Part 7

“Oh, yes!” she said to her sister and Belle, “you know we came on our travels to do mamma good, and so we mustn’t let any thing trouble her. If we do, maybe our Father would think we didn’t care very much that He made her better, and that we are ungrateful. Any thing must be choosed ’cept to worry mamma. And baby don’t know any better; so let’s give up to her this time, if she cries everybody will be uncomf’able.”

“Well,” said Maggie, once more untying the handkerchief, “I won’t be selfish.”

“Nor I,” said Belle, who had been the most unwilling to give up her own way.

The “cunning house” was certainly far less roomy when Mammy was seated therein; but having made up their minds to do a kind act, our little girls did it pleasantly and made no fussing about it; the only thing that was said being when Bessie remarked,--

“Nursey, it would be rather convenienter if you were not _quite_ so fat,” which nurse thought a great joke, and laughed heartily, saying,--

“And there’s nobody knows that better than your old Mammy, my pet; but just put by your play till baby’s had her fill of looking out, and I’ll tell ye a story.”

Nurse’s stories always found a market; and the three little girls ranged themselves in the seat facing her, and listened eagerly while she told them the most marvellous of fairy tales.

Meanwhile, Baby Annie, happy and contented, amused herself with watching the swiftly passing objects; and Peter Bartholomew, held by one foot, hung dangling head downwards from the car window. How much he enjoyed this novel mode of riding, neither he nor his little mistress ever told, though baby had enough to say both to herself and him while nurse talked to the other children.

But at last Mrs. Bradford suddenly exclaimed,--

“Take care, nurse; baby has her head out!” and Mammy, who had turned her face for a moment from her charge, drew her in and seated her on her lap.

“Baby must not put her head out,” said mamma: “she’ll be hurt.”

“Peter out,” said baby.

“Why! she’s lost Peter Barfolomew,” said Belle.

“Sure enough,” said nurse, when she had shaken out her skirts, and looked on the floor, without finding that gentleman.

“Bad Peter. Peter all don,” chuckled the baby.

“Did ye throw Peter out?” asked Mammy.

Baby could not say yes; but she nodded her little head till it seemed as if she would wag it off, seeming to think she had done something very praiseworthy.

“Oh, you naughty girl!” said nurse.

“No, no: baby dood; bad Peter. Peter all don, Peter out,” said baby again, clapping her hands, and laughing with the most self-satisfied air.

Yes, Peter Bartholomew was “all gone,” left far behind as the train sped on its way; and though the children went off into merry peals of laughter at little Annie’s bit of mischief, Mrs. Bradford was rather sorry, since Aunt Patty had taken such pains to make him for her. However, the baby knew no better, and his loss could not trouble her much.

Nurse had not finished her story, and when the children’s mirth had subsided, she went on with it. Having disposed of Peter Bartholomew, and finding that she was not allowed to put her head out, the window lost its charms for baby, and she sat still on nurse’s lap for a few moments, gravely regarding her fellow-passengers, and trying to find amusement in them.

Nor was it long before she found a new object of interest. In the seat next to Mammy and herself, and of course with his back towards them as they rode backwards, was a gentleman who wore an enormous Panama straw hat. The older children had remarked this hat and wondered at it, but after the first moment they forgot both the hat and its wearer, and noticed them no more. But I cannot say that the gentleman had not noticed them, although he gave no sign of doing so.

The hat by no means took baby’s fancy: perhaps she thought it took up more than its share of room in the world; however that may be, she concluded to take a closer look at it, and raised herself upon her little feet on the cushioned seat beside Mammy. First she looked at the hat on one side, then on the other; then she peeped under it; then tried to lift herself on the tips of her small toes and peer over it; then carefully touched it with one little finger, and finally expressed her opinion in a loud, emphatic,

“Bad hat!”

But the owner of the offending article of dress did not turn his head or appear to take the slightest notice, not even when baby repeated,--

“Bad, bad hat! Off hat!”

“Sh! sh! my lamb. What’s come to ye to-day?” said nurse.

Not the spirit of a lamb certainly, for baby was in a contrary mood, and determined to have her own way by one means or another; and, finding the hat remained in its place in spite of her orders, she seized hold of it; and, before nurse could stop her, had snatched it from the stranger’s head and tossed it into his lap. Still, without turning his head or seeming at all disturbed, the gentleman put it on again, while baby struggled to free herself from nurse’s hold, shouting,--

“Off hat, off! Bad hat!” again and again, till her mother was obliged to call her to order.

Little as she was, baby had learned to obey when mamma spoke; but the sight of that hat was not to be endured by any baby of taste, and even when seated upon mamma’s lap, and treated to a bit of sponge-cake and papa’s watch, she could not forget it, but now and then broke forth in a wailing tone with,--

“Oh dear! Bad hat, off hat!” till at last the gentleman removed the hat, and submitted to ride bareheaded till his little tormentor should be asleep.

This was soon the case when the cause of her trouble was out of sight; for it was, as nurse said, “her sleepy time,”--one reason perhaps why she was so fractious,--and she forgot hat, watch, and cake in a sound mid-day nap.

Her two sisters and Belle thought all this remarkably funny, and had had much ado to stifle their laughter, so that it should not reach the ears of the stranger with whom baby had made so free. But in spite of their amusement, which had been shared by more than one of the grown people around, Bessie was rather troubled lest mamma should be worried by the little thing’s misbehavior and crying, and also lest the gentleman should have been vexed.

To tell the truth, he was rather annoyed at the notice which all this had brought upon him and his unfortunate hat; but his vexation passed away the moment he heard a soft voice at his ear, whispering,--

“Thank you very much, sir, for taking off your hat; and will you please to s’cuse baby, she don’t know any better than to take a liberty. As soon as she can understand, mamma will teach her to be polite.”

The gentleman turned his face towards her. A pleasant, good-natured face it was, with a merry twinkle in the eyes just now.

“Mamma is a first-rate teacher of politeness and some other good things, I see,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, sir; ’deed she is,” answered Bessie; wondering what mamma had said or done since they had been in the cars by which this stranger could know so much; and then, thinking her duty done, she turned away and began her play with the other children again. After this, all went smoothly and quietly enough till they reached a town where they were to change cars, and where two different railroads crossed one another at the depot. Here they had to wait for an hour until their train should be ready to start; and here Mrs. Bradford thought she might have a good rest after her long ride.

But a fair was going on in the small town, and the dirty little hotel was full to overflowing; so that the only place that could be had for Mrs. Bradford and her sleeping baby was an eight feet square room with a hard sofa, and two equally uninviting chairs. However, by means of cloaks and shawls, a tolerably comfortable resting-place was arranged for these two; and the three children who had no mind to be shut up in the tiny room, were taken for a walk by Mr. Bradford and Daphne; Mr. Powers going to call on an old friend who lived near by.

But there was a good deal of noise, dust, and confusion in the street, and the little girls soon tired of it and wanted to go back to the hotel. When they reached it, two trains were standing at the station, and Daphne exclaimed, pointing to the nearest,--

“Dere’s de train, Massa Bradford. S’posin’ I jis takes de little ladies into de cars. Better for dem waitin’ dere dan in de verandy where all dem folks is; an’ we’ll wake Miss Baby for sure all goin’ into dat little room.”

This last was more than likely; and the veranda where all those men were lounging about, smoking and drinking and swearing, was certainly no place for little ladies; and Daphne’s idea seemed a good one to Mr. Bradford.

“You are sure that is our train, Daphne?” he asked.

“Sure, Massa Bradford. Ain’t I been in it a hundred times?”

“Is this the train for ----?” asked Mr. Bradford of a man standing beside the cars.

“All right, sir. Last car, sir,” was the reply.

Mr. Bradford thinking himself quite sure, helped the children and Daphne into the car, found them good places, and looking at his watch, said,--

“We have half an hour still. Keep these seats for the rest of our party, and I will bring them all soon. You are right, Daphne: it is more comfortable here than in the hotel.”

Then he went away; and for a few moments the children were well amused, watching all the bustle around the station, and now and then dipping rosy little fingers into a basket of delicious strawberries just given to Daphne by a friend whom she had met. The old woman’s pleasure in the splendid fruit, was to see her young mistress and her little friends enjoy it, and she encouraged them to eat as long as they would.

But presently a steam whistle sounded, and she looked about her uneasily, saying,--

“’Pears like this train ain’t maybe right, after all. I go see ’bout him, Miss Belle. Jes you sit still one minute.”

If Daphne had not been so engaged in feeding her young charge, she would have known that this was the second time the whistle had sounded; and she was terribly startled when just as she set her foot upon the ground in order to seek Mr. Bradford and make all sure, it was blown again, there was a call of “all aboard,” and before the bewildered old woman had collected her senses, the train steamed out of the station. Had she instantly made known her trouble to those about her, it might not even then have been too late; but instead of that she rushed after the cars, gesticulating and beckoning with an umbrella which was the pride of her heart, and which she always carried, and crying aloud,--

“Hi there! Hi! Hold on dem cars; hold on till I get my chillen. Hi! Hi!”

The people about thought her crazy, and laughed and cheered as she tore after the fast receding train; but to poor old Daphne it was no joke, and as it turned a curve in the road and was lost to sight, she dropped her umbrella and stood still wringing her hands, and crying,--

“Oh, de chillen, de chillen! Oh, my little Miss Belle! what I gone and done, and what dey faders say?”

But we must leave Daphne, and go in the cars with our three little girls.

For the first few moments they did not understand it, and even after the cars were in rapid motion, looked about them expecting to see their parents and nurses come in. The truth came first to Maggie, and her poor little heart almost stood still with terror and dismay.

“Why, we’re going!” exclaimed Belle. “Where’s papa?”

“And papa and mamma, and all our people?” cried Bessie in a terrified voice.

Then Maggie broke forth.

“Oh, we’re gone off with! They’re left behind! What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do? There’s nobody to take care of us: we’re gone off with.”

Belle immediately set up the most violent screams; and Maggie and Bessie were as much distressed, though they did not cry as loudly.

The people around them soon understood the cause of their trouble: indeed Maggie’s exclamations left no room for doubt, that they were really “gone off with;” though it was some time before either of the three could speak coherently enough to say how it had happened. In fact the poor little things hardly knew themselves: all they could tell was that Daphne had thought they were in the wrong train, had gone to see, and before she came back they were speeding away, they knew not where, without their natural protectors, and in the midst of perfect strangers.

Bessie was the first to collect herself enough to make the story understood, though even then, her tears would hardly let her speak to the group of curious and sympathizing people, who gathered around the three as they clung weeping together.

“And now we’re quite, quite lost; and there’s no policeman to help us,” she sobbed; “and what will mamma do?”

“Poor little dears,” said a lady, pressing forward, and laying her hand soothingly on the little, pitiful, upturned face. “Don’t cry so, my children: you’ll be taken back in some way to your parents.”

“I’m all papa has,” gasped Belle: “he can’t do wifout me.”

“Please let us get out,” moaned Maggie: “we could run back to where our papa and mamma are.”

“The train must be put back,” said one of the by-standers, and he went to find the conductor, and see what could be done; while the lady who had spoken to the children sat down beside them and tried to quiet them with assurances that their parents would certainly find them again.

“But dear mamma will be so frightened and worried, and it’s so bad for her,” said Bessie; her first thought always that tender care for her mother.

The story had spread through the train; and people were coming in from the other cars to look at the three little waifs, who, all by themselves, were each instant being taken farther from their friends; and Belle, looking up as the door was opened afresh, spied a familiar object.

“Oh! there’s the ‘bad hat’ man!” she cried, glad to see any thing on which she had ever laid her eyes before, even though it might be that ugly hat with the strange face beneath it.

At the same moment there came in also the conductor, and the gentleman who had gone to find him; and now the children felt a faint hope that there might be some way out of this trouble.

But the conductor was surly, and absolutely refused to put back,--which indeed would have been hardly safe,--or to stop the train and let out the children, as was proposed by some person, and pleaded for by the little ones themselves.

And here the “bad hat” man put in his word.

“That would never do,” he said; “those little things could not possibly walk back to ----, and no conveyance could be found along here. They must come on to the next station, and there we will see what can be done.”

Down went the three heads and up went Belle’s voice again at these unwelcome words; but the “bad hat” had a kind heart beneath it, and the wearer at once set himself to comfort the forlorn children.

“Come, come, take heart,” he said cheerily. “Now let us see how soon we shall get back to papa and mamma. It will not take us more than one hour or so, to reach the next station, and then--well, to be sure, we’ll have to wait awhile there for the up-train,”--he did not think it best to say it would be more than four hours,--“but we’ll telegraph them and let them know you are all safe, and will be with them before long.”

“Do you know the children sir?” asked a lady.

“Well, no, madam, and they don’t know me; but they know my _hat_ pretty well, and I think that is ground for an acquaintance. It’s a broad one, anyhow, is it not?” he said with a nod at Belle, “and we’re going to take advantage of it.”

“It’s a great while for poor mamma to wait for us, and she’ll be very frightened,” said Bessie, wiping the tears from her eyes, though they were immediately filled again. “I s’pose she’ll think we’re never coming back to her.”

“Not a bit of it,” said “Bad Hat:” “she’ll think you’ll find some one to look after you and bring you back; and how delighted she’ll be to see you safe after such an adventure.”

At this last word all the children pricked up their ears, especially Maggie. She, being the most timid of the three, had been the most broken down by terror, and had, until now, remained in the very depths of despair. But it was really almost a consolation to hear this called “an adventure,” and to remember that here was a subject for the most interesting of letters, provided they ever again reached home and friends, and had the opportunity of writing such. She was still rather doubtful how this was to be brought about, in spite of Mr. “Bad Hat’s” assurances.

“Why! so it is an adventure,” said Bessie; “and Maggie said she wished we’d have some great adventure, but she didn’t mean this kind of a one; did you, Maggie?”

“No, _indeed_ I didn’t,” sobbed Maggie.

“But you can write a letter about it,” said Belle, catching her breath between almost every two words; “and it will be so interesting: all the people you know will want to read it.”

Belle, as well as Bessie, had the greatest admiration for Maggie’s letters, and thought them the most marvellous works of genius.

“Of course they will,” said the gentleman, whom our little strays were already beginning to look upon as a friend. “And so, Maggie writes letters, does she? I wish she would write one to me one of these days.”

“But she don’t know your name,” said Bessie.

“Well, perhaps she might find out. I am not ashamed of it. But I think this little lady has found a name for me. When I came in the car I heard her say, ‘There’s the bad hat man.’ Now suppose Maggie writes a letter and directs it to the ‘bad hat man,’ do you think it would reach me?”

“Yes, I fink it would,” said Belle with emphasis, and eyeing the hat with a look which seemed to add, “there’s no possibility of mistaking that hat.”

So, in pleasant, cheerful talk, the friendly stranger tried to beguile the way, and help the little ones to bear their troubles; and he partly succeeded, though now and then a heavy sigh, or a murmured “Are we most at the next station?” or “Oh, mamma!” showed that they were not forgotten. The other people, who had gathered round in pitying sympathy, saw that they had fallen into good hands, and went back to their seats, leaving them to his care.

“But what shall we do now?” asked Maggie, in new alarm, as they at last approached the longed-for station where they were to leave this train, and at least feel that they were to be borne no farther from their friends. “I don’t know about the streets.”

Now it was rather a strange, but a very good thing that, timid as Maggie was, she seldom lost her presence of mind; and, however frightened she might be, could still think what was best to do for herself and others. You will remember how she thought of her own sash and Bessie’s, as a means for saving Aunt Bessie’s life when she fell over the precipice at Chalecoo. So now feeling as if the care of Bessie and Belle rather fell upon her, since she was the oldest of the three, she tried to collect her thoughts and plan how she should act. But it was all useless, this was such a new and untried place, and so many dangers and difficulties seemed to beset her, that she could not see her way out of them. But her fears were speedily set at rest.

“Oh! you are only going to do as I tell you,” said their new friend. “I shall see you safe in your parents’ hands.”

“Will you, sir?” cried Maggie joyfully, and slipped her hand into his, in her great relief.

“Are you going to get out here?” asked Bessie, as the train slackened its speed.

“Yes: you did not think I would leave you to shift for yourselves?”

“Do you live here?” asked Belle.

“No: I live down in Florida,” was the answer.

“And are you going to get out here just to take care of us?” asked Bessie.

He smiled and nodded assent.

“You are very good, sir,” said Bessie. “Is it just as convenient as not for you?”

“Well, no,” he returned. “I cannot say it is; but then I heard a little girl say, this morning, that ‘any thing was to be choosed before mamma should be worried,’ so after that I think I must do all I can to relieve mamma’s anxiety, and get you back to her as soon as possible.”

So Bessie’s thoughtfulness and care for her dear mother was reaping its own reward.

VIII.

_OLD JOE._

R Station was not much of a place. There were only about half a dozen houses, as many barns, and one store, which was part of the little station-house. And there was no telegraph; but when our little girls and their protector left the train, another gentleman promised to send a message to their parents from the next stopping-place.

There was not much to entertain the children, even had they been in a mood to be amused; and the hours dragged very wearily. The kind gentleman would have taken them for a walk in the pleasant pine woods, but they were so fearful lest they should miss the up train, which was to carry them back to their mother and father, that they could not be induced to lose sight of the railroad track. Maggie and Belle could be persuaded to do nothing but sit on the low bank at the side of the road, and look up and down the long line of rail for the train, which was still so far away. Bessie, naturally more trusting and less timid than the others, had more confidence in their new friend and what he told her; but she would not leave her sister and Belle, and, moreover, was too tired to do more than wait with what patience she might. So the “bad hat” let them do as they would, furnishing them with some dinner, for which they had little appetite, and telling them droll stories, which could not draw forth more than faint smiles. But at last Bessie found something to interest her.

There was an old colored man working around the station, cutting wood, drawing water, and so forth, and he cast many a pitying glance toward the sorrowful little strangers. Nor did he content himself with looking; for, having finished his work for the time, he walked away into the woods, and soon came back with a large leaf full of wood-strawberries, and a bunch of scarlet cardinal flowers and yellow jasmine, which he offered to them.

Bessie took them, and, after thanking him prettily, divided them with Maggie and Belle; then, out of her own share, arranged a little bouquet for Mr. Travers; for that, the “bad hat man” had said was his name.

“How pale and tired you look, my little girl!” he said as she fastened it in his button-hole: “suppose you lie down and take a sleep? It would be well if the others would do it too.”

They all thought they could not possibly do such a thing, “the train might go by” while they were asleep; but when Mr. Travers proposed that he should spread his railway rug under the shade of the pine-trees, where they could not miss hearing the train, and said he would sit beside them and wake them the moment it was near, Bessie and Belle felt as if they should be glad to take advantage of his kindness. For it was true that they were all three quite worn out with fatigue and excitement. But Maggie was very decided in her refusal to take a nap, saying that she “never went to sleep except at night, when it was no use to stay awake, there was nothing to do.”

But when the rug was spread beneath the trees, she took her seat upon it with the others, leaning her back against a great pine, with Bessie’s head in her lap. Belle, too, cuddled close up to her; and Mr. Travers seated himself opposite, with his book.

“I wish I had a story-book for you, Maggie,” he said.

“It’s no matter, sir,” said Maggie, dolefully. “I’m not in good enough spirits to read. I’d rather think about going back.”

“Suppose you pass the time by composing that letter you are to send home, telling of this adventure?” said the gentleman. “Here are a pencil, and the back of a letter, if you’ll have them.”

Maggie brightened considerably at this suggestion, and gratefully accepted the kind offer.