Bessie on Her Travels

“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.

Bessie lay with her head in Maggie’s lap, drowsily thinking how pleasant it would be to go to sleep in this nice place, if papa and mamma and baby were only here too. It was so cool and quiet. No one seemed to be stirring in the cottages or the small station; not a sound was heard but the gentle whisper of the breeze in the tree-tops, the chirp of the crickets, and the varied notes of a mocking-bird perched not far from them. Then the spicy smell of the pines was so delicious and balmy.

Not a human being was to be seen but their own party, and the old negro man, who now sat upon a wheelbarrow at a little distance, reading what looked like a leaf or two from a book. He seemed to read very slowly and with great pains, pointing his finger along from word to word, and forming the words with his mouth, as people do who cannot read very well; but he appeared to be very intent over it.

“I wonder what he is reading,” said Bessie to herself, as she sleepily watched him: “it looks like a piece out of an old torn book. Maybe it’s a newspaper, and they have such a very little one this is such a very little place, and there isn’t much to tell about. I shouldn’t think it was very interesting here.”

The last thing she saw before she went to sleep, was the old negro; and the first on which her eyes opened was the white-haired man, still sitting there, poring over his leaf, as if he had not moved from that spot; and yet she felt as if she had taken quite a long, refreshing nap.

She gently turned her head, and looked at her companions. Belle did not appear to have moved, lying fast asleep with her cheek on Maggie’s dress, and her hat over her eyes, just as she had lain down. Mr. Travers sat with his back against a tree, his arms folded, his eyes closed, and bareheaded. Bessie turned a little more, so that she could see Maggie.

Why! was it possible? Yes, surely: watchful Maggie was fast asleep too. The pine-tree against which she leaned did not shoot up with a straight, unbroken trunk, as they generally do, but was a kind of twin tree, parting into two a foot above the ground, and forming a crook or fork. In this fork was the “bad hat,” and on the “bad hat” lay Maggie’s head, as peacefully as though it were the pillow of her own pretty bed at home; and Maggie was as sound asleep as if it were that same familiar pillow. One dimpled hand loosely held Mr. Travers’ pencil, and the paper lay fluttering unheeded on the ground at her feet. Bessie picked it up lest the breeze should blow it away, and Maggie’s precious thoughts be lost. But it was evident that the letter had not made much progress, for Bessie found only these words written: —

“Oh, dear, darling Uncle Ruthven, – Such a horrible, dreadful adventure!”

She would not disturb any of the others, but sat quiet a moment watching them, then turned her eyes again towards the old negro.

“I think I’ll go speak to him,” she said to herself. “He is a great while reading his paper, and I s’pose he can’t make it out very well. Maybe I could help him, and he was very kind to us.”

She rose softly, and walked slowly towards the old man. He looked up and smiled, saying, —

“Little Miss want for any ting ole Joe can do for her?”

“No, thank you,” said Bessie, now feeling rather shy of asking him if she could help him; then after a moment’s pause she added, “You were reading when I went to sleep, and you are reading now.”

“Yes, little Miss,” he answered, “Joe read most all de time when no trains on hand and he work all done up.”

“Is it a little newspaper?” asked Bessie.

“A newspaper?” he answered, spreading the sheet on his knee, and laying his hand reverently upon it. “Yes, Missy, a newspaper what habs great news in it, de best news in de worl’, – de news how de Lord Jesus come down to save sinners, and old Joe among ’em. Do little Miss know dat news?”

“Oh, yes!” said Bessie, simply. “I always knew it. I’m glad you think it’s good news, Joe, then I know you love Him.”

“Sure, Missy,” said Joe, “how I gwine for help love Him when I knows He done such a ting for Joe?”

Feeling on the instant a bond of sympathy between herself and the old negro, Bessie slipped her soft little hand into his hard, black palm, as she said, —

“But some people who know it don’t love Him.”

Joe shook his head sorrowfully.

“Yes, an’ I bery sorry for dem folks; but I bery glad for Joe, and for little Miss too, for I ’spect she love Him by de way she speak, an’ I know de Lord love her.”

“Did you mean that was out of the Bible?” asked Bessie, looking at the printed sheet which she now saw was torn, scorched, and soiled.

“Yes,” answered Joe, triumphantly, “it out ob de Bible;” and he placed it in Bessie’s hand.

Yes, it was out of the Bible, two leaves: one containing the second chapter of Luke, with the account of the Saviour’s birth; the other, part of the fifteenth and the whole of the sixteenth of Mark, relating his death and resurrection.

“I hab de beginnin’ an’ de end,” said Joe, “an’ I hab some more too, some ob my Lord’s own bressed words what He preach to His people;” and he drew from his pocket a single leaf, containing most of the sixth chapter of Matthew.

“Is that all you have of the Bible?” asked Bessie.

“Dat’s all, Missy, but dey’s a deal ob preciousness in it: dey’s words what bears readin’ ober and ober. To be sure, dey’s times when I gets longin’ for more; but I jes says, ‘Come now, old Joe, don’t be so ongrateful. Ef de Lord had meant you to hab more He would ha’ sent it you;’ and I tank Him for not lettin’ dis be burn up an’ for lettin’ me fin’ it ’fore it was blowed away by de wind.”

“Where did you find it, and how did it come so burnt and torn?” asked Bessie.

“Foun’ it ober by Miss Sims’ house. ’Spect she use it for her bakin’, and when de bread done she trow it out, an’ de Lord He let old Joe fin’ it. Bress His holy name.”

“Do you mean she baked her bread on the leaves of the Bible?” asked Bessie, exceedingly shocked.

“’Pears like it, Missy. I ’spect she don’t know its wort’, poor woman!” said Joe, with a pitying thought for the owner of the pretty, comfortable cottage, who was so much poorer than himself.

Bessie stood looking at him with a multitude of feelings struggling for expression on her sweet, wistful, little face. Indignation at the treatment received by God’s Holy Word; pity, respect, and tender sympathy for the old negro, – were almost too much for her, and her color rose, and the tears came to her eyes.

“Little Miss feel so bad ’bout it as did old Joe,” he said, “but, Missy, dat was de Lord’s way to help old Joe. Long time he ben wantin’ a Bible an’ save up he money, and hab mos’ enough; an’ one day a poor feller come along what hab no shoes an’ hab cut he foot awful, an’ he mus’ go on to de city to see his chile what dyin’; an’ de Lord say in my heart, ‘Joe, you gib dat money for shoes for dis poor feller,’ an’ I couldn’t help it no way, Missy, an’ I buys him de shoes out de store. An’ he ain’t gone but little time, an’ I walkin’ roun’ by Miss Sims’ feelin’ down in de mout’ along ob my Bible; an’ a piece ob paper come blowin’ to my feet, an’ I picks him up, an’ ain’t he a bit out my Lord’s book, an’ I sarch roun’ an’ fin’ noder one. Praise de name ob de Lord what sen’ Joe such comfort till he hab more money!”

Bessie still stood silent, her heart too full for words at the simple story of this old disciple’s self-sacrifice. And he had only these three leaves out of God’s precious Book, while at home there were Bibles without number for all who needed them. Oh! if she only had one to give him. But here there was none, – yes, there was too.

Just before they left home, grandmamma had given to each of the little girls a Testament and Psalms bound together. She thought they might be more convenient for daily use in travelling, than the handsomely bound Bibles which they generally used at home; and if they should happen to be lost would not be so much regretted. They had been carried in the little satchels all the way; and now, as usual, Bessie’s satchel hung by her side. The book was not large; but the print was good and clear, far better than that on old Joe’s cherished leaf, and what a world of riches it would hold for him.

“I could give him mine,” thought Bessie, “and he would be so glad. I don’t b’lieve grandmamma would mind if I gave away her present for such a reason as this; and Maggie will let me use hers when I want to read. I think I ought to give it to him, and I know I would like to.”

“S’pose little miss kin read fus’ rate,” said Joe, interrupting her thoughts.

“Mamma says I can read very nicely,” she answered.

“Maybe she wouldn’t min’ readin’ out a piece. Some words most too hard for Joe, but he kin listen fus’ rate.”

Bessie drew her satchel around, and unfastened it.

“Shall I read you some out of my own little Testament?” she said, drawing forth the book.

Joe’s eyes brightened.

“If Missy be so good,” he said, eagerly. “She hab it all dere: all how de Lord Jesus lib an die, an lib again, an’ talk for his people?”

“Yes,” said Bessie. “What would you like me to read?”

“If Missy read where He say, ‘Let not your heart be trouble’; an’ how He go to make a place for dose what follers Him.”

Bessie found the fourteenth of John, and read it carefully and distinctly, the old man listening intently. When she came to the fourteenth verse, he raised his hand and said, —

“I t’ought so. I t’ought dere war a promise like dat. Now I know sure some day He gib me a Bible, I allers do ax it in His name, an’ He promise allers stan’ sure.”

“Yes,” said Bessie, thoughtfully; then added, in a tone of some self-reproach, “but, Joe, I forgot that promise once this morning.”