Bessie on Her Travels

“What jolly times you are having! so are we for the matter of that. Uncle Ruthven is a regular brick, – though I always knew that, – and so are grandmamma and the colonel, and all the rest. School breaks up the twentieth of June, and then, hurrah! for the country. Uncle John has invited Tom Norris to go with us to Riverside, and stay all the time that we stay. First-rate in him, wasn’t it? Tom is the jolliest good boy I ever saw: you never catch him in the least thing that isn’t just up to the right, and yet he’s the best company and merriest fellow in the world. He keeps me out of a heap of mischief, many a time, dear, old chap! that’s so, I know. Dear, old, steady-going Hal! he often wonders at my tantrums, I know; but he’s good too, and it is awful hard work to keep out of scrapes in school when you’ve a quick temper like mine, and not too much thought. I’ll tell you a secret, Mag: I believe it has helped me a good deal to see you and Queen Bess take so much pains to cure yourselves of those two very faults, – you, with your carelessness, and Bessie, with her passionate temper. I thought it was a shame if you two little girls did it, that a great fellow like me shouldn’t. And for that reason I’m going to let you tell dear mamma some thing that will make her dear eyes dance. Mr. Peters called me to him this morning, – and I thought for sure I must be in some row, though I didn’t see what, – and he said he wanted to tell me that no boy in the school had improved in character, or taken so much pains with his faults, as I had during the last year. I don’t want to be puffed up, but didn’t I feel some pumpkins; but I could most have cried that mamma wasn’t home for me to tell the good news to. However, when I went home, there sat grandmamma, the dear, precious, old soul, so sweet and good and loving; so I just pitched into her and gave her the news, and a tight squeeze into the bargain. She was as pleased as could be, but then she isn’t mamma; so just you tell the darling mother, and bid her shut her eyes, and do you give her a good choke for me, just as I do, Ducky-Daddles! and see if she don’t gasp out, ‘Oh, my dear boy!’ and you write it to me, Mag. And tell papa, Mr. Peters told me if I turned out such a man as my father, – a true Christian, a perfect gentleman, and a thorough scholar, – no one could ask more for me. I never expect to be all that, but it’s something to have one’s father spoken of that way, and, Mag, do you believe, I just bawled. And old Peters – I’ll never call him that again if I remember, only it comes so handy – asked me to go of a little errand for him. I knew that it was just that he knew I didn’t want to go back to the school-room with red eyes, and I was all right again before I came back. He’s a jolly old soul, if he is strict. But I just tell you, you and her royal highness can take some of the credit to yourselves; for I know you have helped me without meaning it. And Uncle Ruthven is as pleased as any thing, and he said he had seen it himself, and he had meant to give me a handsome pony for taking pains with myself; but as papa had given me one when he gave Hal a watch just before you went away, he would let me say what the present should be.

“And so, Midget, I told him I should like him to give you and Bess the pony between you; and he said I had better take a couple of days to think it over, and he would give me leave to change my mind. I suppose he thinks I’ll slink out of it; but I shan’t, so you two may just count on a pony of your own. I guess there’ll be a side-saddle too, for Uncle Ruth don’t do things by halves. I’m awfully sleepy, and anybody but you would be tired of this long letter.

“Your loving brother,“Frederick Talbot Bradford, Esq.”

Maggie answered her Uncle Ruthven’s letter the very next morning in these words: —

“Dear Uncle Ruthven, – Whenever I think of the pleasure of writing to my absent friends who are away from me in distant lands I am always very thankful that I am not a quadrewped or other animal which has only legs and no arms to write with. And if it had, no brains or ideas, but only instinct which is not enough to write with. So I thank God He gave me a sencible soul which thinks, and arms and also pen, ink, and paper. And also pencils for Bessie has to print with them, and also friends which we can write to, for if I was an orfun and had no friends I would be badly of and very lonesome and my ideas of no use. So I think every one ought to be very grateful for these things (if they have them) and if they have not let them say God knows best; and I think it is the duty of the human race to make use of these things and to write long letters to all their friends, for it is such a pleasure to have letters and to answer them. And I am going to write you the longest letter I ever wrote in my life, because the Bible says, ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also unto them.’

“But, dear Uncle Ruthven, we have had no adventures to tell you about. I mean real real adventures; except only one which was most terrible to hear and was that Bessie met a snake that was poisonous and nearly bit her, but a good dog of Mr. Powrs would not let her go on, and so she did not come in the way of the snake which was a wonderful blessing or she might have died. And then I would have been like the king Miss Ashton told us about, whose son was drowned and he never smiled again nor would I if my Bessie came to such a sad end but would be unhappy all the days of my existence and never laugh at the funniest thing that could happen. And I pray our Father in Heaven that my Bessie will not die while I am alive even to go to Heaven for I would miss her so very, very much. But I will not write any more of this most unhappy thing or else my beloved uncle you will say ‘what a sad, stupid letter Maggie has written to me,’ and I would not wish any one to take the liberty of saying such a thing about me.

“Belle’s home which is named Oakdale is a place most beautiful to behold with such large oak trees that make the most pleasant of shades and magnolias and vines of jessamine and other sweet smells most delicious to the nose. I do wish there was a nicer name to call a nose, it don’t sound nice in a letter. And such lots and heaps of rice, enough for a million dinner and breakfasts I should think but I hope I shall never be in the necessity to eat it for I hate rice. But Bessie likes it very much so I am glad it grows for her and others. And we had such fun playing with it and working too for we helped the men a great deal. Now you need not laugh Uncle Ruthven nor the boys either if you let them read this letter, for the men said we did and if you had seen the great bag we filled you would know it. It was real funny to see the rice run down the wooden gutters into the hoppers. Isn’t that a queer name?

“Papa said such a funny thing. He said he knew a hopper that would not be of much use in that mill because it always shut its mouth whenever any rice came near it, and he meant me. It made us all laugh so. The next day after to-morrow we are going to take adieu of Savannah and all the kind people we have come to know; and of Miss Adams and the doctor; and most of all of Mr. and Mrs. Norris and Lily. Lily cries about it and wants to stay with us but her parents have to stay in this place for a short time and to go home by the steamer, and I am glad and thankful such is not my fate to be seasick again. Oh! Uncle Ruthven! it is awful! and you can’t help it if you make up your mind ever so much. But we go by land which is much better than the sea to travel on and shall visit many places and see many surprising things which I shall advertise you of when I know them myself.

“Bessie and I think we never heard of any thing so kind and generous as Fred to say he wanted you to give us a pony for his present and never no never again will I say Fred teases, no not if he plages me ever so much. But I think he does not plage so much as he used to. Mamma was so pleased about him and is at this present moment writing to him. It is a very charming thing to have sencible and religious parents and I suppose also it must be so for the parents to have their children improve and be as sencible and good as is in their natures. But it is not in mine to be so good as Bessie and I despair of it for it is not in me. The other day a lady was talking to Bessie and I heard her say afterwards, ‘That child is a little angel.’ I suppose she meant like an angel which would be far better for her to say as it is always best to say just what you mean but I thank her for the complement to my Bessie and think she must be a woman of sense.

“Harry wrote to Mamma and said something that hurt my feelings. He said I wrote very nice letters but they were so full of moral reflextions and centiment that he almost killed himself laughing. Now I know he didn’t almost kill himself and Miss Ashton never taught us reflextions and centiment and I don’t know what they mean and I wouldn’t do such a thing as to put them in my letters. I don’t think Harry is very kind to say that and make fun of me. But don’t you tell any one I said so for you know I tell you all my secrets dear Uncle Ruthven and maybe Harry would think I was cross.

“Please give my love to every body I know if I do love them and if I don’t my complements and most of all to all my own people. It took me two days to write all this letter which I hope will give satisfaction from your affectionate beloved

“Maggie.”

Last of all here is a little letter which Bessie wrote to her grandmamma, —

“Dear darling Granmamma, – Your Bessie is going to send a letter to you to tell you how I love you but I cant rite such nice leters as Maggie. Dont Maggie make nice leters and she said she would help me but I toled her I wanted to make it all myself so you would kno how much I love you. Please dear Granmamma to rite me an answer to my leter and I hope you will keep alife till we come home or if you are not dear Manma will cry and all the rest of us two. I saw a carf in a cart with all its legs tied and it mad me sorry and I wish it was mine to let it luse. Baby is so sweet and she has a new trik that is so cuning. All the time she pulls off her shoes and soks and Mamma don’t want her to so Nursey says shame shame when she does it and when baby sees any one else do it now she always calls shame and she saw a gentelman in the parlor who did not kno how to be very polite and he sat with his slipper hanging on his toe and Baby pointed her finger at him and called out very loud Oh shame shame and every boddy lafed it was so funny. Every day I am more and more glad for dear Manma feels so much better and it makes such a joy in my hart that I can’t tell it but you kno it don’t you dear Granmanma for you are her own mother and you love her just like she loves me. I am too tired to make it any longer and I love you and my solger and all my peple and I send them kisses.

“Good by dear Granmanma

“Your little pet“Bessie.”

VII

A “REAL, REAL ADVENTURE.”

They were all in the railway train bound for – ; that is, Mr. and Mrs. Bradford, with their three little girls and nurse, Mr. Powers, Belle, and old Daphne.

Maggie, Bessie, and Belle, with their dolls, had two whole seats to themselves, one having been turned so as to face the other, and give them what Bessie called a “nice, cunning travelling-house.” Here they had established themselves in great comfort, papa and mamma being just behind; while Mr. Powers, and the two nurses with Baby, were seated on the opposite side of the car.

And here, by and by, seeing the nice play that was going on, did Miss Baby think it best to betake herself and her own doll, named Peter Bartholomew. This gentleman with the long name, which had been given to him by Fred, was made entirely of worsted, face, cap, coat, and pants, all knit of the brightest colors, and could be knocked about or thrown from any height without damage to his head or limbs. So for this reason he had come travelling with Baby Annie, as her dolls were apt to receive some hard knocks and severe falls, not altogether wholesome for more brittle materials.

But Annie was not very fond of Peter Bartholomew, and he received some pretty hard usage at her tiny hands; so that it was well he was not a gentleman of tender feelings, and was able to take thumps, hard squeezes, and scoldings with the utmost composure.

However, on this occasion she thought it wise to praise Peter Bartholomew, by way of persuading her sisters that his company, as well as her own, was desirable; and, putting her little head on one side in the most insinuating manner, she spoke thus from nurse’s lap, —

“Baby tome too. Peter tome too. Baby dood. Peter dood. Nice Peter. Oh, pitty Peter!”

“Oh! isn’t she too cunning, the darling?” said Bessie. “Let’s let her come play with us.”

“Yes, we’ll take her in our house,” said Belle.

So baby was taken into the enclosure, which Maggie had made quite complete by fastening a handkerchief from the arm of one seat to that of the other, and calling it “the door.” Nurse could have lifted baby at once into the place which was offered for her; but that would not do at all. Baby must wait till the door was untied, and she admitted in due form.

Once there, and seated in a snug corner, she behaved herself very well for a long time, watching her little sisters and Belle with grave admiration and wonder, and submitting to be played and “pretended” with just as they chose, only now and then insisting that they should all “tiss Peter,” a thing which she would by no means be induced to do herself.

But at last she took it into her head to look out of the window, and in order to do that she must stand upon her feet, which was not safe to let her do without some careful hand to guard her; and as she objected very decidedly to returning to the other side of the car where nurse sat, there was nothing for it but to let nurse come to her.

Now this interfered very much with the arrangements of the three little girls, who were having a grand “family” play; and not one of them was at all inclined to be so disturbed, and there was even some pouting when nurse said they must make room for her for a short time.

But Maggie, Bessie, and Belle could all understand better than Baby Annie, that in travelling one must consider the comfort and convenience of one’s fellow-passengers, as well as one’s own. Baby was very little, and not very well: they had a long day’s journey before them, and it was necessary that she should be indulged in a measure, and kept in a good humor as long as possible; and Bessie was the first to think of this.

“Now, just let me in here for a bit, my honeys,” said nurse, as Maggie stood with her hand on the pocket-handkerchief door, determined to defend her “house” as long as possible. “Baby’ll fret if I take her to the other side when she don’t like it, and that will worry your mother; besides it’s sunny there when we come out of the woods. Let her look out of your window awhile, with me to hold her, and it will soon be her sleepy time, when ye may have your place to yourselves.”

Now old nurse was by no means a small woman; and the children knew that their quarters would be very much narrowed when she should find entrance there, and she might have found it hard work to persuade them to yield without interference from their father or mother, had not Bessie bethought herself when nurse spoke of her mother.

“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, —