Part 7

Bessie laid down her book, and sat looking at Maggie. "My poor Maggie," she said to herself, "she's so good and patient. I wish I could do something for her, and I wish Aunt Annie or somebody would come and see us and tell her a story while mamma is down-stairs. Oh, I wish Colonel Yush would come; he tells us better stories than any one. Wouldn't it be nice if he was to come while Maggie is asleep? and then she'd see him when she wakes up, and she'd be so glad. If he knew she was sick, I'm sure he would come. I'll just go out on the sidewalk and ask nursey if she wont take me over to the hotel door, and then I'll go up to my soldier's room and ask him to come and see Maggie."

She rose up softly from her chair and went into the nursery, followed by Flossy, who, being very wide awake himself, had no mind to be left with the sleeping Maggie, and jumped down from the lounge to run after Bessie as soon as she stirred. Bessie went to the closet and took down her garden-hat and sack from the peg where they hung. The hat was very shabby, for it had been worn all summer at the sea-shore, and had seen some hard use in the garden since she came home. But she could not reach her best one, and said to herself that this would do, if nurse would only let her wear it, of which she was not at all sure. She put it on, walked down-stairs, and out upon the front stoop; but she saw no sign of nurse. Up and down the street she looked, but the old woman was nowhere to be seen.

Now the truth was, that nurse had not intended to lose sight of the front-door, but as she passed Mr. Hall's house, Miss Carrie was at the basement window, and calling her, begged that she would bring the baby and let her speak to her. Nurse, always proud to show off her pet, was willing enough, and for a few moments quite forgot her other nurslings, as well as the open front-door; and it was just during these few moments that Bessie came out to look for her.

"Nurse said she wouldn't go far away," said Bessie to herself, "and she has, and now I can't go and find the colonel, 'cause mamma wouldn't like me to go alone."

Flossy had run down to the foot of the steps, and there he stood, wagging his tail, whisking and frisking, and altogether behaving like a puppy who had quite taken leave of his senses, so glad was he to be out of doors.

"We can't go, Flossy," said Bessie, as, with a sigh, she turned to go into the house. "We're very disappointed, but we must mind mamma. Come, Flossy, come. Don't you leave me, Flossy."

But Flossy was not so obedient as his little mistress, and instead of coming back, he ran a short distance up the street, and then stopped, barking joyously, and looking back to see if she were following. Bessie went down the steps, calling him over and over again in such a coaxing voice, that it was strange even such a wilful doggie could resist. But it was of no use. Away went Flossy as fast as he could run, and frightened at the thought of losing her pet, and forgetting everything else, away went Bessie after him. Up to the end of the block, around the corner, and so down the other side of the square, till they came to the long, crowded crossing, over which Bessie was never allowed to go without some grown person to hold her hand. Over it went Flossy, in and out among the carriages and omnibuses, escaping the wheels and the horses' hoofs in a way that was quite wonderful to see, until he reached the opposite corner, where he again waited for Bessie. But poor Bessie dared not cross by herself, and stood still in great trouble.

"I wish I was over at the hotel," she said to herself, as she looked up at the great building opposite, "and then the colonel would take me home."

There was generally a tall policeman on the corner, whom Bessie knew quite well, for he had often taken her hand, and led her over, or sometimes even carried her if the stones were wet; but now he was not there. In his place was another, who was a stranger to her, and now he came over to her corner Bessie went up to him.

"Will you please tell me where my policeman is, sir?" she said.

"Who is your policeman?" said the officer.

"I don't know his name, but he takes me over the crossing, and mamma don't 'low me to go alone."

"I suppose I can take you over as well as another," said he; "but your mother must be a queer one to allow you to go out alone at all."

"She didn't," said Bessie, "and I didn't mean to, but Flossy yan away, and I went to get him. Please take me over; I am afraid somebody will catch him; then I'll go to the colonel's yoom, and he'll take me home."

The policeman lifted her up, and carried her to the opposite sidewalk. Flossy was off again as soon as he saw her near him, but the officer ran after him, and soon had him safe in Bessie's arms.

"And what are you going to do now?" said the good-natured man. "You're over small for running about the streets by yourself."

"I am going to the colonel's," said Bessie. "I know the way, and he'll take care of me."

She thanked him, and ran off; but the policeman followed till he saw her go into the hotel as if she were quite sure of her way.

"She's all right," he said to himself, and then went back to his post, thinking no more about the little stray lamb whom he had only helped into farther trouble.

Bessie found her way without difficulty to the colonel's room, and seeing the door open, she peeped in. There was no one there but a servant-woman, who was dusting.

"Where is my soldier?" asked Bessie.

"Your soldier?" said the woman. "If you mean the lame gentleman, he and the lady have gone out to ride. I don't want you here bothering round with your dogs. Go back to your own rooms;" for the woman supposed Bessie to be some child who belonged in the hotel.

"My soldier lets me come in his yoom when I choose, and it isn't yours to talk about," said Bessie, very much offended, and she walked away with her head very straight.

What should she do now? She would go back to the corner, she thought, and ask her friend, the policeman, to take her home. But she was becoming a little confused and frightened with all her troubles, and when she left the hotel, turned the wrong way. On she went, farther and farther from home, though she did not know it, and expected every moment to see the well-known crossing. Some few people turned and looked at her, as she passed with her dog clasped in her arms; but she did not act at all like a lost child, and it was easy enough to think that she was some little girl playing about her home and perhaps watched by loving eyes.

At last she came near a broad avenue, where the cars were passing up and down, and then she knew she was not on her way home. But just then she heard music, and her eye was caught by a new sight. Quite a crowd was gathered upon the sidewalk, where were two men, one with a hand-organ, the other with a table on which little figures of gayly-dressed men and women were spinning around. Bessie stopped to look, standing back from the crowd; but three or four rough boys who were hanging about took notice of her and her dog. Presently they came up to her.

"Whose dog is that?" asked one.

"Mine and Maggie's," said Bessie.

"You give him to me, and I'll give you this," said the boy taking a large red apple from his pocket.

"I can't even if I wanted to," said Bessie, "'cause he's half Maggie's."

"Well, you give me your half, and Maggie's will run after it."

"No," said the little girl. "I wouldn't give you my Flossy for fifty seventeen apples;" and she walked away, but the boys followed.

"Where did you get so much hat?" said one.

"It is not much," said Bessie. "It is old and torn, 'cause I carried peach-pits and stones in it. Mamma is going to give it away."

"I don't know who'd thank her for it," said another. "I guess your ma spent all her money on your frock, and left none for your hat."

"She didn't," said Bessie, angrily; "she has plenty left."

"She's right stingy, then, to give you such a hat; it's only fit for the gutter, so here goes!" and the rude boy twitched off the unlucky hat, and sent it flying into the middle of the street, where a car passed over it. Bessie did not care much about her hat, but she was frightened and displeased.

"You are very yude," she said, "and I wont walk by you. You sha'n't talk so about my mamma."

"Maybe we'll walk by you though," said the boy, and they kept by her side for a few steps farther, when suddenly, with a loud yelp of pain, Flossy sprang from her arms, for one of the boys had pinched his tail so as to hurt him very much. The boys shouted, Flossy ran, they after him, and the next moment one of them caught him up, and they all disappeared with him round the corner.

Bessie ran on a few steps and then stood still, crying loudly with terror and distress. Several persons immediately stopped, asking her what ailed her, and if she were lost; but she only called, "Oh, Flossy, Flossy! oh, mamma! oh, Maggie."

Among the people who stopped, was an old lady, who looked at Bessie through her spectacles in rather a severe manner, and as she asked questions in a quick, sharp way, the little girl felt afraid of her, and would not answer. Poor lost baby! There she stood, bareheaded, with the wind blowing her curls, her tiny hands over her face, crying so pitifully that some of those who stood by felt as if they must cry with her, but still no one could get a word from her.

But presently a policeman came by, and Bessie, looking up, saw him and was a little comforted; for though he, too, was a stranger, she felt somehow as if every policeman was a friend; and she ceased her loud cries, though her sobs still came heavy and fast.

"Here's a lost child," said one of the crowd.

"Please take me home, sir," said Bessie, stretching out her hands to him.

The tall officer was pleased, and, stooping, lifted the little creature in his arms.

"Where do you belong?" he asked, kindly.

"In mamma's house," said Bessie.

"And where is mamma?"

"In a committee," answered the child.

"Humph!" said the old lady, who stood close at the policeman's side, "in a committee, with a parcel of other foolish women, I suppose, while her babies go running wild about the streets. She'd better attend to her own affairs."

"She hadn't," said Bessie, who thought every one had something to say against her own dear mother,--"she hadn't, and you are naughty to say that. She's a nice, pretty lady, and better than anybody, and not a bit foolish; and, oh, I do want her so, I do want her so!" and she began to cry afresh.

"There then, never mind!" said the policeman; "we'll find her pretty soon. Can't you tell me where you live?"

Bessie had long since been taught this, but now, in her fright and distress, she quite forgot the street and number of the house, and only shook her head.

"Tell me your name then," said the man.

"Bessie--Yush--Byad-ford," sobbed the child.

"Brightford--Brightford," repeated the policeman. "Does any one here know any people of the name of Brightford?"

Poor little Bessie! Between her sobs and the difficulty of pronouncing her r's, the officer had quite mistaken the name, and no one answered.

"You'll have to take her to the station-house," said the old lady.

"Oh, no, Mr. Policeman! I'm not to be taken up,--indeed, I'm not," said Bessie. "I wasn't naughty, and mamma wont say so, only Flossy yan away, and the colonel wasn't in his yoom, and I can't find my street."

"Poor baby!" said the policeman, as he felt her trembling in his arms. "Nobody shall hurt you, my child; but if your people miss you, they will send up to the station, and if I take you there, they will find you right off. You can't tell where your mamma lives, hey?"

"I sha'n't talk about my mamma," said Bessie; "everybody says naughty things about her; but I want to go to her, and please find Flossy, Mr. Policeman."

"Who is Flossy?" asked he.

"He's her dog, I guess," said a boy who stood by. "Four big fellows ran away with him. I se'ed 'em. They cut up the alley, and down by the back lots. I guess you must cotch 'em in a hurry, or see no more of the pup."

"Don't you believe that," said the policeman, as Bessie's tears and sobs came faster than ever. "We'll find him for you one of these days; but now I must see you safe;" and he moved on with the little girl in his arms.

"Do you think some one will come and find me pretty soon?" she asked.

"To be sure they will. Have you a papa?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you be sure when he finds you are gone, he'll come right off to the station-house to see if you are there. Why, the other day I picked up a little chap in the street not nigh as big as you. He could scarce walk, and couldn't speak a word plain, and there, when I got him to the station, was his mother waiting for him."

So the officer talked on kindly and pleasantly, till Bessie was a little comforted, and when they reached the station, looked eagerly round to see if any of her own friends were there awaiting her. But no, there was no one there yet, only several policemen were sitting or standing about, to one of whom Bessie's protector spoke, telling him where he had found her.

"And now I am going back to my beat," he said to the child, "and if any one comes that way looking for you, I'll send them right up here."

Bessie's lip began to tremble once more. She had been terribly disappointed to find that no one was waiting for her; and now here was her new friend going away, and leaving her with these strangers.

"Don't you cry any more," said the second policeman, taking her from the arms of the first. "Why, those brown eyes of yours are almost washed out. Come along with me, and see me send off a telegraph message to the other stations to say you're here."

"I couldn't help crying," said the little girl. "I had so many troubles to-day."

"Bless your heart!" said the sergeant. "You shall tell me all about them presently. Why, you are just about the size of my Jenny, and I wouldn't like to see her looking that way."

When the policeman spoke of telling him her troubles, it came into Bessie's mind that she had not told them to her Father in heaven, and covering her face with her little hands, she whispered, "Dear Father in heaven, please let my own home father come and find me very soon, 'cause I'm so tired, and I want my own mamma; and don't let those naughty boys hurt my Flossy, and let papa find him too."

The officer heard the low, soft whisper so close to his ear, though she had not meant he should. "Bless her!" he said to himself, "I guess her father'll be brought along pretty soon after that."

Bessie was now quite interested in watching the working of the telegraph wires which were put in motion to carry the message that a stray child was to be found at this station. One of the men who had gone out came back, bringing her a cake and an apple, but though it was long past her usual dinner hour, she could not eat.

"Now," said the sergeant, sitting down and putting her upon his knee, "let us hear all about those troubles of yours;" for the kind man thought if he could make her talk of herself, he might find out where she belonged.

X.

_HOME AGAIN! HOME AGAIN!_

MEANWHILE the stray birdling had been missed from the home-nest, and great was the trouble and alarm there. Nurse, coming in, found Maggie at the head of the stairs with a discontented face.

"What's happened ye?" she asked; "and what are ye standing here in the draught for? Go back to the nursery, my honey."

"I can't find Bessie," said Maggie. "I went to sleep, and when I woke up, she was gone, and Flossy was gone too, and I looked all over, and they are not here."

"She hasn't taken wings, and flown away," said nurse. "You mind baby a moment, and I'll hunt her up for you."

Nurse hunted in vain, and at last told Maggie she thought Bessie must have found her way into the parlor, where the ladies were talking. "She'll soon tire of it, and come back to you," she said; "but it was not like her to go off and leave you."

But the time passed on; Jane came in with Franky; the children's dinner-bell rang, and still Bessie did not come. At last the ladies of the committee went away, and mamma came out of the parlor, but no little girl was with her. Then the whole house was searched, up-stairs and down, from cellar to attic; but the pet was not found.

"Could her grandmamma or aunt or Mrs. Rush have come and taken her out?" said Jane.

"They would not be so thoughtless; they would know I should be anxious if they left no word," said Mrs. Bradford, who was growing very much alarmed.

"No one came in; for I did not have my eyes off the front-door while I was out on the sidewalk," said nurse. "Yes, I did, too, just a couple of minutes while I spoke to Miss Hall; but no one could have come in and gone out, too, without my seeing them."

Ah, nurse, nurse, it was just those two minutes when you forgot your duty, which did all the mischief.

"And there's her hat," said Jane, looking in the box. "Ah, there's her garden hat and sack gone. Now maybe she's just run out after you, nurse, and somebody's caught her and run away with her when you wasn't looking. I've heard of such things, and how they make 'em beg, and beat 'em and frighten 'em so they don't dare tell where they belong."

This was very pleasant for the poor anxious mother, who, however, told Jane that was nonsense; while nurse, who knew she was to blame in letting her attention be called off, grew very angry and scolded Jane, saying she must have seen Bessie if she left the house.

Nevertheless, Bessie was certainly not in the house; and one servant was sent to grandmamma's, another to the hotel, to see if any trace could be found of the missing treasure; while Mrs. Bradford herself ran to all the neighbors, and poor Maggie stood by the window crying bitterly for her lost sister. In a little time grandmamma and Aunt Annie were on the spot, as anxious as the rest, to see if they could help in the search. As people were running in all directions, it seemed to grandmamma that the best thing she could do was to comfort poor, distressed Maggie. But Maggie was not to be comforted, and declared that she knew she should never, never, never see Bessie again. "Oh, I am so very sorry I went to sleep," she sobbed. "I just expect she went to heaven in a chariot of fire when no one was looking." Grandmamma could not smile at Maggie's strange idea, she was so anxious herself, but she told her this could not be so; and that Bessie had probably run out in the street and so lost her way.

"But Bessie would not do such a thing, grandmamma; she would know mamma would not like it, and she never disobeys her."

"Perhaps your mother never told her she was not to go out alone, dear, and so she was tempted to run a few steps, and then could not find her way back."

"Oh, no, indeed, grandmamma. Bessie knew quite well mamma would not wish us to go alone even if she did not say so; and she would think it was just the same; and Bessie never falls into temptation except about passions. If it was me, maybe I might; and I know she'll never come back; and oh, I cannot do without her, we are so very intimate, grandmamma."

Grandmamma said she was almost sure Bessie would soon be found, and told Maggie how well everything was arranged at the police-stations, so that if a little child was lost, it could soon be restored to its friends. Still Maggie only shook her head sorrowfully, feeling it quite impossible to believe that Bessie had gone away of her own free will.

Then Mrs. Bradford came in, looking very pale and troubled, for she could hear nothing of her lost baby; but a moment after, Patrick came with news. The policeman at the corner told how he had helped a little girl over the crossing, and seen her safe in the hotel and that she had said she was going to see the colonel; but that he could tell nothing farther. Patrick had gone to the colonel's rooms, but they were closed and locked; and he heard that the colonel and Mrs. Rush had been out for a long while.

Hearing this, Mrs. Bradford and her sister went round to the hotel, and giving the alarm, the great building was searched from top to bottom. Every room and closet, every hall and corridor, even the roof, and the cellar far underground where the gas was made, were looked through; but still no Bessie. But when the servants were questioned, the woman who had spoken to Bessie told how she had come to the colonel's room, and then walked off.

"She has probably wandered out again, madam," was said to the pale mother by one of the gentlemen who had been helping in the search; "and now you had better at once send to the police-station, and give notice of her loss."

As Mrs. Bradford was leaving the hotel to do this, the colonel and Mrs. Rush drove up. In two minutes they had heard all that was known, and the colonel said he would himself go to the station.

The station to which Bessie had been taken was not the one nearest to Mr. Bradford's house; and it was to the latter that the colonel drove first. He did not find his lost pet there, of course; but he heard that a telegram had come sometime since, saying that a stray child was at the station in ---- Street, and there he went as fast as his horse's feet could carry him.

We left the little girl who had caused all this commotion sitting upon the knee of the kind sergeant of police, while he coaxed her to tell him the story of her troubles, in the hope that he might find out where she belonged.

"You don't look big enough for such a many troubles," he said; "now let's hear about them, and see what we can do. What was the first one?"

"First Maggie had a earache and cried; and then mamma had a committee, and had to leave us; and then I could not find nurse, and Flossy yan away," said Bessie; and the poor child began to cry again at the thought of Flossy.

"And who is Flossy?" asked the sergeant.

"He is our puppy that Donald gave us,--Maggie's and mine."

"And who is Maggie?"

"My own sister; don't you know that?"

"Indeed, I did not," said the policeman. "What is her name?"

"Maggie Stanton Byadford," said the child.

"And what is yours?"

"Bessie Yush Byadford."

The policeman shook his head; still he could make nothing of the name.

"And when Flossy ran away, you ran after him, did you?" he asked.

"Yes, but I didn't mean to, sir; I forgot mamma wouldn't want me to, and Flossy yan so fast. He went 'way over the long crossing, and our policeman was not there."

"Who's your policeman?"

"I don't know his name, only he helps us over the long crossing, when we want to go to the hotel."

"Ho, ho, I think we are coming at it," said the sergeant. "What hotel is that?"

"Why, the hotel where the colonel lives," said Bessie, as if there could be but one hotel and one colonel. "I thought mamma would not like me to go home by myself, and I asked that other policeman whom I did not know to take me over, so I could go ask the colonel to send me home. But he was out, and a woman scolded me, and so I went away, and the crossing wouldn't come, and the boys were naughty and yude, and Flossy's gone--oh, dear! oh, dear! I do want my own house and my own mamma; and everybody said naughty things about mamma."

"There, then, don't cry any more," said the policeman. "I think that must be the hotel, and you can't tell me what street you live in?"

"Why, yes, I can," said Bessie, who quite forgot that she had not been able to tell where she lived while she had been so frightened. "I live in papa's house in ---- Street, Number ----, and I want to go home so much."

"So you shall, right off, now that you have told me where you belong," said the policeman. "I'll send, and see if you are right."

But just as he turned to speak to one of the men, an open carriage drove quickly to the door. Bessie looked around, then gave a scream of joy.

"Oh, it's my soldier, my own dear soldier! He came and found me--oh, he did, he did!"