Part 6

"Not if they want it done," said Jones. "Why, Susan, s'pose everybody hadn't done everything they could when we thought this one was going to be took, wouldn't we have thought they was hard-hearted creeturs? I aint done thanking the Almighty yet for leaving her to us, and I aint the man to refuse nothing to them as is in like trouble,--not if it was to ride all the way to York with the telegram."

"I'm sure I don't want you to refuse 'em," said Mrs. Jones,--"one can't say no to them as has a dyin' child; but I do say it's no use. It will all be over long before the doctor comes; all the doctors in York can't save that poor little lamb. Anyhow, if I was Miss Bradford, I wouldn't take on so; she's got plenty left."

"I'll do my part, anyhow," said the farmer, as he handed Susie to her mother, and then hurried off to saddle his horse and ride away to the station as fast as possible, while Mrs. Jones carried Susie off to the kitchen.

"Maggie," whispered Bessie, "what does she mean?"

"The bad, hateful thing!" answered Maggie, with a sudden burst of crying; "she means our baby is going to die. She wouldn't like any one to say that of her Susie, and I don't believe it a bit. Bessie, I can't bear her if she does make us cookies and turnovers. I like Mr. Jones a great deal better, and I wish he didn't have Mrs. Jones at all. Mamma wont have plenty left if our baby dies; six isn't a bit too many, and she can't spare one of us, I know."

"But perhaps Jesus wants another little angel up in heaven," said Bessie, "and so he's going to take our baby."

"Well, I wish he would take somebody else's baby," said Maggie. "There's Mrs. Martin, she has thirteen children, and I should think she could spare one very well; and there's a whole lot of little babies at the Orphan Asylum, that haven't any fathers and mothers to be sorry about them."

"Perhaps he thinks our baby is the sweetest," said Bessie.

"I know she is the sweetest," said Maggie, "but that's all the more reason we want her ourselves. She is so little and so cunning; I think she grows cunninger and cunninger every day. Day before yesterday she laughed out loud when I was playing with her, and put her dear little hands in my curls and pulled them, and I didn't mind it so very much if she did pull so hard I had to squeal a little; and oh! I'd let her do it again, if she would only get well. Don't you think, Bessie, if we say a prayer, and ask Jesus to let us keep her, he will?"

"I think he will," said Bessie; "we'll try."

"Let us go into the sitting-room," said Maggie, "there is no one there."

"Oh! let us stay out here," answered Bessie, "there's such a beautiful sky up there. Perhaps Jesus is just there looking at us, and maybe he could hear us a little sooner out here. Nobody will see us."

They knelt down together by the seat on the porch. "You say it, Bessie," said Maggie, who was still sobbing very hard. She laid her head down on the bench, and Bessie put her hands together, and with the tears running over her cheeks said, "Dear Jesus, please don't take our darling little baby to be an angel just yet, if you can spare her. She is so little and so sweet, and poor mamma will feel so sorry if she goes away, and we will, too, and we want her so much. Please, dear Jesus, let us keep her, and take some poor little baby that don't have any one to love it, Amen."

They sat down again on the door-step till Harry and Fred came in.

"How is baby?" asked Harry.

"We don't know," said Maggie; "nobody came down this ever so long."

"Go up and see, Midget."

"Oh! I can't, Harry," said Maggie. "I don't want to see that strange look on baby's face."

"Then you go, Bessie," said Harry; "my shoes make such a noise, and you move just like a little mouse. You wont disturb them."

Bessie went up stairs and peeped in at the door of her mother's room. There was no one there but papa and mamma and the baby. Papa was walking up and down the room with his arms folded, looking very sad and anxious, and mamma sat on a low chair with baby on her lap. The little thing lay quiet now, with its eyes shut and its face so very, very white. Mamma was almost as pale, and she did not move her eyes from baby's face even when Bessie came softly up and stood beside her.

Bessie looked at her baby sister and then at her mother. Mamma's face troubled her even more than the baby's did, and she felt as it she must do something to comfort her. She laid her hand gently on her mother's shoulder, and said, "Dear mamma, don't you want to have a little angel of your own in heaven?" Mamma gave a start and put her arm farther over the baby, as if she thought something was going to hurt it. Papa stopped his walk and Bessie went on,--

"Maggie and I asked Jesus to spare her to us, if he could; but if he wants her for himself, we ought not to mind very much; ought we? And if you feel so bad about it 'cause she's so little and can't walk or speak, I'll ask him to take me too, and then I can tell the big angels just how you took care of her, and I'll help them. And then when you come to heaven, you will have two little angels of your own waiting for you. And we'll always be listening near the gate for you, dear mamma, so that when you knock and call us, we'll be yeady to open it for you; and if we don't come yight away, don't be frightened, but knock again, for we'll only be a little way off, and we'll come just as fast as I can bring baby; and she'll know you, for I'll never let her forget you. And while you stay here, dear mamma, wont it make you very happy to think you have two little children angels of your own, waiting for you and loving you all the time?"[B]

Mamma had turned her eyes from the baby's face, and was watching her darling Bessie as she stood there talking so earnestly yet so softly; and now she put her arm around her and kissed her, while the tears ran fast from her eyes and wet Bessie's cheeks.

"Please don't cry, mamma," said the little girl; "I did not mean to make you cry. Shall I ask Jesus to take me, too, if he takes the baby?"

"No, no, my darling, ask him to leave you, that you may be your mother's little comforter, and pray that he may spare your sister too."

"And if he cannot, mamma?"

"Then that he may teach us to say, 'Thy will be done,'" said her father, coming close to them and laying his hand on Bessie's head. "He knows what is best for us and for baby."

"Yes," said Bessie, "and I suppose if he takes her, he will carry her in his arms just as he is carrying the lambs in the picture of the Good Shepherd in our nursery. We need not be afraid he wont take good care of her; need we, mamma?"

"No, darling," said Mrs. Bradford, "we need not fear to give her to his care, and my Bessie has taught her mother a lesson."

"Did I, mamma?" said the little girl, wondering what her mother meant; but before she could answer, grandmamma came in with the country doctor.

Mr. Bradford took Bessie in his arms, and after holding her down to her mother for another kiss, carried her from the room. When he had her out in the entry, he kissed her himself many times, and whispered, as if he was speaking to himself, "God bless and keep my angel child."

"Yes, papa," said Bessie, thinking he meant the baby, "and Maggie and I will say another prayer about her to-night; and I keep thinking little prayers about her all the time, and that's just the same, papa; isn't it?"

"Yes, my darling," said her father; and then he put her down and stood and watched her as she went down stairs.

It was not the will of our Father in heaven that the dear little baby should die. Late in the night the doctor came from New York, and God heard the prayers of the baby's father and mother and little sisters, and blessed the means that were used to make it well; and before the morning it was better, and fell into a sweet, quiet sleep.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote B: Almost the exact words of a very lovely child of a friend of the writer.]

XI.

_THE HAPPY CIRCUMSTANCE._

The next morning, when Bessie woke up, it was very quiet in the nursery. She lay still a moment, wondering what it was that had troubled her last night; and just as she remembered about the baby, she heard a little discontented sound at her side. She turned her head and looked around, and there sat Maggie on the floor beside the trundle-bed, with one sock and one shoe on, and the other shoe in her hand. She looked rather cross.

"Maggie," said Bessie, "has the baby gone to heaven?"

"No," said Maggie, "and I don't believe she's going just yet. Our own doctor came in the night, and she's a great deal better; and now she's fast asleep."

"And don't you feel glad then?"

"Oh, yes! I am real glad of _that_," said Maggie.

"Then why don't you look glad? What is the matter?"

"I can't find my clo'," said Maggie, in a fretful tone.

"What clo'?"

"Why, my sock."

"Why don't nurse or Jane find it for you?" asked Bessie.

"I can't wait," said Maggie; "I want it now; nurse is holding baby because mamma has gone to sleep too, and Jane has taken Franky to Harry's room to dress him, because she was afraid he would make a noise; and she said if I put on my shoes and socks, and all the rest of my under-clo's before she came back, I might put on yours, if you waked up. And that's a great 'sponsibility, Bessie; and I want to do it, and now I can't."

"Look some more," said Bessie, who was very well pleased at the thought of having her sister dress her.

"I have looked all over," said Maggie. "I just expect a robber came in the night and stole it."

"Why, it would not fit him!" said Bessie.

"Well, I guess he has a bad little robber girl of his own that he has taken it to," said Maggie. "Anyhow, she'll be bare one foot, and I'm glad of it."

Bessie sat up in the bed and looked around the room. "I see a pair of clean socks over there on your petticoats," she said.

"So there is," said Maggie; and quite good-natured again, she began to dress as fast as she could.

"Maggie," said Bessie, as she lay down again to wait till her sister was ready, "what was the name of that word you said?"

"What,--'sponsibility?"

"Yes, that's it; say it again."

"Spons-er-bil-er-ty," said Maggie, slowly.

"Oh!" said Bessie, with a long breath, as if that word was almost too much for her, "what does it mean?"

"It means something to do or to take care of."

"Then when mamma put baby on the bed the other day, and told me to take care of her, was that a great spons-er-bil-er-ty?"

"Yes," said Maggie.

"It's a nice word; isn't it, Maggie?"

"Yes, but it is not so nice as happy circumstance."

"Oh, that is very nice? What does that mean, Maggie?"

"It means something very nice and pleasant. I'm going to say happy circumstance to some one to-day, if I get a chance."

"Whom are you going to say it to?"

"I don't know yet; but I shall not say it to the boys, for they laugh at us when we say grown-up words. You may say it, Bessie, if you want to."

"Oh, no," said Bessie, "I would not say your new words before you say them yourself; that would not be fair, and I would not do it for a hundred dollars."

"Well," said Maggie, "I would not let any one else do it, but you may say any of my words you want to, Bessie."

While they were talking away, Maggie was putting on her clothes, and then Bessie got up; and by the time Jane came back, Maggie had nearly dressed her sister too. Jane called Maggie a good, helpful little girl, which pleased her very much, for she liked praise.

After breakfast, as the children were standing on the porch waiting for Jane to take them for their walk, Harry came along and told them, if they would come out to the barn, he would give them a swing. They never said no to the offer of a swing, and, much pleased, followed him to the barn, where they found Mr. Jones sitting outside of the door mending his nets. He took down the swing for them, lifted Bessie in, and then went back to his work. Maggie had said that Bessie should take her turn first, and that, while Harry was swinging her, she would go out and talk to Mr. Jones. They were very good friends now, and Maggie was not at all afraid of him, but sat watching him with great interest as he filled up the broken places in his nets.

"Well, and so the little sister is better this morning?" said Mr. Jones.

"Yes," said Maggie; "and we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Jones."

"What for?" asked Jones.

"Because you went so quick to send for our own doctor."

"Deary me, that wasn't nothing," said Mr. Jones. "I'd ha' been a heathen if I hadn't."

Maggie stood silent for a few moments, watching him, and then said, slowly, but very earnestly, "Mr. Jones, do you think Mrs. Jones is a very happy circumstance?"

Mr. Jones looked at her for a moment as if he did not quite understand her, and then he smiled as he said, "Well, yes, I reckon I do; don't you?"

"No, I _don't_," said Maggie. "What did make you marry her, Mr. Jones?"

"Because I thought she would make me a good wife."

"And does she?"

"First-rate; don't you think she does?"

"I don't know," said Maggie, "I don't like her very much; I like you a great deal better than I do her; I think you are a very nice man, Mr. Jones."

"I guess I'm about of the same opinion about you," said Mr. Jones; "but what is the reason you don't like Mrs. Jones?"

"Oh," said Maggie, "because she--she--does things. She makes me just as mad as a hop."

"What things?"

"She goes and has trundle-beds," said Maggie.

Mr. Jones laughed out now as he said, "Oh, you haven't got over that trouble yet, eh? Well, what else does she do?"

"She said we could spare our baby, and we couldn't," said Maggie, angrily; "and she didn't want you to go send the message for our own doctor. I think she ought to be ashamed."

"She didn't mean it," said Mr. Jones, coaxingly.

"People ought not to say things they don't mean," said Maggie.

"No more they oughtn't, but yet you see they do sometimes."

"And she said mamma took on," said Maggie, "and mamma would not do such a thing; mamma is a lady, and ladies do not take on."

This seemed to amuse Mr. Jones more than anything else, and he laughed so loud and so long that Mrs. Jones came out to the kitchen door. "Sam'l," she called, "what are you making all that noise about?"

"Oh, don't tell her!" said Maggie; while Mr. Jones laughed harder than ever, and she saw that Mrs. Jones was coming towards them.

"Don't you be afraid," said Mr. Jones, "I aint goin' to tell her."

"Now aint you just ashamed of yourself, Sam'l," said Mrs. Jones as she came up, "to be making all that hee-hawing, and poor Miss Bradford and that little sick lamb lying asleep? Do you want to wake 'em up? Is he laughing at you, Maggie?"

Maggie hung her head, and looked as if she would like to run away.

"I s'pose he's just tickled to death about some of your long words, that he thinks so funny," said Mrs. Jones. "It does not take much to set him going. Never you mind him, come along with me to the kitchen, and see the nice ginger cakes I am makin' for your supper. I'll make you and Bessie a gingerbread man apiece. Such good children you was yesterday, keeping so quiet when the baby was sick, and trying to help yourselves when your poor 'ma and your nurse was busy. If it had been them young ones that was here last summer, they'd have kept the house in a riot from night till morning when they was left to themselves. Jane was tellin' me how nicely you dressed yourself and Bessie this morning. Now, Sam'l, you stop bein' such a goose."

Poor Maggie did not know which way to look. Here was Mrs. Jones, whom she had just been saying she did not like, praising and petting her and promising gingerbread men; and oh, Mr. Jones was laughing so! He was not laughing out loud now, but he was shaking all over, and when Maggie peeped at him from under her eyelashes, he twinkled his eyes at her, as much as to say, "Now, what do you think of her?" Right glad was she when Harry called her to take her turn at the swing, and she could run away out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

In a few days the dear baby was quite well and bright again, while her little sisters thought they loved her more than ever, now that she had been spared to them when they had so much feared they were to lose her.

XII.

_MISS ADAMS._

Among the many pleasures which Maggie and Bessie Bradford enjoyed at Quam Beach, there was none which they liked much better than going over to the hotel to see the dear friends who were staying there. Sometimes it was to stay a while with grandmamma and Aunt Annie; perhaps to take a meal with them at the long hotel table; to hear grandmamma's stories, or to have a frolic with Aunt Annie and their little playmates. Aunt Annie was a young girl herself, merry and full of mischief, and liked play almost as well as Maggie. Then there were those delightful visits to Colonel and Mrs. Rush, which the colonel said he enjoyed more than they did; but they thought that could not be possible. They knew a good many of the other people, too, and almost every one was pleased to see the two well-behaved, ladylike little girls.

But there was staying at the hotel a lady who used to amaze Maggie and Bessie very much. Her name was Miss Adams. She was very tall and rather handsome, with bright, flashing black eyes, a beautiful color in her cheeks, and very white teeth. But she had a loud, rough voice and laugh, and a rude, wild manner, which was more like that of a coarse man than a young lady. Then she talked very strangely, using a great many words which are called "slang," and which are not nice for any one to use, least of all for a lady. Maggie ran away whenever she came near; but Bessie would stand and watch her with a grave, disapproving air, which was very amusing to those who saw it.

Miss Adams generally had a number of gentlemen around her, with whom she was very familiar, calling them by their names without any "Mr.," slapping them on the shoulder, laughing and talking at the top of her voice, and altogether behaving in a very unladylike way. But Bessie thought it very strange that sometimes, when Miss Adams had been acting in this rough, noisy manner, after she went away, the gentlemen would shrug their shoulders, and laugh and talk among themselves, as if they were making unkind remarks about her. She thought they could not like her very much, after all, when they did so.

One evening Harry came home from the hotel in a state of great indignation. Miss Adams had a beautiful dog named Carlo. He was a water spaniel, and was a great favorite with all the boys, who often coaxed him to the shore, where they could play with him. Miss Adams was generally willing enough to have him go; but that afternoon, when she was going out in her pony carriage, she wanted him to go with her, and he was not to be found. Something had happened before to put her out, and she was very angry at Carlo's absence. She had gone but a little way, when it began to rain, and she had to turn back. This vexed her still more; and just as she jumped from her carriage, Carlo ran up.

"So, sir," she said, with an angry frown, "I'll teach you to run away without leave!" and taking the poor dog by the back of the neck, she thrashed him with the horse-whip she held in her other hand. Carlo whined and howled, and looked up in her face with pitiful eyes; but she only whipped him the harder. The ladies turned pale and walked away, and the gentlemen begged her to stop, but all in vain; she kept on until her arm was quite tired, and then the poor dog crept away shaking and trembling all over. The boys were furious, and Maggie and Bessie were very much distressed when they heard the story, and disliked Miss Adams more than ever.

When the baby was quite well again, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford took a drive of some miles, to spend the day with an old friend. They took only baby and nurse with them, and Maggie and Bessie went up to the hotel to stay with their grandmamma. It was a very warm day, and grandmamma called them indoors earlier than usual. But they did not care much, for Aunt Annie was a capital playmate, and she amused them for a long time.

But just as she was in the midst of a most interesting story, some ladies came to make a visit to grandmamma. One of the ladies was old and rather cross, and she did not like children, and Aunt Annie thought that it would not be very pleasant for her little nieces to be in the room while she was there. So she gave them a pack of picture cards and a basket of shells, and said they might go and play with them on one of the long settees which stood on the piazza.

There were only one or two people on the piazza, and the children spread out their shells and pictures, and were very busy and happy for some time. They heard Miss Adams' loud voice in the hall, but did not pay any attention to her.

Presently she came out on the piazza, followed by three or four gentlemen, and looked around for a shady place. She saw none that she liked as well as that where Maggie and Bessie were playing, and coming up to them, she sat down on the other end of the bench. The gentlemen stood around.

"Here, Thorn," said Miss Adams, "sit down here;" and she moved nearer to Bessie, sweeping down some of the shells and pictures with her skirts. Mr. Thorn obeyed, and Maggie whispered to Bessie, "Let's go away." Bessie said, "Yes;" and they began to gather up their treasures, Maggie stooping to pick up those which Miss Adams had thrown down. Presently Bessie felt a pretty hard pull at one of her long curls. She was sure it was Miss Adams, although she did not see her; but she said nothing, only shook back her hair, and put on the look she always did when Miss Adams was doing anything of which she did not approve.

There came another pull, this time a little harder. "Don't," said Bessie.

A third pull, just as Maggie raised her head and saw Miss Adams' hand at Bessie's hair.

"Don't!" said Bessie again, in a louder and more impatient tone.

"Come now, Lovatt," said Miss Adams, "are you not ashamed to be pulling a young lady's hair?"

"Oh!" said Maggie, astonished out of her shyness, "you did it yourself! I saw you."

Miss Adams shook her fist at Maggie, and then gave a longer and harder pull at Bessie's hair.

"When I tell you _to don't_, why _don't_ you don't?" said Bessie, furiously, stamping her foot, and turning to Miss Adams, her face crimson with anger.

Miss Adams and the gentlemen set up a shout of laughter, and Mr. Lovatt, who was standing just behind Bessie, caught her up in his arms and held her high in the air.

Now Bessie disliked Mr. Lovatt almost as much as she did Miss Adams. He was a great tease, and was always running after her and trying to kiss her. He had never done it yet, for she had always managed to run away from him, or some of her friends had interfered to save her from being annoyed.

"Put me down!" she said.

"Not until you have given me three kisses," said Mr. Lovatt. "I have you now, and you cannot help yourself."

"Put me down!" screamed Bessie, furious with passion.

"For shame, Lovatt!" said Mr. Thorn, and Mr. Lovatt looked for a moment as if he was going to put Bessie down; but Miss Adams laughed and said,--

"You are not going to let that little mite get the better of you? _Make_ her kiss you. Such airs!"

Mr. Lovatt lowered the struggling child a little, but still held her fast in his arms, while Maggie ran off to call her grandmamma.

"Kiss me, and I'll let you go," said Mr. Lovatt.

"I wont, I wont!" shrieked Bessie. "I'll tell my papa."

"Your papa is far away," said Miss Adams.

"I'll tell Colonel Yush!" gasped Bessie.

"Do you think I care a _rush_ for him?" said Mr. Lovatt, as he tried to take the kisses she would not give. Bessie screamed aloud, clinched one little hand in Mr. Lovatt's hair, and with the other struck with all her force upon the mouth that was so near her own.