In that rocky part of New York State called Sullivan County lived a poor
widow and her little daughter.
The cold weather was approaching--the trees showed that; the maples were
in flames, and the surrounding woods had such varied leafage that at a
distance they looked like the border of an Indian shawl. Yes, cold
weather was approaching, and the widow said one morning, as she came up
from the cellar, "Well, Nannie, we have potatoes enough to last all
winter, so we sha'n't starve; but what ever we shall have to wear I
don't know. I can't _buy_ any clothes, that is certain."
"We'll wear our old ones," said Nannie.
"They ain't fit for carpet-rags, child. We must stay in the house all
winter, I guess, unless we want to freeze to death."
Nannie grew grave, and her brown eyes were full of trouble, as she
listened. She had not thought of clothes all summer; she had trotted
about in her little calico dress as happy as a sparrow; and now she felt
very much like that same sparrow when he sees the first snow-flakes come
drifting through the air.
What could she do to help her mother? If it were something to eat, it
would not be so difficult; she could pick up nuts--lots of them; but
something to _wear_: that was a great deal harder. So she sat on the
door-step puzzling her little brains, until her eyes happened to fall
upon a necklace she had that morning made of scarlet mountain-ash
berries, and a brilliant idea occurred to her: she would make a dress of
leaves--of bright red leaves.
"I can make it just as easy," she said to herself; "I won't say a word
to mother till it's all done. Won't she be glad when she sees me dressed
up so nice? And then I'll tell her I can make _lots_ of things just like
it."
She had a spool of thread in her pocket, and a needle carefully stuck in
her frock, so she had only to run off to the woods, without bothering
any one.
Once there Nannie had no trouble in finding leaves enough, bright red
ones, too--so red that they made her blink when she held them out in the
sunlight. She filled her apron with those scattered on the ground, and
picked a huge bunch of long rush-like grasses that grew in a small
clearing; then seated herself on a low stone, ready for work, surrounded
by scarlet and gold like a little empress.
The tiny fingers proved very deft, and the tiny brain very ingenious.
Leaf overlapping leaf, like the scales of a fish, they were sewn on the
grass stems, until a garment was shaped resembling what is fashionably
called a princesse dress. The sleeves Nannie could not manage, so
instead she put shoulder-straps with epaulets of leaves. She could
hardly keep from dancing, she felt so delighted at the success of her
plan. On went the gay suit of armor gleefully, but slowly, lest it
should be harmed.
"Don't I look pretty?" sighed Nannie, in perfect content, as she glanced
down at her leafy skirt; "but I can't wear that old sun-bonnet. I must
make a new hat too."
Again the thread and needle, grass and leaves, were called into service.
This time a queer comical cap, like Robinson Crusoe's, placed jauntily
on her head, turned her into a wood-sprite indeed.
She primly picked her way through the wood, avoiding every brier as if
it were poison-ivy, until she reached the opening; here she stood
suddenly still, rooted to the spot by wonder. A man, a stranger, was
there, sitting on a funny crooked kind of bench, doing something to a
big board fastened to three long sticks in front of him. He seemed
nearly as wonder-struck as Nannie for a moment; then, as she was about
to move, he called out, "Who in the world are you, little fairy, and who
dressed you up like that?"
He looked so pleasant that Nannie gave him a laugh for his smile, and
answered promptly, "I did it my own self; ain't it pretty?"
"Yes, indeed; and what made you think of such a pretty dress?"
Then Nannie's little tongue being loosened, she told him all about
it--how poor they were that year, and how badly her mother felt; in
fact, chattered over all her small history, some parts of which made the
stranger's blue eyes misty, while others made him smile, whereat Nannie
had always to laugh in return--she very seldom smiled.
"Now," said the stranger, "do you think you could stand still for a
short time?"
Nannie at once became motionless, and the stranger began to work away at
the big board before him with some very thin sticks. Once in a while he
would say, "There, you may move now; sit down on that stone and rest."
Then Nannie would sit down until he asked if she felt like standing
again, when she would spring to her feet and take her former position.
She was beginning to feel very tired--so tired that her little tongue
was quiet--when he said, "That will do, little one; come and look at
this."
And she came beside him. Why, there she was on the board, scarlet dress
and all; her black curls ruffling about her head, her big brown eyes
wide open, and her cheeks as pink as king apples.
"Why, that's me!" she cried.
"Of course it is," laughed the stranger.
"Why, ain't I pretty!--only I wish I had my shoes on. I've got a pair in
the house, but I only wear 'em in winter."
"It looks prettier in the picture without shoes," said the artist.
Then he told her that she had been a very good little girl; and taking a
piece of something like green paper from his pocket, put it in her hand,
saying,
"Give this to your mother, and tell her to buy you a nice warm dress
with it. I am coming to see you to-morrow; and now good-by, little
maid."
Then he stooped down and kissed her, and she ran away up the hill-side,
covered with red leaves, and holding a green leaf in her hand--a
wonderful green leaf, as she afterward discovered.
She rushed into the cottage like a small cannon-ball, and startled her
mother not a little, appearing in such strange attire, and too
breathless to tell her story except in excited snatches that puzzled
more than they explained, and for a short time the widow thought that a
three-legged man had stolen Nannie's clothes, and was coming to-morrow
to steal hers; but as soon as Nannie regained breath she made her
understand the real state of the case.
"Wonder what he is?" said the mother, puzzled. "Three sticks--a big
board."
After long cogitation she decided that he must be "one of them
archertics from New York as took your photergraph."
"He's real kind, anyway," she added. "Why, child, he's give you _ten
dollars_!"
"Ten dollars!" gasped Nannie, with an overwhelming sense of wealth.
Next morning the stranger appeared in good season, and won the widow's
heart by his courtesy.
"Jest as polite as if I was the minister's wife," she afterward told
Nannie.
He explained the mystery of the big board and three sticks, and showed
how they were used, getting Nannie to stand for him again in her dress
of leaves.
Nannie opened her eyes when he told her that her picture was going to
New York to hang in "a great big room called the Academy." "At least I
_hope_ so," he added, laughing.
He came many following mornings, always to paint Nannie, getting more
interested every time in the simple-hearted widow and her bright little
child, while they in turn delighted in his visits, his stories, and his
painting.
At last the day came when he had to go back to the city. Nannie cried
her eyes as red as the maple leaves, and they all felt that "good-by"
was a very miserable word.
So the stranger went away, and the widow tried to console herself and
Nannie by making a journey to the nearest town, and laying out the
wonderful ten dollars in warm clothing for Nannie; but though Nannie got
very busy and happy over her shopping, she did not forget her stranger
friend, and felt even bright red flannel a very poor substitute for kind
blue eyes.
Nannie spent the long white months very merrily, romping by day and
sleeping by night, only one thing happening to vary the quiet life: at
Christmas came a letter and a box of goodies from the stranger, then all
went on as before.
By-and-by winter turned to spring in town and country, the spring
fashions of one doing duty for the spring leaves of the other; and among
the pleasantest of spring fashions in New York is--the Exhibition of
that "great big room called the Academy," about which the stranger had
told Nannie so much. And this fair April upon its walls hung the picture
of a bright-faced little girl, clad and capped with scarlet leaves,
coming out of the dim gray woods.
Of all the many visitors there not one passed it by unnoticed; young
ladies all beauty and old ladies all back-bone and eyeglasses, artists
gray-headed and young fellows just from Paris, one and all, and many
more, stopped to admire the brown-eyed child so quaintly garmented. The
morning and the evening papers, too, did not overlook it, but patted the
young artist kindly with their pens. Rich people talked about it, and
the richest bought it for the sake of saying that "the gem of the
Exhibition" was in his gallery.
A few days after this a letter, registered and stamped carefully enough
to carry it to China, had that been its destination, came to Nannie and
her mother--a letter from the stranger, telling all about it, and
sending to his "little good genius" a check for _fifty dollars_.
What other wonderful things were the result of that queer dress of
leaves may perhaps be told some day.
[Illustration]