MILLY VISITING.
Winter passed, spring came, and April was half over before the twin
cousins met again. Then it was Milly's turn to go to Laurel Grove to see
Flaxie. She had written a postal-card slowly, and with great pains, to
say "she should be there to-morrow if it was pleasant."
But how it did rain! It had rained for two days as if the sky meant to
pour itself away in tears; but on Wednesday the sun came rushing through
the clouds, his face all aglow with smiles, and put an end to such
dismal business. The rain ceased, the clouds scampered away and hid
themselves, and the sky cleared up as bright as if nothing had ever been
the matter.
Sweet little Milly looked out of the window, heard the birds sing, and
whispered in her heart:
"Oh, how kind God is to give me a good day to go to Laurel Grove!"
She didn't own a pretty valise of brown canvas with leather straps like
Flaxie's. All in the world she had was an old bandbox trunk that
belonged to her mother, and she took no care of that, for Milly never
"travelled alone."
"Well, little sobersides," said her father, putting the check in his
pocket, the ticket in his hat, and opening a car-window before he sat
down beside Milly. "Well, little sobersides, are you glad you're going
visiting?"
"Yes, sir," said she, her eyes shining. She didn't laugh and clap her
hands quite as much as Flaxie did, but you always knew when she was
happy by the glad look in her eyes.
"I hope you two little folks won't get into too much mischief at Laurel
Grove. Are you going to school?"
"Yes, sir; and oh, it's such an elegant schoolhouse!"
"Well, don't set it on fire."
Milly blushed.
"But the teacher isn't half so nice as Miss Pike."
The dear little girl had not been at Laurel Grove for a long while, but
all the people in town seemed to remember her,--Mr. Lane the minister,
Mr. Snow the postmaster, and everybody they met in the street. Her
father noticed how they smiled upon her, as if they loved her, and it
made his heart glad.
Preston drove his uncle and cousin home from the depot, but he almost
ran into a lumber-wagon, and Mr. Allen thought he was too young a boy to
be trusted with such a fiery horse as Whiz. Flaxie sat with him on the
front seat of the carriage, dancing up and down, and turning around to
say to Milly:
"Oh, I'm so happy I can't keep still." She looked like a bluebird, in
her blue dress and sash, with a white chip bonnet, blue ribbon and blue
feather, and Milly thought there was not another such girl in the world.
It was a charming place at Dr. Gray's, and the house was full of
beautiful things, such as Milly did not see at her own home; but that
never made her discontented or unhappy. If God gave Flaxie prettier
things than He gave her, it was because He thought best to do so, and
that was enough for Milly.
"O Aunt Emily, _are_ you glad to see me?" said she, as Mrs. Gray kissed
her over and over again.
"Yes, I'm just as glad as I can be, and I wish you were my own little
girl," said Mrs. Gray, who had five children already.
The "little bit-of-est" one was a year old now, and didn't know Milly at
all, but Phil know her and prattled away to her so fast that nobody else
could be heard.
That afternoon she and Flaxie were in the stable, feeding Whiz with
lumps of sugar, while the dog, Tantra Bogus, capered about them, giving
their cheeks a "thou-sand" kisses with his long, loving tongue.
"Stop, Tantra Bogus; now we'll have to go and wash our faces," said
Flaxie.
As they entered the kitchen by the outside door they met Mrs. Gray
standing there talking to Preston.
"Here is a cup of jelly," said she, "and I'd like to have you take it to
Sammy Proudfit."
This was Wednesday afternoon, and Preston was starting to go about half
a mile up town to recite an extra lesson to his teacher, Mr. Garland.
"Oh, you're coming too, are you?" said he, looking around at Flaxie and
Milly, who were skipping along behind him, drawing a handsome doll's
carriage.
"Yes, we are going up on the bank to play with Blanche Jones and Fanny
Townsend: mamma said we might," replied Flaxie, dancing.
Preston was very glad of the company of two such happy little girls,
only he forgot to say so.
"And we've built a house of birch bark under the trees. But it hasn't
any stove-pipe!" said Flaxie, who had never forgotten that unfortunate
house that Jack built.
"And we're going to have a doll's party in it," remarked Milly.
"Oh, no, not a party, it's a _reception_," corrected Flaxie; "that's
what Fanny Townsend says they call 'em in Washington. My biggest dolly,
Christie Gretchen, is going to receive. Oh, you don't know how
beautifully she's dressed! And all the other dollies are coming to call
on her, with the cunningest little cards in their pockets."
"Oh, do your dollies play cards?"
"No, indeed; it's _visiting_ cards,--don't you know?--with their names
printed on them, just like ladies. Ninny did that."
As they chattered in this way they were drawing near the Proudfit house,
which stood at the foot of the hill, and little Milly sang,
"There was an old woman lived under the hill;"
Preston sang to the same tune:
"And she had a little boy who was not very ill,
And he went to bed, and he lies there still."
"Why, Preston Gray, did you make that all up yourself?" cried Flaxie,
amazed at his genius.
But there was no time for more poetry, even if Preston had been able to
make it, for they were standing now at the door. It was an old,
tumble-down house. The children called it black, and in fact it was a
sort of slate-color, though it had never been painted at all, except by
the sun, wind, and rain. In the road before it three dirty children were
poking sand, and they looked so shabby that Milly whispered:
"I shouldn't think they'd be called _Proudfits_: they don't look very
proud!"
"No," replied Preston, trying to be witty, "the name doesn't _fit_."
Mrs. Proudfit was changing Sammy's pillow-cases when she heard the
children knock, and came to the door with a pillow between her teeth.
She was "proper glad of the jelly," as Preston thought she ought to be.
There was a smell of hot gingerbread in the air, which reminded Flaxie
of the time ever so long ago, when she had taken supper in that house
without leave; and there was Patty at the window this minute making
faces. It is strange how things change to you as you grow older! Flaxie
never cared to visit at that house now, for Patty wasn't a nice little
girl at all; she not only teased away your playthings, but told wrong
stories.
"Our baby's two months old, and he's got two teeth!" cried she, as
Flaxie turned away; but nobody believed her.
The twin cousins and their little friends had a gay time that afternoon
on the bank, and Christie Gretchen "received" with great dignity; but I
have no time to talk of that now, I want to tell you something about
Preston.
When they reached Mr. Garland's house, the little girls left him, and he
walked up the gravel path to Mr. Garland's front door and rang the bell
with a sober face.
"I don't believe I can say my lesson, and Mr. Garland will think I'm a
dunce," said he to himself, with a quivering lip.
Now Preston Gray was remarkably handsome, and one of the dearest boys
that ever lived, but not a great scholar. He could whittle chairs and
sofas and churns for Flaxie with a jackknife, and I don't know how many
ships and steam-engines he had made; but he did not learn his lessons
very well.
To-day, after the recitation was over, Mr. Garland walked with him
along the bank of the river.
"Preston, my fine little fellow," said he, kindly, "I can't bear to
scold a boy I love so dearly; but I've been afraid for some time that
you don't study this term as hard as usual; what's the matter?"
Tears sprang to Preston's eyes, but he brushed them off and pretended to
be looking the other way.
"Now, seriously, what _do_ you suppose boys were made for?" went on Mr.
Garland, without the least idea Preston was crying; "you don't suppose
they were made on purpose to play and have a good time?"
"I don' know, sir," replied Preston, clearing his throat, and trying to
laugh; "perhaps they were made to play a good deal, you know, because
they can't play when they grow to be men."
"Ah, Preston, Preston, I am not joking with you at all. If you were a
small child like your sister Flaxie it would not matter so much whether
you studied or not, but your father expects a great deal of his oldest
son, and it grieves me to have to say to him--"
"Oh, don't, don't," wailed poor little Preston, "I'll do anything in the
world if you won't talk to my father; I'll take my books home,
I'll--I'll--"
"There, there, never mind it," said soft-hearted Mr. Garland, moved by
the boy's distress, "if you really mean to do better--Why, look out,
child, you'd have fallen over that stump if I hadn't pulled you back.
Where in the world were your eyes?"
"I was looking at that big woman across the street," stammered Preston;
"how funny she walks!"
"Woman? What woman? Why, that's a boy with a wheelbarrow," exclaimed
Mr. Garland, in great surprise.
Preston blushed with all his might and dropped his chin.
"Please, don't tell anybody I took a wheelbarrow for a woman! They'd
laugh at me. Of course I knew better as soon as I came to think."
Mr. Garland stopped suddenly and stared at Preston.
"Look up here into my face, my boy."
Preston raised his beautiful brown eyes,--those _good_ eyes, which won
everybody's love and trust; and his teacher gazed at them earnestly.
But Mr. Garland was not admiring their beauty or their gentle
expression. He saw something else in Preston's eyes which startled him
and gave him a pang. Not tears, for those had been dashed away, but a
sort of thin mist lay over them, like that which veils the sun in cloudy
weather.
"Can it be possible? Why, Preston, why, Preston, my boy," said Mr.
Garland, taking the young face gently between his hands, "when did
things begin to blur so and look dim to you?"
Preston did not answer.
"Tell me; don't be afraid."
"It's been," replied Preston, choking, "it's been a long while. The sun
isn't so bright somehow as it was; and oh, Mr. Garland, the print in my
books isn't so black as it used to be! But I didn't want to make a fuss
about it, and have father know it."
"Why not?"
"Oh, he'd give me medicine, I suppose."
"My boy, my poor boy, you ought to have told him."
"Do you think so? Well, I hoped I'd get better, you know."
"Preston, is this the reason you don't learn your lessons any better?"
"I don't know. Yes, sir, I think so. I can't read the words in my books
very well."
"You poor, blessed child! Growing blind," thought Mr. Garland; but did
not say the words aloud.
"And I have to sit in the sun to see."
"I wish I had known this before, and I wouldn't have complained when you
had bad lessons. Why didn't you tell me, you patient soul!"
"Oh, I don't know, sir; you didn't ask me."
"Good night," said Mr. Garland, in an unsteady voice. "And don't you
study to-morrow one word. You may sit and draw pictures all day long if
you like."
Preston smiled. He did not know what made his dear teacher say this,
and place his hand on his shoulder so tenderly; but he was glad of it,
very glad; for now it was certain that Mr. Garland would not blame him
any more; and he ran home with a light heart.