Chapter 13

FLORA GOES TO RIDE IN THE LITTLE BLUE CART.

Flora began to grow tired of staying so much alone, but she was not ready to give up the "'fumery," so she had to continue an exile. Dinah was no longer good company, for she had lost many of her faculties, and one eye. She glanced at Flora, with the one that was left, in a very singular manner. Perhaps she wanted to explain to her mistress that somebody had taken a fancy to the blue button, but you must remember she could not talk. She could only stare in a very startling way. Flora did not like it at all, and at Amy's suggestion tied a bandage round her head, which completely hid the defect, and softened the expression of the blue button remaining. She was supposed to be sweetly sleeping in the library this pleasant afternoon. She was really lying in a heap on the kitchen door step, and Flora, for lack of something better to do was hanging lazily on the big gate, gazing down the road. She was in that critical condition when mischief "takes."

She had climbed the gate and was hanging there, ready to be swayed by the first wind that blew, whether fair or foul. It happened to be a foul wind, and it came in the form of a queer little cart drawn by a limping horse moving slowly up the road. The body of the cart was a square box, and it was painted blue. The wheels were red. The old horse had been gray in his palmy days; he was now a dingy white. Flora liked him because he looked sober, and because he jumped so high when he walked; and when the cart got near enough for her to see its bright colors, she concluded to take a ride. So she got down, drew the bolt and opened the big gate (thereby breaking one of mamma's rules), and then she went out and waited at the side of the road for her carriage. The limping horse jumped so high at every step that he did not get over the ground very fast, and Flora had some time to wait. Long enough to realize that she was about to do a very wrong thing, and grieve mamma. But she did not once think of that; her head was turned by the little blue cart, and the old white horse. When the driver came within speaking distance, she nodded as a signal for him to stop, and he, thinking the child had business with him said "Whoa!" and the horse stopped.

"Anything in my line to-day, little girl?"

"Yes," said Flora. "I should like--"

"Any soap grease, old boots--iron, bottles, rags, newspapers? Carry the best of soap, and pay cash on the nail. Eight cents for white, three for colored."

"To take a ride," said Flora, somewhat bewildered, but finishing her sentence.

"Hey?"

"If you please, I should like to take a ride."

"Not with me?"

"I should."

"Not in this cart?"

"I think it is a very pretty cart, and I like your horse very much."

"You do, eh?"

"Yes," said Flora.

"And I don't. That's the odds. He is rayther antiquated even for my business. The crows will have a bone or two to pick with him one of these days. Think they won't?"

"If you please I should like to take a ride," said Flora, for the third time.

"Polly want a cracker?"

Flora did not understand what the driver meant by that, so she again repeated her request, at which he laughed heartily and said,--

"Polly does want a cracker."

"Then why don't you give it to her?" queried Flora.

"Would you?"

"I would."

"You are particular who you ride with, I reckon."

"I am."

"You pick and choose your company, you do."

"I do."

"Well, then, scramble up. The seat is rayther narrow, but we can stow close."

"That is not polite. Gemplemen don't do that way."

"They don't, eh?"

"No. They get down and help ladies up."

"You don't expect me to get down!"

"I do."

"What! when I have been bobbing round all day?"

"Yes!" said Flora.

"Can't do it. I've got the rheumatiz."

"My Grandma has that,--in her back."

"She does, eh?"

Flora nodded.

"Well, you may give my respects to the old lady, when you see her, and tell her I have got it too."

"I will. Want to go to ride, now."

"And you won't scramble up?"

"Want you to get down."

The driver laughed, but held out his hand, and bade her take a good hold. The hand was very red, and it was greasy; but Flora did not mind that. She grasped it firmly, and was lifted to the narrow seat, and then the lame horse started into a jog. Beside being narrow, the seat was so short that Flora had to sit very close to the greasy driver, and her pretty blue dress was not improved by contact with his frock, which was blue, also.

"Papa's horse does not dance that way," she said, regretfully.

"It isn't every horse that can be trained to that sort of thing," returned the driver, gravely. "Mine, now, is one out of a thousand. How will your pa swap?"

"I wish he would," she answered earnestly, for the first time looking her companion full in the face. "Why!" she exclaimed, joyfully, "It is you, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes! it's me. Have you just found that out?"

"I thought you was a stranger."

"You did, eh!"

"I did."

"I knew you was a stranger all the time."

"But I ain't."

"No?"

"No. I am Flora Lee."

"And who am I?"

"You are Mr. Podge."

"Podge?"

"You are."

"Not if I know myself."

"You are, too, Mr. Hodge Podge. That's what you told me. Don't you remember your own name?"

He remembered all about it now, and he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that he dropped the reins, and had to get down to pick them up, which pleased Flora very much. When the reins dropped, the limping horse stood still.

"I didn't know it was you, Miss Fiddle-de-dee," he said, as he mounted to his seat, and urged him into a jog again.

"How is Deacon Brown?"

"He is pretty well, I thank you. My name is Flora Lee."

"And how are all the Sunday children?"

"Oh! they are pretty well, I thank you too. And I am; and Dinah is. She is asleep."

"You have had your face washed since I saw you last. That is the reason I didn't know you. I never saw you with a clean face before."

"Hands, too," said Flora, holding out one plump hand. She was holding on with the other.

"How we are slicked up!" he exclaimed, "and it isn't Sunday, either!"