Christmas gold, p.465
Christmas Gold, page 465
So he went to work. Dot wanted to help, and brought him useless sticks, while she carried off his hammer and lost his nails. But when she looked up at him with the sweetest little face in the world, and said, "Ain't Dotty 'mart? Dotty help 'ou," he could not scold her.
The dinner was rather quiet. None of the stray youngsters made their appearance. Afterward Florence dressed herself, and went to see Netty Bigelow, her dearest school-friend, and imparted to her that she was going to Seabury next Monday, to stay a month with a very elegant lady, and that she would live at a hotel. Then she described her ride to Salem, and the dinner.
"Oh, how nice it must have been!" said Netty. "You are the luckiest girl I ever did know, Florence Kenneth."
"I just wish I was as rich as Mrs. Osgood. It seems to me that poor people cannot be very happy."
"I don't know," Netty returned thoughtfully. "The Graysons do not seem very happy."
"But I never saw such mean, disagreeable girls; and they are not dressed a bit pretty. If there's any thing in school they always want their share, but they never treat."
"And we are poor," continued Netty; "but I'm sure we are happy."
Florence felt that her friend could hardly understand the degree of happiness that she meant. She was rather out-growing her youthful companions.
About mid-afternoon Hal took a walk over to the store. The old rusty cannon of Revolutionary memory had been fired on the green, the speeches made, and the small crowd dispersed. Nearly everybody had gone to Salem; but a few old stagers still congregated at the store, it being general head-quarters.
Hal picked Charlie out of a group of children, in a very dilapidated condition. Her once clean dress was soiled, torn, and burned; her hands gave the strongest evidence that dust entered largely into the composition of small people; and her face was variegated by perspiration and dabs from these same unlucky hands.
"O Charlie! you look like a little vagabond!" exclaimed Hal in despair. "I'm ashamed of you!"
"But I've had such fun, and cakes and candies and fire-crackers and torpedoes! I wish Fourth of July would keep right straight along. I burned one of my fingers, but I didn't mind," declared the patriotic girl.
"Where's Kit?"
"I don't know. Joe was round this morning, but I guess he went to Salem."
"You must come home with me now."
"O Hal! we haven't found all the 'cissers' yet. They're almost as good as fire-crackers."
Several of the children were burrowing in the grass and sand for "fusees,"—crackers that had failed to explode to the full extent of their powder. They broke them in two and relighted them.
Hal was inexorable; so Charlie cried a little, and then bade her dirty companions a sad farewell.
"Oh!" exclaimed Granny, as they came marching up the path, "what a sight! And your Sunday best dress, Charlie!"
"Well," sniffed Charlie with a crooked face, though there were no tears to give it effect, "I'm sure I didn't want to put it on. I hate to be dressed up! Something always happens to your Sunday clothes. I couldn't help tearing it, and Jimmy Earl set off a cracker right in my lap"—
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't your eyes," said Granny thankfully. And then she took the forlorn pyramid of dirt and disorder up stairs, where she had a good scrubbing, and was re-arrayed in a more decent fashion. Anybody else would have scolded, but Granny was so glad to have her back safe and sound.
Her heart was sorely anxious about Kit and Joe. She let the supper stand on the table, and they all sat on the doorstep in the moonlight; for Dot had taken a nap in the afternoon, and was bright as a new penny.
And she fancied, as many mothers and grandmothers have before now, that shocking accidents had happened, and maybe they would be maimed and crippled for life.
Presently they came straggling along, and Granny uttered a cry of relief.
"Oh!" she said, "are you all here? Haven't you lost your hands, nor your fingers, nor"—
"Nor our noses, and not even our tongues," laughed Joe. "Here we are, pistol and all."
"O Kit! where have you been? I was a most worried to death; and you look tuckered out."
For Kit was pale to ghostliness as he stood there in the moonlight.
"Where do you think I found him,—the small snipe? Way over to Salem!"
"O Kit! did you see the fireworks and the soldiers?" exclaimed Charlie breathlessly.
Kit sank down on the doorstep.
"Walked all the way over there, and hadn't a penny!"
"How could you Kit, without saying a word?" exclaimed Granny in a tone of mild reproach.
"I could have given you a little money," said Hal tenderly.
"And it's a mercy that you didn't get run over, or shot to pieces, or trampled to death in the crowd"—
"O Granny! don't harrow up our feelings," said Joe.
"I was afraid you wouldn't let me go," began Kit, at the first available opportunity for slipping in a word. "And I didn't walk quite all the way there,—a man came along, and gave me a ride. I wanted to hear the music so much! The soldiers were splendid, Charlie; some of 'em with great white feathers in their hats and swords and beautiful horses and coats all over gold"—
"Wonderful hats," suggested Joe with a twinkle; for Kit had gone on with small regard to commas or accent.
"They all know what I mean!" said Kit rather testily.
"Don't plague him," interposed Hal. "About the music, Kit?"
"Oh! I can't half tell you;" and Kit gave a long sigh. "There were drums and fifes, and those clappers—I don't remember what you called 'em, but I liked it best when the men were horning with their horns"—
Joe gave a loud outburst, and went over on his head.
"Well," said Kit much aggrieved, "what are you laughing about?"
"Horning! That is good! You had better write a new dictionary, Kit. It is a decided improvement upon 'toot,' and must commend itself to Flossy's attention for superior elegance. There, my dear, give me a vote of thanks;" and Joe twitched Flossy's long curls.
"I don't know what you call it, then," said Kit rather sulkily.
"They blew on the horns," Hal rejoined in his soothing tone, that was always a comfort in times of disturbance; "and the cornets, wind-instruments, I believe, though I don't know the names of them all. It must have been delightful."
"Oh, it was! I shut my eyes, and it seemed as if I was floating on a sea, and there were all the waves beating up and down, and then a long soft sound like the wind blowing in and shaking it all to echoes. I was so sorry when they stopped. They all went into the hotel, I guess it was. By and by I wandered off a little ways, and sat on a stoop; and some one was playing on a piano. That was beautiful too. I'd like to crawl inside of something, as the fairies do, and just live there and listen forever."
"And then I found him, hungry and tired, and bought him some cake," interrupted Joe. "We waited to see the fireworks, and rode home in Mr. Terry's wagon. But for that I guess he'd been sitting on the stoop yet."
"And you haven't tasted a mouthful of supper!" exclaimed Granny; "and I a listenin' here, and never thinkin' of it."
"I'm not much hungry," said Joe. "I was treated a time or two by the boys."
But he thought he wouldn't tell that he had taken up his week's wages in advance, and spent it all. Fourth of July did not come but once a year, and a body ought to have a good time.
Poor Joe had discovered, much to his chagrin, that a dollar and a half would not work wonders. It seemed to him at first that he never could get his suit of clothes paid for; then it was a hat, a pair of shoes, some cheap summer garments; and he never had a penny for Hal or any one else. In fact, he began to think that he would make more money working round for the farmers. But then the store was steady employment.
He gave Charlie a glowing account of the fireworks, while Kit was eating a bowl of bread and milk; then they were glad to tumble into bed.
"I'm thankful it's all over, and their arms and legs are safe, and their eyes not blown out," said Granny with fervent gratitude.
Kit was pretty tired the next day, and Joe found it rather hard to make all things work together for good. Granny shed a few tears over Charlie's "best dress," and wondered how she could patch it so as to look decent.
Florence, in the mean while, was much occupied with her own plans. She could hardly wait for Monday to come, and proposed to do the usual washing on Saturday, so there wouldn't be any "muss" around when Mrs. Osgood called.
She was neat as a new pin as she sat awaiting her visitor. Her clothes had been looked over, and the best selected. There was nothing to pack them in, however, except a small, moth-eaten hair trunk, or a dilapidated bandbox; and the latter was Florence's detestation.
"I can do them up in a paper," she said; and Charlie was sent to scour the neighborhood for the required article.
Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Duncan came together. The latter lady had laughed a little at her sister's plan at first; but, when she found it was really serious, thought it would be as well for her to try it a month.
Mrs. Duncan was rather exclusive, and had a horror of crowds of poor people's children.
"It would be so much better to take some one who had no relatives," she said.
"I shall not adopt the whole family, you may be sure," was the response.
Some of Mrs. Duncan's prejudices were surmounted by the general order and tidiness to which Florence had reduced matters; and she was wonderfully well-bred, considering her disadvantages.
"I shall keep her for a month, while I remain at Seabury; and, if I should want her afterward, we can make some new arrangements," Mrs. Osgood explained. "I shall see, of course, that she has ample remuneration."
Florence colored. Living with such a grand lady seemed enough, without any pay.
"What are you crying for, Granny?" she asked as she followed her into the kitchen. "How ridiculous! Why, it is just as if I were going away upon a visit; and you wouldn't be sorry then."
"It isn't because I'm sorry;—but—none of you have ever been away afore"—
Florence knitted her brows. How foolish to make such a fuss!
"There are so many of us, that we're like bees in a hive. You ought to be glad to have me go. And I dare say I shall ride over some day"—
"To be sure. But every one is missed."
Florence kissed the children all round, and was much mortified at the bundle tied up in a newspaper.
"If I get any money, I mean to buy a travelling-bag," she commented internally.
"Tate me too," exclaimed Dot, clinging to Florence's dress: luckily her hands were clean.
"Oh! you can't go, Dotty: Charlie will show you the beautiful chickens."
Dot set up a fearful cry, and wriggled herself out of Charlie's arms, and Granny took her. Florence hurried through her good-bys, and was glad to leave the confusion behind.
Granny indulged in a little cry afterward, and then went to her ironing. Of course they must all flit from the old hive some time. She could hardly persuade herself that Florence was fifteen,—almost a young lady.
Joe and Hal wanted to hear all the particulars that evening. Charlie dilated grandly on the magnificence of the ladies.
"It's real odd," said Joe. "Flossy always wanted to be a lady; and maybe this is a step towards it. I wonder if I shall ever get to sea!"
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Granny in a pitiful voice.
When Mrs. Green heard the news, she had to come over.
"I don't suppose they'd ever thought on't, if it hadn't been for me," she exclaimed. "They stopped to my house while their wagon was bein' mended, and the sickly lookin' one seemed to be terribly interested in your folks; so, thinks I, if I can do a good turn for a neighbor it's all right; and I spoke a word, now and then, for Florence,—though it's a pity her name hadn't been Mary Jane. I never did approve of such romantic names for children. And I hope Florence will be a good girl, and suit; for the Lord knows that you have your hands full!"
Charlie ran wild, as usual, through vacation. In one of her long rambles in the woods she found a hollow tree with a rock beside it, and her fertile imagination at once suggested a cave. She worked very industriously to get it in order; brought a great pile of leaves for a bed, and armsful of brush to cook with, and then besought Kit to run away and live in the woods.
Kit tried it for one day. They had some apples and berries, and a piece of bread taken from the pantry when Granny wasn't around. They undertook to fish, but could not catch any thing; though Charlie was quite sure, that, if Joe would lend her his pistol, she could shoot a bird.
"Anyhow, we'll have a fire, and roast our apples," said Charlie, undaunted.
"But it's awful lonesome, I think. S'pose we don't stay all night: Granny'll be worried."
"Pooh!" returned Charlie with supreme disdain.
So she lighted her fire. The twigs crackled and blazed, and the flame ran along on the ground.
"Isn't it splendid!" she exclaimed, "Why, it's almost like fireworks! Oh, see, Kit! that dead tree has caught. We'll have a gay old time now."
Alas! Charlie's "gay old time" came to an ignoble end. Some one rushed through the woods shouting,—
"Hillo! What the mischief are you at? Don't you know any better than to be setting the woods on fire?"
It was Mr. Trumbull, looking angry enough. He bent the burning tree over, and stamped out the blaze; then poked the fire apart, and crushed the burning fragments into the soft ground. A dense smoke filled the little nook.
"Whose work is this? You youngsters deserve a good thrashing, and I've half a mind to take your hide off."
With that he caught Kit by the arm.
"He didn't do it," spoke up courageous Charlie. "He never brought a leaf nor a stick; and you sha'n't thrash him!"
"What's he here for, then?"
"I brought him."
"And did you kindle the fire?"
"Yes," said Charlie, hanging her head a little.
"What for? Didn't you know that you might burn the woods down, in such a dry time? Why, I could shut you up in jail for it."
That frightened Charlie a good deal.
"I didn't mean to—do any harm: we thought—we'd have a little fun"—came out Charlie's answer by jerks.
"Fine fun! Why, you're Granny Kenneth's youngsters! I guess I'll have to march you off to jail."
"Oh, let Kit go home!" cried Charlie with a great lump in her throat. "It wasn't his fault. He didn't even want to come."
Something in the child's air and frankness touched Mr. Trumbull's heart, and caused him to smile. He had a houseful of children at home, every one of whom possessed a wonderful faculty for mischief; but this little girl's bravery disarmed his anger.
"I want to explain to you that a fire like this might burn down a handsome piece of woodlands worth thousands of dollars. All these large trees are sent to the sawmill, and made into boards and shingles and various things. So it would be a great loss."
"I'm very sorry," returned Charlie. "I didn't know it would do any harm."
"If I don't take you to jail this time, will you promise never to do it again?"
Charlie shivered a little at her narrow escape.
"I surely wouldn't," she said very soberly.
By this time Mr. Trumbull had the fire pretty well out.
"Well, don't ever let me catch you at it again, or you will not get off so easily. Now trot home as fast as you can."
Charlie paused a moment, tugging at the cape of her sun-bonnet.
"I'm glad you told me about burning up the woods," she said. "I didn't think of that."
Mr. Trumbull laughed pleasantly.
So the two walked homeward, Charlie in a more serious frame of mind than usual.
"I tell you, Kit," she began at length, "out West is the place to have a cave, and fires, and all that Hal had a book about it. Sometimes children are kidnapped by Indians, and live in their tents, and learn how to make bead-bags and moccasins"—
"I don't want to go;" and Kit gave his slender shoulders a shrug. "They scalp you too."
"But they wouldn't me. I should marry one of the chiefs." Then, after a rather reflective pause, "I'm glad we didn't burn down Mr. Trumbull's woods: only I guess he wasn't in earnest when he said he would put me in jail."
But for all that she begged Kit not to relate their adventure to Granny, and perplexed her youthful brain for a more feasible method of running away.
The house seemed very odd without Florence. The children's small errors passed unrebuked; and they revelled in dirt to their utmost content. For what with working out a day now and then, getting meals, patching old clothes, and sundry odd jobs, Granny had her poor old hands quite full. But she never complained.
Chapter X.
Which Should She Choose?
Table of Contents
The reality at Seabury far exceeded Florence Kenneth's expectations. The hotel was really finer than that at Salem. And then, instead of being maid, she found here a woman who waited upon Mrs. Osgood, arranged her hair, kept her dresses in order, and did the small errands. What was she to do, then?
Not very much, it seemed. She read aloud, and Florence was an undeniably good reader; she embroidered a little, went every day for a ride, and absolutely sat in the parlor. It was rather embarrassing at first.
"I have decided," Mrs. Osgood said to her sister, a few days afterward. "The child has a very sweet temper, and a most affectionate nature; and then she is so lovely. A perfect blonde beauty! In two years she will be able to enter society. Mrs. Deering declared yesterday that her voice was remarkable."
"I hope you will not spoil her completely. She has a good share of vanity, I perceive."
"It is only proper pride: the child is well-born. I know her mother must have been a lady, and Kenneth is not a common name."
"I am sure I hope your protégée will prove a comfort."
Then Mrs. Osgood announced her plans to Florence, who was literally overwhelmed. To be adopted by so rich a lady, to have an elegant home, and become skilled in all accomplishments—was it not a dream,—her wild, improbable dream?
To Florence Mrs. Osgood was an angel. True, she had seen her rather pettish, and sometimes she scolded Martha, and gave way to hysterical spasms; but these were minor faults. She drew the child to her with the sweet and not-forgotten arts of her faded girlhood, and was pleased with the sincere homage that had in it so much of wonder. Florence would love her like a daughter.
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