Bessie in the City

The children cried and laughed over him by turns, hugged and kissed him, and although it was against mamma's rules to feed him in the dining-room, begged that they might do it for this once. Permission was given, and then they wanted to stuff him with everything that was on the table; but mamma said they must be careful, or he would be sick, so a saucer of warm bread and milk was brought and put on the hearth, and glad enough the poor puppy was to have it. But he would not eat unless Maggie's hand was on him, and every now and then he would stop to look up in her face with a low whine, as if he wanted to tell her his pitiful story. Afterwards he was well washed, and then, wrapped in his blanket, went to sleep in Maggie's lap. He woke up quite refreshed, but for a day or two, did not care to play much, content to lie most of the time in Maggie's or Bessie's arms, or curled up in a ball in some comfortable corner. But after this long rest, and several good meals, to say nothing of a great amount of petting, he began to bark and act like himself, and was once more the bright, merry, affectionate plaything he had been before.

Where he had been, or how he had escaped from those who had treated him so cruelly, was never known, but every one thought it quite wonderful that so young a dog, and one who had been such a short time in the house, could have found his way home alone.

XI.

NEW PLANS

THINGS went very smoothly and pleasantly after this for several weeks. Maggie finished the whole number of towels, and she had taken so much pains, and they were so well done for a little girl of seven, that mamma said she thought she must give her six cents apiece instead of five. Bessie's small patient fingers were learning to do nicely, too, and Mrs. Bradford said she should soon have two neat young seamstresses. There were now more than four dollars in the box. They had each had one new pair of gloves bought for them, and it was not likely, if these were not lost, that more would be wanted before New Year. Maggie had improved surprisingly in the matter of boot-laces, and now did not wear them out much faster than Bessie, who did not put on her own shoes. Growing daily more careful in this one thing, she became so in others. Fewer buttons and strings were dragged from her clothes, her aprons and dresses were not so soon soiled, and her hat, instead of being tossed down in any spot where she happened to be when she took it off, was always carried to the nursery and given to Jane, that she might put it away.

Quite often the children had small presents of money. Grandmamma Duncan or Uncle John, papa or grandpapa, would give them a new five or ten cent piece, – once Uncle John had given them each twenty-five, – but they never spent it for their own pleasure. As soon as they received any such little gift, away they ran for the library-box, and popped the money in. One day Maggie found ten cents in the street, and came rushing in to her mother's room with it.

"See here, mamma," she said, "what I have found! It was lying right down by our stoop, and there was no one near it, and I don't know whose it is."

"Well, if you do not find the owner, we may think you have a right to it, I suppose," said Mrs. Bradford.

"But, mamma, ought we not to put it in the paper first, and see if any one comes for it?"

"No, dear, that would not be worth while for such a small sum."

"But, mamma, when papa found that pocket-book with money in it, he put a piece in the paper, so the person who lost it would know where it was."

"There were more than a hundred dollars in that pocket-book, Maggie. It was only right that papa should let the owner know where it was to be found. But ten cents is a very small sum, and if he put half a dozen advertisements in the paper, it is not at all likely that any person would come for it."

"And no one came for the money in the pocket-book," said Maggie, "though papa kept it a great while. But, mamma, he said it did not belong to him; and since he could find no owner, he should think it belonged to the Lord. So he gave it to the Sunday-school. Well now, if I do not know who lost this ten cents, do you not think it belongs to the Lord, and I ought to return it to him?"

"Perhaps you ought, my darling," said Mrs. Bradford, well pleased to find her little girl so strictly honest, and so unwilling to keep that which she could not quite surely feel was her own. "Suppose you put it with your library money?"

"Would that be quite fair, mamma? Would it be giving to the Lord that which belonged to him to put it with that money which we are to earn?"

"Quite fair and right, I think, dearest. That money you have certainly devoted to the Lord's work; and you may put this with it with a clear conscience."

So the ten cents were added to the sum in the box, which, in one way and another, was fast growing to the desired amount.

Each Sunday Maggie and Bessie went over to the hotel to Mrs. Rush's class. Not one had they missed, for they counted so much upon it that their mother could not bear to keep them at home, even in bad weather. Two or three Sabbaths had been very rainy, but papa had wrapped Bessie in mamma's water-proof cloak, and carried her over to the hotel, while Maggie, in her own cloak and high india-rubber boots, trotted along by his side holding the large parasol, which made a capital umbrella for the small figure beneath it. Two bright little faces they were which peeped forth from the hoods of these water-proofs when they appeared in Mrs. Rush's parlor, and dearly did she and the colonel love to see them. Then the wrappings were pulled off, and there were the two darlings as warm and dry as if they had never stirred from their own nursery fire.

Mrs. Rush still did all the teaching herself, but since that first Sunday, she had quite given up the office of story-teller to her husband. She never could invent such stories as he did, she said, and since he had begun with it, he had better go on! So each Sunday he had one ready for them, and when the lessons were over, teacher and scholars were alike eager to listen. He had to repeat "Benito" more than once, so fond were they all of it, and the children, especially Bessie, would stop him if he told it in any way different from that in which they had first heard it, and tell him he was wrong. They remembered it, he said, better than he did.

Maggie and Bessie were very busy just now. Christmas was drawing near, and they were each working a book-mark which were to be presented to Colonel and Mrs. Rush. Bessie's was for "her soldier," and Maggie's for his wife. Aunt Annie had promised to show them how they were to be worked, and one afternoon took them out to buy the materials. They came home each with a piece of cardboard, a skein of silk, and half a yard of ribbon; and no lady who had spent hundreds of dollars that day took half the pleasure in her shopping that our little girls did in theirs.

Aunt Annie had offered to give them what they needed from her stock of pretty things. But no, they must buy all with their own money, or it would not be quite their own presents. As soon as their walking dresses were taken off, Aunt Annie was coaxed to show them at once how the book-marks were to be made. She told them they must first decide what mottoes they would work, and proposed several. Maggie chose, "Remember me;" and Bessie, "I love you, Sir." Annie said it was not the fashion to put "Sir" on a book-mark; but Bessie thought it would not be at all the thing for little girls to give "unpolite presents."

"We ought to make our book-marks just as proper as our own speaking," she insisted.

Maggie was a little doubtful; but at last she said she would do as Bessie did, since it was "better to be too polite than not polite enough." So Aunt Annie let them have their way, and greatly to her own amusement, cut the card long enough for "I love you, Sir," and "Remember me, ma'am." They did not think it any the less their own work that their aunt put the points of the needles into the holes where they were to go. Did they not pull them through with their own fingers and draw the silk to its proper place? Of course, it was their own work; Aunt Annie would not have said it was hers on any account. After two or three letters were made, Maggie learned to find the right hole for herself with a good deal of direction.

Before bed-time that night, Maggie had worked "Remem," and Bessie, "I lo;" and they looked at what they had done with great satisfaction. Besides these book-marks, they were each to work one for papa or mamma, so that they had enough to keep them busy until Christmas.

Meanwhile the picture which Aunt Helen was painting was nearly finished. She had never allowed Maggie to see it, which the little girl thought very strange; but she had kept the secret well. Sometimes they went to Riverside, and sometimes Aunt Helen came to grandmamma's house, when they would be sent for; and if mamma was not there, their aunt would paint very industriously. Bessie wondered why she would not let them see what she was painting, and why Maggie should always be so full of glee at such times, and shake her head so very wisely. But after she had been once told that it was a secret, she asked no more questions.

On the morning after the book-marks were commenced, Mrs. Bradford, who was not very well, was lying on the sofa, while her little daughters were playing quietly on the other side of the room, and she heard them talking together.

"Bessie," said Maggie, "I am so glad that I have all my towels done, so I can have leisure to make my Christmas presents."

"What does leisure mean?" asked Bessie.

"It means not to be busy."

"Oh, I am glad, too, Maggie! You was very industrious, and had a great deal of per-se-were."

"Ance," said Maggie.

"Ance what, Maggie?"

"Per-se-ve-rance. That's what you must say," said Maggie.

"No. This morning Fred was mad 'cause he couldn't do his sum, and be asked papa to help him, and papa said he must persewere, and he could do it himself."

"Yes, I know it," said Maggie; "but it is persevere to do it, and perseverance to have it."

Bessie did not quite understand, but she thought it must be right, since Maggie said so.

"We'll ask mamma about it when she feels better," said Maggie. "Isn't she good to us, Bessie, to help us so much to get our library?"

"Yes," said Bessie, "she's such a precious mamma. I do think every one is so kind to us, Maggie."

"Yes," said Maggie, "when I think about my friends, I feel as if I could not say 'God bless them' enough."

"Yes," said Bessie, thoughtfully; "and when everybody is so good to us, and Our Father is so good to us, and we have such pleasant times, I suppose we ought to be the best children that ever lived."

"But we're not," said Maggie; "least, I'm not. I think you are almost as good as any one that ever lived, Bessie."

"No, I'm not, Maggie. Sometimes I feel very naughty, and just like being in a passion, and I have to ask Jesus very much to help me."

"It's a great deal better to feel naughty, and not be naughty, than to feel naughty, and be naughty, too, Bessie. Anyhow, you're just good enough for me."

"But we ought to be good enough for Jesus," said Bessie. "I wish I was as good as that boy named Nathan Something, that Harry yead to us about on Sunday."

"Oh, yes," said Maggie, "it's all very well to read about these wonderful children, but when one comes to do it, it's a different thing. I don't believe that any one could be so good as never to do or to think a wrong thing. But, Bessie, you know, I will be quite sorry when mamma don't give us glove-money any more. I think this plan has been of service to me in my carelessness. Don't you think I'm pretty tol-able now?"

"Not pretty," said Bessie; "I think you are very tol'able now. Why, Maggie, don't you know papa said he could trust you to take a message or do an errand now as soon as any of his children?"

"Yes, and it was very nice to hear him say that, Bessie. I didn't mind for all the trouble I took to be careful, when he said it. When we have our glove-money, it will make more than six dollars in our box, if mamma don't have to spend any of it for us. We only want five for the library, so what shall we do with the rest of it, Bessie. Mamma said we must only spend that money in doing good."

"Perhaps mamma will tell us something," said Bessie.

"But I'd like to think of something ourselves, and I did think of a nice thing, Bessie, if you would like to do it."

"I guess I would. Tell me, Maggie."

"Yesterday, when Mary Bent came here, she had on only a thin little cape, that did not keep her warm at all, and she looked so cold, nurse asked her if that was the warmest thing she had, and she said yes. So nurse brought an old piece of flannel, and basted it all inside the cape to make it warmer; but she said the child ought to have a thick cloak or shawl, and if mamma was home, she knew she would do something for her. Mary said her mother had a warm shawl, but when the weather was cold, they had to keep it to put over Jemmy, 'cause he shivered so if he was not covered up warm. I felt so sorry for her, and last night, I thought maybe we could take the rest of our money and buy her a warm thing to wear. Would you like that, dear Bessie?"

"'Deed, I would," said Bessie. "You do make such nice plans, Maggie. If we can do it, I shall just tell Mary you made it up. I don't believe anybody has such a smart Maggie as I have."

Maggie kissed her sister, for dearly as she loved praise, none was sweeter to her than that which Bessie was always so ready to give.

"I'm afraid we wont have enough to buy anything very warm," she said, "'cause that would cost a good deal, and we have not time to earn any, we are so very busy."

"Yes," said Bessie, "we have our hands full; but we will ask mamma."

Later in the day they did ask her, and she said that, if they pleased, they might use what they did not need for the library for this purpose.

"But you will not have enough to buy a warm sack for Mary, such as she should have, my darlings," she said. "Nurse told me how poorly Mary was clothed for this cold weather, and I had intended, the next time I should go out, to buy some gray flannel, and let Jane make a sack thickly lined and quilted. This will cost more than you can spare."

"Well, mamma," said Bessie, "if you will wait till after Christmas, perhaps we might earn enough to buy a sack for Mary, and we would like to do it ourselves."

"But in the mean while, the poor child would be suffering with the cold," said Mrs Bradford. "Suppose I give Mary the cloak, and you buy for Jemmy a comfortable, so that he will not need his mother's shawl."

The children agreed, though they did not look very well satisfied, for they had set their hearts on giving the warm garment to Mary themselves. Suddenly Maggie looked up at her mother as if a bright thought had come into her mind, and said, eagerly, —

"Mamma, Mary said she used to wear her mother's shawl when Jemmy did not need it. Suppose you were to buy the comfortable, and then the shawl will be at liberty for Mary, and by and by, when we have enough, we can buy the sack."

Mamma said this would do very well, and so it was arranged. Then she told them that if they wished, she would continue to give them the glove-money each month, and what they saved from it they might still spend for others who were in need; for Mrs. Bradford agreed with Maggie that this plan had been of service to her little girl, and thought it would be well to keep on with it, since it was teaching her to be thoughtful and careful herself, in order that she might be of use to others; and good habits once formed are not easy to lose.

That evening, when papa came home, he brought some glossy, crisp, new bank-notes, which he offered to Maggie and Bessie in exchange for some of the smaller money in their box. They were quite ready to take them, they were so clean and pretty; and taking out two dollars in change, Mr. Bradford put in two one dollar notes.

XII.

A VISITOR

A day or two after this, a lady and gentleman named Moore came to make a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Bradford. They brought with them their son George, a boy about Harry's age. What kind of a boy he was may be known from a conversation between Harry and Fred on the first evening of the Moores' visit.

"Harry," said Fred, as they were undressing for bed, "what do you think of that chap?"

"Who, – George?" said Harry; "I don't fancy him, though it's scarcely fair to judge yet; but I don't think there's much in him. He's a Miss Nancy-ish sort of a fellow."

"There's not much in him of the right sort," said Fred, savagely; "but there's plenty of another kind; and if he tries it on here, I'll have it out of him."

"Halloa!" said Harry; "what has set you up that way, Frederick the Great? What would papa say to hear you speaking so of a guest in his house?"

"I don't care," said Fred; "guest or no guest, I am not going to have any fellow playing shabby tricks on our Midget and Bess. It is a man's duty to stand up for his mother and sisters. I tease the girls myself sometimes I know, more shame for me, but you will allow I haven't done it so much lately, Hal; I couldn't since Bess told me gemperlums didn't tease;" and Fred began to laugh; "but I never played mean tricks on them, and I sha'n't let any chap that's nothing to them. He'd better let them alone, or I'll fix him, that's all."

"But what has he done?" asked Harry. "Seeing he is a visitor, you ought not to talk so about him without some special good reason."

"Reason!" repeated Fred, pulling off his jacket and tossing it upon a distant chair; "there's special reason enough; if that is all you want, I'll tell you. The first thing, this evening, while the grown-upers were at dinner and you were studying in the library, he was playing jackstraws with Maggie and Bessie. I thought it did not seem very polite to leave him alone with the little girls; so, as I had done all my lessons but the copying of my sums, I took my slate to the parlor table. I suppose he thought I was not noticing his play, but I soon found him out. First place, he said they were to throw from the height of their fists, his being twice as big as either of the girls. Presently he told Bessie that she joggled. I couldn't see that she did, but I said nothing. It was the same thing with Maggie. She had only taken off one or two, when he stopped her. Midget was quite sure that she had not shaken, and so was I; but he declared that he had seen it. Pretty soon he gave an awful shake himself, but the girls were looking away, and did not see it. He looked up at them, and seeing they did not notice it, went on playing without a word. The next time he told Bessie she shook, she laid down the hook with a little sigh, and said, in her innocent way, 'We always shake when we don't see; please to 'scuse us, because we don't mean to.' Maggie declared that Bessie had not shaken, and insisted that she should go on; and what do you think the mean fellow did then? He blew upon the jack-straws as Bess went to draw one out; so, of course, they went. 'Then I did shake,' said Bessie. Of course, he won the game by ever so many. 'It's very funny we shook so much when we didn't see,' said Midget. 'You should look sharp,' he answered. So then I put in. 'It don't do to have more than one too sharp in a game,' I said. He took, and after that did not care to play any more. Now, is he not a mean sneak to trick two little girls?"

"That he is," answered Harry, indignantly; "but still it wont do for you to make a row with him, Fred."

"That's not all," said Fred. "You know when Maggie spilled that spoonful of ice-cream over herself at dessert, and a little went on Mrs. Moore's dress? Well, it was all George's doing. Just as she went to lift it to her lips, he jerked her arm with his elbow, and away went the spoon. Then mamma said, 'Maggie, how could you be so careless, my dear?' and Mrs. Moore looked like a thunder-cloud; but he never had the honesty to own up, even when Meg turned and looked at him with great, wide-open eyes, as if she expected him to speak. Papa suspected something, I know, for he called Maggie to him, and made her stay at his side, not a bit as if he thought it was her carelessness. He had better look out for himself, that's all; for if he tries much more of that game, he'll find me pitching into him."

"You wont fight him?" said Harry.

"Yes, I will fight him, too, if he plagues our girls, or cheats them."

"You know what papa thinks of fighting, Fred; and what will he say if you quarrel with a boy who is a guest in our own house?"

"I'll guest him if he don't mind his p's and q's," said Fred, scrambling into bed in his usual headlong fashion. "I say, Hal, couldn't you give him a hint in the morning that we wont stand such doings? You're a better hand to do it than I am. You'll keep your temper, and I sha'n't."

"I'll see," said Harry, who was desirous to keep the peace between his brother and the visitor, and who knew that Fred's hot temper, and contempt for all meanness, would be very apt to lead him into trouble with such a boy as he perceived George to be.

"There's his mother, too," said Fred, "telling mamma that 'she felt it was a great risk to bring him from home, he was such a good boy, so free from all bad habits. She had never allowed him to play with other children, as she thought they contaminated each other; and she was glad he seemed to prefer girls' society.' Bosh! He 'prefers the girls' society' because he can come it over them, and he can't over us. His father has more of the right stuff in him. He said, 'it was time George was thrown with other boys, and allowed to take his share of rough and tumble.' But I sha'n't trouble him if he don't provoke me too much, only you tell him we wont stand seeing our sisters ill-treated."

But although Harry did as Fred asked, there was trouble before the day was half over. Mr. Moore gave his son permission to go out to the park during the recess of the school which the boys attended. Before the half-hour was up, George rushed into the house crying loudly, and with his lip cut and bleeding. He made such an outcry that the whole family were very much alarmed; but when his mouth was washed, it proved to be but a slight cut, and nurse declared to Jane that Franky would have been ashamed to make a fuss for such a trifle.

"Fred had done it," he said. "Fred wanted to fight, and he would not. He had never fought in his life. He'd be ashamed to say he had."

Mrs. Bradford was very much troubled; but she waited to hear her own son's side of the story before she judged him. Mrs. Moore, however, had a great deal to say.

When Fred came home, two hours later, his hand was bound up in his pocket-handkerchief.

"How have you hurt your hand, Fred?" asked his father. "Is it true you have been fighting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without just cause, as George says?"

"I had cause enough, sir, if that was all," said Fred, rather sulkily for him.

"That he had," said Harry. "You'd have been ready to fight yourself, sir. I'll tell you how it was. George is not fair and above board, as we found out last night. So when he came out to the play-ground, I just told him we would allow no unfair play, and he did not try it. But after a while he said he did not care to play with such a rough set, and walked off by himself. I thought I ought to go and see after him, and found him shying stones at the sparrows about the water-tanks. I told him he had better have done with that, or he would have an M. P. down on him. Then he said he guessed he'd go home. First thing I knew a few minutes after, he was howling, and Fred had him by the collar. It seems poor Charlie Wagstaff – poor, hump backed little Charlie – was sitting on a bench reading, when my gentleman George passed by and saw him. He began by throwing gravel over Charley's head and neck, not thinking he was one of our boys, and that not a fellow in the school would see him abused, and at last, getting bolder, snatched his book, and threw it over the park railing. It was a borrowed book, and the poor boy took his crutches and started after it. Then George began dancing about him, and calling him 'Old hipperty hop,' and such names. Fred, who saw them from a distance, feared something was wrong, and ran to the spot just in time to see him pull Charlie's crutch from under him, throw him on the ground, and then run. But Fred collared him, and in his quick way, just let fly and hit him in the mouth. He came off the worst, though, for his knuckles were cut by George's teeth, and he was not so much hurt. George went off roaring, and that moment the whistle sounded, and we had to go in. It was writing hour, and when Mr. Peters saw Fred's bleeding knuckles, he asked him if he had been fighting. He said, 'Yes,' and Mr. Peters was going to keep him in, when Charlie spoke up, and told the whole story. Mr. Peters said we all knew how strict the rules against fighting in play-hours were; but he really thought, in this case, Fred was almost excusable, and asked how many agreed with him. Up went every hand in the school, and I don't think he was ill-pleased either. So he excused Fred, and told me to tell you why he had done so; and I don't believe you'll be the one to blame him, papa."