"Why, if there isn't Kittyleen!" said Flaxie.
But Kittyleen was only going to Rosewood, the next station. "Marfa" was with her, and would bring her back next day "if she was willing to come."
Flaxie did not seat herself at once. She had a little chat with Kittyleen, after which I regret to say she stood on her tiptoes for some moments, gazing in the mirror at the farther end of the car.
"There, there, sit down, Chicky, your hat is all right," said Preston, who considered her the prettiest little girl he knew, and felt that she did him credit. "And here are your check and your ticket. If you ever expect to travel alone you must learn to take care of your things."
"Oh, yes, I know it! I always keep my ticket when I ride with papa; and very often he goes into another car and leaves me alone," remarked Flaxie.
If this was meant as a hint, it was lost on Preston. He began to read a newspaper, while his young companion looked out of the window at the trees, houses, and fences that flew past in a dizzy blur. She thought she would count the trees, just to amuse herself, and had got as far as eighty-seven, when Preston suddenly tapped her on the shoulder. The conductor was standing near, waiting for her ticket. Rather bewildered, yet anxious to appear prompt and experienced, she put her hand hastily in her pocket, and drew forth, not her ticket, but that miserable, forgotten cracker.
The conductor, a good-natured, red-cheeked man, said, "No, I thank you," and shook his sides with laughing.
Flaxie blushed painfully. Once she would not have minded it so very much, for she had been formerly a pert child; but in growing older, she was growing more modest, sensitive, and retiring. She withdrew the cracker and produced the ticket, feeling with shame that she was behaving very unlike the elegant little girl who travelled with a book, a parasol, and a paper of candy.
But she was to suffer still more. The conductor had scarcely passed out of hearing when Preston said, in his wise, elder-brotherly tone, "Here, child, if this is the way you're going to behave, I might as well have that ticket myself; your check, too. Oh, yes, and give me the key to your valise, and now your porte-monnaie. Wouldn't you like to have me take care of your handkerchief?" He spoke half in jest, still it was quite too bad of him, for Flaxie was not a careless child; neither did she need "taking down," or at all events, she did not need it any more than Preston himself.
"I don't see what makes you think I'm such a baby. I'm only four years younger than you," she remonstrated, sighing heavily as she handed to him, one after another, the contents of her little cloak-pocket. He took them from her with a condescending smile.
"There, now, I feel easier," said he, settling himself comfortably; "you'll have all you want to do to take care of the crackers and cheese. Why don't you eat them instead of offering them to the conductor? He has had his breakfast. Won't they laugh, though, at home, when I tell them about that?"
"Oh, Preston Gray, if you do tell about that!"
Flaxie had borne her trials thus far with patience, but now the tears started and she was battling to keep them back. Preston saw that he had gone too far, and though secretly wondering why it was that "girls can never take jokes," he resolved to make himself more agreeable during the rest of the journey.
"Those crackers aren't very nice, that's a fact," said he, looking penitently at the overflowing paper bag, which stood upright on the seat between them.
"Not half as bad as the cheese," returned Flaxie.
"Well, I don't blame you for not liking mouldy cheese; I don't like it myself," admitted Preston. "But I suppose, now, Chicky, if you had a piece of pie or a cake or a sandwich, you'd enjoy it, and feel more comfortable, wouldn't you?"
The gentle tone and manner touched his little sister, and called back her happiest smiles in a moment.
"Oh, I don't care the least bit about anything! I'm not very hungry, Preston; really I'm not."
"Yes, but I don't want you to be hungry at all," said the benevolent brother. "I want people that travel with me to feel all right and have a good time." Here he took out his purse and looked at the silver in it; there seemed to be plenty. "I wish a boy would come in with something besides pop-corn and peanuts, and all that sort of nonsense, don't you? I'll tell you what I'll do," added he, returning the purse to his pocket. "I'll get out at Bremen and buy you a great square of sponge-cake."
"Oh, but Preston, you can't buy it there!"
"What's the reason I can't?"
"Because they don't keep it at Bremen. Sharon is the place; Sharon, near Hilltop."
"Where did you get your information?" returned the lad, rather ruffled. "As often as I've travelled this road I think I ought to know that Bremen is a famous place for sponge-cake. There's an old woman living there that bakes it by the ton."
"Why, Preston Gray, that old woman lives at Sharon! I've seen her my own self. Don't you suppose I know? Why, Uncle Ben has bought sponge-cake of her ever so many times and brought it home to Aunt Charlotte."
One of Preston's dazzling smiles shone through his spectacles as he rejoined,—
"Oh, I dare say he has bought sponge-cake and carried it home to Aunt Charlotte; but that's no sign he has bought it at Sharon. You're mistaken, that's all. Now when you get to Bremen, and you see people stepping out of this car and coming back loaded with sponge-cake, perhaps you'll give up that I'm right."
Flaxie was ready to retort what she did not believe people would get out at Bremen, or if they did they would not find any cake. She was fond of having the last word, but remembering her blunder with the cracker, she said no more, and even thought meekly,—
"Oh, well, perhaps it is Bremen! I almost hope so, for I don't want to wait till we get to Sharon."
She had regained her spirits by this time, and found it very pleasant to be travelling with a kind brother like Preston, who had not a fault in the world except looking down upon her rather too much.
In a few minutes the train halted at Bremen, a small way-station. It did not look at all familiar to Preston. He had supposed Bremen was much larger, but that was probably because he had not been on this road for a whole year, and had forgotten some of the stopping-places. The famous old cake-woman; could it be that she lived here? He had half a mind to ask the conductor; but no; Flaxie would hear him.
"Oh, are you getting out?" said she.
To be sure he was. He was already hurrying down the aisle, too proud to confess that he could possibly have made a mistake.
He was just behind a woman with a baby in her arms, and had to wait for both the baby and the woman to be helped out. By the time he had got out himself, and before he had a moment to look around him, the cars were moving on again!
It was the most astonishing thing! There he stood at the door of a wretched little wood-shed, close by the platform, swinging, his arms and crying, "Stop! stop!" But nobody heard except the baby and its mother, and nobody answered except the baby with an "Argoo, argoo," out of its silly little throat. So this was Bremen! This wood-shed and two or three houses!
It was a sad predicament for Preston, but a worse one for Flaxie. She, too, cried, "Stop! stop!" bounding up and down on the seat like an India-rubber ball. But the cars paid as little heed to her as they had paid to her brother. On they went, rattle, rattle, rattle. What cared they for a passenger overboard? What cared they for a passenger's sister left frantic and forlorn?
She would have appealed to the conductor, but he was in the next car. So was the brakeman, so was even the pop-corn boy.
The people went on talking and reading without minding her. They probably thought her a very restless child, for they had not seen her quiet that morning. So it was not till she began to wring her hands and sob aloud that they suspected anything unusual had happened.
"What is the matter, little girl?" asked an old lady, leaning forward and offering her a paper of sassafras lozenges. Flaxie waved it away.
"Was it your brother that just left the car?" asked a kind old gentleman, suddenly recollecting the handsome lad in spectacles. "Did he get out on purpose?"
"Yes, sir, oh, yes, sir! on purpose to get me some cake! But he's lost over! Oh, dear, he's lost over! I can't make 'em stop."
"How far were you going, my child?"
"I don't know how far. I'm going to Hilltop to see Milly Allen. I don't know how far! Oh, dear, I didn't want any cake. I told him I wasn't very hungry. I told him the old woman lived at Sharon. He didn't believe what I said, and that's why he got left! Oh, dear, if he hadn't got out!"
"It isn't safe to get out unless you know where you are going," said the old lady wisely; but the remark did not seem to be of any particular use just now. And then she put the sassafras lozenges back in her satchel. They didn't seem to be of any particular use, either.
"Oh, dear!" wailed Flaxie, "if I'd only travelled alone! I wanted to travel alone!"
The old gentleman did not quite understand. It seemed to him that she certainly was travelling alone, and if that was what she wanted she ought to be satisfied.
He folded his newspaper, put it in his hat, and came to sit down beside her. He was a better comforter than the old lady, for he had a dozen dear grandchildren at home, while she, poor soul, had only a tortoise-shell cat.
"I wouldn't shed another least drop of a tear," said the good old gentleman, hitting and upsetting the crackers, which tumbled out of the bag upon the floor. "Not one tear would I shed," said he, picking up the crackers. "Your brother will come on to Hilltop to-morrow, or maybe he can come this very afternoon; and then won't you both laugh about this? You'll ask him, 'Where's that cake?' And what do you suppose he'll answer to that?"
"Oh, I don't want the cake; that isn't what I want. My head aches and my throat aches, and I've just had the chicken-pox; and—and—oh, dear, I wish I was at home!"
"Where is your home, my little girl?"
"My home is at Laurel Grove, near Rosewood."
"And what is your name and your father's name?"
"He is Dr. Gray, and I am Mary Frances Gray."
"Ah, indeed! Why, I know your father very well," said the cheery old gentleman. "Will you shake hands? There, now, we're good friends, aren't we? And I'm going to Hilltop and beyond. I'm Dr. White,—tell your papa,—old Dr. White. Let's see, have you any ticket?"
Flaxie uttered a cry of despair. Till that moment she had not realized the full extent of her woes.
"Oh, Preston took my ticket, and my money, and all my things! Oh, should you have thought he would?"
"Ah, well; we'll see what we can do," said Dr. White.
"Oh, when I get to Hilltop I can't open my valise, for where's my check? I mean my key! Oh, if I'd travelled alone! Preston wanted to take care of me; but he's taken care of me too much!"
Dr. White found it hard to keep his face properly sober; yet he knew his little friend would consider a smile very ill-timed.
"I've been to Hilltop more than ever he has, for Milly Allen is just my age; and I could have gone alone beautifully. He has bothered me so. But he didn't mean to bother me," added she, ashamed to complain of him before a stranger. "Only—" Here she sprang up suddenly, and those miserable crackers rolled out again, followed by the cheese,—"only I ought to have a ticket, you know. Do conductors ever let you travel without your ticket?" asked she, raising her brimming eyes anxiously to her new friend's face.
"It depends upon circumstances, Miss Mary. This conductor will do it, I'll be bound."
"Will he? Oh, I'm so glad!" said Flaxie, greatly relieved, though rather surprised. Why should this conductor let her go free? He had never seen her before, and knew nothing about her except that she carried crackers in her pocket. He appeared presently, smiling and holding out his hand; but after Dr. White had said something to him in a low tone, he patted Flaxie's head with an "All right. Don't lose your luncheon, my dear," and passed on to the next seat.
"Did you tell him how my brother got lost over? Did you tell him everything?" asked Flaxie, looking quite gay and excited.
"Yes, almost everything. And now your troubles are over, Miss Mary, for he will give your name to the new conductor, and then when we get to Hilltop I can put you in a hack that will take you right to your uncle's door."
"Oh, no, sir, I don't want any hack! Uncle Ben will be there, waiting for me, with a sleigh, and Cousin Freddy, too. They always come to the depot with a sleigh, except in the summer, and then they come with a carryall or a wagon."
And, in truth, on arriving at Hilltop, the first persons to be seen were Uncle Ben Allen, his son Freddy, and, best of all, his daughter Milly, Flaxie's darling "twin cousin."
"But where's Preston?" asked Freddy.
"He stopped at a wood shed on the way, to buy a piece of sponge-cake," replied Dr. White, shaking hands with Uncle Ben, as Freddy tucked Flaxie into the sleigh.
Preston lingered at the wood-shed and about the tiny station of Bremen all that morning and most of the afternoon. It was a very solitary place, and he had ample time for reflection.
"Well, this is one way to take care of your little sister! Anybody'd think I was five years old! I can't stand it to be such a fool! Oh ho! I thought 'twas great fun, didn't I, to make her give up her money and tickets? I wanted to 'take her down,' but now I'm taken down myself, and how do I like it?"
To judge by his clouded face and the stamping he made with his heels, he did not like it at all. "Poor little Flaxie, I know she's rushing round that car and crying! What will she do with herself? She won't get off anywhere? Oh, no, Flaxie isn't such a goose as to get off a car unless there's some sense in it! There's only one goose in the family, and that's Preston Gray. No, she won't get off. And let's see, the conductor will remember her, on account of that cracker. He'll know she did have a ticket, so of course he'll let her go free. She'll do well enough. She'll make friends on the cars; she's always making friends, she's so pretty and sweet."
In this way, by praising his sister and scolding himself, Preston tried to find a little consolation as he strode up and down the narrow sleigh-track—which the people of Bremen called a road. What he ought to do he could not decide.
After a while a man came along the road, dragging a pail of flour on a sled. "Do you know how far it is to Hilltop, sir?" asked Preston, feeling himself very young and small, for the man stared at him as if he considered him a mere baby, and thought of taking him up pickaback.
"Hilltop, did you ask? Why, where are your folks? Where did you come from, travelling round here alone?"
"Oh, I came from Laurel Grove, just the other side of Rosewood," replied Preston, as dignified as a boy can be who feels himself crushed to the earth by unmerited contempt. "I got off the cars a few minutes ago, and—and—thought I'd wait for the next train. When does the next train go?"
"Well, it beats me to guess what you got off the cars for!" said this very disrespectful man, setting one foot on the sled and eying Preston all over. "You hadn't ought to get off the cars, sonny, it ain't safe; children get their necks broke that way."
"Can you tell me how far it is to Hilltop?" asked Preston, with an increase of dignity.
"Well, it's a good fifty miles or more, and you can't go till five o'clock this afternoon. You'd better speak to the folks that live in that red house yonder, and ask 'em to see you safe on board the cars, and when you once get on, you stick there! Don't you get off this side of Hilltop. Now mind, little shaver!" And with this very cutting advice and another disrespectful stare, the man toiled on with his sled and the pail of flour.
"I hope he was impolite enough," thought Preston, indignantly. He did not relish being looked down upon. Neither had Flaxie relished it, you remember. "So I can't get to Hilltop till evening. A pretty piece of work! They'll be just rising from the supper-table, Flaxie and all; and won't they have a jolly time laughing at me? They'll ask what I came for at that time of day? Freddy'll call me a caterpillar and a snail, and everything else he can think of. No, sir, you don't catch me going to Hilltop to be laughed at! All I went for in the first place was to take care of Flaxie. No fun in it now. No use, either! Guess I'll go home. But what shall I do with the check and the purse and the key? Oh, Flaxie, I wish I'd let you alone."
While he was lamenting in this strain, he became conscious of a pair of sorrowful eyes raised to his face. They were the eyes of a thin and unhappy-looking but handsome black and white spaniel. It was a tender, respectful gaze; and to a boy who has just felt himself looked down upon, it is consoling to be looked up to, even by a dog.
"Here, Rover, Rover, good fellow! Here, Rover," said he, softly patting the shaggy head.
There was a magical charm for all animals in Preston's touch; and this poor creature crouched before him with a mournful, loving whine, got in front of him as he moved about, sat down at his feet and licked his boots when he stood still, and behaved altogether as if he had found a dear friend.
"I can't think what you mean, Rover. There, that's your name, I know by the way you wag your tail! But, Rover, you never saw me before. What makes you think you know me?"
The handsome animal whined again at the sound of Preston's voice, pushing his nose into the boy's hand, and going off into a sort of dog-ecstasy. It was really quite touching. All the more so as there was something in the curl of his tail, the droop of his ears, that suggested to Preston his own lost dog, the beloved and ever-lamented Tantra Bogus.
"Tantra Bogus was larger and sleeker and fatter, but he had the same white spot in his forehead and his eyes were the same color," said Preston, his heart stirred with tender memories, as he stooped and laid his cheek lovingly against the rough black face.
"Ah, Rover, you do love me! But I can't see why! I guessed your name, and I'll warrant I can guess who your master is, too. It's that impudent man with the sled. Because, sir, you've been half starved, and he's just the man to starve a dog."
There was a crunching sound in the snow, and Preston looked up, half expecting to see the "impudent man" again; but this time it was a lady. Certainly they had strange people in Bremen, for this lady was the ugliest being he had ever seen. Large, half-open lips, big red nose, small red eyes. But he did not forget to raise his cap respectfully.
"Dear old Rover, I'm glad he's found a friend at last," said the lady to Preston, in the sweetest tones. "He lost his master three weeks ago, and mourns him so much that it is very pitiful. He won't stay in the house with his master's family, but lingers about this shed day and night."
"Poor fellow, poor fellow," said Preston; and the dog capered about him, going out of his head again with rapture.
"Yes," said the lady, setting down a little bundle in the snow, and weaving the silver pin more securely into her shawl, "you are the very first person Rover has cared for, or taken the least notice of. The family are afraid he will starve to death. There, now! I have an idea! But perhaps you are in a hurry?" added she, with a particularly sweet smile. It was surprising how an ugly mouth like hers could smile so agreeably.
"No, ma'am, no hurry. I've got to wait seven hours. Going to—going to—"
Here Preston's words were lost in an indistinct muttering, his mouth being pretty close to Rover's nose.
"Then if you'll wait here a few minutes I'll bring Rover something to eat. They'll all be so glad; and perhaps he'll take it from you, though he won't from any one else."
Observe, she did not address Preston as "sonny," or call him a "shaver." She did not even say "my boy" or "my child" or "my dear," or ask him any embarrassing questions.
He was convinced that she was a perfect lady, and answered briskly,—
"Oh, do bring him a piece of meat, ma'am! You see I can wait, for I'm going to—"
But not knowing whether to say Hilltop or Laurel Grove, he prudently left the sentence unfinished.
The lady hastened to the red house near by, and Preston, still caressing the dog, watched her as she returned with a light step, bearing a plate of meat in her hand. There was something very interesting about her homeliness; he could not help looking at her face, and the more he looked the better he liked it.
"This is nice roast beef, a real Thanksgiving dinner, Rover," said she, with loving good-will. "Do eat it and make me happy."
As if he were grateful, and really anxious to please her, this dog, who had so long refused his food, thrust his nose immediately into the heaped-up plate before him and began to eat. If Preston moved away, however, he stopped, turned about, and followed him uneasily.
"It is very plain that the charm lies in you," said the lady, smiling, as Preston patted Rover's head, and he began to eat again.
It had been dreadful, she said, to see him pining away, and to hear him moaning day and night. Mrs. Danforth, his master's widow, could hardly bear it, and her son, who lived with her, had declared that Rover must be taken out of town and given to a new master or he would surely die of grief.
"Now look here, ma'am," cried Preston, looking up with sudden animation, "why couldn't he go home with me? I've lost my dog. Why couldn't he go home with me and be my dog, you know?"
"I don't see why not, if you would like him. I know Mr. Danforth would be glad to give him up to a boy so kind as you are. Where do you live?"
"At Laurel Grove, ma'am." And feeling a growing desire to stand well in the lady's esteem, he tried to explain the situation.
"But I—perhaps I sha'n't go home—that is, not to-day. I didn't know what I should do. I stopped here on the way. I hadn't decided, you know," said he, vaguely.
The lady looked at him in some surprise. Perhaps she doubted whether he could be trusted with a dog. But she did not say anything like that. "Do you live at Laurel Grove? Why, that is just where I am going. I came from Hilltop yesterday to visit the Danforths on my way, and I'm going to Laurel Grove to-day, to Dr. Gray's."
"Why, Dr. Gray is my father! And now I know who you are. You're Miss Pike! I might have known it was you," he went on, thinking aloud, "for you look just as I expected you would."
He could not dream how this little speech hurt Miss Pike. She had moved forward to shake hands with him, but at his last words her cheeks flushed and she drew back again. Was she thinking that very likely he had heard her called "that homely Miss Pike?"
But the next moment she smiled pleasantly, holding out her hand.
"And now I know who you are. You're Master Preston Gray. 'I might have known it was you, for you look just as I expected you would!'"
"Oh, Flaxie told you I wore spectacles, didn't she?" Preston was somewhat sensitive about those. "I have to wear them, for if I take them off I'm blind almost," said he by way of apology.
"Yes, I know, you dear blessed boy! Your sister has told me, and all the Allen family have told me, too, how patient you've been. I'm so glad I've met you, Master Preston. And now what shall I say to your father when I shall see him to-day?"
The boy looked up, and then he looked down. "Oh, are you going to see my father to-day?"
"Yes, I shall start at three o'clock this afternoon in the baggage-car. I'm told there's no passenger-car, and I must go as baggage, or wait till six o'clock to-morrow morning, and I don't like to start so early as that, should you?"
"No, ma'am, I shouldn't; it's pretty dark at six. Look here, Miss Pike, if I take Rover I shall have to take him in the baggage car, sha'n't I?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Well, I've a good mind to take him to-day, if Mr. Danforth will let me. I don't want to go to Hilltop now; it isn't very convenient."
"Ah?" said Miss Pike.
"I didn't care much about going to Hilltop anyway, not now; I only came to take care of my little sister."
"Ah?" said Miss Pike again, with an upward slide to her voice.
"Oh, I suppose you think I didn't take care of her very well. I suppose you think it's sort of queer my being here, but you see—"
Here he struggled so long with something in his throat that she helped him by saying,—
"Oh, possibly you got left."
What a bright, far-seeing woman she was!
"Yes, ma'am, I did get left. That was just how it was. If it had not been for trying to get some sponge-cake—"
"Well, I'm glad you stopped here," broke in the delightful Miss Pike, who seemed to care nothing at all about the little particulars. So good of her not to care! "I'm glad I met you. And as your little sister will not need you any more, couldn't you go home this afternoon to be company for me?—Why, just see, Rover has eaten every bit of his dinner!"
"Oh, I'd like to go with you, ma'am, if I hadn't carried off Flaxie's check and key," demurred Preston. "You see, I took them to keep them safe."
Rather too safe, Miss Pike thought; but she said, without the shadow of a smile, "Why not send the key and check to your sister by mail?"
And so it was settled. Preston dined at the red house; and Mr. Danforth, who turned out to be a very different person from the man with the sled, was glad enough to give up Rover to a gentle, well-bred little boy, who would be sure to treat him kindly.
"I never saw you before," said Mr. Danforth, "but I know your father very well; and I am not afraid to trust my dog to the care of Dr. Gray's son."
Accordingly, Miss Pike and Preston and Rover had a very cosey ride home that afternoon in the baggage-car. So very cosey it was and so social, with nobody to disturb them but the baggage-master occasionally coming in and going out, that Preston almost laid his heart bare before the kindly Miss Pike. He told her how dreadful it was to have your eyes cut with sharp instruments; how tedious it was to recite Latin to Mr. Garland; how fine it would be to leave off study and become a gentleman farmer, with the chance of receiving silver prizes for sheep and poultry.
She listened with motherly sympathy, and he was tempted to go still further, and relate the history of all his sisters and his little brother. It might amuse her to hear Flaxie's great composition, entitled "Domestic Animals," the one she wrote last fall, that had been so freely laughed at by everybody far and near. He knew it by heart, every single word of it; but just as he was about to say, "Oh, Miss Pike, would you like to hear what a funny composition Flaxie wrote last fall?" a sudden thought checked him.
Was this a kind thing to do? The composition was very foolish, certainly, but his little sister had long ago grown thoroughly ashamed of it, though very proud of it at first.
"It would cut her up dreadfully to have Miss Pike hear it. So what's the use? I'm sure I don't like to have Flaxie make fun of me," thought he. He had been greatly humbled to-day, and nothing makes us so tender of others as suffering keenly ourselves.
Miss Pike had been struck from the first with the remarkably frank and noble expression of Preston's face. Possibly she would have admired him still more if she had known of the temptation he was resisting. It was a temptation, for the composition would have amused Miss Pike, and he knew it. Here it is, that you may see it for yourselves.
FLAXIE'S COMPOSITION.
"DOMESTIC ANIMALS.
"There is classed throughout the species domestic animals. The cat is very domestic, and the turkey and the spider and the cow. The elephant is not very domestic, but he is a very useful animal. The pig is a very useful animal and very domestic. Were it not for the pig, what should we have to bake with our beans, or in which to fry our doughnuts? Ought we not then to be very thankful to the domestic animals for thus treating us so kindly?"
Preston never afterward thought of this little trip without the warmest gratitude to Miss Pike. He had dreaded meeting the family, but she explained matters to them so charmingly that nobody thought of laughing at him. And then the handsome Rover was such a surprise and so generally admired that the mishaps of the day, dreadful as they had been at the time, seemed hardly worth mentioning now.
"So you've been adopted by a dog, my son," said Dr. Gray.
"How nice it was that you stopped at Bremen!" said Julia. "I suppose you really saved poor Rover's life. But then if it hadn't been just you, he wouldn't have 'adopted' you. You make dogs love you by just looking at them."
"And I don't wonder," thought Miss Pike.
Until to-day she had never seen any of the Gray family except Mrs. Gray and Flaxie, but now, as she gazed about the room, she perceived at once that it was a most delightful home. Mrs. Gray was a pretty, black-eyed woman, who seldom sat still many minutes at a time except when the children were safely asleep. Dr. Gray was a large, cheerful, agreeable man, fond of telling short stories. Julia, almost a young lady, had a remarkably sweet face, and it was a pleasure to see what care she took of noisy Phil and dainty little Ethel.
But loveliest of all was Madam Gray, the little fairy grandmother, with her white hair, white cap, white ribbons, and dear, benevolent face. She sat peacefully knitting, in her easy-chair, while everybody was talking and laughing around her; and Miss Pike fancied she was thinking of the friends of her youth, for something in her calm and quiet face seemed to say,—
"And long may you linger, you dear, sweet, beautiful old lady," thought Miss Pike, who knew, without being told, that the whole family were better for blessed Grandma Gray.
In a little more than two weeks Flaxie returned from Hilltop, this time "all sole alone," declaring she had had a "perfectly lovely visit," that well repaid her for the chicken-pox. She confided to her mother that it was easy enough travelling alone, for then you could keep your ticket and your check, and were not burdened with any troublesome crackers and cheese. But she said nothing of this sort to Preston, for her mother assured her it was wiser to drop the subject. Mrs. Gray never approved of teasing.
Miss Pike was gratified to see that Flaxie had improved very much since the days when she went to school with the twin cousin, Milly Allen, at Hilltop.
"The pure and gentle influences of her home are moulding her into a fine little girl. She is less rude, less forward, more amiable, and thoughtful of others."
For her part, Flaxie told everybody that Miss Pike was her "favorite friend," and it made her "too happy for anything" to have her in the house all the time.
Lessons were taught every morning in the large pink chamber over the dining-room. It was a school for the whole family, from Julia, who learned French and painting, down to tiny Ethel, who was allowed sometimes to sit in the room and draw pictures on the slate, or hold kitty in her lap, if she wouldn't "'peak one word."
Yes, and often Rover came, too, the quietest scholar of all, and perfectly happy to crouch at his young master's feet and receive a caressing pat now and then.
It was far more interesting than going to the brick school-house, which was poorly heated and not ventilated at all. Flaxie was inclined to sore throats and Julia to headaches, and it was for their sakes that Doctor Papa had decided this winter to have a governess in the house.
He could not have chosen a better one. Miss Pike was an excellent young lady, highly educated and refined. Moreover, there was a peculiar charm about her, you hardly knew what it was, though you could not be with her five minutes without feeling it.
Flaxie remembered how she used to go to the white school-house at Hilltop with her cousin Milly, and sit and admire Miss Pike, and "wish she could see her soul," which Aunt Charlotte said was so much more beautiful than her face. And now Flaxie sat in an armed chair in the pink chamber and admired her just the same. Somehow there was a happy feeling all over the room because Miss Pike was in it. Flaxie's thoughts grew calm and pleasant, as if the world were made of sunshine and flowers; and she wished with all her heart to be truly good and always growing better. She hoped she should never do another wrong thing as long as she lived.
But there was one drawback to this home school, and that was Kittyleen. Did anything ever happen at the village, particularly at Dr. Gray's, that Kittyleen Garland did not find it out sooner or later? No, indeed. It was of no use trying to keep this little brown-eyed maid away unless you locked the door.
"I can read some now. If I go to school I can read all," said Miss Kittyleen, coming in all out of breath and peeping at the children from between the rounds of a chair.
Then Flaxie had to take her down-stairs to Mrs. Gray, who dropped her work to amuse her.
Next day it would be the same thing over again.
"Fought I'd come up and look out o' your winner, Miss Pike.—There now, Effel, draw a little baby on the slate, and I'll say oh! oh!"
But Ethel, who had been taught to obey orders, always shook her head sternly at Kittyleen, whispering, "Effie don't 'peak a word."
Miss Pike was never vexed with sweet little wayward Kittyleen; but she did think Mrs. Garland ought to keep her at home. It was Flaxie whose temper was most tried, for Flaxie was always the one to take the young rogue down-stairs; and she found it hard sometimes to refrain from shaking her just a wee bit.
"What made you throw Ethel's kitty out of the window?" she would say. "You are the little girl that picked my dolly's eyes out. O, Kittyleen, I made my will, and I was going to give you the prettiest, cunningest present; but if you don't stay at home I shall make my will all over again, and not give you one single thing."
Kittyleen had often heard of Flaxie's "will," and had formed various opinions as to what it might be. Sometimes she thought it was a very large pin-cushion, sometimes she thought it was a sort of Christmas box; but she always cried when Flaxie said she should "make it all over again," feeling that this was more than she could bear.
"O Flatsie, please don't," she would plead, with her little arms around her friend's neck. "It's such a pretty will! Me velly much obliged."
"Oh, you good-for-nothing, darling little goosie. Let me kiss that snarl of hair. Does your hair ache, Kittyleen, when it is snarled?"
So the scolding generally ended in a kiss, for let Baby Kittyleen do what she would, Flaxie very well knew there was no guile in her tiny heart.
"Do you suppose, mamma, I'll ever grow patient and good, like you and grammy and Miss Pike?" asked Flaxie one night, in a tone of deep discouragement. "I can't keep my patience with Kittyleen when she comes and rubs out my figures on the slate. Why, mamma, I was real naughty to-day, I lost my calm."
"But you do try to be patient, dear, I know you try," said Mrs. Gray.
"Yes, mamma, but I lost my calm," repeated the little girl dolefully. "I ought not to. I ought to do unto Kittyleen as I'd like to have other people do unto Ethel. That's the Golden-Rule way, Julia says. And should I like to have anybody whirl Ethel round by the shoulders and call her a disgustable girl?"
"She is a remarkably sweet child, my daughter. She loves you in spite of everything."
"Well, mamma, I love her, too, only I'd love her better if she didn't always go where she isn't wanted."
"Kittyleen goes everywhere," broke in little Ethel, on a high key. "She goes to church, Kittyleen does. Mayn't I go to church, I won't 'peak a word."
"Oh, mamma, do let her," said Flaxie, forgetting her late distress of mind, and taking up a new subject. "She'd behave ever so much better than Kittyleen; and she has a new bonnet, too."
"Do you suppose it does Kittyleen any good to go to church?" asked Mrs. Gray, smiling.
"No'm, but it would do Ethel good, for she'd sit still and hear every word like a little lady."
"Do you hear every word, Mary?"
"N—o, mamma, not always, but I mean to. And Ethel has such a pretty bonnet."
"Please, mamma," echoed the little one eagerly, "such a pretty bonnet. And I won't 'peak a word."
"Well," said Mrs. Gray, kissing baby's cherry lips. "Perhaps we'll let the bonnet go to church; we will see."
The little one went to church the very next Sunday, and though sister "Ninny" had her in charge, Flaxie felt that she could not drop her off her own mind for a moment. So charming was wee Ethel in her blue silk bonnet, with a lace frill about the face, that Flaxie was obliged to turn half around and gaze at her, completely lost in admiration.
"Oh, she's the sweetest, best little dear! Ninny needn't say she isn't as pretty as Kittyleen, for she certainly is! Anyway, her bonnet is just as pretty, and a great deal newer! Now there's Fanny Townsend's little sister, I should think Fanny'd be ashamed to have her wear such a bonnet."
Good Mr. Lee was preaching a sermon, which he thought the children in the congregation could nearly all understand; but the words seemed to Flaxie to run together without any meaning; she was not trying to listen.
"How Kittyleen does nestle about! Her mother doesn't watch her a bit. She lets her do everything and go everywhere. I think she's a queer woman. My mamma wouldn't let Ethel stir out of the house if she couldn't behave better than Kittyleen. No, she'd tie her in a chair.
"Why, there's Sadie Stockwell sitting with Aunty Prim. That's my dress Sadie has on. Pity Sadie's father can't buy her any dresses! Pity he drinks so, and is so poor! Pity Sadie is so lame, with her shoulders all hitched up! How kind of Miss Pike, to give Sadie that beautiful book! When I grow up I'm going to be just like Miss Pike and make people love me. Perhaps I can be good if I'm not very homely."
Here Flaxie stole another glance at Ethel's bonnet. "Darling! She's just as still as a lady. I suppose she's saying to herself, 'Effel won't 'peak a word.' What if she should speak! Just think! I wonder if Mr. Lee knows she's at church? He loves Ethel, for he sent her a little box of honey. I shouldn't think he'd like to keep bees. I should think he'd be afraid they'd sting his little boy.—There, I must look up at Mr. Lee and hear what he says."
She raised her eyes to the pulpit. "How queer his head looks where the hair is so bald! The top of it is just as smooth and white! Why, it shines like the ivory ball on Ninny's parasol. What did make Mr. Lee's hair all go off? Doctor Papa said he didn't know what made it go off, for Mr. Lee isn't old a bit, he's almost young." Gazing at the smooth, ivory-white top of the minister's head naturally reminded the little girl of something Phil had said not long ago when his hair was to be cut.
"Please don't cut it very short," said little Phil, "don't cut it as short as Mr. Lee's."
Flaxie was in great danger of smiling as she recollected this.
"Why don't I listen to the sermon?" thought she. "It's very wicked not to listen. Oh, he's gone way by the text! What is he saying about the brook of Cherith? They don't have Bible places in my geography, and I never heard of the brook of Cherith."
Next moment, after a fond glance at Ethel, her eye fell upon Preston, and this gave still another turn to her thoughts.
"I should think Preston would be ashamed ever to say anything more to me about my 'Domestic Animals.' The composition he wrote the other day is ever so much worse than that."
It was "The Story of Evangeline." Miss Pike had read Longfellow's beautiful poem aloud, and then asked the children to write down all they could remember of it.
Here, in Preston's own words, is
THE STORY OF EVANGELINE.
"Evangeline lived in Nova Scotia. She was engaged to Gabriel. He was a blacksmith's son. The English soldiers came and told the French to leave. They left. Evangeline and Gabriel did not go on the same boat. They got mixed up and separated. Evangeline did not like it. She and her priest went all round out West to try to find Gabriel. He did not try to find her. Then she heard he had gone up North to trade for mules, and she went to hunt him up. She did not find him. Then she grew very old and went to live with the Quakers. She was a nun. One Sunday morning she picked some flowers and went to the poor-house, and found an old man in bed dying. She said, Gabriel. He looked up. They kissed each other and he died."
Dr. Gray said this story ought to be entitled "The Fatal Effects of a Kiss." Even grandma had laughed heartily on reading it, though Preston himself could see nothing in it to laugh at.
But it was by no means of Evangeline or her fatal kiss that Preston was thinking just now. Sitting quietly beside his father, he was looking up at the minister and drinking in every word of the sermon. He had long been noted for his excellent behavior at church, and Mr. Lee had more than once said to the boy's father that none of the grown people listened to their pastor with more respectful attention than young Preston Gray. I am afraid Mr. Lee would not have said anything like that about Flaxie. She sat still enough, often very still indeed, but her eyes were roving all about, and so were her thoughts.
Miss Pike observed this, and it occurred to her that it would be a very sad thing if Flaxie should allow her inattention to grow into a confirmed habit. Very likely she said something of the sort to Dr. Gray, for she felt a great interest in the child's improvement. At any rate, that afternoon, when the four o'clock dinner was over and the Gray family were seated in the back parlor,—Miss Pike, grandma, and all,—Doctor Papa said, rather unexpectedly,—
"Now suppose we ask these little people what the sermon was about this morning?"
He chanced to be looking at Flaxie as he spoke, but she said quickly,—
"Oh, please ask Julia first, papa, for she is the oldest. No, I mean Ethel, for she is the youngest."
This was too absurd.
"Isn't Phil young enough? Perhaps we may begin with him. Think hard, my son, and see if you can remember anything Mr. Lee said to-day."
Little Phil knitted his brows, but like Flaxie he had been looking around, not listening.
"Oh, papa, there was a woman there, had a thing on all bangled with beads."
"Yes, my son; but what did the minister say?" Phil rolled his eyes.
"Oh, there was a little girl there, about as big as Ethel, had a white bonnet on and a white cloak."
"Yes; but what did the minister say?"
"Oh, Ethel," said crestfallen little Phil, turning to his baby sister for comfort, "you and I are too small. We can't remember what they preach, can we?"
"We won't be too hard on you, my little son," said Doctor Papa. "You are only five years old; but I am sure Mr. Lee says some things that even you can understand. Will you really try next Sunday to listen?"
"I don't know how, papa," replied the little fellow, dropping his head.
"But I only asked you to try. You can try, can't you, Philip? Now, next Sunday afternoon there will be a particularly large, yellow banana in the fruit-dish at dessert, and it will go to the small boy who can tell me something—just a little something—the minister said."
Phil's eyes began to shine. Oh, wouldn't he look straight at Mr. Lee next Sunday, and bring home lots and lots of the sermon!
"There, it's Flaxie's turn now," said he, as Flaxie with a very sober face wedged her chair between her mother and Miss Pike.
"Mr. Lee said," began she, hurriedly, "he said something about a brook,—I forget the name of the brook,—and he said something about a man,—I can't think what the man's name was,—and the ravens came and fed him."
"The ravens are right. Go on. Why did the ravens feed him?"
"I don't know, papa." Flaxie looked helpless. "I didn't hear the rest. I had to watch Ethel for fear she'd talk."
Dr. Gray said nothing more. He merely looked at his little daughter.
"Oh, papa, I won't do so again. I won't, truly. I'll hear every single word. But sometimes, you know, I can't understand."
"You could have understood this, my daughter; it was all very simple. Now, Preston?"
"It was about the prophet Elijah, sir. Elijah was a very solemn kind of man. He lived alone in the mountains and talked with God. There was a wicked king called Ahab, who worshipped idols, and Elijah went to him and told him it was wrong, and Ahab was very angry, and Elijah had to run away. He was told to go to the brook Cherith and drink the waters of it, and the ravens would come and feed him. And the ravens did. They brought him bread and meat night and morning till the brook dried up and Elijah had to go somewhere else. I believe," said Preston, reflecting, "I believe that's all I can remember."
"You have done well. Do you know to what nation Elijah belonged?"
"No, sir."
"Can Julia tell?"
"Yes, sir, he was an Arab." Julia always looked very modest and pretty in answering questions. She went on now, with her hands folded in her lap. "Elijah had long thick hair hanging down his back, and he wore a cape of sheepskin; they called it a mantle. And he used to hide his face in it sometimes, and sometimes he rolled it up and used it for a staff."
"What is a raven?"
"It is a kind of crow."
"Oh, I thought it was a kind of ostrich," said Flaxie.
This extraordinary statement brought a smile to Preston's face, but his father said, "I was just thinking of a little story about an ostrich. God has strange ways of saving people's lives sometimes."
The children looked attentive, and Mrs. Gray drew Ethel into her lap to keep her quiet, while papa pared his orange and began:
"It was more than fifty years ago that Mr. Broadbent, a missionary, was travelling in Cape Colony. Where is that, Mary?"
"Oh, Africa, Africa; way down there at the bottom of the map."
"He had his family with him, and a few friends and some Hottentots. There were fourteen in the party. They were crossing a sandy table-land. What is that, Julia?"
"High and flat land, like a table."
"Right. They rode in wagons, drawn by oxen. It was a week's journey, but they had not enough food to start with, and could buy but little at the last town on the way. So after they had travelled two days there was not much left but a small sack of rice and some tea and coffee. What would become of them? Five more days across a country where nothing grew, not even a blade of grass! Now and then they saw a bird flying overhead, but it was very swift, and far away, and they could hardly ever hit it with their guns."
"Oh, dear, did they starve?" asked Flaxie.
"There, now, if those birds had only been ravens!"
"The party stopped to rest, and they sent one of the Hottentots to watch the oxen; but I dare say he fell asleep, for several of the oxen strayed away.
"It seemed a great pity, for he had to go to look them up and was gone a long time, and the travellers could not afford to wait."
"Well, if they were going to starve, papa, it didn't make any difference whether they waited or not."
"When the Hottentot came back he had a great piece of news to tell. He had found the nest of an ostrich, with forty eggs in it."
"Oh, papa, are ostrich eggs good to eat? Do tell us about it."
"So I will, my daughter, if I am not interrupted too often."
Flaxie blushed, and hid her face on Miss Pike's shoulder.
"The nest of an ostrich is a curiosity, and Mr. Broadbent waded through two or three miles of deep sand to see this one. You would think the mother bird had studied arithmetic all her life, for she seemed to have counted the eggs and set them in their places with perfect exactness. In the middle were fourteen close together, and three or four feet away from them were the other twenty-six eggs in an unbroken circle, as even as a row of gold beads.
"The ostrich had been sitting on the ones in the middle. She expected to hatch just fourteen birds. She had not sat on the outer eggs at all, and there they were, entirely fresh and good to eat. She was saving them as food for the babies. She meant to break them, one after another, and give them to her chickens as fast as they should come out of the shell.
"It would be just as much food as the fourteen little ones would need, before they were old enough to go abroad with her and pick up their living in the desert. How do you suppose the ostrich knew this? She had hardly any brain, a very stupid bird indeed. It must have been taught her directly from Heaven.
"Well, you see now that the travellers did not starve. For a meal they broke one of these eggs into a bowl, beat it well, and mixed with it a little flour, pepper, and salt, and fried it in a pan. It served very well instead of bread with their tea and coffee, and when they arrived at their station they had two or three eggs to spare."
"Is that all?" asked Preston, as his father paused and offered a piece of orange to Ethel. "It was almost as good as the ravens, wasn't it?"
"I want to ask one question," said Julia. "How large is an ostrich egg?"
"It weighs perhaps three pounds, and is almost as large around the middle as Ethel's waist."
"Well, I'm glad those people didn't starve," remarked Flaxie, "I was afraid one while they would."
I have introduced this true story here, partly for its own sake, and partly to give you a picture of one of the delightful Sunday afternoons at Dr. Gray's. If I had time I would like to tell you of the strong efforts which Flaxie made from this very day to overcome the bad habit of letting her thoughts wander in church. But this book is so small, and there are yet so many events waiting to be described, that I must now hasten on to something else.
In April Miss Pike went home, carrying with her the hearts of all the Grays, both young and old. The whole family insisted so strongly upon her coming back the next winter that she said,—
"Thank you; perhaps I may come, for I have been very happy at Laurel Grove, and love every one of you dearly. But," she added, smiling, "you forget that you may not be here next winter. If Dr. Gray should be elected to Congress, won't you all go to Washington?"
"Oh, he does not expect to be elected," replied Mrs. Gray. "But if we should go to Washington, we shall want you to go there with us. Now, please remember."
"How delightful! Well, Mrs. Gray, I will say to you as you say to little Ethel, 'We will see.'"