Bessie at the Sea-Side
by Joanna H. Mathews · English · Gutenberg #44780 · 352,066 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Bessie at the Sea-Side
Author: Joanna H. Mathews
Release date: January 28, 2014 [eBook #44780]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE ***
BESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE
_BOOKS BY JOANNA H. MATHEWS._
I. THE BESSIE BOOKS.
6 vols. In a box. $7.50.
SEASIDE $1.25
CITY 1.25
FRIENDS 1.25
MOUNTAINS 1.25
SCHOOL 1.25
TRAVELS 1.25
II. THE FLOWERETS
A SERIES OF STORIES ON THE COMMANDMENTS.
6 vols. In a box. $3.60.
VIOLET'S IDOL.
DAISY'S WORK.
ROSE'S TEMPTATION.
LILY'S LESSON.
HYACINTHE AND HER BROTHERS.
PINKIE AND THE RABBITS.
III. LITTLE SUNBEAMS.
6 vols. In a box. $6.00.
BELLE POWERS' LOCKET.
DORA'S MOTTO. 16mo.
LILY NORRIS' ENEMY.
JESSIE'S PARROT.
MAMIE'S WATCHWORD.
NELLIE'S HOUSEKEEPING.
IV. KITTY AND LULU BOOKS.
6 vols. In a box. $6.00.
TOUTOU AND PUSSY.
KITTY'S ROBINS.
THE WHITE RABBIT.
RUDIE'S GOAT.
KITTY'S VISIT.
KITTY'S SCRAP-BOOK.
V. MISS ASHTON'S GIRLS.
1. FANNY'S BIRTHDAY $1.25
2. THE NEW SCHOLARS 1.25
3. ROSALIE'S PET 1.25
4. ELEANOR'S VISIT 1.25
5. MABEL WALTON 1.25
VI. HAPS AND MISHAPS.
6 vols. In a box. $7.50.
1. LITTLE FRIENDS $1.25
2. THE BROKEN MALLET 1.25
3. BLACKBERRY JAM 1.25
4. MILLY'S WHIMS 1.25
5. LILIES AND THISTLEDOWN 1.25
6. UNCLE JOE'S THANKSGIVING 1.25
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
_New York_.
[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE.
Bessie at Sea Side.]
_BESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE._
_BY_
_JOANNA H. MATHEWS_
"And a Little Child shall lead them."
_NEW YORK:
Robert Carter & Brothers_,
530 BROADWAY.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
To my dear Mother,
_Whose "children arise up and call her blessed,"_
IS THIS LITTLE VOLUME
_Lovingly and gratefully dedicated_
CONTENTS.
PAGE
_I. The Sea-Shore_, 7
_II. Old Friends and New_, 21
_III. The Letter_, 34
_IV. The Quarrel_, 50
_V. Tom's Sunday-School_, 61
_VI. The Post-Office_, 75
_VII. A New Friend_, 96
_VIII. Bessie's Little Sermon_, 113
_IX. Faith_, 122
_X. The Sick Baby_, 135
_XI. The Happy Circumstance_, 147
_XII. Miss Adams_, 157
_XIII. Bessie's Repentance_, 167
_XIV. Who is a Lady?_ 180
_XV. Uncle John_, 194
_XVI. The Birthday Presents_, 209
_XVII. The Birthday Party_, 226
_XVIII. The Adventure_, 247
_XIX. Soul and Instinct_, 265
_XX. Nurse taken by Surprise_, 281
_XXI. The Colonel in Trouble_, 305
_XXII. The Broken Nose_, 320
_XXIII. Jesus' Soldier_, 335
_BESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE._
I.
_THE SEA-SHORE._
The hotel carriage rolled away from Mr. Bradford's door with papa and
mamma, the two nurses and four little children inside, and such a lot
of trunks and baskets on the top; all on their way to Quam Beach. Harry
and Fred, the two elder boys, were to stay with grandmamma until their
school was over; and then they also were to go to the sea-side.
The great coach carried them across the ferry, and then they all jumped
out and took their seats in the cars. It was a long, long ride, and
after they left the cars there were still three or four miles to go
in the stage, so that it was quite dark night when they reached Mrs.
Jones's house. Poor little sick Bessie was tired out, and even Maggie,
who had enjoyed the journey very much, thought that she should be glad
to go to bed as soon as she had had her supper. It was so dark that the
children could not see the ocean, of which they had talked and thought
so much; but they could hear the sound of the waves as they rolled up
on the beach. There was a large hotel at Quam, but Mrs. Bradford did
not choose to go there with her little children; and so she had hired
all the rooms that Mrs. Jones could spare in her house. The rooms were
neat and clean, but very plain, and not very large, and so different
from those at home that Maggie thought she should not like them at all.
In that which was to be the nursery was a large, four-post bedstead
in which nurse and Franky were to sleep; and beside it stood an
old-fashioned trundle-bed, which was for Maggie and Bessie. Bessie was
only too glad to be put into it at once, but Maggie looked at it with
great displeasure.
"I sha'n't sleep in that nasty bed," she said. "Bessie, don't do it."
"Indeed," said nurse, "it's a very nice bed; and if you are going to be
a naughty child, better than you deserve. That's a great way you have
of calling every thing that don't just suit you, 'nasty.' I'd like to
know where you mean to sleep, if you don't sleep there."
"I'm going to ask mamma to make Mrs. Jones give us a better one," said
Maggie; and away she ran to the other room where mamma was undressing
the baby. "Mamma," she said, "won't you make Mrs. Jones give us a
better bed? That's just a kind of make-believe bed that nurse pulled
out of the big one, and I know I can't sleep a wink in it."
"I do not believe that Mrs. Jones has another one to give us, dear,"
said her mother. "I know it is not so pretty as your little bed at
home, but I think you will find it very comfortable. When I was a
little girl, I always slept in a trundle-bed, and I never rested
better. If you do not sleep a wink, we will see what Mrs. Jones can do
for us to-morrow; but for to-night I think you must be contented with
that bed; and if my little girl is as tired as her mother, she will be
glad to lie down anywhere."
Maggie had felt like fretting a little; but when she saw how pale and
tired her dear mother looked, she thought she would not trouble her by
being naughty, so she put up her face for another good-night kiss, and
ran back to the nursery.
"O, Maggie," said Bessie, "this bed is yeal nice and comf'able; come
and feel it." So Maggie popped in between the clean white sheets,
and in two minutes she had forgotten all about the trundle-bed and
everything else.
When Bessie woke up the next morning, she saw Maggie standing by the
open window, in her night-gown, with no shoes or stockings on. "O,
Maggie," she said, "mamma told us not to go bare-feeted, and you are."
"I forgot," said Maggie; and she ran back to the bed and jumped in
beside Bessie. "Bessie, there's such lots and lots of water out there!
You never saw so much, not even in the reservoir at the Central Park."
"I guess it's the sea," said Bessie; "don't you know mamma said we
would see water and water ever so far, and we couldn't see the end of
it?"
"But I do see the end of it," said Maggie; "mamma was mistaken. I saw
where the sky came down and stopped the sea; and, Bessie, I saw such a
wonderful thing,--the sun came right up out of the water."
"O, Maggie, it couldn't; _you_ was mistaken. If it went in the water it
would be put out."
"I don't care," said Maggie, "it _was_ the sun, and it is shining right
there now. It isn't put out a bit. I woke up and I heard that noise
mamma told us was the waves, and I wanted to see them, so I went to
look, and over there in the sky was a beautiful red light; and in a
minute I saw something bright coming out of the water away off; and it
came higher and higher, and got so bright I could not look at it, and
it was the sun, I know it was."
"But, Maggie, how didn't it get put out if it went in the water?"
"I don't know," said Maggie, "I'm going to ask papa."
Just then nurse and Jane came in with water for the children's bath,
and before they were dressed, there was papa at the door asking if
there were any little girls ready to go on the beach and find an
appetite for breakfast. After that, nurse could scarcely dress them
fast enough, and in a few moments they were ready to run down to the
front porch where papa was waiting for them.
"O, papa, what a great, great water the sea is!" said Bessie.
"Yes, dear; and what a great and wise God must He be who made this wide
sea and holds it in its place, and lets it come no farther than He
wills."
"Papa," said Maggie, "I saw the wonderfulest thing this morning."
"The most wonderful," said her father.
"The most wonderful," repeated Maggie. "It was indeed, papa, and you
need not think I was mistaken, for I am quite, quite sure I saw it."
"And what was this most wonderful thing you are so very sure you saw,
Maggie?"
"It was the sun, papa, coming right up out of the water, and it was not
put out a bit. It came up, up, away off there, where the sky touches
the water. Mamma said we could not see the end of the ocean, but I see
it quite well. Do not you see it, too, papa?"
"I see what appears to be the end of the ocean, but these great waters
stretch away for many hundred miles farther. If you were to get on a
ship and sail away as far as you can see from here, you would still
see just as much water before you, and the sea and the sky would still
appear to touch each other: and however far you went it would always be
so, until you came where the land bounds the ocean on the other side.
The place where the sky and water seem to meet, is called the horizon;
and it is because they do seem to touch, that the sun appeared to
you to come out of the water. It is rather a difficult thing for such
little girls as you and Bessie to understand, but I will try to make
it plain to you. You know that the earth is round, like a ball, do you
not, Maggie?"
"Yes, papa."
"And I suppose that you think that the sun is moving when it seems to
come up in the morning, and goes on and on, till it is quite over our
heads, and then goes down on the other side of the sky until we can see
it no more, do you not?"
"Yes, papa."
"But it is really the earth on which we live, and not the sun, which is
moving. Once in twenty-four hours, which makes one day and one night,
the earth turns entirely round, so that a part of the time one side is
turned to the sun, and a part of the time the other side. See if you
can find me a small, round stone, Maggie."
Maggie looked around till she found such a stone as her father wanted,
and brought it to him. "Now," he said, "this stone shall be our earth,
and this scratch the place where we live. We will take off Bessie's hat
and have that for the sun. Now I will hold the mark which stands for
our home, directly in front of our make-believe sun. If a bright light
were coming from the sun and shining on our mark here, it would be the
middle of the day or noon, while it would be dark on the other side.
Then, as our earth moved slowly around in this way, and we turned from
the sun it would become afternoon; and as we turned farther yet till
we were quite away from the sun, it would be night. But we do not stay
there in the dark, for we still go moving slowly round until our side
of the earth comes towards the light again, and the darkness begins to
pass away. The nearer we come to the sun the lighter it grows, until,
if some little girl who lives on our scratch is up early enough and
looks out at the horizon, or place where the earth and sky seem to
meet, she sees the sun showing himself little by little; and it looks
to her as if he were coming up out of the sea, while all the time the
sun is standing still, and the earth on which we live is moving round
so as to bring her once more opposite to him."
"And is it night on the other side of the world?" asked Maggie.
"Yes, there is no sun there now, and it is dark night for the little
children who live there."
"And are they going to have their supper while we have our brefix?"
asked Bessie.
"Just about so, I suppose," said papa.
"But, papa," said Maggie with very wide open eyes, "do you mean that
the world is going to turn way over on the other side tonight?"
"Yes, dear."
"Then we will fall off," said Maggie.
"Did you fall off last night?" asked papa.
"No, sir."
"And you have been living for nearly seven years, and every day of your
life the earth has turned around in the same way, and you have never
yet fallen off, have you?"
"No, papa."
"Nor will you to-night, my little girl. The good and wise God who has
made our earth to move in such a way as to give us both light and
darkness as we need them, has also given to it a power to draw towards
itself, all things that live or grow upon its surface. Do you know what
surface means?"
"Yes, papa,--the top."
"Yes, or the outside. Suppose you were to fall off the top of the
house, Maggie, where would you fall to?"
"Down in the street and be killed," said Maggie.
"Yes, down to the street or ground, and probably you would be killed.
And it is because of this power which the earth has of drawing to
itself all things that are upon it, that you would not fly off into the
air and keep on falling, falling, for no one knows how many miles. It
is too hard a thing for you to understand much about now, but when you
are older you shall learn more. But we have had a long enough lesson
for this morning. We will walk about a little, and see if we can find
some shells before we go in to breakfast."
They found a good many shells: some little black ones which Maggie
called curlecues, and some white on the outside and pink inside. Then
there were a few which were fluted, which the children said were the
prettiest of all. They thought the beach was the best playground they
had ever seen, and they were about right. First, there was the strip
of smooth, white sand, on which the waves were breaking into beautiful
snowy foam, with such a pleasant sound; then came another space full of
pebbles and stones and sea-weed, with a few shells and here and there
a great rock; then more rocks and stones with a coarse kind of grass
growing between them; and beyond these, a few rough fir trees which
looked as if they found it hard work to grow there. Last of all was a
long, sloping bank, on top of which stood Mr. Jones's house and two or
three others; and farther down the shore, the great hotel. And the air
was so fresh and cool, with such a pleasant smell of the salt water.
Maggie was full of fun and spirits, and raced about till her cheeks
were as red as roses. There were several other people on the beach, and
among them were some little boys and girls. Two or three of these, when
they saw Maggie running about in such glee began to race with her, but
the moment she noticed them she became shy and ran away from them to
her father and Bessie who were walking quietly along.
"Papa," said Bessie "isn't it delicious?"
"Is not what delicious, my darling."
"I don't know," said Bessie. "_It._ I like Quam Beach, papa. I wish New
York was just like this."
"It is this cool, fresh sea-breeze that you like so much, Bessie."
"And I like to see the water, papa, and to hear the nice noise it
makes."
"Yes, it's so pleasant here," said Maggie. "Let's stay here always,
papa, and never go home."
"What! and sleep in the trundle-bed all your lives?" said papa.
"Oh, no," said Maggie, "I hate that bed. I believe I _did_ sleep a
little bit last night, because I was so tired; but I know I can't sleep
in it to-night."
"Well," said papa, "I think we will try it for a night or two longer."
And then they all went in to breakfast.
II.
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.
After breakfast they went out again. Mr. Bradford and his little girls
were standing in the porch waiting for mamma who was going with them,
when Mr. Jones came up from the shore. He had been fishing, and looked
rather rough and dirty, but he had a pleasant, good-natured face.
"Mornin' sir," he said to Mr. Bradford; "folks pretty spry?"
"Pretty well, thank you," said Mr. Bradford; "you have been out early
this morning."
"Yes, I'm generally stirrin' round pretty early; been out since afore
day-light. S'pose these are your little girls. How are you, Miss
Bradford?" he said, holding out his hand.
But shy Maggie hung her head and drew a little away behind her father.
"Why, Maggie," said Mr. Bradford, "you are not polite; shake hands
with Mr. Jones, my daughter."
"Not if she hain't a mind to," said Mr. Jones. "I see she's a bashful
puss, but she'll feel better acquainted one of these days."
"Yes, she will;" said Bessie, "and then she won't be shy with you; but
I'm not shy now, and I'll shake hands with you."
Mr. Jones took the tiny little hand she offered him with a smile.
"No, I see you ain't shy, and I don't want you to be; you, nor your
sister neither. Goin' down to the shore, eh?"
"Yes, when mamma comes," said Bessie.
"Well, you see that big barn out there; when you come back you both
come out there. You'll find me inside, and I'll show you something will
soon cure all shyness; that is, if you like it as much as most young
folks do."
"What is it?" asked Bessie.
"It's a scup."
"Will it bite?" said Bessie.
"Bite! Don't you know what a scup is?"
"She knows it by the name of a swing," said Mr. Bradford.
"Oh, yes! I know a swing; and I like it too. We'll come, Mr. Jones."
"Is it quite safe for them?" asked Mr. Bradford.
"Quite safe, sir. I put it up last Summer for some little people who
were staying here; and Sam, he's my eldest son, he made a seat with
back and arms, and a rung along the front to keep them in,--a fall on
the barn floor wouldn't feel good, that's a fact; but it's as safe as
strong ropes and good work can make it. I'll take care they don't get
into no mischief with it; but come along with the little ones and see
for yourself." And then with a nod to Maggie, who was peeping at him
out of the corners of her eyes, Mr. Jones took up his basket of fish
and walked away to the kitchen.
"Bessie," said Maggie, as they went down to the beach, "do you like
that man?"
"Yes, I do," said Bessie; "don't you?"
"No, not much. But, Bessie, did you hear what he called me?"
"No," said Bessie, "I did not hear him call you anything."
"He called me Miss Bradford," said Maggie, holding up her head and
looking very grand.
"Well," said Bessie, "I suppose he was mad because you wouldn't shake
hands with him."
"No," said Maggie, "it was before that; he said, 'how do you do, Miss
Bradford;' and, Bessie, I like to be called Miss Bradford; and I guess
I'll like him because he did it, even if he _does_ smell of fish. I
think he only wanted to be _respectable_ to me."
They found a good many people upon the beach now, and among them were
some ladies and gentlemen whom Mr. and Mrs. Bradford knew, and while
they stopped to speak to them, Maggie and Bessie wandered off a little
way, picking up shells and sea-weed and putting them into a basket
which their mother had given them.
Presently a boy and girl came up to them. They were the children of one
of the ladies who was talking to Mrs. Bradford, and their mother had
sent them to make acquaintance with Maggie and Bessie.
"What's your name," said the boy, coming right up to Maggie. Maggie
looked at him without speaking, and, putting both hands behind her,
began slowly backing away from him.
"I say," said the boy, "what's your name? My mother sent us to make
friends with you; but we can't do it, if you won't tell us what your
name is."
"Her name is Miss Bradford," said Bessie, who wanted to please her
sister, and who herself thought it rather fine for Maggie to be called
Miss Bradford.
"Oh! and you're another Miss Bradford, I suppose," said the boy,
laughing.
"Why! so I am," said Bessie; "I didn't think about that before. Maggie
we're two Miss Bradfords."
"Well, two Miss Bradfords, I hope we find you pretty well this morning.
My name is Mr. Stone, and my sister's is Miss Stone."
"'Tain't," said the little girl, crossly, "it's nothing but Mary."
"Sure enough," said her brother; "she's just Miss Mary, quite contrary;
whatever you say, she'll say just the other thing; that's her way."
"Now, Walter, you stop," said Mary in a whining, fretful voice.
"Now, Mamie, you stop," mimicked her brother.
"I think we wont be acquainted with you," said Bessie. "I am afraid you
are not very good children."
"What makes you think so," asked Walter.
"'Cause you quarrel," said Bessie; "good children don't quarrel, and
Jesus won't love you if you do."
"What a funny little tot you are," said Walter. "I won't quarrel with
you, but Mamie is so cross I can't help quarrelling with her. I like
girls, and I want to play with you, and your sister, too, if she'll
speak. I have a splendid wagon up at the hotel and I'll bring it and
give you a first-rate ride if you like. Come, let us make friends, and
tell me your first name, Miss Bradford, No. 2."
"It's Bessie, and my sister's is Maggie."
"And don't you and Maggie ever quarrel?"
"Why, no," said Maggie, coming out of her shy fit when she heard this,
"Bessie is my own little sister."
"Well, and Mamie is my own sister, and you see we quarrel for all that.
But never mind that now. I'll go for my wagon and give you a ride; will
you like it?"
"I will," said Bessie.
In a few minutes Walter came back with his wagon. Maggie and Bessie
thought he was quite right when he called it splendid. They told him
it was the prettiest wagon they had ever seen. He said he would give
Bessie the first ride, and he lifted her in and told Maggie and Mamie
to push behind.
"I sha'n't," said Mamie; "I want a ride, too; there's plenty of room,
Bessie's so little."
"No, it will make it too heavy," said Walter. "You shall ride when your
turn comes."
Mamie began to cry, and Bessie said she would get out and let her ride
first; but Walter said she should not.
"There comes Tom," said Mamie; "he'll help you pull."
The children looked around, and there was a boy rather larger than
Walter coming towards them.
"Why, it's Tom Norris!" said Maggie; "do you know him?"
And sure enough it was their own Tom Norris, whom they loved so much.
He ran up to them and kissed Maggie and Bessie, as if he were very glad
to see them.
"Why, Tom," said Bessie, "I didn't know you came here."
"I came night before last, with father," said Tom. "We came to take
rooms at the hotel, and I wanted to stay; so father left me with Mrs.
Stone, and he has gone home for mother and Lily, and the whole lot and
scot of them; they're all coming to-morrow."
"Oh! I am so glad," said Maggie.
"Tom! can't I ride?" asked Mamie.
"You must ask Walter," said Tom; "the wagon is his; what are you crying
about, Mamie?"
Walter told what the trouble was.
"Come, now, Mamie, be good, and you shall ride with Bessie, and I will
help Walter pull." Mamie was put into the seat by Bessie, and then Tom
said they must find room for Maggie, too. So he made her sit on the
bottom of the wagon, and off they started. Of course they were crowded,
but the two children who were good-natured did not mind that at all,
and would have been quite happy had it not been for Mamie. She fretted
and complained so much that at last the boys were out of patience and
took her out of the wagon.
"You see," said Walter, as the cross, selfish child went off screaming
to her mother, "Mamie is the only girl, and the youngest, and she has
been so spoiled there is no living with her."
They were all happier when she had gone, and had a nice long play
together.
Tom Norris was twelve years old, but he did not think himself too large
to play with or amuse such little girls as Maggie and Bessie, who were
only seven and five; and as he was always kind and good to them, they
loved him dearly. Grown people liked him too, and said he was a perfect
little gentleman. But Tom was better than that, for he was a true
Christian; and it was this which made him so kind and polite to every
one.
When Mr. Bradford came to call his little girls to go home, he found
them telling Tom and Walter about the swing which Mr. Jones had
promised them, and he invited the boys to go with them and see it. So
they all went back together.
When they reached home Mr. Bradford told them they might go on to
the barn while he went into the house for a few minutes. The great
barn-doors were open, and Mr. Jones and his son, Sam, were busy inside.
Just outside the door sat Mrs. Jones with a pan full of currants in
her lap which she was stringing. There was a sheep skin on the ground
beside her, and on it sat her fat baby, Susie. Two kittens were playing
on the grass a little way off, and Susie wanted to catch them. She
would roll herself over on her hands and knees, and creep to the edge
of her sheep skin, but just as she reached it her mother's hand would
take her by the waist and lift her back to the place from which she
started. Susie would sit still for a moment, as if she was very much
astonished, and then try again, always to be pulled back to the old
spot. But when she saw Maggie and Bessie she forgot the kittens and sat
quite still with her thumb in her mouth staring at them with her great
blue eyes.
"Mr. Jones," said Bessie, "these are our friends. One is an old friend,
and his name is Tom; and one is a new friend, and his name is Walter.
They have come to see that thing you don't call a swing."
"They're both welcome if they're friends of yours," said Mr. Jones.
"I'll show you the scup in a few minutes, as soon as I finish this job
I'm about."
"Mrs. Jones," said Bessie, "is that your baby?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Jones, "what do you think of her?"
"I think she is fat," answered Bessie. "May we help you do that, Mrs.
Jones?"
"I'm afraid you'll stain your frocks, and what would your ma say then?"
"She'd say you oughtn't to let us do it."
"Just so," said Mrs. Jones. "No, I can't let you help me, but I'll tell
you what I'll do. I am going to make pies out of these currants and
I'll make you each a turnover; sha'n't you like that?"
"What is a turnover," asked Maggie.
"Don't you know what a turnover is? You wait and see; you'll like 'em
when you find out. You can play with Susie if you've a mind to."
But Susie would not play, she only sat and stared at the children, and
sucked her thumb. Pretty soon papa came, and when Mr. Jones was ready
they all went into the barn.
The swing was fastened up to a hook in the wall, but Mr. Jones soon had
it down; and Mr. Bradford tried it and found it quite safe and strong.
The seat was large enough to hold both the little girls, if they sat
pretty close, so they were both put into it, and papa gave them a fine
swing. Then the boys took their turn; and Mr. Jones told them they
might come and swing as often as they liked.
III.
_THE LETTER._
You are not going to hear all that Maggie and Bessie did every day at
the sea-shore, but only a few of the things that happened to them.
They liked Quam Beach more and more. Maggie did not mind the
trundle-bed so very much after a night or two, though she never seemed
to grow quite used to it; and Bessie, who had been weak and sick when
they left home, became stronger, and was soon able to run about more
with the other children.
After a few days they began to bathe in the sea. Maggie was afraid at
first, and cried when she was carried into the water; but the second
time she was braver, and she soon came to like it almost as well as
Bessie, who never was ready to come out when it was thought she had
been in long enough. She would beg her father or the bathing-woman to
let her stay just one minute more; and she would laugh when the waves
came dashing over her, so that sometimes the salt water would get into
her little mouth. But she did not mind it, and begged for another and
another wave, until papa would say that it was high time for her to
come out. Mamma said she had never seen Bessie enjoy anything so much,
and it made her feel very happy to see her little girl growing well and
strong again.
Bessie loved the sea very much, and often when her sister and little
companions were playing, she would sit quietly on some rock, looking
away out over the wide, beautiful waters, or watching and listening to
the waves as they came rolling up on the beach. People who were passing
used to turn and look at her, and smile when they saw the sweet little
face, which looked so grave and wise. But if any stranger asked her
what she was thinking about, she would only say, "Thoughts, ma'am."
Maggie did not like to sit still as Bessie did. She was well and fat
and rosy, and full of fun when she was with people she knew; and she
liked to play better than to sit on the rocks and watch the water, but
she seldom went far away from Bessie, and was always running to her
with some pretty shell or sea-weed she had found. She and Bessie and
Lily Norris would play in the sand and make little ponds or wells, and
sand pies, or pop the air bags in the sea-weed; or have some other
quiet play which did not tire Bessie. Very often Walter Stone and Tom
Norris gave them a ride in the wagon; or Tom told them nice stories;
and sometimes they all went out on the water in Mr. Jones's boat, or
took a drive with papa and mamma. Before they had been at Quam Beach
many days, they knew quite a number of the children who were staying
there; and they liked almost all of them, except fretful Mamie Stone,
who made herself so disagreeable that no one cared to play with her. In
short, there were so many things to do, and so much to see, that the
day was never long enough for them.
Then they made friends with Toby, Mr. Jones' great white dog. He was
an ugly old fellow, and rather gruff and unsociable; but, like some
people, he was in reality better than he appeared. He would never allow
any grown person but his master to pet him; and if any one tried to
pat him or make him play, he would walk away and seat himself at a
distance, with an offended air which seemed to say, "What a very silly
person you are; do you not know that I am too grave and wise a dog to
be pleased with such nonsense!"
But he was not so with little children. Though he would not play, he
let Susie and Franky pull his ears and tail, and roll and tumble over
him as much as they liked without giving them one growl. Maggie and
Bessie were rather afraid of him at first, but they soon found he was
not as fierce as he looked, and after Mr. Jones had told them how
he saved a little boy from drowning the last summer, they liked him
better, and soon came to have no fear of him.
This boy had been one of those who were boarding in the house last
year, and was a disobedient, mischievous child. One day he wanted to
go down on the beach, but it was not convenient for any one to go with
him, and his mother told him he must wait. He watched till no one saw
him, and then ran off followed by Toby, who seemed to know that he was
in mischief.
When the child reached the beach, he pulled off his shoes and stockings
and went to the water's edge where the waves could dash over his feet.
He went a little farther and a little farther, till at last a wave came
which was too strong for him. It threw him down and carried him out
into deeper water, and in another minute he would have been beyond help
had not Toby dashed in and seized hold of him. It was hard work for
Toby, for he was not a water-dog; but he held the boy till a man, who
had seen it all, came running to his help and pulled the boy out.
After this, Toby would never let the child go near the water all the
time he staid at Quam Beach. If he tried to go, Toby would take hold
of his clothes with his teeth, and no coaxings or scoldings would make
him let go till the boy's face was turned the other way.
Toby was of great use to Mrs. Jones; she said that he was as good as a
nurse. Every day she used to put Susie to sleep in a room at the head
of the garret stairs. Then she would call the dog, and leave him to
take care of the baby while she went about her work; and it seemed as
if Toby knew the right hour for Susie's nap, for he was never out of
the way at that time. He would lie and watch her till she woke up, and
then go to the head of the stairs and bark till Mrs. Jones came. Then
he knew that his duty was done, and he would walk gravely down stairs.
Sometimes Mrs. Jones put Susie on the kitchen floor, and left Toby to
look after her. He would let her crawl all round unless she went near
the fire, or the open door or kitchen stairs, when he would take her by
the waist and lift her back to the place where her mother had left her.
Susie would scold him as well as she knew how, and pound him with her
little fist; but he did not care one bit for that.
After a time Bessie grew quite fond of Toby. Maggie did not like him
so much. She liked a dog who would romp and play with her, which Toby
would never do. If his master or mistress did not want him, Toby was
generally to be found lying on the porch or sitting on the edge of the
bank above the beach, looking down on the people who were walking or
driving there. Bessie would sit down beside him and pat his rough head,
and talk to him in a sweet, coaxing voice, and he would blink his eyes
at her and flap his heavy tail upon the ground in a way that he would
do for no one else.
"Bessie," said Maggie, one day, as her sister sat patting the great
dog, "what makes you like Toby so much; do you think he is pretty?"
"No," answered Bessie, "I don't think he is pretty, but I think he is
very good and wise."
"But he is not so wise as Jemmy Bent's Shock," said Maggie; "he does
not know any funny tricks."
Jemmy Bent was a poor lame boy, and Shock was his dog,--a little
Scotch terrier with a black shaggy coat, and a pair of sharp, bright
eyes peeping out from the long, wiry hair which hung about his face.
He had been taught a great many tricks, and Maggie thought him a very
wonderful dog, but Bessie had never seemed to take much of a fancy to
him.
"But he is very useful," said Bessie, "and I don't think Shock is
pretty either; I think he is very ugly, Maggie."
"So do I," said Maggie; "but then he looks so funny and smart: I think
he looks a great deal nicer than Toby."
"I don't," said Bessie, "I don't like the look of Shock; the first time
I saw him I didn't think he was a dog."
"What did you think he was?"
"I thought he was _a animal_," said Bessie, "and I was afraid of him."
"And are you afraid of him now?"
"No, not much; but I had rather he'd stay under the bed when I go to
see Jemmy."
"I wouldn't," said Maggie, "and I can't like Toby so much as Shock. No,
I can't, Toby, and you need not look at me so about it."
Maggie's opinion did not seem to make the least difference to Toby; he
only yawned and blinked his eyes at her.
When Maggie and Bessie had been at Quam Beach about a week, they woke
one morning to find it was raining hard, and Mr. Jones said he hoped it
would keep on, for the rain was much needed. The little girls hoped it
would not, for they did not like to stay in the house all day. About
eleven o'clock they went to their mother and told her they had promised
to write a letter to Grandpapa Duncan, and asked if they might do it
now. Mamma was busy, and told them that she could not write it for them
at that time.
"But, mamma," said Maggie, "we don't want you to write it for us;
grandpapa will like it better if we do it all ourselves. I can print
it, and Bessie will help me make it up."
So mamma gave them a sheet of paper and a pencil, and they went off in
a corner to write their letter. They were very busy over it for a long
while. When it was done they brought it to their mother to see if it
was all right. There were a few mistakes in the spelling which Mrs.
Bradford corrected; but it was very nicely printed for such a little
girl as Maggie. This was the letter:--
"DEAR GRANDPAPA DUNCAN,--
"Maggie and Bessie are making up this letter, but I am
printing, because Bessie is too little. We hope you are
well, and Bessie is better and I am very well, thank you,
and every body. It rains, and we have nothing to do, and
so we are writing you a letter. We like this place; it is
nice. There is a great deal of sea here. There are two
kittens here. Mrs. Jones made us a turnover. The old cat is
very cross. Mrs. Jones put currants in it, and she put it
in the oven and the juice boiled out and made it sticky,
and it was good and we eat it all up. Dear grandpa, we hope
you are well. This is from us, Maggie and Bessie. Good-by,
dear grandpa. P. S.--We can't think of anything else to
say. My hand is tired, too.
"Your beloved
"MAGGIE AND BESSIE.
"Another P. S.--God bless you."
Mamma said it was a very nice letter, and she folded it and put it in
an envelope. Then she directed it to Mr. Duncan, and put a postage
stamp on it, so that it was all ready to go with the rest of the
letters when Mr. Jones went to the post-office in the evening.
But you must learn a little about the dear old gentleman to whom the
children had been writing. His name was Duncan, and he lived at a
beautiful place called Riverside, a short distance from New York.
He was not really the children's grandfather, but his son, Mr. John
Duncan, had married their Aunt Helen; and as they were as fond of him
as he was of them, he had taught them to call him Grandpapa Duncan.
A little way from Riverside lived a poor widow named Bent. She had a
son, who a year or two since had fallen from a wall and hurt his back,
so that the doctor said he would never walk or stand again. Day after
day he lay upon his bed, sometimes suffering very much, but always
gentle, patient, and uncomplaining.
Jemmy was often alone, for hours at a time; for his mother had to work
hard to get food and medicine for her sick boy; and his sister, Mary,
carried radishes and cresses, and other green things to sell in the
streets of the city. But Jemmy's Bible and Prayer-book were always at
his side, and in these the poor helpless boy found comfort when he was
tired and lonely.
To buy a wheel chair, in which Jemmy might be out of doors, and be
rolled from place to place without trouble or pain to himself, was the
one great wish of Mrs. Bent and Mary; and they were trying to put by
money enough for this. But such a chair cost a great deal; and though
they saved every penny they could, the money came very slowly, and it
seemed as if it would be a long while before Jemmy had his chair.
Now Mrs. Bradford was one of Mary's customers; so it happened that the
children had often seen her when she came with her basket of radishes.
Bessie used to call her "yadishes," for she could not pronounce _r_:
but neither she nor Maggie had ever heard of the poor lame boy, till
one day when they were at Riverside. Playing in the garden, they saw
Mary sitting outside the gate, counting over the money she had made
by the sale of her radishes: and as they were talking to her, it came
about that she told them of the sick brother lying on his bed, never
able to go out and breathe the fresh air, or see the beautiful blue sky
and green trees, in this lovely Summer weather; and how she and her
mother were working and saving, that they might have enough to buy the
easy chair.
Our little girls were very much interested, and went back to the house
very eager and anxious to help buy the chair for Jemmy; and finding
Grandpapa Duncan on the piazza, they told him the whole story. Now our
Maggie and Bessie had each a very troublesome fault. Bessie had a quick
temper, and was apt to fly into a passion; while Maggie was exceedingly
careless and forgetful, sometimes disobeying her parents from sheer
heedlessness, and a moment's want of thought. When Mr. Duncan heard
about Jemmy Bent, he proposed a little plan to the children, that
pleased them very much.
This was about a month before they were to leave the city for the
sea-shore. Grandpapa Duncan promised that for each day, during the next
three weeks, in which Bessie did not lose her temper and give way to
one of her fits of passion, or in which Maggie did not fall into any
great carelessness or disobedience, he would give twenty cents to each
little girl. At the end of three weeks this would make eight dollars
and forty cents. When they had earned this much he would add the rest
of the money that was needed to buy the wheel chair, and they should
have the pleasure of giving it to Jemmy themselves.
The children were delighted, and promised to try hard, and they
did do their best. But it was hard work, for they were but little
girls,--Bessie only five, Maggie not quite seven. Bessie had some hard
battles with her temper. Maggie had to watch carefully that she was not
tempted into forgetfulness and disobedience. And one day Maggie failed
miserably, for she had trusted to her own strength, and not looked for
help from above. But Grandpapa Duncan gave her another trial; and, as
even such young children may do much toward conquering their faults if
they try with all their hearts, the money was all earned, the chair
bought, and Maggie and Bessie carried it to lame Jemmy. Then it would
have been hard to tell who were the most pleased, the givers or the
receivers.
Nor did Maggie and Bessie cease after this to struggle with their
faults, for from this time there was a great improvement to be seen in
both.
IV.
_THE QUARREL._
Mr. Jones had another errand to do when he went to the post-office,
which was to go to the railway station for Harry and Fred, whose
vacation had begun. Grandmamma and Aunt Annie came with them, but they
went to the hotel, and Maggie and Bessie did not see them till the next
morning. How glad the little girls were to have their brothers with
them; and what a pleasure it was to take them round the next day and
show them all that was to be seen!
"Maggie and Bessie," said Harry, "I saw a great friend of yours on
Saturday; guess who it was."
"Grandpa Hall," said Maggie.
"No; guess again. We went out to Riverside to spend the day, and it
was there we saw him."
"Oh, I know!" said Bessie, "it was lame Jemmy."
"Yes, it was lame Jemmy, and he was as chirp as a grasshopper. He was
sitting up in his chair out under the trees; and you never saw a fellow
so happy, for all he is lame. Why, if I was like him, and couldn't go
about, I should be as cross as a bear."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, Harry," said Bessie; "not if you knew it was God
who made you lame."
"Oh, but I should, though; I'm not half as good as he is."
"But you could ask Jesus to make you good and patient like Jemmy, and
then He would."
"Well," said Harry, "he's mighty good, anyhow; and Fred and I gave him
a first-rate ride in his chair ever so far up the road. He liked it, I
can tell you; and he asked such lots of questions about you two. And
what do you think he is learning to do?"
"What?" asked both his little sisters.
"To knit stockings for the soldiers."
"What! a boy?" said Maggie.
"Yes; Aunt Helen sent some yarn to his mother to knit socks; and Jemmy
wanted to learn so that he could do something for his country, if he
was a lame boy, he said. Aunt Helen pays Mrs. Bent for those she makes,
but Jemmy told her if he might use some of her yarn he would like to do
it without pay, and she gave him leave; so his mother is teaching him,
and you would think he is a girl to see how nicely he takes to it. He
is not a bit ashamed of it either, if it is girl's work."
"And so he oughtn't," said Bessie. "Girl's work is very nice work."
"So it is, Queen Bess; and girls are very nice things when they are
like our Midget and Bess."
"I don't think boys are half as nice as girls," said Maggie, "except
you and Tom, Harry."
"And I," said Fred.
"Well, yes, Fred; when you don't tease I love you; but then you do
tease, you know. But Mamie Stone is not nice if she is a girl; she is
cross, and she did a shocking thing, Harry. She pinched Bessie's arm so
it's all black and blue. But she was served right for it, 'cause I just
gave her a good slap."
"But that was naughty in you," said Tom, who was standing by; "you
should return good for evil."
"I sha'n't, if she evils my Bessie," said Maggie, stoutly. "If she
hurts me I won't do anything to her, but if she hurts Bessie I will,
and I don't believe it's any harm. I'm sure there's a verse in the
Bible about it."
"About what, Maggie?"
"About, about,--why about my loving Bessie and not letting any one hurt
her. I'll ask papa to find one for me. He can find a verse in the Bible
about everything. Oh, now I remember one myself. It's--little children
love each other."
"And so you should," said Tom; "and it is very sweet to see two little
sisters always so kind and loving to each other as you and Bessie
are. But, Maggie, that verse does not mean that you should get into a
quarrel with your other playmates for Bessie's sake; it means that you
should love all little children. Of course you need not love Mamie as
much as Bessie, but you ought to love her enough to make you kind to
her. And there's another verse,--'blessed are the peace-makers.' You
were not a peace-maker when you slapped Mamie."
"I sha'n't be Mamie's peace-maker," said Maggie; "and, Tom, you ought
to take my side and Bessie's; you are very unkind."
"Now don't be vexed, Midget," said Tom, sitting down on a large stone,
and pulling Maggie on his knee. "I only want to show you that it did
not make things any better for you to slap Mamie when she pinched
Bessie. What happened next after you slapped her?"
"She slapped me," said Maggie; "and then I slapped her again, and Lily
slapped her, too; it was just good enough for her."
"And what then?" asked Tom.
"Why Mamie screamed and ran and told her mother, and Mrs. Stone came
and scolded us; and Jane showed her Bessie's arm, and she said she
didn't believe Mamie meant to hurt Bessie."
"What a jolly row!" said Fred. "I wish I had been there to see."
"Nurse said she wished she had been there," said Maggie, "and she would
have told Mrs. Stone--"
"Never mind that," said Tom; "there were quite enough in the quarrel
without nurse. Now, Maggie, would it not have been far better if you
had taken Bessie quietly away when Mamie hurt her?"
"No," said Maggie, "because then she wouldn't have been slapped, and
she ought to be."
"Well, I think with you that Mamie was a very naughty girl, and
deserved to be punished; but then it was not your place to do it."
"But her mother would not do it," said Maggie; "she is a weak, foolish
woman, and is ruining that child."
The boys laughed, when Maggie said this with such a grand air.
"Who did you hear say that?" asked Harry.
"Papa," said Maggie,--"so it's true. I guess he didn't mean me to hear
it, but I did."
"Oh, you little pitcher!" cried Harry; and Tom said, "Maggie dear,
things may be quite right for your father to say, that would not be
proper for us; because Mrs. Stone is a great deal older than we are;
but since we all know that she does not take much pains to make Mamie
a good and pleasant child, do you not think that this ought to make us
more patient with her when she is fretful and quarrelsome?"
"No," said Maggie; "if her mother don't make her behave, some one else
ought to. I will hurt her if she hurts Bessie."
"Maggie," said Tom, "when wicked men came to take Jesus Christ and
carry him away to suffer a dreadful death on the cross, do you remember
what one of the disciples did?"
"No; tell me," said Maggie.
"He drew his sword and cut off the ear of one of those wicked men; not
because he was doing anything to him, but because he was ill-treating
the dear Lord whom he loved."
"I'm glad of it," said Maggie; "it was just good enough for that bad
man, and I love that disciple."
"But the Saviour was not glad," said Tom, "for he reproved the
disciple, and told him to put up his sword; and he reached out his hand
and healed the man's ear."
"That was because he was Jesus," said Maggie. "I couldn't be so good as
Jesus."
"No, we cannot be as holy and good as Jesus, for he was without sin;
but we can try to be like him, and then he will love us and be pleased
with what he knows we wish to do. Maggie, the other day I heard you
saying to your mother that pretty hymn, 'I am Jesus' Little Lamb;' now,
if you are really one of Jesus' little lambs you will also be one of
his blessed peace-makers. I think if you and Lily had not struck Mamie,
she would have felt much more sorry and ashamed than she does now, when
she thinks that you have hurt her as much as she hurt Bessie."
"Do you want me to be a peace-maker with Mamie, now?" asked Maggie.
"Yes, if you are not friends with her yet."
"Oh, no, we are not friends at all," said Maggie; "for she runs away
every time she sees Lily or me; and we make faces at her."
"And do you like to have it so?"
"Yes," said Maggie slowly, "I think I do; I like to see her run."
"And do you think it is like Jesus' little lamb for you to feel so."
"No, I suppose not; I guess it's pretty naughty, and I won't make faces
at her anymore. What shall I do to make friends, Tom?"
"Well," said Tom, "I cannot tell exactly; but suppose the next time
that Mamie runs away from you, you call her to come and play with you;
will not that show her that you wish to be at peace again?"
"Yes," said Maggie; "and if you think Jesus would want me to, I'll do
it; but, Tom, we'll be very sorry if she comes. You don't know what an
uncomfortable child she is to play with; she's as cross as--as cross
as--_nine_ sticks."
"Perhaps you'll find some other way," said Tom, who could not help
smiling. "If we wish for a chance to do good to a person we can
generally find one. But I must go, for there is father beckoning to me
to come out in the boat with him. You will think of what I have said,
will you not, Maggie?"
"Oh, yes I will, and I will do it too, Tom; and if Mamie pinches Bessie
again, I won't slap her, but only give her a good push, and then we'll
run away from her."
Tom did not think that this was exactly the way to make friends, but he
had not time to say anything more, for his father was waiting.
V.
_TOM'S SUNDAY-SCHOOL._
"There's Tom," said Maggie, on the next Sunday afternoon, as she looked
out of the window; "he is talking to Mr. Jones, and now they are going
to the barn. I wonder if he is going to swing on Sunday."
"Why, Maggie," said Bessie; "Tom wouldn't do such a thing."
"I thought maybe he forgot," said Maggie. "I forgot it was Sunday this
morning, and I was just going to ask Mr. Jones to swing me. I wonder
what they are doing. I can see in the door of the barn and they are
busy with the hay. Come and look, Bessie."
Tom and Mr. Jones seemed to be very busy in the barn for a few minutes,
but the little girls could not make out what they were doing. At last
Tom came out and walked over to the house. Maggie and Bessie ran to
meet him.
"Here you are," he said, "the very little people I wanted to see. I am
going to have a Sunday-school class in the barn. Mr. Jones has given me
leave, for I could find no place over at the hotel. We have been making
seats in the hay. Will you come?"
"Oh, yes, indeed we will," said Maggie, clapping her hands.
Bessie shook her head sorrowfully. "Tom," she said, "mamma wont let me
go to Sunday-school; she says I am too little."
"I think she will let you go to mine," said Tom; "we'll go and ask her."
They all went in together to the room where papa and mamma sat reading.
"Mrs. Bradford," said Tom, when he had shaken hands with her, "I am
going to hold a little Sunday-school class over in the barn; will you
let Maggie and Bessie come?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Bradford. "Who are you to have, Tom?"
"Only Lily, ma'am, and Mamie Stone, and a few more of the little ones
from the hotel; they were running about and making a great noise in the
hall and parlors, and I thought I could keep them quiet for a while
if Mr. Jones would let me bring them over to his barn, and have a
Sunday-school there. Walter is coming to help me."
"A good plan, too," said Mr. Bradford; "you are a kind boy to think of
it, Tom."
"May I come?" asked Harry.
"And I, too?" said Fred.
"I don't know about you, Fred," said Tom; "I should like to have Harry,
for neither Walter nor I can sing, and we want some one to set the
tunes for the little ones. But I am afraid you will make mischief."
"Indeed I won't, Tom. Let me come and I will be as quiet as a mouse,
and give you leave to turn me out if I do the first thing."
"Well, then, you may come, but I shall hold you to your word and send
you away if you make the least disturbance. I don't mean this for
play."
"Honor bright," said Fred.
They all went out and met Walter who was coming up the path with a
troop of little ones after him. There were Lily and Eddie Norris,
Gracie Howard, Mamie Stone, Julia and Charlie Bolton, and half a dozen
more beside.
Tom marched them into the barn, where he and Mr. Jones had arranged the
school-room.
And a fine school-room the children thought it; better than those
in the city to which some of them went every Sunday. There were two
long piles of hay with boards laid on top of them,--one covered with
a buffalo robe, the other with a couple of sheep skins, making nice
seats. In front of these was Tom's place,--an empty barrel turned
upside-down for his desk, and Fred's velocipede for his seat. The
children did not in the least care that hay was strewn all over the
floor, or that the old horse who was in the other part of the barn,
would now and then put his nose through the little opening above his
manger, and look in at them as if he wondered what they were about.
"Oh, isn't this splendid?" said Maggie. "It is better than our Infant
school-room, in Dr. Hill's church."
"So it is," said Lily. "I wish we always went to Sunday-school here,
and had Tom for our teacher."
Some of the little ones wanted to play, and began to throw hay at each
other; but Tom put a stop to this; he had not brought them there to
romp, he said, and those who wanted to be noisy must go away. Then he
told them all to take their seats.
Maggie had already taken hers on the end of one of the hay benches,
with Bessie next to her, and Lily on the other side of Bessie. Gracie
Howard sat down by Lily, and Mamie Stone was going to take her place
next, when Gracie said, "You sha'n't sit by me, Mamie."
"Nor by me," said Lily.
"Nor me, nor me," said two or three of the others.
Now Mamie saw how she had made the other children dislike her by her
ill-humor and unkindness, and she did not find it at all pleasant to
stand there and have them all saying they would not sit by her.
"I want to go home," she said, while her face grew very red, and she
looked as if she were going to cry.
"Who is going to be kind, and sit by Mamie," asked Tom.
"I should think none of them who know how she can pinch," said Fred.
"Oh, we are going to forget all that," said Tom. "Come, children, make
room for Mamie."
"This bench is full," said Lily, "she can't come here."
Mamie began to cry. "There is plenty of room on the other bench," said
Tom; "sit there, Mamie."
"I don't want to," answered Mamie; "there's nothing but boys there, and
I want to go home."
"Why," said Tom, "what a bad thing that would be, to begin our
Sunday-school by having one of our little scholars go home because
none of the rest will sit by her. That will never do."
All this time Maggie had sat quite still, looking at Mamie. She was
thinking of what Tom had said to her, and of being Jesus' little lamb.
Here was a chance to show Mamie that she was ready to be friends with
her, but it was hard work. She did not at all like to go away from her
little sister whom she loved so much, to sit by Mamie whom she did not
love at all, and who had been so unkind to Bessie. She rose up slowly
from her seat, with cheeks as red as Mamie's and said,--
"Tom, I'll go on the other seat and sit by Mamie."
"And just get pinched for it," said Lily: "stay with us, Maggie."
Mamie took her hand down from her face and looked at Maggie with great
surprise.
"She wants some one to sit with her," said Maggie, "and I had better
go."
"Maggie is doing as she would be done by," said Tom.
Then Maggie felt glad, for she knew she was doing right. "Come, Mamie,"
she said, and she took hold of Mamie's hand, and they sat down together
on the other bench.
"You are a good girl, Midget," said Harry, "and it's more than you
deserve, Miss Mamie."
"I don't care," said Mamie. "I love Maggie, and I don't love any of the
rest of you, except only Tom."
Here Tom called his school to order and said there must be no more
talking, for he was going to read, and all must be quiet. He went
behind his barrel-desk, and opening his Bible, read to them about the
Saviour blessing little children. Then they sang, "I want to be an
Angel." Harry and Fred, with their beautiful clear voices, started the
tune, and all the children joined in, for every one of them knew the
pretty hymn.
[Illustration: Bessie at Sea Side. p. 68]
Next, Tom read how Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in a rough
stable and laid not in a pretty cradle such as their baby brothers
and sisters slept in, but in a manger where the wise men of the east
came and worshipped Him: and how after Joseph and Mary had been told by
God to fly into the land of Egypt with the infant Saviour, the wicked
king, Herod, killed all the dear little babies in the land, with the
hope that Jesus might be among them. When he came to any thing which he
thought the children would not understand, he stopped and explained it
to them. "Now we will sing again," he said, when he had done reading,
"and the girls shall choose the hymns. Maggie, dear, what shall we sing
first?"
Maggie knew what she would like, but she was too shy to tell, and she
looked at Tom without speaking. Tom thought he knew, and said, "I'll
choose for you, then. We will sing, 'Jesus, little lamb;' whoever knows
it, hold up their hand."
Half a dozen little hands went up, but Tom saw that all the children
did not know it. "What shall we do?" he said. "Maggie would like that
best, I think; but I suppose all want to sing, and some do not know the
words."
"Never mind," said Gracie Howard, who was one of those who had not held
up her hand, "if Maggie wants it we'll sing it, because she was so good
and went and sat by Mamie. If we don't know the words we can holler out
the tune all the louder."
Some of the children began to laugh when Gracie said this, but Tom
said, "I have a better plan than that. I will say the first verse over
three or four times, line by line, and you may repeat it after me; then
we will sing it, and so go on with the next verse."
This was done. Tom said the lines slowly and distinctly, and those who
did not know the hymn repeated them. While they were learning the first
verse in this way, Mamie whispered to Maggie, "Maggie, I love you."
"Do you?" said Maggie, as if she could not quite believe it.
"Yes, because you are good; don't you love me. Maggie?"
"Well, no, not much," said Maggie, "but I'll try to."
"I wish you would," said Mamie; "and I wont snatch your things, nor
slap you, nor do anything."
"I'll love you if you do a favor to me," said Maggie.
"Yes, I will, if it is not to give you my new crying baby."
"Oh, I don't want your crying baby, nor any of your toys," said Maggie.
"I only want you to promise that you won't pinch my Bessie again. Why,
Mamie, you ought to be more ashamed of yourself than any girl that ever
lived; her arm is all black and blue yet."
"I didn't mean to hurt her so much," said Mamie, "and I was sorry when
Bessie cried so; but then you slapped me, and Lily slapped me, and
Jane scolded me, and so I didn't care, but was glad I did it; but I am
sorry, now, and I'll never do it again."
"And I sha'n't slap you, if you do," said Maggie.
"What will you do, then?"
"I'll just take Bessie away, and leave you to your own 'flections."
"I don't know what that means," said Mamie.
"I don't, either," said Maggie; "but I heard papa say it, so I said it.
I like to say words that big people say. Bessie won't say a word if
she don't know what it means; but I'd just as lief. I guess it means
conscience."
"Oh, I guess it does, too," said Mamie, "for Walter said he should
think I'd have a troubled conscience for hurting Bessie so; but I
didn't. And Tom talked to me too; but I didn't care a bit, till you
came to sit by me, Maggie, and now I am sorry. Did you tell Tom about
it?"
"I talked to him about it, but he knew before. Why, everybody knew,
Mamie, because your mamma made such an awful fuss about those little
slaps."
Now Maggie made a mistake in saying this; she did not mean it to vex
Mamie, but it did.
"They were not little slaps," she said, "they were hard slaps, and they
hurt; and you sha'n't say my mamma makes an awful fuss."
Before Maggie had time to answer, Tom called upon the children to sing,
and Maggie joined in with her whole heart. The first verse was sung
over twice; and by the time this was done, Mamie felt good-natured
again, for she remembered how Maggie had come to sit with her when none
of the other little girls would do so. She had been quite surprised
when Maggie had offered to do it, and had thought that she could not
have been so good.
"I'll never be cross with Maggie again," she said to herself.
When Tom began to teach the second verse she whispered, "Maggie, will
you kiss me and make up?"
"Yes, by and by, when some of the other children are gone," said Maggie.
"Why won't you do it, now?"
"I don't like to do it before them; I'm afraid they'll think I want
them to see."
When Tom thought the children all knew the hymn pretty well, they sang
it over two or three times, and then he told them a story. After they
had sung once more, he dismissed the school; for he did not want to
keep them too long, lest the little ones should be tired. He invited
all those who liked it, to come again the next Sunday afternoon, for
Mr. Jones had said that they might have Sunday-school in the barn as
often as they liked. Every one of the children said that they would
come. When most of them had left the barn, Maggie said, "Now I will
kiss you, Mamie."
"I want to kiss Bessie, too," said Mamie, as the little girl came
running up to her sister; "will you kiss me, Bessie?"
"Oh, yes," said Bessie; and Mamie kissed both of her little playmates,
and so there was peace between them once more.
VI.
_THE POST-OFFICE_
On Monday Mr. Bradford went up to New York to attend to some business.
He was to come back on Wednesday afternoon; and on the morning of that
day, grandmamma sent over to know if Mrs. Bradford would like to have
her carriage, and drive to the railway station to meet him. Mamma said
yes; and told Maggie and Bessie they might go with her. She offered
to take Harry and Fred, too; but they wanted to go clam-fishing with
Mr. Jones; so she took Franky and baby instead, and carried baby
herself, telling nurse and Jane that they might have a holiday for the
afternoon. The little girls were delighted at the thought of going to
meet their dear father; for he had been gone three days, and they had
missed him very much.
The first part of the ride was through the sand, where the wheels went
in so deep that the horses had hard work to draw the carriage and went
very slowly, but the children did not mind that at all. They liked to
hear the sound of the wheels grating through the sand, and to watch how
they took it up and threw it off again as they moved round and round.
At last the carriage turned off to the right, and now the road was
firmer and harder, and, after a time, ran through the woods. This was
delightful, it was so cool and shady. Baby seemed to think this was a
good place for a nap, for she began to shut her eyes and nod her little
head about, till mamma laid her down in her lap, where she went fast
asleep. James took Franky in front with him and let him hold the end
of the reins, and Franky thought he was driving quite as much as the
good-natured coachman, and kept calling out "Get up," and "Whoa," which
the horses did not care for in the least.
There was a little stream which ran along by the side of the road,
and at last bent itself right across it, so that the carriage had to
go over a small bridge. Just beyond the bridge the stream widened into
quite a large pool. James drove his horses into it, and stopped to let
them take a drink.
It was a lovely, shady spot. The trees grew close around the pool and
met overhead, and there were a number of small purple flowers growing
all around. James tried to reach some of them with his whip, but
they were too far away, so the children were disappointed. When the
horses had stopped drinking, there was not a sound to be heard but the
twittering of the birds in the branches, and the little ripple of the
water as it flowed over the stones.
"Let's stay here a great while, mamma," said Bessie, "it is so
pleasant."
"And what would papa do when he came and found no one waiting for him?"
said Mrs. Bradford.
"Oh, yes! let us make haste then," said Bessie; "we mustn't make him
disappointed for a million waters."
But mamma said there was time enough; so they staid a few moments
longer, and then drove on. At last they passed from the beautiful green
wood into a space where there was no shade. There were bushes and very
small trees to be sure, but they were low and scrubby and grew close
together in a kind of tangled thicket. These reached as far as they
could see on either side, and came so near to the edge of the road,
that once, when James had to make way for a heavy hay wagon, and drew
in his horses to let it pass, Maggie stretched her hand out of the
carriage and pulled some sprigs from one of the bushes.
"Mamma, do you know that funny old man?" asked Bessie, as the driver of
the hay wagon nodded to her mother, and Mrs. Bradford smiled and nodded
pleasantly in return.
"No, dear; but in these lonely country places it is the custom for
people to nod when they pass each other."
"Why, we don't do that in New York," said Maggie.
"No, it would be too troublesome to speak to every one whom we met
in the streets of a great city; and people there would think it very
strange and impertinent if you bowed to them when you did not know
them."
"Mamma," said Maggie, "I don't like the kind of country there is here,
at all. What makes all these bushes grow here?"
Then mamma told how all this ground was once covered with just such
beautiful woods as they had passed through, and how they were set on
fire by the sparks from a train of cars, how the fire spread for miles
and miles, and burned for many days; and the people could do nothing to
stop it, until God sent a change of wind and a heavy rain which put it
out. She told them how many poor people were burnt out of their houses,
and how the little birds and squirrels and other animals were driven
from their cosy homes in the woods, and many of them scorched to death
by this terrible fire. Then for a long time the ground where these
woods had grown was only covered with ashes and charred logs, till at
last these tangled bushes had sprung up. Mamma said she supposed that
by and by the people would cut down the underbrush, and then the young
trees would have space to grow.
By the time she had finished her long story they reached the Station
and found that they had a few moments to wait, for it was not yet quite
time for the train.
There was a locomotive standing on the track, and when the horses saw
it they began to prick up their ears and to dance a little; so James
turned their heads and drove them up by the side of the depot, where
they could not see it. On the other side of the road was a small, white
building, and over the door was a sign with large black letters upon it.
"P-O-S-T, porst," spelled Maggie.
"Post," said mamma.
"Post, O double F."
"O-F, of," said mamma again.
"O-F, of, F-I-C-E; oh, it's the post-office. I wonder if there is a
letter there for us from Grandpapa Duncan."
"Perhaps there may be," said Mrs. Bradford. "I told Mr. Jones we would
inquire for the letters. James, will it do for you to leave the horses?"
"I think not, ma'am," said James. "They are a little onasy yet, and if
she squales they'll run."
"And I cannot go because of baby," said mamma; "we must wait till papa
comes."
"I wish we could get our letter if it is there," said Maggie; "we could
read it while we are waiting for papa."
"There's a nice civil man there, Mrs. Bradford," said James, "and if
you didn't mind Miss Maggie going over, I could lift her out, and he'll
wait on her as if it was yourself."
"Oh, James," said Maggie; "I couldn't do it, not for anything. I
couldn't indeed, mamma."
"Well, dear, you need not, if you are afraid."
"But I would like to have our letter so much, mamma."
"So would I," said Bessie. "And when dear papa comes we will want to
talk to him and not to yead our letter."
"Maybe it is not there," said Maggie.
"But we would like to know," said Bessie. "Could I go, mamma?"
"You are almost too little I think, dear."
"Well," said Maggie, slowly, "I guess I'll go. Mamma, will you look at
me all the time?"
"Yes, dear, and there is nothing to hurt you. Just walk in at that
door, and you will see a man there. Ask him if there are any letters to
go to Mr. Jones's house."
"Yes, mamma, and be very sure you watch all the time."
James came down from his seat and lifted Maggie from the carriage. She
walked very slowly across the road, every step or two looking back to
see if her mother was watching her. Mrs. Bradford smiled and nodded to
her, and at last Maggie went in at the door. But the moment she was
inside, her mother saw her turn round and fly out of the post-office as
if she thought something terrible was after her. She tore back across
the road and came up to the carriage looking very much frightened.
"Why, Maggie, what is it, dear?" asked her mother.
"Oh, mamma, there is a hole there, and a man put his face in it; please
put me in the carriage, James."
"Oh, foolish little Maggie," said mamma; "that man was the post-master,
and he came to the hole as you call it, to see what you wanted. If you
had waited and told him, he would have looked to see if there were any
letters for us."
"He had such queer spectacles on," said Maggie.
"I wish I could go," said Bessie; "I wouldn't be afraid of him. I do
want to know if Grandpapa Duncan's letter is there."
"Then you may try," said her mother; "take her out, James."
So Bessie was lifted out of the carriage, and went across the road
as Maggie had done. She walked into the post-office and saw the hole
Maggie had spoken of, but no one was looking out of it. It was a square
opening cut in a wooden partition which divided the post-office. On one
side was the place where Bessie stood, and where people came to ask for
their letters; on the other was the postmaster's room, where he kept
the letters and papers till they were called for.
Bessie looked around and saw no one. She always moved very gently, and
she had come in so quietly that the post-master had not heard her.
There was a chair standing in front of "the hole." Bessie pushed it
closer, and climbing upon it, put her little face through, and looked
into the post-master's side of the room. He was sitting there reading.
He was an ugly old man, and wore green goggles, which Maggie had called
"such queer spectacles." But Bessie was not afraid of him.
"How do you do, Mr. Post Officer?" she said. "I came for our letter."
The post-master looked up. "Well, you're a big one to send after a
letter," he said. "Who is it for?"
"For Maggie and me, and it is from Grandpapa Duncan; has it come?"
"Where are you from?" asked the post-master, laughing.
"From Mr. Jones's house. Oh, I forgot, mamma said I was to ask if any
letters had come for Mr. Jones's house."
"Then I suppose you are Mr. Bradford's daughter?"
"Yes, I am," said Bessie.
"And are you the little girl who came in here just now, and ran right
out again?"
"Oh, no, sir; that was Maggie. Poor Maggie is shy, and she said you
looked out of a hole at her."
"And you looked in a hole at me, but I did not run away. If I was to
run away you could not get your letter."
"Is it here, sir?" asked Bessie.
"Well, I reckon it may be," said the post-master; "what's your name?"
"My name is Bessie, and my sister's is Maggie."
"Here is one apiece then," said the post-master, taking up some
letters. "Here is one for Miss Bessie Bradford; that's you, is it? and
one for Miss Maggie Bradford, that's your sister, I reckon."
"What! one for myself, and one for Maggie's self," said Bessie. "Are
they from Grandpapa Duncan?"
"I don't know," said the post-master. "You will have to open them to
find that out."
"Oh, how nice; please let me have them, sir; I am very much obliged to
you."
"Stop, stop," cried the post-master, as Bessie jumped down from the
chair, and was running off with her prizes. "Here are some more papers
and letters for your folks."
But Bessie did not hear him; she was already out of the door, running
over to the carriage with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, holding
up a letter in each hand. "Oh, Maggie, Maggie," she called, "that nice
post-officer gave me two letters, one for you, and one for me; wasn't
he kind?"
"I think it was a kind Grandpapa Duncan, who took the trouble to write
two letters," said Mrs. Bradford.
"So it was," said Maggie. "Mamma, will you read them for us?"
"In a moment," said Mrs. Bradford; and then she turned to speak to the
post-master, who had followed Bessie to the carriage with the papers
and letters which she had been in too great a hurry to wait for. She
thanked him, and he went back and stood at the door watching the eager
little girls while their mother read to them. She opened Maggie's
letter first. It said,
"MY DEAR LITTLE MAGGIE:--
"I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive the very
nice letter which you and Bessie sent me. I have put it in
a safe place in my writing desk, and shall keep it as long
as I live. As you wrote it together, perhaps you expected
that I would make one answer do for both; but I thought you
would be better pleased if I sent a letter for each one.
"I am glad to hear that you like Quam Beach so much; but
you must not let it make you forget dear old Riverside. I
am fond of the sea myself, and do not know but I may take a
run down to see you some day this summer. Do you think you
could give a welcome to the old man? and would Mrs. Jones
make him such a famous turnover as she made for you?
"I went this morning to see your friend Jemmy, for I
thought you would like to hear something about him. He
was out in the little garden, on the shady side of the
house, sitting in his chair with his books beside him,
and a happier or more contented boy I never saw. He was
alone, except for his dog and rabbits, for his mother was
washing, and Mary was out. Mrs. Bent brought me a chair,
and I sat and talked to Jemmy for some time. I asked him
which of all his books he liked best. 'Oh, my Bible, sir,'
he said. 'I think it is with the Bible and other books,
just like it is with people, Mr. Duncan.' 'How so?' I
asked. 'Why, sir,' he answered, 'when Mary and mother are
away, the neighbors often come in to sit with me and talk
a bit. They are very kind, and I like to have them tell me
about things; but no matter how much they make me laugh or
amuse me, 'tain't like mother's voice; and if I am sick, or
tired, or uncomfortable, or even glad, there ain't nobody
that seems to have just the right thing to say, so well as
her. And it's just so with the Bible, I think; it always
has just the very thing I want: whether it's comfort and
help, or words to say how happy and thankful I feel. The
other books I like just as I do the neighbors; but the
Bible I love just as I do mother. I suppose the reason is
that the Bible is God's own words, and he loved and pitied
us so that he knew what we would want him to say, just as
mother loves and pities me, and so knows what I like her
to say.' Happy Jemmy! he knows how to love and value God's
holy book, that most precious gift, in which all may find
what their souls need. May my little Maggie learn its worth
as the poor lame boy has done.
"I really think your chair has done Jemmy good. He looks
brighter, and has a better color and appetite since he has
been able to be out of doors so much. I do not suppose he
will ever be able to walk again, but he does not fret about
that, and is thankful for the blessings that are left to
him. If you and Bessie could see how much he enjoys the
chair, you would feel quite repaid for any pains you took
to earn it for him. And now, my darling, I think I must put
the rest of what I have to say, in your little sister's
letter. Write to me soon again, and believe me
"Your loving grandpapa,
"CHARLES DUNCAN."
Just as mama was finishing this letter, the train came in sight, and
she said she must leave Bessie's letter till they were at home. In
a few minutes they saw their dear father coming towards them, and a
man following with his bag and a great basket. Then papa was in the
carriage, and such a hugging and kissing as he took and gave. Franky
came inside that he might have his share, too; and baby woke up,
good-natured as she always was, and smiled and crowed at her father
till he said he really thought she knew him, and was glad to see him.
Mamma was quite sure she did.
When they had all settled down once more, and papa had asked and
answered a good many questions, he said, "Maggie and Bessie, I met a
very curious old gentleman to-day; what strange question do you think
he asked me?"
The children were sure they did not know.
"He asked me if there were any little girls down this way who wrote
letters to old gentleman?"
Maggie and Bessie looked at each other, and Maggie shook her head very
knowingly; but they waited to hear what papa would say next.
"I told him I thought I knew of two such young damsels, and what do you
think he did then?"
"What?" asked both the little girls at once.
"He handed me these two parcels and told me if I could find any such
little letter-writers, to ask them if they would prove useful."
As Mr. Bradford spoke, he produced two parcels. Like the letters, they
were directed one to Miss Maggie Bradford, and the other to Miss Bessie
Bradford. They were quickly opened, and inside were two purple leather
writing cases, very small, but as Bessie said, "perfaly pretty." They
had steel corners and locks, and a plate with each little girl's name
engraved upon her own. In each were found a small inkstand, a pen, and
two pencils, two sticks of sealing wax, and best of all, tiny note
paper and envelopes stamped M. S. B., and B. R. B.
It would have done Grandpapa Duncan good to have seen his pets'
pleasure. Maggie fairly screamed with delight. "Oh, such paper, such
lovely stamped paper."
"And such _embelopes_," said Bessie, "with our own name letters on
them."
"I am going to write to every one I know in the world," cried Maggie.
"Mamma," said Bessie, when they had looked again and again at their
beautiful presents, "I do think God has made all my people the very
best people that ever lived. I don't think any little girls have such
people as mine."
"I suppose every other little girl thinks the same thing, Bessie."
"Mamma, how can they? they don't have you, nor papa, nor Maggie, nor
Grandpapa Duncan, nor grandmamma;" and Bessie went on naming all the
people whom she loved, and who loved her.
Papa asked if they had not each had a letter from Grandpapa Duncan. The
writing cases had almost made them forget the letters; but now they
showed them to papa, and he told Bessie he would read hers. He let her
open it herself, and taking her on his knee, read:
"MY DEAR LITTLE BESSIE,--
"Maggie will tell you how much I was pleased with the
letter you both sent me, but I must thank you for your
share in it. Your old grandpapa is very happy to know that
his little pets think about him, and care for him when they
are away. I am glad to hear that you are better, and hope
you will come home with cheeks as red as Maggie's.
"We are all well here except poor little Nellie, who is
cutting some teeth which hurt her very much, and make her
rather fretful. She has learned to say two or three words,
and among them she makes a curious sound which her mamma
declares to be a very plain grandpapa; as she looks at me
every time she says it, I suppose I must believe it is so;
but I must say it does not sound much like it to my ears.
However, she loves her old grandpapa dearly, which is a
great pleasure to me.
"Your little dog Flossy is growing finely. He is very
pretty and lively, and will make a fine playmate for you
and Maggie when you come home. I went down to Donald's
cottage the other day and found all four of the puppies
playing before the door while Alice sat on the steps
watching them. She says they are growing very mischievous
and have already broken two or three of Donald's fine
plants, so that when she lets them out for a play, she has
to keep her eye on them all the time. Alice asked about you
and Maggie, and I could not help wishing with her that you
were there to see your little doggie. It will be pleasant
to have you at Riverside again in the autumn. Send me
another letter, if you wish to please
"Your loving grandpapa,
"CHARLES DUNCAN."
VII.
_A NEW FRIEND._
One morning Bessie was sitting on a large rock on the beach, looking at
the waves as they rolled up, one after another, and listening to the
pleasant sound they made. The other children and Jane were playing a
little way off.
Presently a lady and gentleman came walking slowly along the beach. The
gentleman used crutches, for he had only one foot. They stopped at the
rock where Bessie sat, and the lady said, "You had better sit down,
Horace, you have walked far enough."
The gentleman sat down beside Bessie, who looked at him for a minute
and then got up.
"I'll sit on that other stone," she said, "and then there'll be room
for the lady: that is big enough for me."
"Thank you, dear," said the lady; and the gentleman said, "Well, you
are a polite little girl."
Bessie liked his looks, but it made her sorry to see that he had only
one foot. She sat opposite to him looking at him very gravely; and he
looked back at her, but with a smile. Now that Bessie had given up her
seat to the strangers, she felt they were her company and she must
entertain them, so she began to talk.
"Is your foot pretty well, sir?" she said.
"Which foot?" asked the gentleman.
"The one that is cut off."
"How can it be pretty well if it is cut off?" he said; "you see it is
not here to feel pretty well."
"I mean the place where it was cut off," said Bessie.
"It pains me a good deal," he said. "I am a soldier, and my foot was
hurt in battle and had to be cut off, but I hope it will feel better
one of these days. I have come down here to see what the sea air will
do for me."
"Oh, then you'll feel better, soon," said Bessie. "I used to feel very
_misable_, but now I am most well."
"Why, is your foot cut off, too?" asked the gentleman.
"Oh, no; don't you see I have both my two?"
"So you have," said the gentleman, laughing as she held up two little
feet; "but there is not half as much in those two tiny feet, as there
is in my one big one."
"I had yather have two little ones than one big one," said Bessie.
"So would I, but you see I cannot choose, and all the sea air in the
world will not bring me back my other foot."
"Don't you like the sea, sir?" asked Bessie, "I do."
"Why do you like it so much?"
"Because I like to see the waves, and I think it sounds as if it was
saying something all the time."
"What does it seem to say?"
"I don't know, sir. I listen to it a great deal, and I can't find
out, but I like to hear it for all. I think it must be telling us to
yemember our Father in heaven who made it."
"What a strange child," the gentleman whispered to the lady; "who is
she like?"
"I do not know, but she is lovely;" said the lady; "I should like to
take her picture as she sits there."
"What is your name, fairy?" asked the gentleman.
"Bessie," said the little girl.
"Bessie what?"
"Bessie Bradford."
"Bessie Bradford! and what is your father's name?"
"His name is Bradford, too."
"But what is his first name?"
"Mr." said Bessie, gravely.
The gentleman laughed. "Has he no other names?"
"Oh, yes;" said Bessie, "all his names are Mr. Henry, Lane, Bradford."
"I thought so," said the gentleman, "she is the very image of Helen
Duncan. And where is your father, Bessie?"
"Up in the house, yeading to mamma," said Bessie, looking away from him
to the lady. She was very pretty and had a sweet smile. Bessie liked
her face very much and sat gazing at her as earnestly as she had before
done at the gentleman who presently said, "Well, what do you think of
this lady?"
"I think she is very pretty," said Bessie, turning her eyes back to him.
"So do I," said the gentleman, "do you think that I am very pretty,
too?"
"No," said Bessie.
"Then what do you think about me?"
"I think you are pretty 'quisitive," said the little girl, at which
both the lady and gentleman laughed heartily; but Bessie looked very
sober.
"Will you give me a kiss, little one?" asked the stranger.
"No," said Bessie, "I had yather not."
"Why, you are not afraid of me?"
"Oh, no!" said Bessie, "I am not afraid of soldiers; I like them."
"Then why won't you kiss me?"
"I don't kiss strangers, if they're gentlemen," said Bessie.
"And that is very prudent, too," said the soldier, who seemed very much
amused; "but then you see I am not quite a stranger."
"Oh, what a--I mean I think you are mistaken, sir," said Bessie.
"Don't tease her, dear," said the lady.
"But, little Bessie," said the gentleman, "do you call people strangers
who know a great deal about you?"
"No," said Bessie; "but you don't know anything about me."
"Yes, I do; in the first place I know that you are a very kind and
polite little girl who is ready to give up her place to a lame soldier.
Next, I know that your father's name is Mr. Henry, Lane, Bradford, and
that yours is Bessie Rush Bradford, and that you look very much like
your aunt, Helen Duncan. Then I know that you have a little sister,
whose name is--let me see, well, I think her name is Margaret, after
your mother; and you have two brothers, Harry and Fred. There is
another little one, but I have forgotten his name."
"Franky," said Bessie; "and we have baby, too."
"Ah, well, I have never made baby's acquaintance. And this is not your
home, but you live in New York, at No. 15 ---- street, where I have
spent many a pleasant hour. And more than all this, I know there is a
lady in Baltimore named Elizabeth Rush, who loves you very much, and
whom you love; and that a few days since you wrote a letter to her and
told her how sorry you were that her brother who was 'shooted' had had
his foot cut off."
While the gentleman was saying all this, Bessie had slipped off her
stone and come up to him, and now she was standing, with one little
hand on his knee, looking up eagerly into his face.
"Why, do you know the lady whom I call my Aunt Bessie?" she said.
"Indeed I do; and now if you are so sorry for Aunt Bessie's brother,
would you not like to do something to help him?"
"I can't," said Bessie; "I am too little."
"Yes, you can," said the colonel, "you can give me a kiss, and that
would help me a great deal."
"Why," said Bessie, again, "do you mean that you are Colonel Yush, dear
Aunt Bessie's brother?"
"To be sure I am," said the colonel; "and now are you going to give me
the kiss for her sake?"
"Yes, sir, and for your own sake, too."
"Capital, we are coming on famously, and shall soon be good friends at
this rate," said the colonel as he stooped and kissed the rosy little
mouth which Bessie held up to him.
"Will you tell me about it?" she said.
"About what?"
"About how you was in that country, called India, which papa says is
far away over the sea, and how the wicked heathen named, named--I can't
yemember."
"Sepoys?" said the colonel.
"Yes, Sepoys: how the Sepoys, who you thought were your friends, made a
great fight, and killed the soldiers and put the ladies and dear little
babies down a well. And how brave you was and how you was fighting and
fighting not to let the Sepoys hurt some poor sick soldiers in the
hospital; and the well soldiers wanted to yun away, but you wouldn't
let them, but made the Sepoys yun away instead, and went after them.
And then they came back with ever so many more to help them, and you
and your soldiers had to go away, but you took all the sick men with
you and did not let them be hurt. And you saw a soldier friend of yours
who was dying, and he asked you not to let the Sepoys find him, and
you put him on your horse and carried him away, and the Sepoys almost
caught you. And how the very next day there was a dreadful, dreadful
battle when more soldiers came, and your foot was shooted and your
side; and your foot had to be cut off in the hospital, and would not
get well for a long, long while. And how there was a lady that you
wanted for your wife, and you came to our country to get her--oh, I
guess that's the lady!" Bessie stopped as she looked at the pretty
lady, and the colonel smiled as he said,--
"You are right, Bessie; and what more?"
"And when you were coming in the ship, there was a little boy who fell
in the water and you forgot your lame foot and jumped in after him, and
your foot was hurt so much it had to be cut off some more. So please
tell me all about it, sir."
Bessie said all this just as fast as her little tongue would go, and
the colonel sat watching her with a very amused look on his face. "Upon
my word, you are well posted, little one. I do not know that I could
tell the story better myself; how did you learn so much?"
"Oh, Aunt Bessie put it in the letters she yote to mamma, and mamma
told us about it, and Harry yeads and yeads it; and Maggie made a nice
play about it. Harry gets on the yocking horse and plays he is Colonel
Yush, and Fred is the soldier that you helped."
"Very good," said the colonel, "and what are you and Maggie?"
"Oh! we are Harry's soldiers, I mean _your_ soldiers, and Franky is,
too; and we have the nursery chairs for horses, and our dolls for sick
soldiers, and we have the pillows for Sepoys, and we poke them; and
nurse don't like it, 'cause she says we make a yumpus and a muss in the
nursery."
"I should think so," said the colonel, laughing heartily.
"Will you tell me the story?" asked Bessie.
"I think I had better tell you another, since you know that so well,"
said Colonel Rush; "I will tell you one about a drummer boy."
But just as he began the story Bessie saw her father coming towards
them, and in another minute he and the colonel were shaking hands and
seeming so glad to see one another. Then Mr. Bradford turned and looked
at the pretty lady, and the colonel said, "Yes, this is the lady of
whom you have heard as Miss Monroe, now Mrs. Rush. She has taken charge
of what is left of me."
"Isn't she _perfaly_ lovely, papa?" asked Bessie, as Mr. Bradford took
off his hat and shook hands with the lady, and she saw a pretty pink
color come into her cheeks which made her look sweeter than ever. Papa
looked as if he quite agreed with his little daughter, but he only
smiled and said, "My Bessie speaks her mind on all occasions."
"So I see," said the colonel, looking very much pleased.
"Did I talk too much, sir?" asked Bessie, not knowing exactly whether
he meant to find fault with her, for she was sometimes told at home
that she talked too much.
"Not one word," he answered; "and I hope you will often come and see
me at my rooms in the hotel, and talk to me there. I am very fond of
little children."
"If mamma will let me," said Bessie; "but I can't come _very_ often,
'cause I don't want to be away from Maggie."
"Oh, Maggie must come, too," said the colonel.
"Maggie is shy," said Bessie.
"Well, you bring her to my room, and we will see if I have not
something there that will cure her shyness."
But papa called Maggie to come and see Colonel and Mrs. Rush, and when
she heard that this was the brave English soldier about whom she had
made the famous play, her shyness was forgotten at once, and she was
quite as ready to be friends as Bessie, though she had not much to say.
"You know, Bessie," she said afterwards, "we're so very acquainted with
him in our hearts, he is not quite a stranger."
The next morning, Mrs. Bradford went to the hotel to call on Mrs.
Rush, taking Maggie and Bessie with her; and from this time the little
girls and the colonel were the best friends possible, though Bessie
was his particular pet and plaything, and she always called him her
soldier. When he felt well enough, and the day was not too warm, he
would come out and sit on the beach for an hour or two. The moment he
came moving slowly along on his crutches, Bessie was sure to see him,
and no matter what she was doing, off she would run to meet him. As
long as he stayed she never left him, and her mother sometimes feared
that the colonel might grow tired of having such a little child so much
with him, but he told her it was a great pleasure to him; and indeed
it seemed to be so, for though there were a great many people at Quam
Beach who knew him and liked to talk to him, he never forgot the little
friend who sat so quietly at his side, and had every now and then a
word, or smile, or a touch of his hand for her.
Bessie had been taught that she must not interrupt when grown people
were speaking; so, though she was a little chatterbox when she had
leave to talk, she knew when it was polite and proper for her to be
quiet.
If the colonel could not come down to the shore, he was almost sure to
send for Maggie and Bessie to come to his room, until it came to be
quite a settled thing that they were to pass some time there every day
when he did not go out, and many a pleasant hour did they spend there.
He told them the most delightful and interesting stories of people and
things that he had seen while he was in India, being always careful not
to tell anything that might shock or grieve them, from the day that he
was speaking of the sad death of a little drummer boy, when, to his
great surprise and distress, both children broke into a violent fit
of crying, and it was some time before they could be pacified. Then
such toys as he carved out of wood! He made a little boat with masts
and sails for each of them, which they used to sail in the pools that
were left by the tide; and a beautiful set of jack-straws, containing
arrows, spears, swords, trumpets, and guns.
One day he asked Harry to bring him some sprigs from the spruce tree,
and the next time Maggie and Bessie came to see him, there was a tiny
set of furniture,--a sofa and half a dozen chairs to match, all made
of those very sprigs. He used to lie and carve, while Mrs. Rush was
reading to him; and sometimes he worked while the children were there,
and it was such a pleasure to watch him. Then he had some books with
fine pictures, and oh! wonder of wonders, and what the children liked
best of all, such a grand musical-box, they had never seen one like
it. Mamma had a small one which played three tunes, but it was a baby
musical-box to this, which was so very much larger, and played twenty.
They never tired of it, at least Bessie did not; and she would sit
looking into it and listening so earnestly that often she seemed to see
and hear nothing else around her. Maggie was fond of it, too, but she
could not keep quiet so long as Bessie, and often wanted to be off and
playing out of doors long before her sister was ready to go.
There were many days when the colonel was suffering too much pain to
talk or play with them, and they had to be very still if they went into
his room. Then Maggie never cared to stay very long, nor indeed did
the colonel care much to have her; for though she tried her best to be
gentle and quiet, those restless little hands and feet seemed as if
they must be moving; and she was almost sure to shake his sofa, or to
go running and jumping across the room, in a way that distressed him
very much, though her merry ways amused him when he was able to bear
them. Quiet little mouse of a Bessie went stealing about so softly that
she never disturbed the sick man; and so it came about that she spent
many an hour in his room without Maggie. Maggie never half enjoyed her
play, if her sister was not with her; but she was not selfish, and did
not complain if Bessie sometimes left her for a while.
VIII.
_BESSIE'S LITTLE SERMON._
One afternoon when the children had gone over to the hotel to see
grandmamma, a basket of fine fruit came, from Riverside. They had not
been to the colonel's room for two or three days, for he had been
suffering very much, and was not able to see any one. When the fruit
came grandmamma put some on a plate, and sent Bessie with it to the
colonel's door, but told her that she must not go in.
Bessie went to the door, and, putting her plate down on the hall floor,
knocked very gently. Mrs. Rush came and opened the door, and, taking
up her plate again, Bessie handed it to her, gave her grandmamma's
message, and was going away, when she heard the colonel's voice. "Is
that my pet?" he said.
"Yes, sir; and I love you very much, and I am so sorry for you; but
grandmamma said I must not come in."
"But I want to see you," said the colonel.
"You can come in, darling," said Mrs. Rush; "he is better this
afternoon, and would like to see you."
"But I better mind grandma first; bettern't I?" said Bessie. "I'll yun
and ask her, and if she'll let me, I can come back."
Mrs. Rush smiled, and said, "Very well;" and the obedient little girl
ran to ask her grandmamma's permission.
Grandmamma said, "Certainly, if the colonel wanted her."
"Didn't he invite me?" said Maggie, with rather a long face.
"No," said Bessie. "Would you yather I would not go? I'll stay with
you, if you want me."
"I guess you had better go, if he wants you," said Maggie; "but don't
stay very long, Bessie; it's very sorrowful without you."
"Poor Maggie," said Walter, who was standing by at the time; "it is
very cruel in the colonel not to ask you. Never mind, you shall come
and take care of me when I lose my foot."
"Oh, no, it's me you ought to call cruel," said Maggie, in a very
doleful voice; "you know I am such a fidget, Walter, and I can't help
it. The other day the colonel was so sick, and I meant to be so quiet,
and yet I did two shocking things."
"What did you do?" asked Walter.
"I knocked over a chair, and I slammed the door; and so mamma said I
must not go again till he was better."
"But what do you do without Bessie, when she goes?" said Walter; "I
thought you two could not live apart."
"We can't," said Maggie; "but then, you see, the colonel is a sick,
lame soldier, with a foot cut off and a hole in his side; so, if he
wants Bessie, I ought to make a sacrifice of myself and let her go."
The boys laughed; but Tom said, "That is right, little woman, do all
you can for the soldiers; they have sacrificed enough for us." And
Bessie kissed her sister and ran back to the colonel's room.
"Why, is he better?" she asked, as Mrs. Rush lifted her up to kiss him.
"I think he looks very worse. Oh, how big his eyes are!"
The colonel laughed. "I am like the wolf in Red Riding-Hood; am I not,
Bessie?" he said.
"No," she answered, "not a bit; you are just like my own dear soldier,
only I wish you did not look so white."
"I think he will look better to-morrow, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush. "He
has suffered terribly the last two days; but he is easier now, though
he is very tired and weak, so we must not talk much to him."
"I wont talk a word, only if he speaks to me," said Bessie; and she
brought a footstool and sat down by the side of the sofa. The colonel
held out his hand to her, and she put her own little one in it and
sat perfectly quiet. He lay looking at her, with a smile, for a few
minutes, but presently his eyes closed, and Bessie thought he was
asleep. He looked more ill when his eyes were shut than when they
were open; his face was so very, very pale, and his black hair and
beard made it look whiter still. Mrs. Rush sat by the sofa fanning her
husband, while the little girl watched him with earnest, loving eyes.
At last she whispered, "If he dies, he'll go to heaven, 'cause he's so
very brave and good; wont he?"
Mrs. Rush did not speak, but Bessie did not need any answer. She was
quite sure in her own mind; for she never imagined that this brave
soldier did not love his Saviour. "He could not be so brave and good if
he did not love Jesus very much," she said, looking up at Mrs. Rush.
She could not see the lady's face very plainly, for she was bending
it down almost close to the pillows. Bessie went on very softly and
gravely: "I suppose that's the yeason he's so patient too. Papa says
he never saw any one so patient; and I guess he's like lame Jemmy.
Jemmy said he couldn't help being patient when he thought how much his
Saviour suffered for him, and I guess the colonel is just like him;
and he was so brave in the battles, 'cause he knew Jesus loved him and
would take him to heaven if he was killed. He would have been afraid,
if he didn't know that. And I suppose when he was hurt in that battle
and lay on the ground all night, and his own soldiers didn't know where
he was, but thought the Sepoys had him, he thought about Jesus and his
Father in heaven all the time, and yemembered how Jesus died for him,
and kept saying his prayers to them; and so they took care of him, and
let his own soldiers come and find him. Oh, I know he must love Jesus
very much. And don't you think Jesus took such care of him so he could
love him more yet?" Mrs. Rush's face was quite down on her husband's
pillows now, and Bessie looked back at him. He had turned his head,
and she could not see his face either, but she felt the hand, in which
her own was lying, moving a little uneasily.
"I'm 'fraid I esturb him," she said; "I mustn't whisper any more."
She kissed his hand very gently, and laid her head on the sofa beside
it. The room was rather dark, and very still, and in a few moments
she was fast asleep. After a while the colonel turned his head again,
opened his eyes and looked at her. Then Mrs. Rush lifted up her face.
"Were you asleep, Horace?" she asked.
"No," he said, rather crossly, and moving his head impatiently; "I wish
you would take her away."
Mrs. Rush was glad that Bessie did not hear him; she knew that this
would have grieved her. She lifted the little darling in her arms, and
carried her across the floor to her grandmamma's room. Mrs. Stanton
herself opened the door; there was no one else in the room.
"This precious child is asleep," said Mrs. Rush, in a low voice. "Shall
I leave her with you?"
Mrs. Stanton asked her to lay Bessie on the bed. She did so, and then
bent over her for a moment, and when she raised her head, Mrs. Stanton
saw how very pale and sad her sweet face was.
"What is it, my child?" asked the kind old lady, taking her hand. Mrs.
Rush burst into tears.
"Is your husband worse? Do you think him in danger?"
"Not for this life, but for that which is to come," sobbed Mrs. Rush,
laying her head on Mrs. Stanton's shoulder.
"My poor child! and is it so?" said grandmamma.
"Yes, yes, and he will not hear a word on the subject; he has forbidden
me to mention it to him. And if he would let me, I do not know how to
teach him. I am only a beginner myself. These things are all so new
to me; for it was not until I feared that I was to lose him that I
felt my own need of more than human strength to uphold me. Bessie, dear
little unconscious preacher, has just said more in his hearing than he
has allowed me to say for months. God, in his mercy, grant that her
innocent words may touch his heart. Dear Mrs. Stanton, pray for him and
for me."
Mrs. Stanton tried to comfort her, and then the old lady and the young
one knelt down together, while little Bessie slept on, knowing nothing
of the hopes and fears and sorrows of those who prayed beside her.
IX.
_FAITH._
"Nursey," said Bessie, the next morning, as nurse was putting on her
shoes and stockings, after giving her her bath, "I can't think how it
is."
"How what is, dear?"
"About the Trinity."
"Well!" said nurse. "The Trinity! and what put that into your head?"
"It's not in my head," said Bessie; "I can't get it there. I try and
try to think how it can be, and I can't. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
three Persons and one God," she repeated, slowly; "how can it be,
nursey? I know the Father means our Father in heaven, and the Son means
Jesus, and the Holy Ghost means Heavenly Spirit; but there's only one
God, and I don't understand."
"And wiser heads than yours can't understand it, my lamb," said
nurse; "don't bother your little brains about that. It's just one
of those things we must take upon faith; we must believe it without
understanding it. Don't you think about it any more till you are older."
But Bessie did think about it; and her thoughtful little face looked
more grave and earnest than usual all that day. Mamma wondered what she
was considering, but said nothing, for she was sure that Bessie would
soon come to her if she was in any difficulty.
"What are you thinking about, Bessie?" asked the colonel that
afternoon, when she was in his room. He was much better, and was
sitting up in his easy-chair.
"What is faith?" asked Bessie, answering his question by another, and
turning her great serious, brown eyes on his face. The colonel looked
surprised.
"Faith?" he said. "Why, to have faith in a person is to believe in him
and trust in him."
Bessie did not look satisfied.
"When you first went in bathing," said the colonel, "did you not feel
afraid?"
"No, sir," answered Bessie.
"Why not? Did you not fear that those great waves would wash you away
and drown you?"
"No, sir; before I went in, I thought I would be very 'fraid; but papa
said he would carry me in his arms, and wouldn't let me be drownded."
"And did you believe him?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie, opening her eyes very wide at this
question; "my father don't tell stories."
"And you were not afraid when he carried you in his arms?"
"No, sir."
"That was faith,--faith in your father. You believed what he told you,
and trusted in his care."
Bessie still looked puzzled.
"Well," said the colonel, "don't you understand yet?"
"I don't know how it is about things," said the little girl.
"What things?"
"Things that I don't know how they can be."
"Do you mean, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush, "that you do not know how to
have faith in what you do not understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"See here, little old head on young shoulders," said the colonel,
drawing Bessie closer to him, and seeming much amused, "when I told you
that this box would make sweet music, did you believe me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you understand how it could?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know what this paper-knife is made of?"
"No, sir."
"It is made of the shell of a fish; do you believe it?"
"Why, yes," answered Bessie.
"But you did not see it made; how can you believe it?"
"'Cause you tell me so."
"Well, then, that is faith; you believe what I say, even when you
cannot understand how it is, because you trust me, or have faith in me,
for you know I never tell you anything that is not true. If I sometimes
told you what is false, you could not have faith in me; could you?"
"No," said the little girl, "but you never would tell me _falses_."
"Indeed, I would not, my pet," he said, smiling, and twisting one of
her curls over his finger.
She stood for a few minutes, as if thinking over what he had told her,
and then, her whole face lighting up, she said, "Oh, yes, I know now! I
believe what papa tells me when he says he'll take care of me, 'cause
he always tells me true, and I know he can do it; and that's faith; and
I believe what you tell me, 'cause you tell me true; and that's faith;
and we believe what God tells us, even if we can't understand how it
can be, 'cause he tells us what is true; and that's faith. Now I know
what nursey meant."
"What did nurse say, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush.
"She said we must have faith about three Persons in one God, and
believe what we could not understand; but I think I do understand about
that too. I thinked about it when I was sitting on the yocks this
morning, and I am going to ask mamma if it is yight."
"And what do you think about it, Bessie?"
"Why," said Bessie, holding up her little finger, "don't you know
I have a silver three cent piece? Well, there's three pennies in
it--mamma said so,--but it's only one piece of money, and I suppose
it's somehow that way about three Persons in one God,--Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost,--three Persons in one God."[A]
If the colonel had looked surprised before, he looked still more so
now, while Mrs. Rush laid down her work and gazed at the child.
"Who told you that, Bessie?" she asked.
"Oh, nobody," said Bessie, innocently; "I just thinked it; maybe it is
not yight. I couldn't ask mamma about it all day, 'cause she was busy,
or some one came to see her; and I don't like to ask her things when
somebody is there."
Mrs. Rush looked out of the window by which she sat, and seemed to be
watching the sea; and Bessie stood, softly patting the colonel's knee
with her hand, while for a moment or two no one spoke. Suddenly Bessie
looked up in the colonel's face.
"Colonel Yush," she said, "don't you have a great deal of faith?"
"In some people, Bessie," he answered. "I have a great deal of faith in
my little wife, and a great deal in my pet Bessie, and some few others."
"Oh, I mean in our Father," she said. "I should think you'd have more
faith than 'most anybody, 'cause he took such good care of you in the
battles."
"What?" said the colonel, "when my leg was shot off?"
Bessie did not know whether he was in earnest or not, but she did not
think it was a thing to joke about, and he did not look very well
pleased, though he laughed a little when he spoke.
"Oh, don't make fun about it," she said, "I don't think He would like
it. He could have let you be killed if He chose, but He didn't; and
then He took such care of you all that night, and let your men come
and find you. Don't you think He did it 'cause He wanted you to love
Him more than you did before? Oh, I know you must have a great deal of
faith! Didn't you keep thinking of Jesus all that night, and how he
died for you so his Father could forgive your sins, and take you to
heaven if you died?"
"I was very thankful when I heard my men coming, Bessie; but I was too
weak to think much," said the colonel. "Come, let us wind the box and
have some music; hand me that key."
"But you think a great deal about it when you don't feel so bad; don't
you?" persisted the child, as she gave him the key of the musical box.
"Pshaw!" said the colonel, throwing it down again on the table; "what
absurdity it is to fill a child's head--"
"Horace!" said Mrs. Rush, in a quick, startled voice.
The colonel stopped short, then taking up the paper-cutter, began
tapping the table in a very impatient manner. "I am sick of the whole
thing," he said; "there seems to be no end to it. Wife, sister, and
friend, from the parson to the baby, every one has something to say on
the same subject. I tell you I will have no more of it from any one.
I should have supposed I would have been safe there. And my own words
turned into a handle against me too." And he looked at Bessie, who
had drawn a little away from him and stood gazing at him with fear and
wonder in her large eyes. She had never seen him angry before, and she
could not think what had made him so now.
"Am I naughty?" she asked.
"No, darling," said Mrs. Rush, holding out her hand.
Bessie ran over to her. Mrs. Rush lifted her up in her lap.
"Did I talk too much?" asked Bessie. "I did not mean to tease him."
"See that steamship coming in, Bessie," said Mrs. Rush, in a voice that
shook a little. "I think it must be the 'Africa,' which is to bring
Gracie Howard's father. Will she not be glad to see him?"
"Yes," said Bessie; but she did not look at the steamer, but watched
the colonel, who still seemed vexed, and kept up his tattoo with the
paper-cutter.
Nobody spoke again for a few moments, and Bessie grew more and more
uncomfortable. Presently she gave a long sigh, and leaned her cheek on
her hand.
"Are you tired, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush.
"No," said Bessie, "but I'm so uncomf'able. I think I had yather go to
mamma in grandmamma's yoom."
Mrs. Rush put her down, and was leading her away, but when they reached
the door, Bessie drew her hand from hers and ran back to the colonel.
"I am sorry I teased you," she said. "I didn't know you didn't like
people to talk about that night; I'll never do it any more again."
The colonel threw down the paper-cutter, and catching her in his arms,
kissed her heartily two or three times. "You do not tease me, my pet,"
he said; "you did not know how cross your old soldier could be; did
you?"
"You was not so very cross," she said, patting his cheek lovingly with
her little hand. "Sick, lame people can't be patient all the time, and
I do talk too much sometimes; mamma says I do. Next time I come, I'll
be so quiet." Then she ran back to Mrs. Rush, who took her to her
grandmamma's room and left her at the door.
Bessie went to mamma, and tried to climb upon her lap. Mrs. Bradford
lifted her up, but she was talking to her mother, and did not notice
her little girl's troubled face till Mrs. Stanton signed to her to look
at Bessie. Then she asked, "What is it, dearest?"
"I don't know, mamma," said Bessie.
"Has something troubled you?" asked mamma.
"Yes," said Bessie; "I teased the colonel."
"Oh!" said Maggie, "did you slam the door?"
"No, I talked about what he didn't like," said Bessie, with a quivering
lip; "I talked about that night, and it teased him. I didn't know he
didn't like to hear about it, mamma. I s'pose it's because he suffered
so much he don't like to think of it."
Mamma had no need to ask what night she meant; ever since Bessie
had heard of the terrible night when the colonel had lain upon the
battle-field, faint and almost dying from his dreadful wounds, thinking
that he should never see his home and friends again, the story had
seemed to be constantly in her mind; and she spoke of it so often that
her mother knew quite well what she meant. "What did you say about it,
dear?" she asked.
Bessie could not remember all, but she told enough to let her mother
see what had displeased the colonel. But Mrs. Bradford did not tell her
little girl, for she knew it would distress her very much to know that
the brave soldier of whom she was so fond did not like to be reminded,
even by a little child, of his debts and duty to the merciful Father
who had kept him through so many dangers and who had sent his dear Son
to die for him.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: The above train of reasoning was actually carried out by a
child of five years.]
X.
_THE SICK BABY._
One night the dear little baby was very sick. Bessie woke many times,
and as often as she did so, she found that nurse had not come to bed,
and when she looked through the open door which led into her mother's
room, she saw either her father or mother walking up and down with the
baby, trying to hush her pitiful cries and moans. In the morning the
doctor was sent for, and grandmamma came over to the cottage and stayed
all day; but the baby grew worse and worse. In the afternoon Maggie
and Bessie went into their mamma's room and stood by her side looking
at their little sister, who was lying on her lap. The baby seemed very
restless, and was moaning and throwing its arms about; suddenly it
threw back its head with a very strange look on its face, and clinched
its tiny hands. Mamma caught it in her arms, and she and grandmamma
called for nurse to bring warm water. Mrs. Jones came with it in a
minute, saying, "I had it all ready, for I thought it would be wanted."
Maggie ran away; she could not bear to see baby look and act so
strangely; but Bessie stayed till grandmamma sent her out of the room.
In a short time, Jane came to take the little girls to the beach. They
did not want to go, and begged her to let them stay at home; but she
said she could not keep Franky in the house all the afternoon, and she
thought their mamma would wish them to go out as usual; so they said no
more, and went with her, like the obedient children they were.
They found Colonel and Mrs. Rush down on the beach. Mrs. Rush talked to
Jane a little, and then said she would go up and see baby. She left the
little girls with the colonel, and he tried to amuse them; but although
he told them a very interesting story, they did not care about it half
as much as usual.
Mrs. Rush stayed a good while, and came back with a very grave face,
and when her husband asked, "How is the child?" she looked at him
without speaking; but Maggie and Bessie knew by this that the baby was
worse. Then Mrs. Rush asked them if they did not want to go to the
hotel and have tea with her and the colonel, but they said "No," they
wanted to go home.
When they went back to the house, Jane left the little girls sitting
on the door-step, while she took Franky in to give him his supper. It
was a very quiet, lovely evening. The sun had gone down, but it was
not dark yet. The sky was very blue, and a few soft gray clouds, with
pink edges, were floating over it. Down on the beach they could see
the people walking and driving about; but not a sound was to be heard
except the cool, pleasant dash of the waves, and Farmer Jones' low
whistle as he sat on the horse-block with Susie on his knee. Susie
sucked her fat thumb, and stared at the children. They sat there
without speaking, with their arms round each other's waists, wishing
they knew about the baby. Presently Mrs. Jones came down stairs and
called out over the children's heads, "Sam'l." Mr. Jones got up off the
horse-block and came towards them. "Here," said Mrs. Jones, handing
him a paper, "they want you to go right off to the station and send
up a telegraph for the city doctor. Here it is; Mr. Bradford writ it
himself, and he says you're to lose no time. 'Taint a mite of use
though, and it's just a senseless wastin' of your time."
"Not if they want it done," said Jones. "Why, Susan, s'pose everybody
hadn't done everything they could when we thought this one was going
to be took, wouldn't we have thought they was hard-hearted creeturs? I
aint done thanking the Almighty yet for leaving her to us, and I aint
the man to refuse nothing to them as is in like trouble,--not if it was
to ride all the way to York with the telegram."
"I'm sure I don't want you to refuse 'em," said Mrs. Jones,--"one can't
say no to them as has a dyin' child; but I do say it's no use. It will
all be over long before the doctor comes; all the doctors in York can't
save that poor little lamb. Anyhow, if I was Miss Bradford, I wouldn't
take on so; she's got plenty left."
"I'll do my part, anyhow," said the farmer, as he handed Susie to her
mother, and then hurried off to saddle his horse and ride away to the
station as fast as possible, while Mrs. Jones carried Susie off to the
kitchen.
"Maggie," whispered Bessie, "what does she mean?"
"The bad, hateful thing!" answered Maggie, with a sudden burst of
crying; "she means our baby is going to die. She wouldn't like any one
to say that of her Susie, and I don't believe it a bit. Bessie, I can't
bear her if she does make us cookies and turnovers. I like Mr. Jones a
great deal better, and I wish he didn't have Mrs. Jones at all. Mamma
wont have plenty left if our baby dies; six isn't a bit too many, and
she can't spare one of us, I know."
"But perhaps Jesus wants another little angel up in heaven," said
Bessie, "and so he's going to take our baby."
"Well, I wish he would take somebody else's baby," said Maggie.
"There's Mrs. Martin, she has thirteen children, and I should think she
could spare one very well; and there's a whole lot of little babies at
the Orphan Asylum, that haven't any fathers and mothers to be sorry
about them."
"Perhaps he thinks our baby is the sweetest," said Bessie.
"I know she is the sweetest," said Maggie, "but that's all the more
reason we want her ourselves. She is so little and so cunning; I think
she grows cunninger and cunninger every day. Day before yesterday she
laughed out loud when I was playing with her, and put her dear little
hands in my curls and pulled them, and I didn't mind it so very much if
she did pull so hard I had to squeal a little; and oh! I'd let her do
it again, if she would only get well. Don't you think, Bessie, if we
say a prayer, and ask Jesus to let us keep her, he will?"
"I think he will," said Bessie; "we'll try."
"Let us go into the sitting-room," said Maggie, "there is no one there."
"Oh! let us stay out here," answered Bessie, "there's such a beautiful
sky up there. Perhaps Jesus is just there looking at us, and maybe he
could hear us a little sooner out here. Nobody will see us."
They knelt down together by the seat on the porch. "You say it,
Bessie," said Maggie, who was still sobbing very hard. She laid her
head down on the bench, and Bessie put her hands together, and with
the tears running over her cheeks said, "Dear Jesus, please don't take
our darling little baby to be an angel just yet, if you can spare her.
She is so little and so sweet, and poor mamma will feel so sorry if
she goes away, and we will, too, and we want her so much. Please, dear
Jesus, let us keep her, and take some poor little baby that don't have
any one to love it, Amen."
They sat down again on the door-step till Harry and Fred came in.
"How is baby?" asked Harry.
"We don't know," said Maggie; "nobody came down this ever so long."
"Go up and see, Midget."
"Oh! I can't, Harry," said Maggie. "I don't want to see that strange
look on baby's face."
"Then you go, Bessie," said Harry; "my shoes make such a noise, and you
move just like a little mouse. You wont disturb them."
Bessie went up stairs and peeped in at the door of her mother's room.
There was no one there but papa and mamma and the baby. Papa was
walking up and down the room with his arms folded, looking very sad and
anxious, and mamma sat on a low chair with baby on her lap. The little
thing lay quiet now, with its eyes shut and its face so very, very
white. Mamma was almost as pale, and she did not move her eyes from
baby's face even when Bessie came softly up and stood beside her.
Bessie looked at her baby sister and then at her mother. Mamma's face
troubled her even more than the baby's did, and she felt as it she must
do something to comfort her. She laid her hand gently on her mother's
shoulder, and said, "Dear mamma, don't you want to have a little angel
of your own in heaven?" Mamma gave a start and put her arm farther
over the baby, as if she thought something was going to hurt it. Papa
stopped his walk and Bessie went on,--
"Maggie and I asked Jesus to spare her to us, if he could; but if he
wants her for himself, we ought not to mind very much; ought we? And
if you feel so bad about it 'cause she's so little and can't walk or
speak, I'll ask him to take me too, and then I can tell the big angels
just how you took care of her, and I'll help them. And then when you
come to heaven, you will have two little angels of your own waiting for
you. And we'll always be listening near the gate for you, dear mamma,
so that when you knock and call us, we'll be yeady to open it for you;
and if we don't come yight away, don't be frightened, but knock again,
for we'll only be a little way off, and we'll come just as fast as I
can bring baby; and she'll know you, for I'll never let her forget you.
And while you stay here, dear mamma, wont it make you very happy to
think you have two little children angels of your own, waiting for you
and loving you all the time?"[B]
Mamma had turned her eyes from the baby's face, and was watching her
darling Bessie as she stood there talking so earnestly yet so softly;
and now she put her arm around her and kissed her, while the tears ran
fast from her eyes and wet Bessie's cheeks.
"Please don't cry, mamma," said the little girl; "I did not mean to
make you cry. Shall I ask Jesus to take me, too, if he takes the baby?"
"No, no, my darling, ask him to leave you, that you may be your
mother's little comforter, and pray that he may spare your sister too."
"And if he cannot, mamma?"
"Then that he may teach us to say, 'Thy will be done,'" said her
father, coming close to them and laying his hand on Bessie's head. "He
knows what is best for us and for baby."
"Yes," said Bessie, "and I suppose if he takes her, he will carry her
in his arms just as he is carrying the lambs in the picture of the Good
Shepherd in our nursery. We need not be afraid he wont take good care
of her; need we, mamma?"
"No, darling," said Mrs. Bradford, "we need not fear to give her to his
care, and my Bessie has taught her mother a lesson."
"Did I, mamma?" said the little girl, wondering what her mother meant;
but before she could answer, grandmamma came in with the country
doctor.
Mr. Bradford took Bessie in his arms, and after holding her down to her
mother for another kiss, carried her from the room. When he had her out
in the entry, he kissed her himself many times, and whispered, as if he
was speaking to himself, "God bless and keep my angel child."
"Yes, papa," said Bessie, thinking he meant the baby, "and Maggie and I
will say another prayer about her to-night; and I keep thinking little
prayers about her all the time, and that's just the same, papa; isn't
it?"
"Yes, my darling," said her father; and then he put her down and stood
and watched her as she went down stairs.
It was not the will of our Father in heaven that the dear little baby
should die. Late in the night the doctor came from New York, and God
heard the prayers of the baby's father and mother and little sisters,
and blessed the means that were used to make it well; and before the
morning it was better, and fell into a sweet, quiet sleep.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote B: Almost the exact words of a very lovely child of a friend
of the writer.]
XI.
_THE HAPPY CIRCUMSTANCE._
The next morning, when Bessie woke up, it was very quiet in the
nursery. She lay still a moment, wondering what it was that had
troubled her last night; and just as she remembered about the baby,
she heard a little discontented sound at her side. She turned her
head and looked around, and there sat Maggie on the floor beside the
trundle-bed, with one sock and one shoe on, and the other shoe in her
hand. She looked rather cross.
"Maggie," said Bessie, "has the baby gone to heaven?"
"No," said Maggie, "and I don't believe she's going just yet. Our own
doctor came in the night, and she's a great deal better; and now she's
fast asleep."
"And don't you feel glad then?"
"Oh, yes! I am real glad of _that_," said Maggie.
"Then why don't you look glad? What is the matter?"
"I can't find my clo'," said Maggie, in a fretful tone.
"What clo'?"
"Why, my sock."
"Why don't nurse or Jane find it for you?" asked Bessie.
"I can't wait," said Maggie; "I want it now; nurse is holding baby
because mamma has gone to sleep too, and Jane has taken Franky to
Harry's room to dress him, because she was afraid he would make a
noise; and she said if I put on my shoes and socks, and all the rest of
my under-clo's before she came back, I might put on yours, if you waked
up. And that's a great 'sponsibility, Bessie; and I want to do it, and
now I can't."
"Look some more," said Bessie, who was very well pleased at the thought
of having her sister dress her.
"I have looked all over," said Maggie. "I just expect a robber came in
the night and stole it."
"Why, it would not fit him!" said Bessie.
"Well, I guess he has a bad little robber girl of his own that he has
taken it to," said Maggie. "Anyhow, she'll be bare one foot, and I'm
glad of it."
Bessie sat up in the bed and looked around the room. "I see a pair of
clean socks over there on your petticoats," she said.
"So there is," said Maggie; and quite good-natured again, she began to
dress as fast as she could.
"Maggie," said Bessie, as she lay down again to wait till her sister
was ready, "what was the name of that word you said?"
"What,--'sponsibility?"
"Yes, that's it; say it again."
"Spons-er-bil-er-ty," said Maggie, slowly.
"Oh!" said Bessie, with a long breath, as if that word was almost too
much for her, "what does it mean?"
"It means something to do or to take care of."
"Then when mamma put baby on the bed the other day, and told me to take
care of her, was that a great spons-er-bil-er-ty?"
"Yes," said Maggie.
"It's a nice word; isn't it, Maggie?"
"Yes, but it is not so nice as happy circumstance."
"Oh, that is very nice? What does that mean, Maggie?"
"It means something very nice and pleasant. I'm going to say happy
circumstance to some one to-day, if I get a chance."
"Whom are you going to say it to?"
"I don't know yet; but I shall not say it to the boys, for they laugh
at us when we say grown-up words. You may say it, Bessie, if you want
to."
"Oh, no," said Bessie, "I would not say your new words before you say
them yourself; that would not be fair, and I would not do it for a
hundred dollars."
"Well," said Maggie, "I would not let any one else do it, but you may
say any of my words you want to, Bessie."
While they were talking away, Maggie was putting on her clothes, and
then Bessie got up; and by the time Jane came back, Maggie had nearly
dressed her sister too. Jane called Maggie a good, helpful little girl,
which pleased her very much, for she liked praise.
After breakfast, as the children were standing on the porch waiting for
Jane to take them for their walk, Harry came along and told them, if
they would come out to the barn, he would give them a swing. They never
said no to the offer of a swing, and, much pleased, followed him to the
barn, where they found Mr. Jones sitting outside of the door mending
his nets. He took down the swing for them, lifted Bessie in, and then
went back to his work. Maggie had said that Bessie should take her turn
first, and that, while Harry was swinging her, she would go out and
talk to Mr. Jones. They were very good friends now, and Maggie was not
at all afraid of him, but sat watching him with great interest as he
filled up the broken places in his nets.
"Well, and so the little sister is better this morning?" said Mr. Jones.
"Yes," said Maggie; "and we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Jones."
"What for?" asked Jones.
"Because you went so quick to send for our own doctor."
"Deary me, that wasn't nothing," said Mr. Jones. "I'd ha' been a
heathen if I hadn't."
Maggie stood silent for a few moments, watching him, and then said,
slowly, but very earnestly, "Mr. Jones, do you think Mrs. Jones is a
very happy circumstance?"
Mr. Jones looked at her for a moment as if he did not quite understand
her, and then he smiled as he said, "Well, yes, I reckon I do; don't
you?"
"No, I _don't_," said Maggie. "What did make you marry her, Mr. Jones?"
"Because I thought she would make me a good wife."
[Illustration: Bessie at Sea Side. p. 152.]
"And does she?"
"First-rate; don't you think she does?"
"I don't know," said Maggie, "I don't like her very much; I like you a
great deal better than I do her; I think you are a very nice man, Mr.
Jones."
"I guess I'm about of the same opinion about you," said Mr. Jones; "but
what is the reason you don't like Mrs. Jones?"
"Oh," said Maggie, "because she--she--does things. She makes me just as
mad as a hop."
"What things?"
"She goes and has trundle-beds," said Maggie.
Mr. Jones laughed out now as he said, "Oh, you haven't got over that
trouble yet, eh? Well, what else does she do?"
"She said we could spare our baby, and we couldn't," said Maggie,
angrily; "and she didn't want you to go send the message for our own
doctor. I think she ought to be ashamed."
"She didn't mean it," said Mr. Jones, coaxingly.
"People ought not to say things they don't mean," said Maggie.
"No more they oughtn't, but yet you see they do sometimes."
"And she said mamma took on," said Maggie, "and mamma would not do such
a thing; mamma is a lady, and ladies do not take on."
This seemed to amuse Mr. Jones more than anything else, and he laughed
so loud and so long that Mrs. Jones came out to the kitchen door.
"Sam'l," she called, "what are you making all that noise about?"
"Oh, don't tell her!" said Maggie; while Mr. Jones laughed harder than
ever, and she saw that Mrs. Jones was coming towards them.
"Don't you be afraid," said Mr. Jones, "I aint goin' to tell her."
"Now aint you just ashamed of yourself, Sam'l," said Mrs. Jones as she
came up, "to be making all that hee-hawing, and poor Miss Bradford and
that little sick lamb lying asleep? Do you want to wake 'em up? Is he
laughing at you, Maggie?"
Maggie hung her head, and looked as if she would like to run away.
"I s'pose he's just tickled to death about some of your long words,
that he thinks so funny," said Mrs. Jones. "It does not take much to
set him going. Never you mind him, come along with me to the kitchen,
and see the nice ginger cakes I am makin' for your supper. I'll make
you and Bessie a gingerbread man apiece. Such good children you was
yesterday, keeping so quiet when the baby was sick, and trying to help
yourselves when your poor 'ma and your nurse was busy. If it had been
them young ones that was here last summer, they'd have kept the house
in a riot from night till morning when they was left to themselves.
Jane was tellin' me how nicely you dressed yourself and Bessie this
morning. Now, Sam'l, you stop bein' such a goose."
Poor Maggie did not know which way to look. Here was Mrs. Jones, whom
she had just been saying she did not like, praising and petting her and
promising gingerbread men; and oh, Mr. Jones was laughing so! He was
not laughing out loud now, but he was shaking all over, and when Maggie
peeped at him from under her eyelashes, he twinkled his eyes at her,
as much as to say, "Now, what do you think of her?" Right glad was she
when Harry called her to take her turn at the swing, and she could run
away out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
In a few days the dear baby was quite well and bright again, while her
little sisters thought they loved her more than ever, now that she had
been spared to them when they had so much feared they were to lose her.
XII.
_MISS ADAMS._
Among the many pleasures which Maggie and Bessie Bradford enjoyed at
Quam Beach, there was none which they liked much better than going over
to the hotel to see the dear friends who were staying there. Sometimes
it was to stay a while with grandmamma and Aunt Annie; perhaps to take
a meal with them at the long hotel table; to hear grandmamma's stories,
or to have a frolic with Aunt Annie and their little playmates. Aunt
Annie was a young girl herself, merry and full of mischief, and liked
play almost as well as Maggie. Then there were those delightful visits
to Colonel and Mrs. Rush, which the colonel said he enjoyed more than
they did; but they thought that could not be possible. They knew a good
many of the other people, too, and almost every one was pleased to see
the two well-behaved, ladylike little girls.
But there was staying at the hotel a lady who used to amaze Maggie
and Bessie very much. Her name was Miss Adams. She was very tall and
rather handsome, with bright, flashing black eyes, a beautiful color in
her cheeks, and very white teeth. But she had a loud, rough voice and
laugh, and a rude, wild manner, which was more like that of a coarse
man than a young lady. Then she talked very strangely, using a great
many words which are called "slang," and which are not nice for any
one to use, least of all for a lady. Maggie ran away whenever she came
near; but Bessie would stand and watch her with a grave, disapproving
air, which was very amusing to those who saw it.
Miss Adams generally had a number of gentlemen around her, with whom
she was very familiar, calling them by their names without any "Mr.,"
slapping them on the shoulder, laughing and talking at the top of her
voice, and altogether behaving in a very unladylike way. But Bessie
thought it very strange that sometimes, when Miss Adams had been acting
in this rough, noisy manner, after she went away, the gentlemen would
shrug their shoulders, and laugh and talk among themselves, as if they
were making unkind remarks about her. She thought they could not like
her very much, after all, when they did so.
One evening Harry came home from the hotel in a state of great
indignation. Miss Adams had a beautiful dog named Carlo. He was a
water spaniel, and was a great favorite with all the boys, who often
coaxed him to the shore, where they could play with him. Miss Adams was
generally willing enough to have him go; but that afternoon, when she
was going out in her pony carriage, she wanted him to go with her, and
he was not to be found. Something had happened before to put her out,
and she was very angry at Carlo's absence. She had gone but a little
way, when it began to rain, and she had to turn back. This vexed her
still more; and just as she jumped from her carriage, Carlo ran up.
"So, sir," she said, with an angry frown, "I'll teach you to run away
without leave!" and taking the poor dog by the back of the neck, she
thrashed him with the horse-whip she held in her other hand. Carlo
whined and howled, and looked up in her face with pitiful eyes; but she
only whipped him the harder. The ladies turned pale and walked away,
and the gentlemen begged her to stop, but all in vain; she kept on
until her arm was quite tired, and then the poor dog crept away shaking
and trembling all over. The boys were furious, and Maggie and Bessie
were very much distressed when they heard the story, and disliked Miss
Adams more than ever.
When the baby was quite well again, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford took a drive
of some miles, to spend the day with an old friend. They took only
baby and nurse with them, and Maggie and Bessie went up to the hotel
to stay with their grandmamma. It was a very warm day, and grandmamma
called them indoors earlier than usual. But they did not care much, for
Aunt Annie was a capital playmate, and she amused them for a long time.
But just as she was in the midst of a most interesting story, some
ladies came to make a visit to grandmamma. One of the ladies was old
and rather cross, and she did not like children, and Aunt Annie thought
that it would not be very pleasant for her little nieces to be in the
room while she was there. So she gave them a pack of picture cards and
a basket of shells, and said they might go and play with them on one of
the long settees which stood on the piazza.
There were only one or two people on the piazza, and the children
spread out their shells and pictures, and were very busy and happy for
some time. They heard Miss Adams' loud voice in the hall, but did not
pay any attention to her.
Presently she came out on the piazza, followed by three or four
gentlemen, and looked around for a shady place. She saw none that she
liked as well as that where Maggie and Bessie were playing, and coming
up to them, she sat down on the other end of the bench. The gentlemen
stood around.
"Here, Thorn," said Miss Adams, "sit down here;" and she moved nearer
to Bessie, sweeping down some of the shells and pictures with her
skirts. Mr. Thorn obeyed, and Maggie whispered to Bessie, "Let's go
away." Bessie said, "Yes;" and they began to gather up their treasures,
Maggie stooping to pick up those which Miss Adams had thrown down.
Presently Bessie felt a pretty hard pull at one of her long curls. She
was sure it was Miss Adams, although she did not see her; but she said
nothing, only shook back her hair, and put on the look she always did
when Miss Adams was doing anything of which she did not approve.
There came another pull, this time a little harder. "Don't," said
Bessie.
A third pull, just as Maggie raised her head and saw Miss Adams' hand
at Bessie's hair.
"Don't!" said Bessie again, in a louder and more impatient tone.
"Come now, Lovatt," said Miss Adams, "are you not ashamed to be pulling
a young lady's hair?"
"Oh!" said Maggie, astonished out of her shyness, "you did it yourself!
I saw you."
Miss Adams shook her fist at Maggie, and then gave a longer and harder
pull at Bessie's hair.
"When I tell you _to don't_, why _don't_ you don't?" said Bessie,
furiously, stamping her foot, and turning to Miss Adams, her face
crimson with anger.
Miss Adams and the gentlemen set up a shout of laughter, and Mr.
Lovatt, who was standing just behind Bessie, caught her up in his arms
and held her high in the air.
Now Bessie disliked Mr. Lovatt almost as much as she did Miss Adams. He
was a great tease, and was always running after her and trying to kiss
her. He had never done it yet, for she had always managed to run away
from him, or some of her friends had interfered to save her from being
annoyed.
"Put me down!" she said.
"Not until you have given me three kisses," said Mr. Lovatt. "I have
you now, and you cannot help yourself."
"Put me down!" screamed Bessie, furious with passion.
"For shame, Lovatt!" said Mr. Thorn, and Mr. Lovatt looked for a moment
as if he was going to put Bessie down; but Miss Adams laughed and
said,--
"You are not going to let that little mite get the better of you?
_Make_ her kiss you. Such airs!"
Mr. Lovatt lowered the struggling child a little, but still held her
fast in his arms, while Maggie ran off to call her grandmamma.
"Kiss me, and I'll let you go," said Mr. Lovatt.
"I wont, I wont!" shrieked Bessie. "I'll tell my papa."
"Your papa is far away," said Miss Adams.
"I'll tell Colonel Yush!" gasped Bessie.
"Do you think I care a _rush_ for him?" said Mr. Lovatt, as he tried to
take the kisses she would not give. Bessie screamed aloud, clinched one
little hand in Mr. Lovatt's hair, and with the other struck with all
her force upon the mouth that was so near her own.
"Whew!" said Mr. Lovatt, as he quickly set Bessie upon her feet, "who
would have thought that tiny hand could have stung so?"
"You little tiger!" said Miss Adams, seizing Bessie by the shoulder and
giving her a shake. "You are the child they call so good; are you? Why,
there's not another in the house would have flown into such a passion
for nothing. What a furious temper!"
Bessie had never been shaken before. It was a punishment which Mr. and
Mrs. Bradford would not have thought proper for a child, were she
ever so naughty, and she had never been punished at all by any one but
her father or mother, and that but seldom. But it was not so much the
shaking as Miss Adams' words which sobered Bessie in an instant. She
had been in a passion again! She stood perfectly silent, her lips and
cheeks growing so white that Miss Adams was frightened, but just then
Mrs. Stanton stepped out on the piazza and came quickly toward them.
They all looked ashamed and uncomfortable as the stately old lady
lifted her little granddaughter in her arms and spoke a few words of
stern reproof to the thoughtless young people who could find amusement
in tormenting a little child. Then she carried Bessie away.
XIII.
_BESSIE'S REPENTANCE._
Mrs. Stanton would have come sooner, but her visitors were just leaving
when Maggie came in, and she did not quite understand at first how it
was. Miss Ellery, a young lady who had been standing by, rushed into
Mrs. Stanton's room after she carried Bessie in, and told her how the
little girl had been treated. Mrs. Stanton was very much displeased,
but just now she could think of nothing but the child's distress. She
shook all over, and the sobs and tears came faster and faster till
grandmamma was afraid she would be ill. She soothed and comforted and
petted in vain. Bessie still cried as if her heart would break. All she
could say was, "Oh, mamma, mamma! I want my own mamma!"
At last Mrs. Stanton said kindly but firmly, "Bessie, my child, you
_must_ be quiet. You will surely be sick. Grandmamma is very sorry for
you, but your head cannot hurt you so very much now."
"Oh, no!" sobbed the little girl, clinging about her grandmother's
neck, "it isn't that, grandmamma; I don't care much if she did pull my
hair; but oh, I was so wicked! I was in a passion again, and I was _so_
bad! I struck that man, I know I did. Jesus will be sorry, and he will
be angry with me too. He will think that I don't want to be his little
child any more, 'cause I was so very, very naughty. Oh! what shall I
do?"
"Tell Jesus that you are sorry, and ask him to forgive you, Bessie,"
said grandmamma, gently.
"Oh! I am 'fraid he can't," sobbed Bessie; "he must be so very angry.
I didn't think about him, and I didn't try one bit, grandmamma. I just
thought about what Miss Adams and that man did to me, and I was in such
a dreadful passion; I never was so bad before. Oh, I wish I could tell
my own mamma about it!"
All this was said with many sobs and tears and catchings of her breath,
and grandmamma wished that Miss Adams could see the distress she had
caused.
"Bessie," she said, "why did Jesus come down from heaven and die on the
cross?"
"So our Father in heaven could forgive us," answered the child more
quietly.
"And do you not think that his precious blood is enough to wash away
our great sins as well as those which we may think are smaller?"
"Yes, grandmamma."
"Now, no sin is small in the eyes of a just and holy God, Bessie; but
when he made such a great sacrifice for us, it was that he might be
able to forgive _every one_ of our sins against him, if we are truly
sorry for them. And he will surely do so, my darling, and help and love
us still, if we ask him for the sake of that dear Son."
"And will he listen to me _now_, grandmamma, just when I was so very
naughty?"
"Yes, he is always ready to hear us. No matter how much we have grieved
him, he will not turn away when we call upon him."
Bessie was silent for some minutes with her face hidden on her
grandmother's neck, and her sobs became less violent. At last she
whispered, "Grandmamma, do you think Jesus can love me just as much as
he did before?"
"Just as much, my precious one," said grandmamma, drawing her arms
close about Bessie, and pressing her lips on the little curly head.
Then Bessie raised her face and turned around in her grandmamma's lap.
A very pale little face it was, and very weak and tired she looked;
but she lay quite quiet now except for a long sob which still came
now and then. Maggie wondered why grandmamma bit her lip, and why her
eyebrows drew together in a frown, as if she were angry. She could not
be displeased with Bessie now, she thought.
Presently grandmamma began to sing in a low voice,--
"Just as I am, without one plea,
Save that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bid'st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God! I come.
"Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God! I come.
"Just as I am thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve,
Because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God! I come.
"Just as I am,--thy love unknown
Has broken every barrier down;
Now to be thine, yea, thine alone
O Lamb of God! I come."
When she had sung one verse, Maggie joined in, and Bessie lay
listening. When they were through, Mrs. Stanton put Bessie down in a
corner of the lounge, and said the children must have some lunch. First
she rang the bell, and then went to a little cupboard at the side of
the fireplace and brought out two small white plates, which Maggie and
Bessie knew quite well. Presently the waiter came to the door to know
what Mrs. Stanton wanted. This was James, the head waiter. He knew
Maggie and Bessie, and they were great favorites with him. His wife
washed for some of the ladies in the hotel, and once when she came
there with some clothes, she brought her little girl with her, and left
her in the hall with her father, who was busy there. She was a _very_
little girl, and could just walk alone, and while she was toddling
about after her father, she fell down and knocked her head against the
corner of a door. She cried very hard, and James tried to quiet her,
lest she should disturb some of the boarders. But she had a great bump
on her head, and she did not see any reason why she should be still
when it hurt her so. She was still crying when Maggie and Bessie came
through the hall. Each had a stick of candy, which some one had just
given them. When they heard the little one crying, they stopped to ask
what ailed her.
"I'll give her my candy," said Maggie.
"Yes, do," said Bessie, "and I'll give you half of mine."
The child stopped crying when she had the nice stick of candy. James
was very much pleased, and after that he was always glad to wait upon
our little girls. He had just now heard the story of Bessie's trouble,
for Miss Ellery had taken pains to spread it through the house, so
vexed was she at Miss Adams, and James had been by when she was telling
some of the ladies. He felt very sorry for Bessie, and wished that he
could do something for her. When he came to answer Mrs. Stanton's ring,
she asked him to bring some bread and butter.
"Is it for the little ladies, ma'am?" asked James. Mrs. Stanton said,
"Yes," and James asked if they would not like toast better. Two or
three times when Maggie and Bessie had taken tea with their grandmamma,
he had noticed that Bessie always asked for toast. Mrs. Stanton
thanked him and said yes, for she thought perhaps Bessie would eat
toast when she would not eat bread.
"But can I have it at this time of the day?" she said.
"No fear, ma'am," said James. "You shall have it, if I make it myself;"
and with a nod to the children, he went away.
Bessie sat quiet in a corner of the sofa, still looking very grave.
"Don't you feel happy now, Bessie?" said Maggie, creeping close to her,
and putting her arm around her. "I am sure Jesus will forgive you."
"Yes, I think he will," said Bessie; "but I can't help being sorry
'cause I was so naughty."
"You was not half so bad as Miss Adams, if you did get into a passion,"
said Maggie, "and I don't believe he'll forgive her."
"Oh, Maggie!" said Bessie.
"Well, I don't believe she'll ask him."
"Then I'll ask him," said Bessie.
"Now, Bessie, don't you do it!"
"But I ought to ask him, if I want him to forgive me," said Bessie.
"When we say 'Our Father in heaven,' we say 'Forgive us our sins as we
forgive those that sin against us.' I think Miss Adams sinned against
me a little bit; don't you, Maggie?"
"No, I don't," said Maggie. "No little bit about it. _I_ think she
sinned against you a great bit,--as much as the whole ocean."
"Then if I want Jesus to forgive me, I ought to forgive her, and to
ask him to forgive her too. I think I ought. I'm going to ask mamma
to-night."
"_I_ sha'n't do it, I know," said Maggie. "I wish I was as tall as she
is; no,--as tall as papa or Colonel Rush, and oh! wouldn't she get it
then!"
"What would you do?" asked Bessie.
"I don't know,--something. Oh, yes! don't you know the pictures of
Bluebeard's wives, where they're all hanging up by their hair? I'd
just hang her up that way, and then _her_ hair would be nicely pulled.
And I'd get the boys to come and poke her with sticks." Maggie said
this, shaking her head with a very determined look.
The idea of Miss Adams hanging up by her hair made Bessie laugh; but
in a moment she looked grave again. "I don't believe that's yight,
Maggie," she said.
"I don't care," said Maggie. "I'm going to say it."
Just then James came back, and they forgot Miss Adams for a while. He
brought a nice plate of toast and some butter. Grandmamma spread two
pieces of toast and laid them on the little plates, and then went back
again to the famous cupboard and brought out--oh, delicious!--a box of
guava jelly. She put a spoonful on each plate, and gave them to the
children. "Now, remember," she said, "the jelly goes with the toast."
Bessie looked rather doubtfully at her toast. "Grandmamma, I don't feel
very hungry."
"But you must eat something, Bessie; it is long after your luncheon
time, and it will not do for you to go until dinner without eating.
Mamma will think I did not take good care of you."
But the toast tasted so good with the guava jelly that Bessie eat the
whole of hers and even asked for more, to grandma's great pleasure.
When she brought it to her with some more jelly, she saw that Bessie
had still some of the sweetmeats left on her plate. "Don't you like
your jelly, dear?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," said Bessie, "but I didn't know if I could eat all the
toast, and I thought perhaps you only wanted me to eat just so much
share of the guava as I eat a share of the toast; so I eat that first
to be sure."
Grandma smiled, but she did not praise her honest little granddaughter,
for she did not think it best.
When Aunt Annie heard Miss Ellery tell how Bessie had been treated, she
was very angry, and said some things about Miss Adams and Mr. Lovatt
which her mother did not wish to have her say before the children. She
told her so, speaking in French; so Annie said no more just then; but
as soon as Bessie ceased crying, she ran out to tell Miss Adams what
she thought of her conduct. But happily Miss Adams was not to be found,
and before Annie saw her again, her mother had persuaded her that it
was better to say nothing about it.
But now when she could not find Miss Adams, she went off to Mrs.
Rush's room and told her and the colonel the whole story. The colonel
was angry enough to please even Annie. He said so much, and grew so
excited, that Mrs. Rush was sorry Annie had told him. He was far more
displeased than he would have been with any insult to himself, and
when, soon after, he met Mr. Lovatt in the hall, he spoke so severely
and angrily to him that Mr. Lovatt was much offended. Very high words
passed between the two gentlemen, and the quarrel might have become
serious, if Mr. Howard had not interfered.
Miss Adams heard all this, and when she found how much trouble and
confusion she had caused by her cruel thoughtlessness, she felt rather
ashamed, and wished she had not tormented the little child who had
never done her any harm. But this was not the last of it, for Miss
Adams was to be punished a little by the last person who meant to do
it.
XIV.
_WHO IS A LADY?_
In the afternoon the children asked their grandmother if they might go
down upon the beach, but she said it was still too warm, and she did
not wish Bessie to go out until the sun was down.
"Grandma is going to take her nap now," said Aunt Annie; "suppose we
go out on the piazza and have a store, and ask Lily and Gracie to come
play with you."
"Is Miss Adams there?" asked Maggie.
"No, but the colonel has had his arm-chair taken out, and is sitting
there with Mrs. Rush, and I am going there with my work; so you will be
quite safe."
"Oh, then we'll go," said Bessie. She did not feel afraid where the
colonel was.
"Are you going to sew with Mrs. Rush again?" asked Maggie.
Aunt Annie laughed and pinched her cheeks, telling her not to be
inquisitive. For the last few days Aunt Annie had always seemed to be
sewing with Mrs. Rush, and they were very busy, but they did not appear
to wish to let the little girls know what they were doing. Annie was
always whisking her work out of their sight, and if they asked any
questions, they were put off, or told, as Maggie was now, not to be
curious.
Once when they were staying with the colonel, when Mrs. Rush had gone
out for a while, he sent Bessie to a certain drawer to find a knife.
Bessie did as she was told, but as she was looking for it, she suddenly
called out, "Oh, what a dear darling little cap! just like a dolly's.
Why, does Mrs. Yush play with dolls when nobody looks at her?"
"Holloa!" said the colonel, "I forgot; come away from that drawer. I'm
a nice man; can't keep my own secrets."
Maggie was going to ask some questions; but the colonel began to talk
about something else, and they both forgot the little cap. But they
were very curious to know why Aunt Annie and Mrs. Rush were always
whispering and laughing and showing each other their work, as well as
why it was so often put away when they came near. To-day Aunt Annie was
embroidering a little piece of muslin, but she did not put it out of
their sight, though she would answer no questions about it.
They all went out on the piazza to set about making what Maggie called,
"A Grocery and _Perwision_ Store." The piazza steps ended in two large
blocks of wood, and on one of these they were to play. Aunt Annie made
some paper boxes to hold some of their things, and they had clam shells
for the rest. They had sand for sugar, blades of timothy grass for
corn, sea-weed for smoked beef and ham, and small pebbles for eggs,
with larger ones for potatoes. In short, it was quite wonderful to see
the number of things they contrived to have for sale. When the colonel
found what they were about, he called for a couple of clam shells, and
sent his man for a piece of wood and some twine; with these he made a
pair of scales, which Maggie and Bessie thought quite splendid. To be
sure, one side was ever so much heavier than the other, but that did
not matter in the least; neither they nor their customers would be
troubled by a trifle like that. Then he gave them a couple of bullets
and some shot for weights, so that the whole thing was fixed in fine
style.
Maggie went to call Lily and Gracie, and when Mamie Stone heard what
was going on, she asked if she might come too. Maggie said "Yes," for
Mamie was not so disagreeable as she used to be when she first came to
Quam Beach. However fretful and selfish she was when she was playing
with other children, she was almost always pleasant when she was with
Maggie and Bessie.
Maggie went back with her to their little playmates, and in a few
moments they were all as busy as bees. Maggie said Bessie must be
store-keeper, for she knew she did not feel like running about.
They had been playing but a little while, when Walter came up, and when
he saw what they were doing, he said he would be a customer too. He
was a capital playfellow, and pretended to be ever so many different
people. First, he was an old negro man, then he was a naughty boy, who
meddled with everything on the counter, and gave the little shop-woman
a great deal of trouble, which she enjoyed very much; then he was a
Frenchman, who spoke broken English; and after that, he pretended to be
a cross old Irishman.
While they were playing so nicely, who should come sweeping down the
piazza but Miss Adams, dressed in her riding-habit? Away went all the
little girls like a flock of frightened birds. Mamie and Lily ran into
the parlor, where they peeped at her from behind the blinds; Gracie
scrambled into Annie Stanton's lap; Maggie squeezed herself in between
the colonel and Mrs. Rush; and Bessie walked to the other side of the
colonel, where she stood with her hand on his chair.
Miss Adams was vexed when she saw them all fly off so, for she had not
come with any intention of interrupting or teasing them. She was going
out to ride, and had walked to the window of the hall above, to see if
the horses were at the door, and there she had noticed the children at
their play.
Bessie stood quietly behind her counter, while the rest ran about after
Maggie. She looked more pale and languid than usual that afternoon, as
she always did when she had been tired or excited. All the soft pink
color which had come into her cheek since she had been at Quam Beach
was quite gone; it was no wonder that grandma frowned and bit her lip
to keep herself from saying sharp things when she looked at her darling
that day.
Now, Miss Adams always said that she was afraid of nobody, and did not
care what people said of her; but as she watched the delicate little
child, who she knew had been brought by her parents to the sea-shore
that she might gain health and strength, she felt sorry that she had
plagued her so, and thought that she would like to make it up with
her. She went into her room, put a large packet of sugar-plums into
her pocket, and then went down stairs. She came up to Bessie just as
the little girl reached the colonel's side, and, standing before her,
said,--
"Well, Bessie, are you in a better humor yet?"
Bessie was certainly not pale now. A very bright color had come into
her cheeks, as Miss Adams spoke to her, but she said nothing.
"Come," said Miss Adams, holding out the parcel, "here are some
sugar-plums for you; come, kiss me and make up."
"I'll forgive you," said Bessie, gravely; "but I don't want the
sugar-plums."
"Oh, yes, you do!" said Miss Adams; "come and kiss me for them."
"I don't kiss people for sugar-plums," said Bessie; "and I'm sure I
don't want them."
"Then come and kiss me without the sugar-plums."
"No," said Bessie, "I'll shake hands with you, but I don't kiss people
I don't like."
"Oh!" said Miss Adams, "I suppose you keep all your kisses for your
friend, the colonel."
"Oh, no," answered Bessie, "a great many are for papa and mamma, and
the yest of the people I like."
Miss Adams saw that the colonel was laughing behind his newspaper, and
she was provoked.
"And you don't like me, eh?" she said, sharply. "Don't you know it's
very rude to tell a lady you don't like her, and wont kiss her?"
Bessie opened her eyes very wide. "Are you a lady?" she asked, in a
tone of great surprise.
Mrs. Rush did not wish to have Miss Adams go on talking to the child,
for she was afraid straightforward Bessie would say something which
would cause fresh trouble; and she begged Annie Stanton to take her
away; but Annie would not; she rather enjoyed the prospect, and when
Mrs. Rush would have spoken herself, her husband put out his hand and
stopped her.
"A lady!" repeated Miss Adams; "what do you take me for? Don't you know
a lady when you see one?"
"Oh, yes," answered Bessie, innocently. "Mamma's a lady, and grandma
and Aunt Annie and Mrs. Yush, and ever so many others."
"And I'm not, eh?" said Miss Adams, angrily.
Bessie did not answer, but peeped up under the colonel's paper, to see
if he would help her; but he did not seem inclined to interfere. His
eyes were fixed on the paper which he held before his face, and his
other hand was busily engaged in smoothing his moustache.
Miss Adams was very angry. She would not have cared if she had been
alone with Bessie; but she was provoked that she should tell her she
was not a lady, before so many people, for two or three gentlemen had
gathered near, and the colonel's amusement vexed her still more.
"You don't call me a lady, eh?" said Miss Adams again.
"How can you quarrel with such a baby about nothing, Miss Adams?" said
Mrs. Rush, rising from her seat.
"She is no baby. She knows very well what she is about, and she has
been put up to this," said Miss Adams, with a furious look at the
colonel. "Who told you I was not a lady?"
"Nobody; I just knew it myself," said Bessie, drawing closer to the
colonel, as Miss Adams came nearer to her. He threw down his paper, and
put his hand over her shoulder.
"You little impertinent!" said Miss Adams, "who made you a judge, I
should like to know? Not a lady, indeed!"
Poor Bessie! She would not say what she did not think, and she did not
like to say what she did think; but she was tired of the dispute, and
thought Miss Adams would have an answer. She gave a long sigh, and
said,--
"Well, perhaps you are a kind of a lady; but if you are, it must be a
kitchen or stable lady."
The gentlemen who were standing by walked quickly away; Mrs. Rush
looked frightened; Annie bent her head down on Gracie's shoulder, and
shook with laughter; and the colonel reached his crutches and, rising,
began to steady himself.
Miss Adams stood silent a moment, and then began to speak in a voice
almost choked with rage, "You little--" when the colonel interrupted
her.
"Excuse me, madam," he said, "if I remind you that you have no one to
blame for this but yourself. The child is straightforward and honest,
accustomed to speak as she thinks; and if she has said what was better
left unsaid, remember that you forced her to it. I cannot permit her to
be annoyed any farther."
Helpless as he was, he looked so grand and tall as he stood there with
his eyes fixed sternly on Miss Adams, that she felt abashed. Mrs. Rush
had taken Bessie into her room, Annie had followed with Maggie and
Gracie, and there was no one left to quarrel with but the colonel. Just
at that moment the horses were led up, and she turned away and went
down the steps to mount.
But Miss Adams had never been so annoyed. She had no mother, or perhaps
she would not have been so rough and unladylike; but she had had many
a reproof from other people. Many a grave, elderly lady, and even some
of her own age, had spoken, some kindly, some severely, upon the wild,
boisterous manner in which she chose to behave. But she had always
laughed at all they said, and went on as before. But that this innocent
little child, to whom she had been so unkind, should see for herself
that she had acted in an improper way, and one that was only fit for
the kitchen or stable, and should tell her so, and show such surprise
at hearing her call herself a lady, was very mortifying, and she could
not forget it.
That evening, when Mr. and Mrs. Bradford came home, they went over
to the hotel for their little girls, and Annie told them all that
had happened that day. After Bessie was undressed, and had said her
prayers, she sat on her mother's lap, and told her of all her troubles,
and then she felt happier.
"Mamma, I'm afraid I made Miss Adams mad, when I said that, and I
didn't mean to," she said.
"But why did you say it, Bessie?--it was saucy."
"Why, I had to, mamma; I didn't want to; but I couldn't _break the
truth_; she asked me and asked me, so I had to."
"Oh, my Bessie, my Bessie!" said mamma, with a low laugh, and then she
held the little girl very close in her arms, and kissed her. Bessie
nestled her head down on her mamma's bosom, and her mother held her
there, and rocked her long after she was fast asleep. Sometimes she
smiled to herself as she sat thinking and watching her child; but
once or twice a bright tear dropped down on Bessie's curls. Mamma
was praying that her little girl might live to grow up and be a good
Christian woman, and that she might always love the truth as she did
now, even when she was older and knew it was not wise to say such
things as she had done to-day.
XV.
_UNCLE JOHN._
"A letter from Uncle John!" said mamma, at the breakfast-table. "I hope
Nellie is no worse. No, she is better; but the doctor has ordered sea
air for her, and they all want to come here, if we can find room for
them, either in this house or in the hotel."
"The hotel is full, I know," said Mr. Bradford; "I do not think there
is a room to be had. I wonder if Mrs. Jones can do anything for us."
"I think not," said Mrs. Bradford. "Old Mr. Duncan must be with them
wherever they go, for John is not willing to leave his father alone."
"We can ask her, at least," said Mr. Bradford.
So the next time Mrs. Jones came in with a plate full of hot cakes,
she was asked if she could possibly take in Mr. Duncan's family.
"Couldn't do it," she said. "If you didn't mind scroudging, I could
give 'em one room; but two, I can't do it. I've plenty of beds, but no
more rooms."
Maggie and Bessie looked very much disappointed. It would be such a
pleasure to have Grandpapa Duncan, and all the rest.
"Suppose we gave up this little dining-room, and took our meals in the
sitting-room," said Mr. Bradford; "could you put old Mr. Duncan in
here?"
"Oh, yes, well enough," said Mrs. Jones. "Didn't suppose you'd be
willing to do that, York folks is so partickler."
"We would be willing to do far more than that to accommodate our
friends," said Mrs. Bradford, smiling.
After a little more talk with Mrs. Jones, it was all settled; so mamma
sat down to write to Uncle John, telling him they might come as soon as
they chose.
"Mamma," said Maggie, "what did Mrs. Jones mean by 'scroudging'?"
"She meant to crowd."
"I sha'n't take it for one of my words," said Maggie; "I don't think it
sounds nice."
"No," said mamma, laughing, "I do not think it is a very pretty word;
crowd is much better."
The children went out in the front porch, greatly pleased with the
idea of having their Riverside friends with them. Dear Grandpapa
Duncan and Aunt Helen, merry Uncle John and little Nellie! Maggie went
hopping about the path, while Bessie sat down on the steps with a very
contented smile. Presently she said,--
"Maggie, if you was on the grass, what would you be?"
"I don't know," said Maggie; "just Maggie Stanton Bradford, I suppose."
"You'd be a grasshopper," said Bessie.
Maggie stopped hopping to laugh. She thought this a very fine joke; and
when, a moment after, her brothers came up to the house, she told them
of Bessie's "conundrum." They laughed, too, and then ran off to the
barn.
Maggie sat down on the step by her sister. "Bessie," she said,
"don't you think Mrs. Jones is very horrid, even if she does make us
gingerbread men?"
"Not very; I think she is a little horrid."
"I do," said Maggie; "she talks so; she called papa and mamma 'York
folks.'"
"What does that mean?" asked Bessie.
"I don't know; something not nice, I'm sure."
"Here comes papa," said Bessie; "we'll ask him. Papa, what did Mrs.
Jones mean by York folks?"
"She meant people from New York," said Mr. Bradford.
"Then why don't she say that?" said Maggie; "it sounds better."
"Well, that is her way of talking," answered Mr. Bradford.
"Do you think it a nice way, papa?"
"Not very. I should be sorry to have you speak as she does; but you
must remember that the people with whom she has lived are accustomed to
talk in that way, and she does not know any better."
"Then we'll teach her," said Maggie. "I'll tell her she doesn't talk
properly, and that we're going to teach her."
"Indeed, you must do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Bradford, smiling
at the idea of his shy Maggie teaching Mrs. Jones; "she would be very
much offended."
"Why, papa," said Bessie, "don't she like to do what is yight?"
"Yes, so far as I can tell, she wishes to do right; but probably she
thinks she speaks very well, and she would think it impertinent if two
such little girls were to try to teach her. It is not really wrong for
a person to talk in the way she does, if they know no better. It would
be wrong and vulgar for you to do so, because you have been taught to
speak correctly."
"And do we do it?" said Bessie. "Do we speak coryectly?"
"Pretty well for such little girls," said papa.
"Mrs. Jones laughs at us because she says we use such big words," said
Maggie; "and Mr. Jones does too. They ought not to do it, when they
don't know how to talk themselves. I like grown-up words, and I am
going to say them, if they do laugh."
"Well, there is no harm in that, if you understand their meaning," said
papa; "but I would not feel unkindly towards Mrs. Jones; she means to
be good and kind to you, and I think she is so; and you must not mind
if her manner is not always very pleasant."
"But she called you and mamma particular," said Maggie, who was
determined not to be pleased with Mrs. Jones.
"Well, if Mrs. Jones thinks we are too particular about some things,
we think she is not particular enough; so neither one thinks the other
quite perfect."
Maggie did not think this mended the matter at all. But just then
the nurses came with the younger children, and after their father had
played with them for a while, they all went for their morning walk on
the beach.
Two days after, the party came from Riverside, and, with some crowding,
were all made comfortable. They almost lived out of doors in this
beautiful weather, and so did not mind some little inconveniences in
the house.
Uncle John was always ready for a frolic. Now he would hire Mr. Jones'
large farm wagon and two horses, cover the bottom of the wagon with
straw, pack in Aunt Annie and the little Bradfords, and as many other
boys and girls as it would hold, and start off for a long drive. Then
he said they must have a clam-bake, and a clam-bake they had; not only
one, but several. Sometimes Uncle John would invite their friends from
the hotel, and they would have quite a grand affair; but, generally,
they had only their own family, with Mrs. Rush, and the colonel when he
was well enough to come; and the children enjoyed the smaller parties
much more than they did the larger ones. First, a large, shallow hole
was made in the sand, in which the clams were placed, standing on end;
a fire was built on top of them, and they were left until they were
well roasted, when they were pulled out and eaten with bread and butter.
When Mrs. Jones found how fond the children were of roast clams, she
often had them for their breakfast or supper; but they never tasted so
good as they did when they were cooked in the sand and eaten on the
shore.
One cool, bright afternoon, Mr. Bradford and Mr. Duncan went down to
the beach for a walk. The children had been out for some time: Maggie
was racing about with the boys; Bessie, sitting on the sand beside a
pool of salt water, looking into it so earnestly that she did not see
her father and uncle till they were quite close to her.
"What is my little girl looking at?" said her father, sitting down on a
great stone which was near.
"Such an ugly thing!" said Bessie.
Papa leaned forward and looked into the pool, and there he saw the
thing Bessie thought so ugly. It was a small salt-water crab which had
been left there by the tide. He was very black and had long, sprawling
legs, spreading out in every direction. He lay quite still in the
bottom of the pool, with his great eyes staring straight forward,
and did not seem to be in the least disturbed by the presence of his
visitors.
"What do you suppose he is thinking about, Bessie?" said Uncle John.
"I guess he thinks he looks pretty nasty," said Bessie; "I do."
"Bessie," said her father, "it seems to me that you and Maggie say
'nasty' very often. I do not think it is at all a pretty word for
little girls to use."
"Then I wont say it," said Bessie; "but when a thing looks--looks
_that_ way, what shall I say?"
"You might say ugly," said Mr. Bradford.
"But, papa, sometimes a thing looks ugly, and not nasty. I think that
animal looks ugly and nasty too."
"Tell us of something that is ugly, but not nasty," said Uncle John.
Bessie looked very hard at her uncle. Now Mr. Duncan was not at all a
handsome man. He had a pleasant, merry, good-natured face, but he was
certainly no beauty. Bessie looked at him, and he looked back at her,
with his eyes twinkling, and the corners of his mouth twitching with a
smile, for he thought he knew what was coming.
"Well?" he said, when Bessie did not speak for a moment.
"Uncle John," said she, very gravely, "I think you are ugly, but I do
not think you are nasty, a bit."
Uncle John laughed as if he thought this a capital joke; and Mr.
Bradford smiled as he said, "It don't do to ask Bessie questions to
which you do not want a straightforward answer."
"But I want to know about 'nasty,'" said Bessie. "Is it saying bad
grammar, like Mrs. Jones, to say it?"
"Not exactly," said Mr. Bradford, "and you may say it when a thing
is really nasty; but I think you often use it when there is no need.
Perhaps this little fellow does look nasty as well as ugly; but the
other day I heard Maggie say that Mamie Stone was a nasty, cross child.
Now, Mamie may be cross,--I dare say she often is,--but she certainly
is not nasty, for she is always neat and clean. And this morning I
heard you say that you did not want 'that nasty bread and milk.' The
bread and milk was quite good and sweet, and not at all nasty; but you
called it so because you did not fancy it."
"Then did I tell a wicked story?" asked Bessie, looking sober at the
thought of having said what was not true.
"No," said papa, "you did not tell a wicked story, for you did not mean
to say that which was not so. But it is wrong to fall into the habit
of using words which seem to say so much more than we mean. But do not
look so grave about it, my darling; you did not intend to do anything
that was not right, I am sure."--
"But, papa," said Bessie, "why did God make ugly things?"
"Because he thought it best, Bessie. He made everything in the way
which best fitted it for the purpose for which he intended it. This
little crab lives under the sea, where he has a great many enemies, and
where he has to find his food. With these round, staring eyes which
stand out so far from his head, he can look in every direction and see
if any danger is near, or if there is anything which may do for him
to eat. With these long, awkward legs, he can scamper out of the way,
and with those sharp claws, he fights, for he is a quarrelsome little
fellow. He can give a good pinch with them, and you had better not put
your fingers too near them. Under that hard, black shell, he has a
tender body, which would be hurt by the rocks and stones among which
he lives, if he had not something to protect it."
Uncle John took up a stick. "Here, Johnny Crab," he said, "let us see
how you can fight;" and he put the stick in the water and stirred up
the crab. The moment he was touched, the crab began to move all his
legs, and to scuttle round the pool as if he wanted to get out. But
Uncle John did not mean to let him come out until he had shown Bessie
what a nip he could give with those pincers of his. He pushed him back,
and put the stick close to one of his larger claws. The crab took hold
of it, as if he were very angry, and such a pinch as he gave it!
"See there, Bessie," said Uncle John, "are you not glad it is not one
of your little fingers he has hold of?"
"Yes," said Bessie, climbing on her father's knee as the crab tried to
get out. "I didn't know he could pinch like that."
"Or you would not have sat so quietly watching him, eh, Bessie?" said
Uncle John. "Well, romp,"--to Maggie, as she rushed up to them, rosy
and out of breath, and jumping upon the rock behind him, threw both
arms around his neck,--"well, romp, here is a gentleman who wishes to
make your acquaintance."
"Why, Uncle John, what a horrid, nasty thing! What is it?" said Maggie,
as her uncle pushed back the crab, which was still trying to get out of
the pool.
"There it goes again," said Uncle John,--"horrid, nasty thing! Poor
little crab!"
"Maggie," said Bessie, "we must not say 'nasty.' Papa says it means
what we do not mean, and it's unproper. Tell her about it, papa."
"No," said papa, "we will not have another lecture now. By and by you
may tell her. I think you can remember all I have said."
"Now see, Maggie," said Uncle John, "you have hurt the crab's feelings
so that he is in a great hurry to run off home. I am sure his mother
thinks him a very handsome fellow, and he wants to go and tell her how
he went on his travels and met a monster who had the bad taste to call
him 'a horrid, nasty thing.'"
"Oh," said Bessie, laughing, "what a funny Uncle John you are! But I
should think it would hurt the crab's feelings a great deal more to be
poked with a stick, and not to be let to go home when he wants to. I
don't believe he knows what Maggie says."
"I think you are about right, Bessie; I guess we must let him go."
So the next time the crab tried to come out of the pool, Uncle John put
the stick by his claw, and when he took hold of it, lifted him out of
the water and laid him on the sand. Away the crab scampered as fast as
his long legs could carry him, moving in a curious side-long fashion,
which amused the children very much. They followed him as near to the
water's edge as they were allowed to go, and then ran back to their
father.
XVI.
_THE BIRTHDAY PRESENTS._
The tenth of August was Maggie's birthday. She would be seven years
old, and on that day she was to have a party. At first, Mrs. Bradford
had intended to have only twenty little children at this party, but
there seemed some good reason for inviting this one and that one, until
it was found that there were about thirty to come.
Maggie begged that she might print her own invitations on some of the
paper which Grandpapa Duncan had sent. Mamma said she might try, but
she thought Maggie would be tired before she was half through, and
she was right. By the time Maggie had printed four notes, her little
fingers were cramped, and she had to ask her mother to write the rest
for her. Mrs. Bradford did so, putting Maggie's own words on Maggie's
and Bessie's own stamped paper. Maggie said this was Bessie's party
just as much as hers, and the invitations must come from her too. So
they were written in this way.
"Please to have the pleasure of coming to have a party with
us, on Tuesday afternoon, at four o'clock.
"MAGGIE AND BESSIE."
Among those which Maggie had printed herself, was one to Colonel and
Mrs. Rush.
"What do you send them an invitation for?" said Fred. "They wont come.
The colonel can't walk so far, and Mrs. Rush wont leave him."
"Then they can send us a _refuse_," said Maggie. "I know the colonel
can't come, but maybe Mrs. Rush will for a little while. We're going to
ask them, anyhow. They'll think it a great discompliment if we don't."
Such busy little girls as they were on the day before the birthday! The
dolls had to be all dressed in their best, and the dolls' tea things
washed about a dozen times in the course of the morning. Then Bessie
had a birthday present for Maggie. She had been saving all her money
for some time to buy it. Papa had bought it for her, and brought it
from town the night before. Every half-hour or so, Bessie had to run
and peep at it, to be sure it was all safe, taking great care that
Maggie did not see.
They went to bed early, that, as Maggie said, "to-morrow might come
soon," but they lay awake laughing and talking until nurse told them it
was long past their usual bedtime, and they must go right to sleep.
The next morning Bessie was the first to wake. She knew by the light
that it was very early, not time to get up. She looked at her sister,
but Maggie showed no signs of waking.
"Oh, this is Maggie's birthday!" said the little girl to herself. "My
dear Maggie! I wish she would wake up, so I could kiss her and wish her
a happy birthday. 'Many happy yeturns,' that's what people say when
other people have birthdays. I'll say it to Maggie when she wakes up.
But now I'll go to sleep again for a little while."
Bessie turned over for another nap, when her eye was caught by
something on the foot of the bed. She raised her head, then sat
upright. No more thought of sleep for Bessie. She looked one moment,
then laid her hand upon her sleeping sister.
"Maggie, dear Maggie, wake up! Just see what somebody brought here!"
Maggie stirred, and sleepily rubbed her eyes.
"Wake up wide, Maggie! Only look! Did you ever see such a thing?"
Maggie opened her eyes, and sat up beside Bessie. On the foot of the
bed--one on Maggie's side, one on Bessie's--were two boxes. On each
sat a large doll--and such dolls! They had beautiful faces, waxen
hands and feet, and what Bessie called "live hair, yeal live hair."
They were dressed in little white night-gowns, and sat there before
the surprised and delighted children as if they had themselves just
wakened from sleep. Maggie threw off the bed-covers, scrambled down to
the foot of the bed, and seized the doll nearest to her.
"Who did it, Bessie?" she said.
"I don't know," said Bessie. "Mamma, I guess. I think they're for your
birthday."
"Why, so I s'pose it is!" said Maggie. "Why don't you come and take
yours, Bessie?"
"But it is not my birthday," said Bessie, creeping down to where her
sister sat. "I don't believe somebody gave me one; but you will let me
play with one; wont you, Maggie?"
"Bessie, if anybody did be so foolish as to give me two such beautiful
dolls, do you think I'd keep them both myself, and not give you one?
Indeed, I wouldn't. And even if they only gave me one, I'd let it be
half yours, Bessie."
Bessie put her arm about her sister's neck and kissed her, and then
took up the other doll.
"What cunning little ni'-gowns!" she said. "I wonder if they have any
day clo's."
"Maybe they're in these boxes," said Maggie. "I'm going to look. Gracie
Howard's aunt did a very unkind, selfish thing. She gave her a great
big doll with not a thing to put on it. I don't believe anybody would
do so to us. Oh, no! here's lots and lots of clo's! Pull off your cover
quick, Bessie. Oh, I am so very, very pleased! I know mamma did it. I
don't believe anybody else would be so kind. See, there's a white frock
and a silk frock and a muslin one, and--oh! goody, goody!--a sweet
little sack and a round hat, and petticoats and drawers and everything!
Why don't you look at yours, Bessie, and see if they are just the same?"
"Yes," said Bessie; "they are, and here's shoes and stockings, and oh!
such a cunning parasol, and here's--oh, Maggie, here's the dear little
cap that I saw in Mrs. Yush's drawer the day the colonel sent me to
find his knife! Why, she must have done it!"
"And look here, Bessie, at this dear little petticoat all 'broidered.
That's the very pattern we saw Aunt Annie working the day that
'bomnable Miss Adams pulled your hair. Isn't it pretty?"
"And see, Maggie! Mrs. Yush was sewing on a piece of silk just like
this dear little dress, and she wouldn't tell us what it was. I do
believe she did it, and Aunt Annie and maybe the colonel."
"How could the colonel make dolls' clothes?" said Maggie. "Men can't
sew."
"Soldier men can," said Bessie. "Don't you yemember how Colonel Yush
told us he had to sew on his buttons? But I did not mean he made
the dolly's clothes, only maybe he gave us the dolls, and Mrs. Yush
and Aunt Annie made their things. Oh, here's another ni'-gown,--two
ni'-gowns!"
"Yes," said Maggie. "I was counting, and there's two ni'-gowns, and two
chemise, and two everything, except only dresses, and there's four of
those, and they're all marked like our things,--'Bessie,' for yours,
and 'Maggie' for mine. Oh, what a happy birthday! Bessie, I'm so glad
you've got a doll too! Oh, I'm so very gratified!"
"I have something nice for you too, Maggie. Please give me my slippers,
and I'll go and get it."
Maggie leaned over the side of the trundle-bed, to reach her sister's
slippers, but what she saw there quite made her forget them. She gave a
little scream of pleasure, and began hugging up her knees and rolling
about the bed squealing with delight. Bessie crept to the edge of the
bed, and peeped over. There stood two little perambulators, just of the
right size for the new dolls, and in each, lay neatly folded, a tiny
affghan.
When this new excitement was over, Bessie put on her slippers and went
for her present for Maggie. This was a little brown morocco work-bag,
lined with blue silk, and fitted up with scissors, thimble, bodkin,
and several other things. She gave it to her sister saying, "I make
you many happy yeturns, dear Maggie." Then Maggie had another fit of
rolling, tumbling, and screaming, until nurse, who was watching the
children from her bed, though they did not know it, could stand it no
longer, but broke into a hearty laugh.
"Now, nursey," said Maggie.
"Is it a pig or a puppy we have got here for a birthday?" said nurse.
"Sure, it is a happy one I wish you, my pet, and many of 'em, and may
you never want for nothing more than you do now. Now don't you make
such a noise there, and wake Franky. I s'pose I may just as well get up
and wash and dress you, for there'll be no more sleep, I'm thinking."
"Who gave us these dolls and all these things, nursey?" asked Maggie.
"Indeed, then, Bessie was just right," said nurse. "Colonel Rush gave
you the dolls, and his wife, with Miss Annie, made the clothes; and
did you ever see dolls that had such a fittin' out? It was your mamma
that bought the wagons and made the blankets."
"We didn't see her," said Bessie.
"No, but she did them when you were out or asleep; but you see Mrs.
Rush and Miss Annie had to be working all the time on the clothes, lest
they wouldn't be done; and you're round there so much, they had to let
you see."
"But we never knew," said Maggie.
The children could scarcely keep still long enough to let nurse bathe
and dress them; but at last it was done, and then the dolls were
dressed, and the rest of the clothes put nicely away in the boxes. As
soon as baby awoke, they were off to their mamma's room, scrambling
up on the bed to show their treasures, and talking as fast as their
tongues could go.
"I was so very surprised, mamma!" said Maggie.
"You were not; were you, Bessie?" said mamma, laughing.
"Why, yes, I was."
"Didn't you see or hear something last night?" asked mamma.
Bessie looked at her mother for a minute, and then exclaimed, "Oh,
yes, I do yemember, now! Maggie, last night I woke up and somebody was
laughing, and I thought it was Aunt Annie; but when I opened my eyes,
only mamma was there, and when I asked her where Aunt Annie was, she
said, 'Go to sleep; you shall see Aunt Annie in the morning.' Mamma,
I thought you came to kiss us, as you do every night before you go to
bed. I suppose you put the dolls there that time?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Bradford.
"That's what I call being _mysteyious_," said Bessie.
"Do you like people to be mysterious, Bessie?" asked her father,
laughing.
"About dolls, I do, papa; but about some things, I don't."
"What things?"
"When they're going to say what they don't want me to hear, and they
send me out of the yoom. I don't like that way of being mysteyious at
all. It hurts children's feelings very much to be sent out of the yoom."
"What are these magnificent young ladies to be named?" asked Uncle
John, at the breakfast-table.
"Mine is to be Bessie Margaret Marion," said Maggie,--"after mamma and
Bessie and Mrs. Rush."
"Why, all your dolls are named Bessie," said Harry; "there are big
Bessie and little Bessie and middling Bessie."
"I don't care," said Maggie; "this is going to be Bessie too. She will
have two other names, so it will be very nice. Besides, I am not going
to play with middling Bessie again. The paint is all off her cheeks,
and Franky smashed her nose in, and yesterday I picked out her eyes, to
see what made them open and shut, so she is not very pretty any more. I
am going to let Susie have her."
"And what is yours to be, Bessie?"
"Margayet Colonel Hoyace Yush Byadford," said Bessie, trying very hard
to pronounce her r's.
The boys shouted and even the grown people laughed.
"That is a regular boy's name,--all except the Margaret," said Fred,
"and the Colonel is no name at all."
"It is," said Bessie,--"it is my own dear soldier's, and it is going to
be my dolly's. You're bad to laugh at it, Fred."
"Do not be vexed, my little girl," said her father. "Colonel is not a
name; it is only a title given to a man because he commands a regiment
of soldiers. Now young ladies do not command regiments, and Horace is
a man's name. You may call your doll what you please, but suppose you
were to name her Horatia; would not that sound better?"
But Bessie held fast to the Horace; it was her soldier's name, and she
was quite determined to give her doll the same.
After breakfast, Mrs. Bradford called Maggie up stairs for a while.
"Maggie, dear," she said, when she had taken the little girl up into
her lap, "have you remembered this morning that our Father in heaven
has brought you to the beginning of another year of your life?"
"Oh, yes, mamma," said Maggie; "I have done nothing but think it was
my birthday ever since I woke up. You know I could not forget it when
every one was so kind and gave me such lots and lots of lovely things."
"But have you remembered to thank God for letting you see another
birthday, and for giving you all these kind friends, and so many other
blessings? And have you asked him to make you wiser and better each
year, as you grow older?"
"I am afraid I did not think much about it that way," said Maggie,
coloring; "but I _am_ very thankful. I know I have a great many
blessings. I have you and papa and Bessie, and my new doll, and all
the rest of the family. But I want to know one thing, mamma. Isn't it
wrong to pray to God about dolls? Bessie said it wasn't, but I thought
it must be."
"How to pray about them, dear?"
"To thank God because he made Colonel Rush think of giving us such
beautiful ones. Bessie said we ought to, but I thought God would not
care to hear about such little things as that. Bessie said we asked
every day for our daily bread; and dolls were a great deal better
blessing than bread, so we ought to thank him. But I thought he was
such a great God, maybe he would be offended if I thanked him for such
a little thing as a doll."
"We should thank him for every blessing, dear, great and small. Though
we deserve nothing at his hands, all that we have comes from his love
and mercy; and these are so great that even our smallest wants are
not beneath his notice. He knows all our wishes and feelings,--every
thought, whether spoken or not; and if you feel grateful to him
because he put it into the hearts of your kind friends to give you
this pretty present, he knew the thought, and was pleased that you
should feel so. But never fear to thank him for any mercy, however
small. Never fear to go to him in any trouble or happiness. He is
always ready to listen to the simplest prayer from the youngest child.
Shall we thank him now for all the gifts and mercies you have received
to-day, and for the care which he has taken of you during the past
year?"
"Yes, mamma."
"And, Maggie, I think you have one especial blessing to be grateful
for."
"What, mamma?"
"That you have been able, with God's help, to do so much towards
conquering a very troublesome fault."
"Oh, yes, mamma! and I do think God helped me to do that, for I asked
him every night and morning, since I meddled with papa's inkstand. I
mean, when I said, 'God bless,' when I came to 'make me a good little
girl,' I used to say quite quick and softly to myself, 'and careful
too.'"
"That was right, dear," said Mrs. Bradford, tenderly smoothing Maggie's
curls, and kissing her forehead; "you see he did hear that little
prayer, and help you in what you were trying to do."
Then Mrs. Bradford knelt down with Maggie, and thanked God that he had
spared her child's life, and given her so many blessings, and prayed
that each year, as she grew older, she might be better and wiser, and
live more to his glory and praise.
"I am not quite careful yet, mamma," said Maggie, when they rose from
their knees. "You know the other day, when nurse told me to bring in
Bessie's best hat, I forgot and left it out on the grass, and the rain
spoiled it; but I mean to try more and more, and maybe, when I am
eight, I will be as careful as Bessie."
XVII.
_THE BIRTHDAY PARTY._
Maggie said this was the very best birthday she had ever had. The whole
day seemed one long pleasure. She and Bessie walked over, with their
father and Uncle John, to see Colonel and Mrs. Rush, leaving mamma,
Aunt Helen, and Aunt Annie all helping Mrs. Jones to prepare for the
evening. There were cakes and ice cream and jelly to make, for such
things could not be bought here in the country as they could in town.
The new dolls went too, seated in the perambulators and snugly tucked
in with the affghans, though it was such a warm day that when they
reached the hotel, Bessie said she was "yoasted."
"So this is a pleasant birthday; is it, Maggie?" said the colonel.
"Oh, yes!" said Maggie; "I wish every day was my birthday or Bessie's."
"Then in sixty days you would be old ladies. How would you like that?"
said Uncle John.
"Not a bit," answered Maggie; "old ladies don't have half so much fun
as children."
"So you will be content with one birthday in a year?"
"Yes, Uncle John."
"And you liked all your presents, Maggie?" asked the colonel.
"Yes, sir, except only one."
"And what was that?"
"Mrs. Jones gave me a white _Canting_ flannel rabbit, with black silk
for its nose, and red beads for its eyes. Idea of it! just as if I was
a little girl, and I am seven! I told nurse if baby wanted it, she
could have it; and I didn't care if she did put it in her mouth. Nurse
said I was ungrateful; but I am not going to be grateful for such a
thing as that."
The colonel and Uncle John seemed very much amused when Maggie said
this, but her father looked rather grave, though he said nothing.
"Colonel Yush," said Bessie, "you didn't send me a yefuse."
"A what?"
"A yefuse to our party note."
"Oh, I understand. Did you want me to refuse?"
"Oh, no, we didn't _want_ you to; but then we knew you couldn't come,
because you are so lame."
"Will it do if you get an answer to-night?" said the colonel.
Bessie said that would do very well.
When they were going home, Mr. Bradford fell a little behind the rest,
and called Maggie to him. "Maggie, dear," he said, "I do not want to
find fault with my little girl on her birthday, but I do not think you
feel very pleasantly towards Mrs. Jones."
"No, papa, I do not; I can't bear her; and the make-believe rabbit too!
If you were seven, papa, and some one gave you such a thing, would you
like it?"
"Perhaps not; but Mrs. Jones is a poor woman, and she gave you the best
she had, thinking to please you."
"Papa, it makes Mrs. Jones very mad to call her poor. The other day I
asked her why she didn't put pretty white frocks, like our baby's and
Nellie's, on Susie. Bessie said she supposed she was too poor. Mrs.
Jones was as cross as anything, and said she wasn't poor, and Mr. Jones
was as well off as any man thi
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