The reigning belle

“Please, will you tell some one to empty the basket. I’ve been away from the store ever so long.”

It was the voice of little James, who had been modestly waiting to be noticed while this eager conversation went on, and now addressed Ellen as the most important person in the room.

“Groceries,” cried the girl, with a magnificent lift of the head. “Do I look as if groceries belonged to my department, boy?”

“Give ’em to me,” cried the cook, swinging the basket up to a dresser with the nerve of a giant. “There is a mighty difference between buttoning a lady’s boots and cooking her dinner, of course. We are all fine ladies here, only it hasn’t got about yet. There, now, run home as quick as you like.”

“Has that boy been listening all this time?” cried Ellen, casting angry glances at the blushing young face.

“I—I tried all I could not to hear,” said the boy, modestly. “It was not my fault; I wanted to get away from the first.”

“Well, mind you hold your tongue about anything I’ve been saying, or you’ll get into trouble, and lose madam’s custom.”

“That’s just as I say,” answered the cook, defiantly. “You stick to your ribbons and curling stick, Ellen Post; I and this boy can get along very well without you. There’s your empty basket, my little fellow; now run home, and don’t mind what any one says to you but myself; but remember to come earlier to-morrow, for I am bound to go out early anyhow, having a little business at the Savings Bank that must be seen to, not being one of them stuck-up persons that heap everything on their own backs—I look out for a rainy day, I do.”

Here the cook lifted her head in the air and took a deliberate survey of Ellen Post, at which stage of the quarrel James left the kitchen, full of wonder that there could be so much discontent in a house like that.

On his way home, the lad almost ran against a gentleman who was walking slowly along the side-walk. In attempting to avoid the collision his foot slipped, and he fell forward upon the flags with a force that stunned him for the moment. The gentleman lifted him from the stones in considerable agitation, and putting back the hair from his forehead, examined the bruise, which was swelling rapidly upon it.

“My poor boy,” he said, in a voice so sweet with compassion that tears swelled into the lad’s eyes at once, though the pain of his fall had brought no moisture there.

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir! We boys are used to such tumbles. You are only too kind about it. All my own fault, sir, thank you!”

“No, but you are hurt, and need help. I cannot let you go home alone.”

James tried to get up a brave laugh; but the blow had made him dizzy, and he staggered forward rather than walked.

“Where do you live? Not far from here, I suppose,” inquired the stranger, with gentle kindness.

“Oh! I live in one place and tend store in another,” answered the boy.

“You had better go home, then, and I will get a doctor to put something on your forehead.”

“What, a doctor for this? Oh, my! that would be funny! The boys would all laugh at me!”

“Still you have had a serious fall, and such things are often dangerous. Tell me where you live?”

“Well, sir, if you insist upon it, I am going right by the house. It won’t take long to put a piece of wet paper on a fellow’s forehead; and as you want to see it done, I haven’t any objection, though mother and Ruthy will be surprised.”

So James, unconscious of the tender gratitude which prompted the act, gave one hand to the stranger, and the two walked along together.

“What is your name, my little man?” inquired the stranger, greatly interested in the boy.

“James. James Laurence.”

“Laurence? I met a young lady of that name not long ago—a very beautiful young lady.”

“Was she in a store?”

“Yes.”

“Tall, with eyes that look like water in a shady place?”

“She had soft, pleasant eyes.”

“Did she tell you her other name? Was it Eva?”

“That was her name.”

“Well, then, you’ve seen one of the brightest, sweetest, darlingest girls that ever lived, sir; let me tell you that, if she is my sister.”

“Then the young lady is really and truly your sister?” said the man, and a strange tone of disappointment broke into his naturally sad voice.

“Really and truly she is my own sister; but no wonder you can’t just believe it, she’s so much grander and brighter than any of us. I never see a great, stone house like that I have just come away from, without thinking our Eva was made to live in it, and be a queen, with lots of common people to wait on her.”

“What house have you just come from, my little friend?”

“Mrs. Lambert’s!”

“Ha!”

“It is that great house on the corner, with so many flowers behind it. Eva is so fond of flowers, too. It is she who trains up the morning glory vines, and plants sweet peas and crimson beans among them. Sometimes I almost like our little garden as well as Mrs. Lambert’s. We plant our own flowers, you see, and that makes a difference in the way of enjoying them.”

“It does, indeed! Do you go to Mrs. Lambert’s often?”

“I never went there till Mrs. Smith took me into the grocery; but I used to pass by the garden every day. It was a little farther to school through that street, but I loved to walk slow and look through the iron fence, where the great tea-roses and geraniums seemed to set the ground on fire, and that white-headed old man moving about among them was like a picture. At first he was awful cross, and would order me away, but after a while, when he saw that I never so much as reached my hand through, he would sometimes chuck a rose, or a sprig of something sweet through the fence, and go away chuckling to himself. I always carried the flowers to Ruthy, or our Eva, they are both so fond of them, you know, and this made us all just a little acquainted with the great house up yonder. I dare say the proud lady would think our garden no great things, but the girls love it a good deal better than she loves hers, I promise you; for, go by ever so often, I hardly ever see her in it.”

“Have you ever spoken to the lady?”

“What—me? No, indeed; but she spoke to me once!”

“How was that?”

“One day when I was walking with my sister Eva, she leaned out of her carriage, and looked after us in a strange earnest way, that made Eva pull down her veil. The next-day, as I was going along by the garden-fence, the lady was close by me picking flowers on the other side. I suppose my eyes looked greedy for them, for she called to me in a kind, sweet way, and reached some of her flowers through the railing. I was afraid to touch them at first; but she smiled, and said, Old Storms had told her how I loved to hang about the railing, and that I had a young lady with me once, who seemed as fond of flowers as I was.

“Oh! I said, a thousand times more so. Eva loves them better than anything in the world. When I said Eva, the lady seemed to grow restless, and dropped some of her flowers without noticing it.”

“That’s a singular name,” she said, “that is——”

“That is, for poor people, I said, when she stopped, as if afraid of hurting my feelings. Yes, we all know that; but then our Eva never seemed like poor people. Everybody thinks she is a lady—and so she is, every inch of her.

“The madam smiled when I said this, and her face grew red as a rose all in a minute, as if I had been praising her instead of Eva, which wasn’t likely, being only a little boy, and she a splendid lady. Then she asked me about my father who was killed, sir, when we needed him most; and about my mother who was working so hard to keep us together, and said that perhaps she would come some time and see our garden, if it was so pretty; but she never came.”

The stranger listened to that frank, young voice with gentle interest, asking a few questions now and then, always calculating to draw out some detail about the lady of the great house, but without directly alluding to her.

“But since then you have been to the house?”

“Yes, sir, after I went into business. That was what took me there to-day.”

James spoke guardedly, now he remembered that what he had overheard was not his to tell. The stranger showed no disposition to carry the subject further, but fell into thought, and moved forward as if he had been alone.

“There, there! you see Eva’s morning glories running up the window,” cried the boy.

“Is this your home, my boy?”

“Yes, sir, while we can keep it, that is; but who knows what good luck will come next! If I were only a man now!”

“So you long to be a man?” said the stranger, looking down at the lad with sorrowful interest.

“Yes, I do. Then, sir, I would keep that roof over my mother’s head in spite of all the mortgages in the world. Oh! how I would work!”

“Brave lad, how I envy you.”

“Envy me! Well, yes, I am a good deal happier than one could expect. Working for women who love you isn’t bad fun; but here is the gate, and there is Ruthy, you can see her through the window. Won’t she wonder who it is, and what brings me home this time of day?”

“You seem to have forgotten your hurt?”

“No, it feels a little heavy, and smarts some; but I’ll pull my cap down not to frighten them. Of course, it’s nothing; but then one’s mother is so tender of a fellow. There!”

James pulled his cap far over his bruised forehead, and opening the gate, invited his strange guest to pass in.