taste was not to be
trusted, as she liked the shells and shark's teeth ornaments best.
“No, I'll give YOU one, and you shall do as you like about giving it
to her. This, now, is really valuable and pretty, and any young lady
would like to wear it. It makes me think of you, my Button, for it
is like sunshine, and the word cut on the little heart means peace.”
Mr. Dover held up a string of amber beads with its carved amulet,
and swung it to and fro where the light shone through it till each
bead looked like a drop of golden wine.
“Yes, that is lovely, and it smells nice, too. She will be so
s'prised and pleased; I'll go and take it to her right away,” cried
Rosy, forgetting to ask anything for herself, in her delight at this
fine gift for Cis.
But as she lifted her head after he had fastened the clasp about her
neck, something in his face recalled the look it wore when she first
came in, and putting both hands upon his shoulders, she said in her
sweet little way,--
“You've made my troubles go away, can't I make yours? You are SO
kind to me, I'd love to help you if I could.”
“You do, my child, more than you know; for when I get you in my arms
it seems as if one of my poor babies had come back to me, and for a
minute I forget the three little graves far away in India.”
“Three!” cried Button, like a sad, soft echo; and she clung to the
poor man as if trying to fill the empty arms with the love and pity
that over-flowed the childish soul in her small body.
This was the comfort Mr. Thomas wanted, and for a few moments he
just cradled her on his hungry heart, crooning a Hindostanee
lullaby, while a few slow tears came dropping down upon the yellow
head, so like those hidden for years under the Indian flowers.
Presently he seemed to come back from the happy past to which the
old letters had carried him. He wiped his eyes, and Rosy's also,
with the big purple silk handkerchief, and pressing some very
grateful kisses on the hot cheeks, said cheerfully again,--
“God bless you, child, that's done me good! But don't let it sadden
you, dear; forget all about it, and tell no one what a sentimental
old fool I am.”
“I never truly will! Only when you feel sorry about the poor little
babies, let me come and give you cuddlings. They always make people
feel more better, and I love 'em, and don't get any now my dear
people are away.”
So the two made a tender little plan to comfort each other when
hearts were heavy with longings for the absent, and parted at the
small gate, both much cheered, and faster friends than ever.
Rosy hastened in with her peace-offering, forgetful now of headache
or loneliness as she sat patiently in the wide entry window-seat
listening till some sound in Cicely's room should show that she was
awake. Before that happened, however, poor Button fell asleep
herself, lulled by the quiet of the house,--for every one was
napping,--and dreamed that Mr. Dover stood waving a rainbow over
his head, while several Indian gods and three little girls were
dancing round him, hand in hand, to the tune of “Ring around a
rosy.”
A loud yawn roused her, and there was Cis peeping out of her door to
see what time it was by the old-fashioned clock on the landing. Up
scrambled the child, feeling dizzy and heavy-eyed, but so eager to
give pleasure that she lost no time in saying, as she swung the
necklace in the sunshine,--
“See! this is for you, if you like it more better than the
thunder-and-lightning marbles, as Cousin Penny calls the one you
were going to wear.”
“How lovely! Where DID you get it, child?” cried Cis, wide awake at
once, as she ran to the glass to try the effect of the new ornament
on her white neck.
“My dear Mr. Thomas gave it to me; but he said I could give it away
if I liked, and I want you to have it, 'cause it's ever so much
prettier than any you've got.”
“That's very kind of you, Chicken, but why not keep it yourself? You
like nice things as well as I do,” said Cicely, much impressed by
the value of the gift, for it was real amber, and the clasp of gold.
“Well, I've talked with Mr. Thomas about missionarying a great deal,
and he told me how he made the savinges good by giving them beads,
and things to eat, and being patient and kind to them. So I thought
I'd play be a missionary, and call this house Africa, and try to
make the people here behave more better,” answered Rosy, with such
engaging earnestness, as well as frankness, that Cis laughed, and
exclaimed,--
“You impertinent monkey, to call us heathen and try to convert us!
How do you expect to do it?”
“Oh, I'm getting on pretty well, only you don't CONVERT as quick as
some of the savinges did. I'll tell you about it;” and Button went
on eagerly. “Cousin Penny is the good old one, but rather fussy and
slow, so I'm kind and patient, and now she loves me and lets me do
things I like. She is my best one. Cousin Henny is my cannybel,
'cause she eats so much, and I please HER by bringing nice things
and getting her cushions ready. You are my baddest one, who is cross
to me, and fights, and raps my head, and slaps my hands; so I
thought some beads would be nice for you, and I bringed these
beauties. Mr. Thomas gave 'em to me when I told him my trials.”
Cicely looked angry, amused, and ashamed, as she listened to the
funny yet rather pathetic little play with which the lonely child
had tried to cheer herself and win the hearts of those about her.
She had the grace to blush, and offer back the necklace, saying in a
self-reproachful tone,--
“Keep your beads, little missionary, I'll be converted without them,
and try to be kinder to you. I AM a selfish wretch, but you shall
play be my little sister, and not have to go to strangers for
comfort in your trials any more. Come, kiss me, dear, and we'll
begin now.”
Rosy was in her arms at once, and clung there, saying with a face
all smiles,--
“That's what I wanted! I thought I'd make a good savinge of you if I
tried VERY hard. Please be kind to me just till Mamma comes back,
and I'll be the best little sister that ever was.”
“Why didn't you tell me all about it before?” asked Cicely,
smoothing the tired head on her shoulder with a new gentleness; for
this last innocent confession had touched her heart as well as her
conscience.
“You never seemed to care about my plays, and always said, 'Don't
chatter, child; run away and take care of yourself.' So I did; but
it was pretty dull, with only Tabby to tell secrets to and Bella to
kiss. Mr. Thomas said people over here didn't like children very
well, and I found they didn't. HE does, dearly, so I went to him;
but I like you now, you are so soft and kind to me.”
“How hot your cheeks are! Come and let me cool them, and brush your
hair for tea,” said Cis, as she touched the child's feverish skin,
and saw how heavy her eyes were.
“I'm all burning up, and my head is SO funny. I don't want any tea.
I want to lie on your sofa and go to sleep again. Can I?” asked
Rosy, with a dizzy look about the room, and a shiver at the idea of
eating.
“Yes, dear, I'll put on your little wrapper, and make you all
comfortable, and bring you some ice-water, for your lips are very
dry.”
As she spoke, Cicely bustled about the room, and soon had Rosy
nicely settled with her best cologne-bottle and a fan; then she
hastened down to report that something was wrong, with a fear in her
own heart that if any harm did come to the child it would be her
fault. Some days before Cicely had sent Button-Rose with a note to a
friend's house where she knew some of the younger children were ill.
Since then she had heard that it was scarlet fever; but though Rosy
had waited some time for an answer to the note, and seen one of the
invalids, Cis had never mentioned the fact, being ashamed to confess
her carelessness, hoping no harm was done. Now she felt that it HAD
come, and went to tell gentle Cousin Penny with tears of vain
regret.
Great was the lamentation when the doctor, who was sent for in hot
haste, pronounced it scarlet fever; and deep was the self-reproach
of the two older women for their blindness in not before remarking
the languid air and want of appetite in the child. But Cicely was
full of remorse; for every quick word, every rap of the hateful
thimble, every service accepted without thanks, weighed heavily on
her conscience now, as such things have an inconvenient way of doing
when it is too late to undo them. Every one was devoted to the
child, even lazy Miss Henny gave up her naps to sit by her at all
hours, Miss Penny hovered over the little bed like a grandmother,
and Cicely refused to think of pleasure till the danger was over.
For soon Button-Rose was very ill, and the old house haunted by the
dreadful fear that death would rob them of the little creature who
grew so precious when the thought of losing her made their hearts
stand still. How could they live without the sound of that sweet
voice chirping about the house, the busy feet tripping up and down,
the willing hands trying to help, the sunny face smiling at every
one, and going away into corners to hide the tears that sometimes
came to dim its brightness? What would comfort the absent mother for
such a loss as this, and how could they answer to the father for the
carelessness that risked the child's life for a girl's errand? No
one dared to think, and all prayed heartily for Rosy's life, as they
watched and waited by the little bed where she lay so patiently,
till the fever grew high and she began to babble about many things.
Her childish trials were all told, her longings for Mamma, whose
place no one could fill, her quaint little criticisms upon those
about her, and her plans for making peace. These innocent
revelations caused many tears, and wrought some changes in those who
heard; for Miss Penny quite forgot her infirmities to live in the
sick-room as the most experienced nurse and tenderest watcher. Miss
Henny cooked her daintiest gruel, brewed her coolest drinks, and
lost many pounds in weight by her indefatigable trotting up and down
to minister to the invalid's least caprice. Cicely was kept away for
fear of infection, but HER penance was to wander about the great
house, more silent than ever now, to answer the inquiries and listen
to the sad forebodings of the neighbors, who came to offer help and
sympathy; for all loved little Button-Rose, and grieved to think of
any blight falling on the pretty blossom. To wile away the long
hours, Cicely fell to dusting the empty rooms, setting closets and
drawers to rights, and keeping all fresh and clean, to the great
relief of the old cousins, who felt that everything would go to
destruction in their absence. She read and sewed now, having no
heart for jaunting about; and as she made the long neglected white
pinafores, for Rosy, she thought much of the little girl who might
never live to wear them.