A PARTY OF PLEASURE.
On a certain lovely afternoon the three happiest people in the world (so
they styled themselves, and they ought to know) were gathered together
in a certain spot, which was _next_ to the prettiest spot in the world.
"You should have had _the_ prettiest, Pink," said Hilda, "but we could
not get your chair down into the glen, you know. My poor, dear Pink, you
have never seen the glen, have you?"
"No," answered Pink Chirk, cheerily. "But I have heard so much about it,
I really feel as if I had seen it, almost. And indeed I don't think it
_can_ be much lovelier than this place."
However that might be, the place they had chosen was certainly pretty
enough to satisfy any one. Not far from Mrs. Chirk's cottage was a
little pine-grove, easy of access, and with trees far enough apart to
allow the wheeled chair to pass between them. And in the grove, just in
a little open space where two or three trees had been cut away, was a
great black rock, with ferns growing in all its cracks and crannies, and
a tiny birch-tree waving like a green and white plume on its top. And at
the foot of the rock--oh, what a wonderful thing!--a slender thread of
crystal water came trickling out, as cold as ice and as clear as--as
itself; for nothing else could be so clear. Bubble had made a little
wooden trough to hold this fairy stream, and it gurgled along the trough
and tumbled over the end of it with as much agitation and consequence as
if it were the Niagara River in person. And under the rock and beside
the stream was a bank of moss and ferns most lovely to behold, most
luxurious to sit upon. On this bank sat Queen Hildegarde, with Bubble
at her feet as usual; and beside her, in her chair, sat sweet Pink,
looking more like a white rose than ever, with her fresh white dimity
gown and her pretty hat. Hilda was very busy over a mysterious-looking
basket, from whose depths she now drew a large napkin, which she spread
on the smooth green moss. A plate of sandwiches came next, and some cold
chicken, and six of Dame Hartley's wonderful apple-turnovers.
"Now, Bubble," said Hilda, "where are those birch-bark cups that you
made for us? I have brought nothing to drink out of."
"I'll fetch 'em, Miss Hildy," cried Bubble, springing up with alacrity.
"I clean forgot 'em. Say, Pink, shall I--? would you?" and he made
sundry enigmatical signs to his sister.
"Yes, certainly," said Pink; "of course."
The boy ran off, and Hilda fell to twisting pine tassels together into a
kind of fantastic garland, while Pink looked on with beaming eyes.
"Pink," said Hilda, presently, "how is it that you speak so differently
from Bubble and your mother,--so much better English, I mean? Have
you--but no; you told me you never went to school."
"It was Faith," said Pink, with a look of tender sadness,--"Faith
Hartley. She wanted to be a teacher, and we studied together always.
Dear Faith! I wish you had known her, Miss Graham."
"You promised not to call me Miss Graham again, Pink," said Hildegarde,
reproachfully. "It is absurd, and I won't have it."
"Well, Hilda, then," said Pink, shyly. "I wish you had known Faith,
Hilda; you would have loved her very much, I know."
"I am sure I should," said Hilda, warmly. "Tell me more about her. Why
did she want to teach when she was so happy at home?"
"She loved children very much," said Pink, "and liked to be with them.
She thought that if she studied hard, she could teach them more than
the district school teachers about here generally do, and in a better
way. I think she would have done a great deal of good," she added,
softly.
"Oh! _why_ did she die?" cried Hilda. "She was so much needed! It broke
her father's heart, and her mother's, and almost yours, my Pink. Why was
it right for her to die?"
"It _was_ right, dear," said Pink, gently; "that is all we can know.
'Why' isn't answered in this world. My granny used to say,--
"'Never lie!
Never pry!
Never ask the reason why!'"
Hilda shook her head, and was about to reply earnestly; but at this
moment Bubble came bounding back with something in his arms,--something
covered with an old shawl; something alive, which did not like the
shawl, and which struggled, and made plaintive little noises, which the
boy tried vainly to repress.
[Illustration: "'SAY, MISS HILDY,--DO YOU LIKE PURPS?'"]
"Say, Miss Hildy," he cried, eagerly, "do ye like--be still, ye critter;
hesh, I tell ye!--do you like purps?"
"'Purps,' Bubble?" repeated Hilda, wonderingly. "What are they? And what
have you there,--your poor old cat? Let her go! For shame, you naughty
boy!"
"Puppies, he means," whispered Pink.
"'Cause if ye do," cried the breathless Bubble, still struggling with
his shrouded captive, "I've got one here as--Wal, thar! go 'long, ye
pesky critter, if ye _will_!" for the poor puppy had made one frantic
effort, and leaped from his arms to the ground, where it rolled over and
over, a red and green plaid mass, with a white tail sticking out of one
end. On being unrolled, it proved to be a little snow-white, curly
creature, with long ears and large, liquid eyes, whose pathetic glance
went straight to Hilda's heart.
"Oh, the little darling!" she cried, taking him up in her arms; "the
pretty, pretty creature! Is he really for me, Bubble? Thank you very
much. I shall love him dearly, I know."
"I'm glad ye like him," said Bubble, looking highly gratified. "Hosy
Grout giv him an' another one to me yes'day, over 't the village. He was
goin' to drownd 'em, an' I wouldn' let him, an' he said I might hev 'em
ef I wanted 'em. I knew Pink would like to hev one, an' I thought mebbe
you liked critters, an' so--"
"Good Bubble!" said Hilda, stroking the little dog's curly head. "And
what shall I call him, Pink? Let us each think of a name, and then
choose the best."
There was a pause, and then Bubble said, "Call him Scott, after the bold
Buckle-oh!"
"Or Will, for 'the wily Belted Will,'" said Pink, who was as inveterate
a ballad-lover as her brother.
"I think Jock is a good name," said Hildegarde,--"Jock o' Hazeldean, you
know. I think I will call him Jock." The others assented, and the
puppy was solemnly informed of the fact, and received a chicken-bone in
honor of the occasion. Then the three friends ate their dinner, and very
merry they were over it. Hildegarde crowned Pink with the pine-tassel
wreath, and declared that she looked like a priestess of Diana.
"No, she don't," said Bubble, looking up from his cold chicken; "she
looks like Lars Porsena of Clusium sot in his ivory cheer, on'y she
ain't f'erce enough. Hold up yer head, Pinky, an' look real savage, an'
I'll do Horatius at the Bridge."
Pink did her best to look savage, and Zerubbabel stood up and delivered
"Horatius" with much energy and appropriate action, to the great
amusement of his audience. A stout stick, cut from a neighboring
thicket, served for the "good Roman steel;" and with this he cut and
slashed and stabbed with furious energy, reciting the lines meanwhile
with breathless ferocity. He slew the "great Lord of Luna," and on the
imaginary body he--
"Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel."
But when he cried--
"What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer?"
the puppy, who had been watching the scene with kindling eyes, and ears
and tail of eager inquiry, could bear it no longer, but flung himself
valiantly into the breach, and barked defiance, dancing about in front
of Horatius and snapping furiously at his legs. Alas, poor puppy! He was
hailed as "Sextus," and bade "welcome" by the bold Roman, who forthwith
charged upon him, and drove him round and round the grove till he sought
safety and protection in the lap of Lars Porsena herself. Then the
bridge came down, and Horatius, climbing nimbly to the top of the rock,
apostrophized his Father Tiber, sheathed his good sword by his side
(_i.e._, rammed his stick into and _through_ his breeches pocket), and
with his jacket on his back plunged headlong in the tide, and swam
valiantly across the pine-strewn surface of the little glade.
Bubble's performance was much applauded by the two girls, who, in the
characters of Lars Porsena and Mamilius, "Prince of the Latian name,"
had surveyed the whole with dignified amazement. And when the boy,
exhausted with his heroic exertions, threw himself down on the
pine-needles and begged "Miss Hildy" to sing to them, she readily
consented, and sang "Jock o' Hazeldean" and "Come o'er the stream,
Charlie!" so sweetly that the little fat birds sat still on the branches
to listen. A faint glow stole into Pink's wan cheek, and her blue eyes
sparkled with pleasure; while Bubble bobbed his head, and testified his
delight by drumming with his heels on the ground and begging for more.
"A ballid now, Miss Hildy, please," he cried.
"Well," said Hildegarde, nothing loth, "what shall it be?"
"One with some fightin' in it," replied Bubble, promptly.
So Hildegarde began:--
"Down Deeside cam Inverey,
Whistling and playing;
He's lighted at Brackley gates
At the day's dawing."
And went on to tell of the murder of "bonnie Brackley" and of the
treachery of his young wife:--
"There's grief in the kitchen,
And mirth in the ha';
But the Baron o' Brackley
Is dead and awa'."
So the ballad ended, leaving Bubble full of sanguinary desires anent the
descendants of the false Inverey. "I--I--I'd like jest to git holt o'
some o' them fellers!" he exclaimed. "They wouldn't go slaughterin'
round no gret amount when I'd finished with em', I tell ye!" And he
flourished his stick, and looked so fierce that the puppy yelped
piteously, expecting another onslaught.
"And now, Pink," said Hilda, "we have just time for a story before we go
home. Bubble has told me about your stories, and I want very much to
hear one."
"Oh, Hilda, they are not worth telling twice!" protested Pink; "I just
make them for Bubble when he takes me out on Sunday. It's all I can do
for the dear lad."
"Don't you mind her, Miss Hildy," said Bubble; "they're fustrate
stories, an' she tells 'em jest like p--'rithmetic. Go ahead, Pink! Tell
the one about the princess what looked in the glass all the time."
So Pink, in her low, sweet voice, told the story of
THE VAIN PRINCESS.
Once upon a time there lived a princess who was so beautiful that it was
a wonder to look at her. But she was also very vain; and her beauty was
of no use or pleasure to anybody, for she sat and looked in her mirror
all day long, and never thought of doing anything else.
The mirror was framed in beaten gold, but the gold was not so bright as
her shining locks; and all about its rim great sapphires were set, but
they were dim and gray, compared with the blue of her lovely eyes. So
there she sat all day in a velvet chair, clad in a satin gown with
fringes of silver and pearl; and nobody in the world was one bit the
better for her or her beauty.
Now, one day the princess looked at herself so long and so earnestly
that she fell fast asleep in her velvet chair, with the golden mirror in
her lap. While she slept, a gust of wind blew the casement window open,
and a rose that was growing on the wall outside peeped in. It was a poor
little feeble white rose, which had climbed up the wall in a straggling
fashion, and had no particular strength or beauty or sweetness. Every
one who saw it from the outside said, "What a wretched little plant!
Why is it not cut down?" and the rose trembled when it heard this, for
it was as fond of life as if it were beautiful, and it still hoped for
better days. Inside, no one thought about it at all; for the beautiful
princess never left her chair to open the window.
Now, when the rose saw the princess it was greatly delighted, for it had
often heard of her marvellous beauty. It crept nearer and nearer, and
gazed at the golden wonder of her hair, her ivory skin under which the
blushes came and went as she slept, and her smiling lips. "Ah!" sighed
the rose, "if I had only a tinge of that lovely red, I should be finer
than all the other roses." And as it gazed, the thought came into its
mind: "Why should I not steal a little of this wondrous beauty? Here it
is of no use to anybody. If I had it, I would delight every one who
passed by with my freshness and sweetness, and people would be the
better for seeing a thing so lovely."
So the rose crept to the princess's feet, and climbed up over her satin
gown, and twined about her neck and arms, and about her lovely golden
head. And it stole the blush from her cheek, and the crimson from her
lips, and the gold from her hair. And the princess grew pale and paler;
but the rose blushed red and redder, and its golden heart made the room
bright, and its sweetness filled the air. It grew and grew, and now new
buds and leaves and blossoms appeared; and when at last it left the
velvet chair and climbed out of the casement again, it was a glorious
plant, such as had never before been seen. All the passers-by stopped to
look at it and admire it. Little children reached up to pluck the
glowing blossoms, and sick and weary people gained strength and courage
from breathing their delicious perfume. The world was better and happier
for the rose, and the rose knew it, and was glad.
But when the princess awoke, she took up her golden mirror again, and
looking in it, saw a pale and wrinkled and gray-haired woman looking at
her. Then she shrieked, and flung the mirror on the ground, and rushed
out of her palace into the wide world. And wherever she went she cried,
"I am the beautiful princess! Look at me and see my beauty; for I will
show it to you now!" But nobody looked at her, for she was withered and
ugly; and nobody cared for her, because she was selfish and vain. So she
made no more difference in the world than she had made before. But the
rose is blossoming still, and fills the air with its sweetness.
* * * * *
"My Pink," said Hildegarde, tenderly, as she walked beside her friend's
chair on their homeward way, "you are shut up like the princess; but
instead of the rose stealing your sweetness, you have stolen the
sweetness of all the roses, and taken it into your prison with you."
"I 'shut up,' Hilda?" cried Pink, opening wide eyes of wonder and
reproach. "Do you call _this_ being shut up? See what I have had to-day!
Enough pleasure to think about for a year. And even without it,--even
before you came, Hilda,--why, I am the happiest girl in the world, and I
ought to be."
Hildegarde stooped and kissed the pale forehead. "Yes, dear, I think you
are," she said; "but I should like you to have all the pleasant and
bright and lovely things in the world, my Pink."
"Well, I have the best of them," said Pink Chirk, smiling
brightly,--"home and love, and friends and flowers. And as for the rest,
why, dear Hilda, what _is_ the use in thinking about things one has
not?"
After this, which was part of Pink's little code of philosophy, she fell
a-musing happily, while Hilda walked beside her in a kind of silent
rage, almost hating herself for the fulness of vigor, the superabundant
health and buoyancy, which she felt in every limb. She looked sidelong
at the transparent cheek, the wasted frame, the unearthly radiance of
the blue eyes. This girl was just her own age, and had never walked! It
could not, it _must_ not, be so always. Thoughts thronged into her mind
of the great New York physicians and the wonders they had wrought. Might
it not be possible? Could not something be done? The blood coursed more
quickly through her veins, and she laid her hand on that of the crippled
girl with a sudden impulse of protection and tenderness.
Pink Chirk looked up with a wondering smile. "Why, Hildegarde," she
said, "you look like the British warrior queen you told me about
yesterday. I was just thinking what a comfort it is to live now, instead
of in those dreadful murdering times that the ballads tell of."
"I _druther_ ha' lived then!" cried Bubble, from behind the chair. "If I
hed, I'd ha' got hold o' that Inverey feller."