F
lora began to grow tired of staying so much alone, but she was not ready to give up the "'fumery," so she had to continue an exile. Dinah was no longer good company, for she had lost many of her faculties, and one eye. She glanced at Flora, with the one that was left, in a very singular manner. Perhaps she wanted to explain to her mistress that somebody had taken a fancy to the blue button, but you must remember she could not talk. She could only stare in a very startling way. Flora did not like it at all, and at Amy'ssuggestion tied a bandage round her head, which completely hid the defect, and softened the expression of the blue button remaining. She was supposed to be sweetly sleeping in the library this pleasant afternoon. She was really lying in a heap on the kitchen door step, and Flora, for lack of something better to do was hanging lazily on the big gate, gazing down the road. She was in that critical condition when mischief "takes."
She had climbed the gate and was hanging there, ready to be swayed by the first wind that blew, whether fair or foul. It happened to be a foul wind, and it came in the form of a queer little cart drawn by a limping horse moving slowly up the road. The body of the cart was a square box, and it was painted blue. The wheels were red. The old horse had been gray in his palmy days; he was now a dingy white. Flora liked him because he looked sober, and because hejumped so high when he walked; and when the cart got near enough for her to see its bright colors, she concluded to take a ride. So she got down, drew the bolt and opened the big gate (thereby breaking one of mamma's rules), and then she went out and waited at the side of the road for her carriage. The limping horse jumped so high at every step that he did not get over the ground very fast, and Flora had some time to wait. Long enough to realize that she was about to do a very wrong thing, and grieve mamma. But she did not once think of that; her head was turned by the little blue cart, and the old white horse. When the driver came within speaking distance, she nodded as a signal for him to stop, and he, thinking the child had business with him said "Whoa!" and the horse stopped.
"Anything in my line to-day, little girl?"
"Yes," said Flora. "I should like—"
"Any soap grease, old boots—iron, bottles, rags, newspapers? Carry the best of soap, and pay cash on the nail. Eight cents for white, three for colored."
"To take a ride," said Flora, somewhat bewildered, but finishing her sentence.
"Hey?"
"If you please, I should like to take a ride."
"Not with me?"
"I should."
"Not in this cart?"
"I think it is a very pretty cart, and I like your horse very much."
"You do, eh?"
"Yes," said Flora.
"And I don't. That's the odds. He is rayther antiquated even for my business. The crows will have a bone or two to pick with him one of these days. Think they won't?"
If you please, I should like to take a rideIf you please, I should like to take a ride?p. 109.
"If you please I should like to take a ride," said Flora, for the third time.
"Polly want a cracker?"
Flora did not understand what the driver meant by that, so she again repeated her request, at which he laughed heartily and said,—
"Polly does want a cracker."
"Then why don't you give it to her?" queried Flora.
"Would you?"
"I would."
"You are particular who you ride with, I reckon."
"I am."
"You pick and choose your company, you do."
"I do."
"Well, then, scramble up. The seat is rayther narrow, but we can stow close."
"That is not polite. Gemplemen don't do that way."
"They don't, eh?"
"No. They get down and help ladies up."
"You don't expect me to get down!"
"I do."
"What! when I have been bobbing round all day?"
"Yes!" said Flora.
"Can't do it. I've got the rheumatiz."
"My Grandma has that,—in her back."
"She does, eh?"
Flora nodded.
"Well, you may give my respects to the old lady, when you see her, and tell her I have got it too."
"I will. Want to go to ride, now."
"And you won't scramble up?"
"Want you to get down."
The driver laughed, but held out his hand, and bade her take a good hold. The handwas very red, and it was greasy; but Flora did not mind that. She grasped it firmly, and was lifted to the narrow seat, and then the lame horse started into a jog. Beside being narrow, the seat was so short that Flora had to sit very close to the greasy driver, and her pretty blue dress was not improved by contact with his frock, which was blue, also.
"Papa's horse does not dance that way," she said, regretfully.
"It isn't every horse that can be trained to that sort of thing," returned the driver, gravely. "Mine, now, is one out of a thousand. How will your pa swap?"
"I wish he would," she answered earnestly, for the first time looking her companion full in the face. "Why!" she exclaimed, joyfully, "It is you, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes! it's me. Have you just found that out?"
"I thought you was a stranger."
"You did, eh!"
"I did."
"I knew you was a stranger all the time."
"But I ain't."
"No?"
"No. I am Flora Lee."
"And who am I?"
"You are Mr. Podge."
"Podge?"
"You are."
"Not if I know myself."
"You are, too, Mr. Hodge Podge. That's what you told me. Don't you remember your own name?"
He remembered all about it now, and he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that he dropped the reins, and had to get down to pick them up, which pleased Flora very much. When the reins dropped, the limping horse stood still.
"I didn't know it was you, Miss Fiddle-de-dee," he said, as he mounted to his seat, and urged him into a jog again.
"How is Deacon Brown?"
"He is pretty well, I thank you. My name is Flora Lee."
"And how are all the Sunday children?"
"Oh! they are pretty well, I thank you too. And I am; and Dinah is. She is asleep."
"You have had your face washed since I saw you last. That is the reason I didn't know you. I never saw you with a clean face before."
"Hands, too," said Flora, holding out one plump hand. She was holding on with the other.
"How we are slicked up!" he exclaimed, "and it isn't Sunday, either!"
T
he readers of the Little Pitcher stories will recognize this young man. Flora met him one day in a crowd around a peddler's wagon, drawn thither by a poor blind kitten that had been brought to light from the depths of the peddler's rag-bag. She had not forgotten him, but he never would have thought of her again, if she had not addressed him by the odd name he had given her as his own. That refreshed his memory, and he laughed to think that she really believed him when he told her his name was Hodge Podge.
As the little cart was jerked along over the rough ground, Flora became very chatty. She did not in the least mind being jolted, and she was not afraid of falling from the seat for she held fast to the driver's greasy frock. The blue box behind her was full of soap grease, but the cover was down, and the baskets that hung upon the iron hooks that bristled from all sides, were filled with bottles and scraps of various kinds, that made a pleasant jingle as they were jostled against each other by the motion of the cart. She had never enjoyed a ride so much. Her father's easy carriage, with cushioned seat and elastic springs, could not be compared to the soap man's little box on red wheels. Besides, papa's horse could not dance, he had never learned how; and he ran so fast that she could not see the flowers and the pretty sights as they rode along. She was not at all concerned as to how the ride would end,and where she was going she had not the slightest idea. So the old horse jogged along, carrying her farther and farther from home every minute, and she chatted sociably with Mr. Podge, and never felt so happy in her life.
The soap man was going home. He felt good-natured and comfortable, for he had had a prosperous day. It was only four o'clock, but his little cart was well loaded, and his last call had been made. And that was the reason he did not stop at any of the houses in the village. If he had, somebody would have recognized Flora. And they passed a very few persons on the road, but not one who knew that the little girl in the blue dress did not belong to the man in the blue frock. When he thought Flora had rode far enough, he stopped the cart and told her to "hop down." But she was not ready to hop down; she was just beginning to enjoy the ride.
"You won't know the way back," he said, warningly.
"I shall," said Flora.
"And if you ride any farther, I may not let you go home at all. You don't know where you are now."
"I do. Going to take a ride."
"It will be dark by-and-by."
"Not dark now."
"And it is going to rain."
"Make the horse jump."
The old horse started off once more, and this time a little faster. He seemed to know that he was heading towards home. The driver was really troubled about Flora, for he knew the little girl had rode far enough. He was willing to indulge her by carrying her a little way but he wanted her to get down when he said the word. He tried to frighten her by saying he should not stop the horse again.
"Don't want to stop," she answered, taking the musk from her pocket and holding it to his nose. "Smell?"
He started back and made a wry face.
"What is that?" he asked.
"My 'fumery."
"Your fumery."
"It is. Bertie caught it in a trap."
"That'swhat I have been smelling all along."
"Yes," said Flora.
"I thought there was a musquash somewhere near."
"It is only me."
She took a prolonged sniff, and restored the precious perfume to her pocket.
"Mamma don't like it, and Grandma don't. I do. And Dinah does. And you do."
"Not much, I don't."
"Smells good?"
"Good and strong, yes. Now little musquash, farewell."
"No," said Flora.
"Look here, miss. Won't you catch it for running away?"
"Why, Mr. Podge! What a funny man! Ain't running away. Taking a ride. Runned away once. To Deacon Brown. Had dinner and a nap."
"Didn't you tell me you was one of the Sunday children?"
"I did."
"Don't believe it."
Flora's eyes flashed. Not believe that she was one of the Sunday children!
"I don't," he repeated solemnly. "They know how to behave. Sunday children don't run away, they don't, and good girls mind their mother."
"I do."
"A tough one to mind you are."
"Do, too, Mr. Podge. Want to go home now."
"You can't stop the horse."
"I can. Whoa!"
But he did not stop, for his master slyly urged him on. She was in earnest now: she really wanted to go home, and she called "Whoa!" again, but the old horse still jogged on.
"I told you so," said the driver.
"Oh, Mr. Horse!" she cried in alarm. "Won't you please to stop. I want to get out. Just one minute, dear Mr. Horse, if you please."
This appeal seemed to touch his feelings, and, to her great delight, he stopped.
"He knows what politeness is, he does," said the driver. "Now look sharp before you get down, and see if you ever were in this place before."
Flora did as she was bid, and she saworchards white with blossoms, a rustic bridge, a few scattering houses; but not one familiar object. They had passed out of the village, and the country was strange to her. In vain she looked for papa's house, or Grandma's; they were nowhere to be seen.
"Well, Miss Fiddle-de-dee?"
Flora sighed heavily.
"You are lost, eh?"
"Can't see papa's house. Too bad!"
"I thought so."
He took up the reins, and the poor tired horse turned about unwillingly. He did not want to go back, and would not believe his master was in earnest till he felt a sharp tingle from the whip.
"Don't want to ride any more," said Flora, wearily; "want to get out."
"Getting scared, eh?"
"Flora is tired."
She was beginning to realize her situation, and felt in a hurry to see home again.
"I shan't dump you here, miss," said the man, "so you may as well set still a while longer. If you are lost, likely as not somebody will blame me. I will carry you back a piece, and when you think you know the road I will put you down. Lean your head against my arm if you are tired."
Flora would not do that for she suddenly discovered that the sleeve was greasy, and she moved as far away from it as the narrow seat would permit. But she did not dare let go for the cart jolted worse than ever. The man drove slowly along, and she anxiously scanned the houses as they passed. Once or twice he stopped, but Flora could not tell where she was, and not till they got into the village did the surroundings look familiar. Then she exclaimed—
"Goody! I know now."
"You are sure?"
"I am. Go that way," pointing in the right direction.
"Well, then, hop down; and when you beg a ride again, be sure you know the driver before you get in. Do you hear?"
"I do. Good-by, Mr. Podge."
F
lora jumped down and ran away without thanking the soap man for the ride, or for his kindness in bringing her so far on her journey home. She was glad to get away from the cart and the limping horse, and the poor old horse was glad too. You ought to have seen him when his head was turned the other way again. He trotted along so briskly with the little blue cart, that anybody could have told he was running away from Flora. Perhaps his supper was waiting for him, as Flora's was for her, and he was in a hurry to eat it. They went so fast in opposite directionsthat in a few minutes they were out of sight of each other.
Flora was now glad to walk. She had been so long cramped upon the narrow seat, that it was a pleasure to stretch her limbs and skip about; or would have been, only she was so hungry. It is dreadful to be hungry when there is nothing good to eat in your pocket. There was nothing good to eat in Flora's pocket. She turned it wrong side out, hoping to find a few crumbs in the corners, but there was not one; and then she remembered that it was her blue dress which had been worn but a few days; not long enough to gather woolly crumbs.
"Too bad!" she murmured, and the tears came into her eyes, for she was now more hungry than before. And at that moment a bowl of nice bread and milk was on the table waiting for her; but between her and it was a long, weary walk. It would nothave seemed far to Charley or Bertie, and it really was only a mile, but a mile is a long journey for little tired feet, and Flora was hungry too. She could not see very well as she put the things back into her pocket, the tears blinded her. Perhaps that was the reason she left something out. And what do you suppose it was? She walked away and left her precious "'fumery" lying on the ground. Of course she did not know it, and she felt dreadfully about it afterwards, but she never could tell where she lost it.
While she was putting the things back, she felt some spatters on her head. She looked up, and there was such a black cloud overhead. It was true, then, what the driver of the blue cart had said. The rain was coming, and it seemed to be growing dark, too. What if the rain and darkness should both overtake her before she got home? She must make haste now. She hurried on as fast asher little feet would carry her. She was running away from the rain and the night. She did not think of applying at any of the houses for shelter, or of asking for food; she had but one wish, to get home to dear mamma. By-and-by the tired feet began to flag, but she felt no more spatters, and she was glad that she had left the shower behind. It was lighter, too; she could run faster than the night. As there was to be no rain, she concluded to rest if she came to a nice place, and soon she came to a very nice place just off the road, which looked so inviting that she sat down and leaned her head against the smooth, grassy mound. It was sheltered by fine old trees, and the new grass and the fresh earth smelt sweet, as she laid her wet cheek against the cool pillow, that she could not make up her mind to leave it. She said to herself that she would rest one little minute, but when the little minute was gone, she hadforgotten the night was following so fast upon her footsteps. She lay drowsily watching the shining bugs and creeping things that shared her green pillow, and thought how happy she should feel if it were not for being so very hungry. And then she was no longer hungry, for sleep stole upon her unawares, and no one in passing noticed the curly-haired child lying on the damp ground, with tears upon her cheek, and the night that was creeping on so surely, overtook her and passed by, dropping his mantle of darkness upon her as she lay asleep. And the shower came next, and tried to wake her by sprinkling her with gentle drops. It said quite plainly, "The night has come, and the rain. Hurry, little one!" But Flora did not wake till the north wind shook her roughly, asking, in gruff tones, "What are you doing here?" Then she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and tried to collect her scattered ideas. Why was thewind shaking her so roughly? And what made her pillow cold and wet? She thought she was at home in her own bed, and she called aloud, "mamma!" But there was no mamma to answer. Then she felt the raindrops upon her face, and heard them pattering on the leaves of the big trees, and the wind whistled among the branches, and shook them as it had shaken her, making them cry out with pain, and she remembered all at once that she had laid down for one little minute to rest, but what made it so dark and cold she did not know.
She was certain that she had left the night far behind; yet here it was, and the rain. Her pretty blue dress was wet through, and the dampness had taken the life out of her garden hat, so that its broad rim flapped about her face in a very uncomfortable way. Little rivulets trickled down from it upon her neck and shoulders, and her wet curlsclung closely; but they could not keep her warm. She got up and tried to find the road. She had wandered from it in search of a resting place, and now it was lost. She could not find it anywhere. She was afraid to venture far from the grassy mound, yet the road was but a short distance away. A few steps more, and she would have seen friendly lights glancing from two or three houses; but the darkness confused her, and sleep had benumbed her senses. Oh, if some one would come and carry her to mamma! It was so dreadful to be alone in the night. It was worse than hunger and cold. If she only had Dinah! Dinah would be sorry. Poor Dinah! She was in as bad a plight as her mistress. No one had taken her from the door-step where she was lying in a heap, soaked through and through by the rain. All her faculties were gone now, all her members disordered. There was nothing abouther worth preserving but the one glass eye. Flora happily was spared this knowledge, and the very thought of the black baby was a comfort. Suddenly, something cold touched her hand and startled her. It was the nose of a large dog. She was not at all frightened when the great creature looked up at her and inquired what the trouble was. She was overjoyed at finding something to speak to. She clasped her arms around his neck and kissed him twice on the forehead, and he was much pleased with the reception. He kissed her many times, and wagged his tail with vigor. He was telling her that he was very sorry to find such a nice little girl out so late; but that he knew shewasa nice little girl, and he should like the pleasure of seeing her home. And Flora understood him perfectly. She was no longer alone. She held the dog's shaggy head close to the bosom of her wet dress and told him she waslost, and that he was a splendid old fellow to poke his nose into her hand, and that if he would show her the way to mamma's house he should have as many bones as he could eat. And the bones made her think of her own bowl of bread and milk, waiting on the table at home. Was it waiting there now, or had somebody carried it away, thinking she would never need it? She sighed, and patted her friend's cold nose, and whispered that she was very hungry. He understood all about that, too. Many a time he had gone to bed without any supper; but he said nothing to Flora of his own sufferings. He licked her hand in silent sympathy.
T
hey went out into the road together, Flora clinging closely to the dog's shaggy coat and talking pleasantly as they trotted along, side by side.
"Do you live somewhere? I do. When I get there. Don't know the way. You do, nice doggy. I like you. Are you all wet? I am. And cold? I am too. Musn't cry if you are wet. I don't, and good dogs don't. Get home pretty soon."
When she saw houses and the lights shining, she was rejoiced, for now she would have supper, dry clothes and a warm bed. She fell on her new friend's neck andembraced him again; but for him, she would not have found the road. She might have wandered about all night in the cold and rain. The dog started off with a purpose. There was no doubt in his mind as to the best course. Finding a brisk trot unsuited to Flora's weak condition, he toned down and trudged along steadily at a moderate pace till he reached a shabby dwelling, with ricketty steps in front, that creaked as he went up, and an old door that shook when he pressed his nose against it. There was one small window through which the light of the fire was dancing, and it looked very pleasant to Flora. The dog gave a short, quick bark, and a woman appeared at the window; but no one opened the door. Flora saw the woman very plainly, but she could not see Flora. The dog waited patiently a moment, and then barked again, at the same time scratching upon the door with his bigpaw. It opened this time, and a sharp voice said: "Come in."
Doggy simply looked in and wagged his tail.
"Well, then, stay out."
The door was about to close when another voice said, "Old woman, the brute is a-telling of us something. Can't you sense nothing?" and Flora clambered up the steps as well as she could with her wet clothes hanging about her, and went in with her new friend, who introduced her as a young lady in distress he had taken the liberty to bring home.
"Well, I never!" exclaimed the woman Flora had seen at the window. "Did you rain down?"
"I did," said Flora.
"And who do you belong to anyhow?"
"Belong to mamma, and I want to go home, if you please."
"Jack?"
"What is it, old woman?"
"I can't make it out. Come here."
Jack, who was in the pantry eating his supper, came in with his mouth full. Flora knew him at once. It was Jack Midnight; but he did not recognize her till she cried, "Oh, I am so glad!"
"Well, if it ain't the little miss!" said Jack. "Whatever have you been a-doing?"
"What little miss?" queried the woman.
"Mr. Lee's little miss. She belongs to the white cottage."
"You don't say!"
"Appears like quality folks, don't she?"
"Set right up and dry yourself off a bit," said the woman, bustling about to make Flora comfortable; "you are as wet as a drowned rat. Have you had your supper?"
"No," said Flora. "Want to go now."
"Take a bite first," said Jack, offering a piece of his bread and butter.
But Flora would not eat, and she would not sit by the fire; she stood with her arms round the dog's neck, and waited for Jack to carry her to mamma. When she refused the bread, Jack remembered that Towzer was hungry and gave it to him; but it was a very light meal for Towzer, and Flora whispered to him that he should have a whole supper when she got to mamma: and her friend wagged his tail as if he should enjoy that very much. When Jack got ready to go, the dog was ready too. Jack took the poor child in his arms, and Towzer trotted by his side. There was quite a pool of water where Flora had been standing, which had dripped from her wet clothes.
"Well!" said Jack. "If you ain't a soppy bundle! Wherehaveyou been?"
"Been to ride," said Flora. "In a blue cart with Mr. Podge."
"Run away?"
"No. Got lost."
"And Towzer found you."
"He did."
She reached over and patted Towzer's cold nose.
"He is a good dog. I like him."
Then out of gratitude to Jack, who was carrying her in his arms, she added, "I like you too."
"You can sing more than one tune, can't you?" said Jack, laughing. "Which do you like most now, me or Towzer?"
"Towzer, a little bit; because heisa dog, you know, and you are a boy."
"A bad boy."
"Not a bad boy."
Flora had suddenly changed her mind; and when Jack opened the big gate and she had found her dear old home once more, she actually kissed his grimy face and said she should "'member him long as she lived."
What a commotion he created by walking in, with Flora clinging to his neck! Charley was the first to cry out, "There she is!" and everybody flocked to hear all about it. But Flora crept into mamma's lap and had not a word to say, and all that Jack knew was told in a few words.
"My dog picked her up somewhere and fetched her home," and then Flora asked for Towzer, who had been shut out, and Charley went out and invited him in. Inquiries had been made in all directions; but no one could give any clue to Flora, and papa had gone to the town crier with a "Lost" notice, describing the little girl and the dress she wore when she left her home. Bertie was sent after him with all despatch, and Amy ran over to relieve the anxious heart of Grandma. The little pet was found, and she had been guided to a place of safety by Jack Midnight's dog! They could not praise himenough. They had never noticed him before, because he belonged to Jack; but now, both Jack and his dog were in high favor.
Charley declared to Bertie, afterwards, that there was no longer a lump in his throat. He had swallowed the rooster. While mamma was making her little girl dry and warm, Towzer was being feasted in the kitchen, and for the first time since he was a puppy he had what Flora called "a whole supper." He was generally put off with a few scraps or a crust; but to-night he had all that he could eat, and he was not bashful about having his plate re-filled or backward in asking for more. Jack protested against such a waste. There was "enough to victual him a week," he said; "the brute never would know when he was full." But Charley was determined to give him a chance to know, and at last he poked over a dainty morsel with his coldnose, left it, went back to it, left it again, unable to clear his plate.
"Lost his appetite," said Bertie; but Amy said he was a sensible dog and left the last piece for manners' sake, which was probably true. After his hearty meal, Towzer made himself at home, and laid down before the fire with his shaggy head upon his paws, as if he had been used to high living from puppyhood.
T
owzer lay on the warm hearth and blinked at the fire, while his thick coat was drying.
"I tell you what it is," said Bertie; "if there is any virtue in good living, I mean to put a streak of fat on that fellow's bones."
"You can't do it," returned Jack. "I have been a-working on him these two years. He is one of your lean kind."
"I intend to try it, to pay for his kindness to Flora."
"How would it do to plaster him all over with beef steak?" queried Charley.
"That is my plan," said Bertie. "What do you think of it, my dog?"
He thought it the best piece of news he had ever heard, and he left his warm, corner to thank Bertie in his dumb but eloquent way. He looked up into Bertie's face and wagged his tail, and said as plainly as a dog could say, that he was grateful. Mamma exchanged the blue dress for a flannel wrapper. It never could be called pretty again. Then she brushed out the wet curls and chafed the rosy feet with her own warm hands. Under such treatment, Flora began to revive.
"Going to be a good girl," she said, gratefully.
"And mind mamma?"
"I will. Never open the big gate again."
"Did you open it?"
"I did. Flora is hungry."
How happy she was, sitting on papa's knee with a bowl of bread and milk in her lap!
When Amy brought it, she grasped it eagerly with both fat hands and took a long, deep draught.
"The little pet is nearly starved," said Amy.
"The little pet will never forget this day," said papa; "she has had a hard lesson."
After she had eaten all the bread and milk, Jack and Towzer were brought in to say good night; and Towzer poked his nose against the rosy feet, to make sure that they were no longer cold and wet, and rested his head for a moment upon papa's knee.
"Come again," said Flora.
"He will be a-fetching up here every other thing," said Jack. "You needn't bother about asking of him. All is, if he gets sassy you must kick him out."
"I should like to see anybody kick that dog when I am round," said Charley, doubling uphis fist and looking warlike. "He would find that he had got his match."
"We will shake hands on that," said Bertie. Which they did quite solemnly.
And then they shook hands with Jack, and Towzer went back to have more last words with Flora, and a parting embrace: and after they were gone Flora was so drowsy, that she could not tell about her ride in the soap man's little blue cart, her head drooped upon papa's shoulder, and her eyelids were very heavy.
"She has not said her prayer," observed Bertie, who hoped she would keep awake long enough to tell the story of her adventure.
"Try," said Charley.
"Yes, darling, try," urged Bertie.
But Flora was too far gone even to try; so mamma laid her gently down in her own comfortable bed, where the rain and the wind could not disturb her slumbers, and lovinglystroked the fair hair and the soft cheek. She was very thankful that her little daughter was safe once more under the dear home roof. But Flora thought she was lying out under the old trees, and in her dreams could smell the sweet grass and the fresh earth, and once she laughed aloud in her sleep; she was running away from the rain and from the night.
When Charley and Bertie went home it was still raining fast. But they had not far to go. They lived in the new brown cottage over the way, you will remember, that was built to take the place of their old home, destroyed by fire. When they were going down the steps, Charley struck some object with his foot. "Holloa!" he said, and Bertie asked "What now?"
"I have run against a snag," said Charley.
"Where away?"
"Down here next the bottom step. I have sent something flying."
"I don't see anything," said Bertie, groping about in the dark. "It can't be good for much, if it has been out in this shower. Where did she land?"
"Somewhere in the path. I should say you could not go far wrong, if you were to follow your nose."
"Indeed!"
"It is precious damp."
"Awful!" said Bertie. "I cannot bear to think of Flora wandering round in such a storm."
"It was rather rough on the Baby Pitcher," asserted Charley.
"It is bad enough to be lost in fair weather with daylight before you."
"I believe you. What is this?"
Bertie had stumbled upon the object.
"That must be the article," said Charley. "Bring it to the light."
They carried it into the hall and threw it upon a mat, for it was dripping, and Charley turned it over with his foot.
"What do you make of it?" queried Bertie.
"It is the black baby," said Charley.
"Or her remains?"
"Yes, there isn't much left of her."
"It does not look much like Dinah, and that is a fact."
"She is pretty well used up, all but one eye. That looks natural."
"Yes," said Bertie, "very. Can't she be brought round?"
"I am afraid not. One sound eye isn't enough to build on."
"What a pity!" said Bertie. "If she cannot be patched up what are we going to do?"
Charley shook his head.
"We must keep it from Flora."
"Yes."
"We will hide it."
"Where?"
"Anywhere so that Flora may never find it."
"Good!" said Charley. "We will hide it, and she will think her baby has turned into a blackbird and flown away."
So they carried the black baby home with them, and Flora never saw her again. But they saved the blue glass button; it would do for an eye if Grandma should chance to make another Dinah.
What had become of Dinah was a wonder. Flora sought her first in the library, where she had left her sleeping, then in every place she could think of; but the baby was gone; there was not a trace of it anywhere. And the perfumery was gone too. Flora was not long in making that discovery, and she feltworse about the perfumery than she did about Dinah. She knew that was lost when she put her hand in the pocket of her blue dress, but she did not give up Dinah for a long, long time. In fact she never felt certain that the black baby would not return to her. If she had gone to be a blackbird, as Charley suggested, why, she might be coming back some day. Perhaps she would get tired of being a bird, or she might break a wing as the robin had done, and if she did, she should never get another chance to fly away.
Grandma did not make another Dinah. It would have been a new one, and could never take the place of the old; and as Flora was so hopeful, Grandma thought she would be happier in looking forward to the return of her long-tried friend than she could ever be with a new favorite. But Dinah's place was not long vacant. Towzer fitted into it quite naturally, and, as he was in many respectsa more pleasant companion, Flora did not miss the black baby as she otherwise would have done.
F
lora seemed to be none of the worse for her perilous adventure. After a refreshing sleep, she awoke happy and bright, not the least like the miserable child of the night before. And indeed, she could not remember how miserable she had been. When she tried to think how cold and wet and lonely it was out there in the night, she could not; for now it was no longer cold; the sun was shining, and there was no more darkness. Papa had said she would never forget that day; she had almost forgotten it already. So hard is it to realizeour perils, when we look back upon them. But there was the blue dress that never could be worn again, and the water-soaked garden hat. The sight of these brought back a momentary feeling of loneliness, and when she looked out upon the pleasant morning, there was Jack Midnight's dog, with his nose between the bars of the big gate. It was really true, then, the groping about in the dark, and all the rest; and Towzer had not forgotten yet. When Flora appeared at the window, he dropped his ears and turned sadly away. He was looking for his friend of the night before, the little girl that clung so closely around his neck, and begged him to take her to mamma. He did not know Flora. But when she called to him, he answered with a joyful cry. He knew the voice.
"Keep away from the big gate," she said, warningly. "Must not open that."
"Bow-wow!" said Towser; "I don't carea straw for the big gate. I would jump over it if I was younger, and I would squeeze myself through the bars if the space was only wide enough. Bow-wow, who cares for the big gate?"
"Go round the other side," said Flora, "and I will let you in."
Towzer wagged his tail, and started off, as if he meant to go round, but he was only making believe. He was back again in a moment, dancing about like a young puppy. You would never have supposed him to be the old, sedate dog that he was.
"What makes you so frisky," asked Flora.
"Bow-wow," said he. "Cannot a poor old cur be frisky when he is happy?"
He was happy, because a stream of sunshine had struggled into his sober life. It promised him friends and kind words, and that which he needed most of all,—a streak of fat to cover his bare bones. Flora said they were"nice, fat bones;" she called them fat because they were so large; and indeed they were sadly large and prominent. Bertie's plaster proved to be the proper remedy.
Under its influence the bones gradually disappeared, and, according to Flora's theory, became leaner and smaller. Jack declared that the way that dog was a picking up, beat all nature! Flora never admitted Towzer at the big gate, and he very soon learned to go round. It was the big gate that opened the way to Flora's troubles, and she had a wholesome fear of it in consequence.
"Never open it again," she said, when she had finished the story of her trials.
And she never did, without permission. The little blue cart and the limping horse sometimes passed, and, although the soap man was always on the lookout, he never again found Flora waiting to take a ride. She did not forget what mamma told her:"Ladies do not ride in carts, and they never ask to ride with strangers. Little girls cannot be expected todoright always; but good children alwaystryto do right."
"I am glad I did not see you riding with the soap man," said Amy. "I should have felt ashamed of my little sister."
"She would have come off that box in a hurry if I had been anywhere about," added Charley, in a threatening tone.
That stirred up the Baby Pitcher.
"Wouldn't either," she answered, tartly.
Charley tossed his head in a provoking way, that made Bertie say "Don't!"
"I shall do so again," said Flora.
"I wouldn't," said Bertie.
"Wouldn't you, truly?"
"No," answered Bertie, seriously, "not if I were a little girl."
"Then I won't, and Dinah won't. Oh! She has gone to be a blackbird—I forgot."
Amy kissed her little sister and talked to her in a gentle, soothing manner, that smoothed out all the wrinkles. And then Charley felt sorry he had roused the "Leo spunk," and he told such funny stories that Flora felt very placid and comfortable, and quite at peace with everybody. In losing the perfumery she lost a treasure, and for that she was sorry; but she was glad to be restored to all her social rights and privileges. She was no longer obliged to stand out on the door-stone when she talked to Grandma, for the odor of musk was dying out. Grandma's doors were thrown wide open, and no one was more welcome than the Baby Pitcher.