Part 8

"Oh! I like them better than any thing,--I mean better than any thing else to eat," said Bessie; "and I was very much pleased when the Colonel gave me these, 'cause I didn't have one since I came to Chalecoo."

"Then I am glad, too, miss," said Starr, who in the city had often been sent by his master to buy bananas to indulge this favorite fancy of Bessie's. "Now, Miss Bessie, I am just going to put you on top of this great stone, and climb up myself afterwards, and then we'll be but a few rods from where the ladies and gentlemen are."

Just before them was a mass of rock, four or five feet high, which seemed to bar the way; but lifting Bessie as high as he could, Starr set her safely upon the top, then handing her the bananas began to clamber up himself.

At that moment a slight rustle made Bessie turn her head, and she found herself face to face with Dolly Owen. Before she had time to utter her astonishment and alarm, Starr stood beside her, and he was the first to speak.

"So, you're there, are you?" he said, sternly. "What wickedness are you up to now, I'd like to know?"

Dolly made no answer, but sat with her eyes fixed upon Bessie, or rather upon the tempting bunch of bananas she held in her small hands. The girl was half lying, half sitting upon the ground, her head and shoulders resting against the trunk of a large tree, her face drawn as if she were in great pain. It seemed as if she must have crept into this nook as a hiding-place, for on all sides, save the one by which Starr and Bessie had come, was a thick growth of underbrush, with only a narrow outlet where the bushes had been partly broken down. From beyond this came the sound of gay voices and merry laughter, showing, as Starr had said, that the rest of the party were not far distant. Very lonely and dreary the wretched child looked, lying there with those happy sounds ringing in her ears, telling that others were so much better off, so much happier than she was.

"What's them?" she asked, looking greedily at the bananas.

"Now are you not ashamed to be speaking to the little lady after what you've done?" said Starr. "Those are not for such as you, and you needn't be asking what they are. And look you here, young one, you let me catch you a step nearer the gentlefolks, and I'll let you hear something you won't like. _My_ patience is about come to an end."

Still Dolly took no notice of him. Instead of running away, or cowering in fear of punishment, as she generally did when any grown person came near her, she remained crouched, without moving, upon the ground.

"Gi' me one," she said to Bessie.

"Did I ever hear such impudence!" exclaimed Starr, roused out of his usual stiffness; "well, you are the most graceless creature I ever did see. Come on, Miss Bessie, if you please."

But Bessie gently put aside Starr's hand, as he would have led her away.

"Please wait a minute, Starr."

"I say, gi' me one," said Dolly again; "I aint eat nothin' to-day nor yesterday, and Lem's gone away."

It was, indeed, a bold thing for Dolly to ask any thing of one whom she had injured so much; but she was ravenous with hunger, and having no shame, she had no thought save how she might satisfy it.

Bessie stood looking from her to the bananas. Should she give Dolly her own or not? She wanted it very much herself; but she had asked her Father in heaven to let her find some way to be kind to Lem and Dolly, and now was He not answering her prayer? It had been very pleasant to think of sharing the delicious fruit with her own dear friends whom she loved so much, or even of giving a piece to Starr, who was always so kind and good to her; but to give it all to this bad girl who had done so much cruel mischief to her and hers, was another thing.

Perhaps strong, healthy children, who can enjoy whatever is set before them, can have little idea what a piece of self-denial this was to Bessie. She was a delicate child, with a slight appetite which needed some coaxing, and, as she had said to Starr, if there was any one thing which she liked particularly, it was a fine banana.

Yes, she wanted it very much; but there was poor Dolly who wanted it very much too,--who said she had had nothing to eat all day yesterday, who probably had never tasted such a fruit; for she had asked what they were when she saw them,--who, even Bessie's innocent eyes could see, looked very ill. Was not here a chance to "render good for evil;" to do the kind thing she had said she would do if she could but find the way?

She had a moment's struggle with herself; then, breaking one of the bananas from the stem, she went a little nearer to Dolly and held it out at arm's length, for she feared the mischievous girl too much to go very close to her.

Dolly raised herself slowly and clutched at the banana, but sank back again with a cry of pain.

"Have you hurt yourself, Dolly?" asked Bessie, gently.

Dolly made no answer, but stretched out her hand again for the fruit.

Bessie went a little nearer, and timidly placed it in her hand.

"That's not the way," she said, as the girl greedily bit into the close, tough skin. "You must peel it. I will show you."

Dolly held fast to the banana for a moment, as if she feared Bessie was about to take it back; then, with a wondering look into the sweet, pitiful little face, gave it up.

"Now, don't you be waiting on her, Miss Bessie," said Starr; "you've done more than enough already, to give her your banana. Will you come, miss, and just leave that girl to herself?"

"I think I'd better fix it for her, Starr. She don't know how, and I think there's something the matter with her," said Bessie: and, stripping the peel from the fruit, she placed it once more in Dolly's hand.

"Does something hurt you?" she asked, as the girl moaned again when she moved.

"Yes, I hurts all over," answered Dolly.

"Did you fall down?"

"No, I didn't," mumbled Dolly, with her mouth full.

"Then how did you hurt yourself so much?"

"Dunno," said Dolly, sullenly. But she did know; she knew right well that those terrible racking pains came from that night spent in the Ice Glen. She had a feeling as if Bessie must know it too. "Now just you and that man clear out. I came here first," she muttered.

"Don't fret yourself: your company's not so pleasant, nor your talk so sweet, that the little lady need want more of it," said Starr. "Miss Bessie, my dear, won't you come?"

"Yes," said Bessie, "in a moment," and then, turning again to the girl,--"Dolly, I am very sorry for you."

"Humph," said Dolly, in a tone as if she could not believe this.

"Don't you think I am?" said Bessie.

"I knows better," was the answer she received.

"But I am, Dolly, really. I am very sorry for you, 'cause you have that pain, and 'cause you don't have any one to love you, and take care of you, and teach you. Wouldn't you let me be a little kind to you?"

"If you're so sorry, give me another of them," said Dolly again, looking at the bananas with a greedy eye. She had never tasted any thing so delicious in her life, and the one which Bessie had given only made her more anxious for a second.

Bessie gave a little sigh.

"I would if they were mine," she said; "but they are not, and so I cannot give them to you."

"Be off then. You're glad I ache so; I know you are 'cause I plagued you so."

Starr's patience was at an end; and, lifting his little charge in his arms, he plunged through the opening in the bushes.

"Miss Bessie," he said, "you ought to let that girl alone; she's not fit for you to care for, and it's all kindness thrown away."

Bessie looked very grave and thoughtful.

"Starr," she said, presently, "if she is fit for Jesus to care for, she must be fit for us to care for."

Starr was silenced: he had not another word to say.

When Bessie reached her playfellows, the fire was burning famously; but they had waited to husk the corn till she should come to have her share in that pleasure.

"But where is your banana?" asked Maggie, when her sister divided the Colonel's gift.

"It is gone," answered Bessie.

"Oh!" said Maggie, "why, didn't you wait to eat it with the rest of us? But never mind, you shall have half of mine."

"Let's husk the corn now," said Harry; "we'll have the bananas by and by."

The ears were soon stripped of their green dress and silken tassels, and laid round the fire to roast. Then Bessie told Maggie she wanted to tell her a secret, and drew her a little aside from the others.

"Maggie," she said, "I did not eat my banana; I gave it away."

"Did you?" said Maggie. "That was very good of you, 'cause you're so fond of them. Who did you give it to?"

"To Dolly," answered Bessie.

"To Dolly! that bad thing!" exclaimed Maggie; "where _did_ you see her?"

Bessie told how she and Starr had found Dolly, and of what had passed, ending with,--

"I would have given her another banana if any of them had been mine, Maggie; and I thought you would have given her yours too, to show her you wanted to be kind to her, if you only knew about it."

"So I would," said Maggie, "and I wouldn't have cared if you had given it to her. I will let you do just what you choose with any thing of mine, Bessie, and not be a bit provoked."

"But it was not mine, you see," said Bessie, "and I didn't think it would be right when you did not tell me to."

"I'd give it to her now, if I was to see her," said Maggie; "but then we couldn't go and find her, you know. She might do something to us."

"I don't think she could very well," said Bessie. "It hurts her so to move; and her speaking sounds like mine when I have the croup. Starr said he thought she looked very sick. She's just over behind those bushes, and some one could go and take care of us. I think she would be sure we are sorry for her if we took it to her. Shall we ask papa about it?"

Maggie agreed, and papa was called and told the whole story, and of their wish to take the second banana to Dolly.

He thought it over for a moment or two, and then said he would let them take it, and would go with them to see that no harm befell them at Dolly's hands.

XI.

"_GOOD FOR EVIL._"

DOLLY was found lying in the same spot, and almost in the same position, in which Bessie and Starr had left her; but now she was half asleep.

Thinking she might receive the children's kindness in a better spirit, if there was no older person to look on, Mr. Bradford helped his little daughters through the screening bushes, and then drew back a few steps where he might still watch them, and hear all that passed, but where Dolly could not see him.

At the rustling of the children's footsteps upon the dry leaves and branches, Dolly started and opened her heavy eyes, to see Maggie and Bessie standing hand in hand before her. The old, fierce, defiant look flashed into them for one moment, then died out again before timid Maggie had time to start back and draw her sister with her.

"My Maggie came to bring you her banana," said Bessie, gently. "_I_ couldn't give it to you, 'cause it was not mine; but when I told her you didn't have any thing to eat for 'most two days, she was sorry for you, and said you should have it."

"It's good. I like it," said Dolly, as Maggie, summoning all her courage, stepped slowly towards her and gave her the banana.

"Dolly," said Bessie, "will you believe now that we are sorry for you, and want to be kind to you?"

"I s'pose so," answered Dolly, gruffly, as if she were still half unwilling or unable to believe that they meant what they said.

They stood in silence, watching the half-famished creature as she eat her fruit, then Bessie said,--

"Dolly, why don't you go home?"

"No, I shan't neither, I aint goin' to stir," she answered snappishly, with one quick, suspicious glance at the children, and another towards the trunk of the old tree against which she leaned. "I've got a right here, if I've a mind to stay. 'Taint your ground nor Porter's neither."

"Oh, no!" said Bessie, "I did not mean that, only you have such a bad cold, and it hurts you so to move, and these rocks are so hard, I should think you'd be more comfortable in your bed at home."

"Guess my home's a sight more comfortable than these rocks, aint it?" said Dolly, with a grin. "One's about as good as t'other."

"Poor Dolly!" said Bessie, "I wish you had a better home, and some one to care for you and Lem."

"What for? I s'pose you think I wouldn't bother you then."

"I hope you wouldn't," said Bessie; "but I was not thinking about that. It was only 'cause I am so sorry that you don't have a nice home and plenty to eat, and people to love you. But, Dolly, you know Jesus loves you."

"No, he don't neither," was the answer.

"But he does, indeed he does," said Bessie, earnestly; "he loves you all the time, and it makes him sorry when you are naughty; but if you won't do so any more, but will try to love him, he will be glad, and then you will be his own little child, 'cause he says, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' and he means all children. Mrs. Rush taught us that one Sunday."

"I say," said Dolly, "I could ha' plagued you last Sunday if I'd had a mind to. The old dog wasn't there."

"No: Buffer was sick last Sunday afternoon," answered Bessie. "Did you come by our Sunday bower?"

"I came by the place where you go of Sundays," said Dolly; "but I didn't do nothin', 'cause I had a mind to hear you singin'. It sounded nice: I liked it."

"Will you come next Sunday?" said Bessie, eager for the slightest chance of doing Dolly good. "Mrs. Rush and the Colonel would let you, I am sure; and they'll tell you about Jesus a great deal better than I can, and how he loves you, and will take you to heaven, if you will only be a good girl and love him. Wouldn't you like to hear about it?"

"Dunno," said Dolly; "I like to hear you sing. Jesus is God, aint he?"

"Yes," said Bessie, coming closer to the poor girl, and drawing Maggie with her. "He is God's Son, and he came away from his heaven to die for us, so we could go there, and live with him, if we would only love him and do what he tells us. And heaven is such a beautiful place! Dolly, the angels are there; and every one will be so happy; and no one will be hungry or sick or tired there; and Jesus will take care of us always, always. Wouldn't you like to go there, Dolly?"

"I'd like to go somewhere," said Dolly wearily; "I'm about tired of this. I'd like not to be hungry, nor to have this pain no more. But 'taint likely your Jesus wants me in his beautiful place. I s'pose he wants clean folks with nice clothes, not old dirty rags like mine."

Maggie was beginning to feel braver as she saw that Dolly was quiet and not in a mood for mischief, and now she spoke.

"Jesus won't mind about rags if you only have a heart that loves him," she said. "He loves you just as much in your rags, as he loves some other little girl who is dressed nicely."

"How do you know he loves me?" asked Dolly.

"'Cause the Bible says so," said Maggie; "so it must be true, 'cause the Bible is God's word. And besides, Dolly, if Jesus came to die for you, so you could go to heaven, don't you think he must love you? When a person does a very kind thing for you, don't that make you think they love you?"

"Did you give me them goodies 'cause you loved me?" said Dolly.

Maggie was rather disturbed at this question, and did not know how to answer it; but Bessie, seeing her trouble, spoke for her.

"Why, no, Dolly," she said, "I'm 'fraid we don't love you very much; you know you couldn't 'spect us to: but we wanted to be kind to you, and to make you know we wanted to forgive you for troubling us so."

"You _was_ real good to give me them things," said Dolly; "they was first rate. And you was good to get Lem let out too; he told me. But I say,"--and Dolly really looked half ashamed,--"'twant him did that."

Bessie thought she was speaking of the cup.

"I don't believe very much that he did," she said. "Mr. Porter thinks maybe the pedler-man took it, 'cause he went to Farmer Todd's house, and after he was gone some spoons were lost; and they think he stole them, so maybe he has my cup too."

"I didn't mean that," answered Dolly, slowly. "I meant 'twant Lem spiled your gardens, but--I _am_ sorry I done it--there now. And Lem aint got your cup; you can just know it."

"We try to believe he didn't," said Bessie. Then she added, with a quiver of her lip and a tear or two gathering in her eyes, "I don't think _any one_ could have taken it if they had known how very fond I was of it. You see, Dolly, I had that cup a great, great many years, ever since I was a little baby; and I always had my drink out of it, so you see we grew up together, and I don't know how I can bear never to see it again. I was pretty much troubled to lose my cup and my garden too."

Dolly looked uneasily at her, moved restlessly on her hard bed, and sank back again with another moan.

"I guess we'll have to go now," said Maggie.

"Will you come next Sunday and hear Mrs. Rush tell about Jesus and how he loved you?" said Bessie. "Or papa and mamma would tell you about it if you liked. They can do it a great deal better than we can."

"No," said Dolly, "I don't want to hear big folks. I don't mind your speaking to me if you choose. But, I say, don't you never sing but on Sundays?"

"Oh, yes!" said Bessie, "we sing every day and sometimes a good many times in the day."

"I like music," said Dolly. "Lem whistles fustrate."

"Yes, we know it," said Maggie. "Once we heard him when we couldn't see him, and we asked Mr. Porter who it was, and he told us it was Lem; and we listened as long as we could hear him: it sounded so sweet and clear. I never heard any one whistle like that."

"Yes," said Dolly, looking pleased; "nobody can beat _him_ at that. S'pose you couldn't sing me a tune 'fore you go, could you? It's so lonesome, lying here."

"Why, yes: we will if you want us to," Bessie answered readily, though she as well as Maggie was much surprised at the request. "We'll sing, 'I want to be an angel.'"

So they stood, these two "ministering children," and sang; their young voices rising sweet and clear amid the solemn stillness of the grand old woods; for very still it was. As the first notes arose, the friends whom they had left, hushed laughter and merry talk that they might not lose one of the sweet sounds. They only knew that Maggie and Bessie had wandered off with papa, and thought this was meant as a pleasant surprise for them.

But it was a higher, greater Friend,--a "Friend above all others,"--whom our little jewel-seekers were just then trying to please; and, although they might not know it, they had that day taken up the first link of the golden chain, by which poor Dolly's soul was to be drawn out of the clouds and darkness in which it had lain, up into the light and sunshine of his glorious presence. A very slight and fragile link it might seem, but it was doubtless very precious in the eyes of the heavenly Father, whose hands could make it strong and lasting, and fit to shine before him in the "day when he shall make up his jewels."

Very precious it was, too, in the eyes of the earthly father, who watched the scene, and looking from his own tenderly cared for, daintily dressed darlings, to the forlorn, ragged outcast, thanked God that for all three alike had the blessed words been spoken, "Suffer little children to come unto me."

"Is that place the song talks about that heaven you was telling about?" asked Dolly when the children had finished "I want to be an angel."

"Yes," said Bessie. "You do want to go there; don't you, Dolly?"

"'Taint no use wantin," said Dolly. "I'll never get there, nor Lem neither. Sing some more."

"We'll sing 'Rest for the weary,' 'cause she said she was so tired," said Maggie.

When they were through, Mr. Bradford stepped from behind the bushes which had hidden him until now.

Dolly started when she saw him, and the old look, half guilty, half defiant, came back to her eyes. But she soon found she need not be afraid; for, bending over her, he said, kindly,--

"My poor girl, you are in great pain, I fear. How did you hurt yourself?"

"Didn't hurt myself," grumbled Dolly, still suspicious, and shrinking from that grave, steady look.

"Then you are ill," said Mr. Bradford, noticing the burning cheeks and heavy eyes, "you must not lie here, or you will be worse. Can you go home?"

"I shan't go home," said Dolly, passionately, and with another quick glance over her shoulder.

Mr. Bradford did not insist, though he meant she should obey him, but said, kindly,--

"Are you still hungry? Would you like some roasted corn?"

Dolly muttered something which might be either no or yes, falling back into her old sullenness; but Mr. Bradford answered as kindly as if she had spoken pleasantly, and told her she should have some.

"Shall we bring it to her, papa?" asked Bessie.

Mr. Bradford said no; for he had been rather startled when he found Dolly was ill, not hurt, as he had first supposed; and he was not willing his little daughters should come near her again, till he was sure what ailed her.

He told the children to bid Dolly good-by, which they did; the girl replying in a more gentle tone than she had yet used, and then calling Bessie back, saying, "Here, littlest one."

But when Bessie looked back to see what she wanted, she refused to speak, and, shutting her eyes, turned her face away.

Mamma and grandmamma, Colonel and Mrs. Rush, had all arrived when our little girls came back to the fire; and the corn was nicely roasted, waiting to be eaten. So the merry, happy party gathered round to enjoy it.

Dolly was not forgotten; for Maggie and Bessie picked out a couple of nice, brown ears, and Starr was sent to carry them to her,--an errand which he did not do very willingly. He came back, saying that he had found her angry, and that she refused to touch or look at the corn.

When all had had enough, Mr. Bradford asked Mr. Stanton if he would go with him and see the poor girl, and tell, if he could, what might be done for her. Uncle Ruthven was not a doctor, but he knew a good deal about medicine, and had often practised it in his travels when no physician was at hand. He willingly agreed to see Dolly, and the two gentlemen went off immediately.

As Mr. Bradford had expected, his brother-in-law pronounced Dolly to be very sick. She would answer no questions, but it was easy to see that she had a bad cold and a high fever, and that the pain, which became so bad when she moved, was rheumatism. Mr. Stanton at once said that she must no longer lie upon the hard, cold rock; she must go home: but it seemed to be doubtful if she could walk. When the gentlemen tried to raise her, they found this no longer doubtful, but quite impossible: the girl's cramped limbs could not hold her up; she could not stir one step. Perhaps she would not have gone had she been able to do so, for she broke forth into angry cries and refusals to be moved, which were only stopped by a violent fit of coughing.

These cries brought the Colonel, with Mrs. Stanton and Starr, to see if they could be of any assistance; and Colonel Rush, finding there was difficulty in moving Dolly, proposed that his camp chair should be brought, and the sick girl carried home in that.

No sooner said than done. Starr was sent for the chair, and when it was brought, Dolly was gently raised and placed in it. She would still have resisted, but she saw that the gentlemen were determined, and it was such agony to move that she thought it as well to submit. When she was in the chair, Mr. Stanton and Starr raised it, and began to move off.

"Wait a bit! wait a bit!" exclaimed Dolly.

"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Stanton, kindly.