Part 8

When they entered their chamber, they found the duenna still sleeping soundly. They undressed themselves noiselessly, putting away all their clothes but their slippers, which they forgot.

In the morning, when the sun arose, the duenna awoke, and was much surprised to find herself sitting in a chair, instead of being in bed.

She had but a confused recollection of things, and began to think she must have taken a little more wine than she intended at dinner the day before. She thought she remembered Rosebud giving her a glass of water when she was very thirsty, but she was not sure that it might not have been wine.

She looked around, but could discover nothing to help her. The two girls were sleeping soundly, and upon the face of Rosebud there was a smile. She was dreaming of the ball--again surrounded by a crowd of admirers.

Snowdrop dreamed of the dear papa; he was angry with them for their disobedience, and her long eyelashes were wet with tears.

“How different they are in their ways, even in sleep!” said the duenna.

She turned away, and as her eye fell upon the forgotten slippers, her searching glance detected that they had been worn.

“What does this mean? So much worn, and bought yesterday! ’Tis very strange!” mused she, and put them in her pocket.

She woke the young girls, but they fell asleep again. They were so unused to dancing late at night, that they were very tired; and when the bell rang for breakfast, they did not appear.

“Where are my dear daughters?” said the father, with a clouded face.

She could only tell him that they were still asleep, and seemed very tired.

“So are my horses,” replied he, angrily; “but I will see about this.”

The duenna was afraid to show him the shoes, lest he should blame her; but in her confusion, as she drew her handkerchief from her pocket, one of them dropped out upon the floor.

“What is this?” said the señor, sternly; and she was obliged to tell him all she knew.

For some time the troubled father walked the floor with great agitation without speaking, while the duenna stood trembling before him. Then, turning to her quickly, he said:--

“Call my daughters;” and he rang the bell for Miguel.

All three came into the room with fearful hearts; but Snowdrop’s face was covered with her golden hair, and the tears were shining through it.

Turning to Miguel, he said, sternly, with a black frown covering his whole face:--

“Stand here, and tell me how it is, that this morning I find my horses reeking with foam?”

The old man only answered, “I alone am to blame, señor. Pardon your old servant, who loves you and yours!” and he clasped his hands, and looked imploringly at the dark, angry face that frowned upon him.

Then Snowdrop could bear it no longer, so she ran to the father--throwing her white arms around his neck, and resting her golden-crowned head upon his bosom, she said:--

“Dear papa, I will tell you all! Only do not blame dear, good old Miguel.”

Then she told him of all their loneliness, and eager longings for companions of their own age; about the altar-cloth and all, without reserving one thing. “And now we are sorry; it was wrong; but the dear papa will forgive!” and she raised her pretty face, all shining with tears, and begged him to kiss her.

How like her mother she was! and the father thought of the sunny days of his youth, when he had wandered on the banks of the Rhine with the fair German maiden, and wondered how he could forget that the young and ardent hearts of his children must be like the heart of his youth.

He kissed the innocent face upturned to his, and forgave them, saying, “I, too, have been to blame; and, in future, I will go with you to all places, my darlings, where it is proper, and right for you to go.”

Snowdrop and Rosebud were delighted, and willingly promised never again to deceive “the dear papa;” and from that day there was mutual confidence and love between the young girls and the father.

After a time, when two brave and gallant knights sought of the father the hands of the fair señoritas in marriage, he answered, “Let the hearts of my dear children decide for you. My only wish is to see them happy.”

There was a great feast made at their marriage; and the old Spanish house, so long wrapped in seclusion, resounded with joyous music and the merry laughter of light hearts. Again old Miguel stood behind the door, and rejoiced to see his darlings loved, admired, and happy.

LAZARUS AND BUMMER.

It was a dark rainy day in the land where the rain makes the winter, and the sunshine and blue sky the pleasant summer-time.

Through the Golden Gate, came the ship to the new city of hope, and all the people on board thought, “how happy and rich we shall become in the Gold Land. Though the city is now only a miserable place of tents and sand hills, one day how great it will be, and we shall live to see it. The fair Golden City.”

On the rude wharf stood the expectant crowd. To them the ship was the beautiful carrier-dove, with its white wings spread to bring them news of home.

“Perhaps there will be some one from the old home,” said a young man, with his brown eyes filled with eager longing. “The dark old Atlantic! how its breakers used to dash upon the rocks in sight of home. It was glorious. To-morrow will be Christmas! I wonder, will they remember all, as I do!”

By his side stood a great shaggy dog, who belonged to nobody.

He talked only in the dog language, but was very learned, and understood all the young man said. He was a wonderful dog, and had his thoughts. “I am my own master,” he said, “and that is pleasant--yet one likes to be cared for, and nobody cares for me. I shall get no news from home, and to-morrow will be Christmas. This is not as it should be; I must see to it.”

The great dog was getting quite out of temper, and, with a surly growl, he turned round so quickly, that he gave the young man a start.

“One would think the dog was mad,” said he, “only it is not the season.” Then he looked out again hopefully to the coming ship.

The great dog ran round the corner, and through the wet streets all day.

The steamer had arrived, and there were new faces looking eagerly about for old familiar ones, and the old were looking for the new; so there was altogether a great bustle such as was never seen, only in those early days when the ships came in from home. Thus the day passed, and the evening came on, raining dismally--yet it was Christmas eve.

In a dark alley sat the great dog. His shaggy coat kept him warm, yet it was very desolate there alone.

“One should have something to live for,” growled he, “something to take care of and protect, or there is no use in being strong and brave. One might as well be a puny poodle, and sit by the parlor fire,” and he gave an ugly bark, “bow, wow, wow! one should have an object in life.”

Just then he heard a low moan, and looking round, he saw a poor lame dog, very thin and sick, lying down in the mud, and ready to die of hunger.

It was really quite wretched, and all the great dog’s sympathies were aroused. “There _is_ an object, to be sure,” he said. “It is Christmas eve, and the good Santa Claus has taken pity on me, and given me this poor fellow, who needs me as much as I do him. What a zest life has, when one has something to live for.”

Without any useless ceremony, he raised the poor dog, and tenderly as the mother dog carries her little ones, he bore him to a warm, dry place, and made him a nice bed of clean straw.

“This is better, my friend,” said the noble creature, quite flushed and happy with the pleasure of doing a kind act. “What more can I do for you?”

“I am famishing with hunger,” replied the lame dog, with a feeble groan, and off went his great shaggy protector, through rain and mud, to a restaurant, and there the cook gave him a bone, saying, “take it, you Bummer.”

He caught the bone, and running off as fast as possible, in a few moments laid it before the lame dog.

It was a rich bone, and had a delicious smell that was quite reviving to the sick one.

It was so pleasant to see the poor hungry fellow eat, that Bummer could not leave him until he had finished. “I never enjoyed a bone so much in my life,” said Bummer, as he tucked the warm straw around his new friend, and saw him closing his eyes with a pleasant satisfied languor.

“This is something like living,” added he, with a lively bark, as he ran back to the restaurant for his own dinner.

“Coming again, Bummer?” said the jolly, red-faced cook, throwing him another bone, which he ate with a famous relish.

In the morning he went back again to the restaurant, serving the sick dog first, and again at night, and day after day, till he became the jolly cook’s regular pensioner.

At the restaurant they grew quite curious to know what became of the first bone, and sent some one to follow Bummer, who came back telling the strange story, and saying, “it is really quite wonderful.”

Then every one talked of it, and soon the whole town came to know the two dogs, and called them Bummer and Lazarus.

In the pleasant days they walked out together, Bummer always watching over Lazarus with the tenderest care. It was really a pleasant sight to see them, they were so happy together.

Thus time passed away, making no change in the protecting devotion of Bummer, nor the trusting love of Lazarus.

But there must be an end of all things, and at last Lazarus died.

This was a great sorrow to poor Bummer, and he grew so thin and wretched that the jolly cook was quite distressed.

“You must cheer up, my good Bummer; really it will never do; you _must_ cheer up.”

“It is all over now,” said the dog, “one must have something to live for. It is no use, one must have an object.”

He was no longer the Bummer of old, and he went away to the place where Lazarus rested.

“He forgot to eat his bone,” said the jolly cook; “poor fellow, we were getting used to him, and we shall miss him. He belonged to the town--he was ‘our dog.’”

This was the last time he went for his bone. It was all over, and Bummer and Lazarus became a remembrance which has passed into a tradition.

The skin of Bummer was carefully stuffed, and placed in a glass case. It may still be seen in some restaurant on Montgomery Street, where it is preserved as a precious relic of the olden time.

This is a true story, little ones, and no doubt the fathers will tell you, how, in the olden days, he has often seen Bummer and Lazarus.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_.

Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: C^o.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication has been retained.

Errors in the Table of Contents have been corrected.

End of Project Gutenberg's Fairy Tales from Gold Lands, by May Wentworth