“I sha’n’t be afraid”
“I sha’n’t be afraid”
“Oh, right along here, yesterday morning.”
“I mean today. Have you seen her today?”
“No, no, I haven’t set eyes on her today. What’s the matter? Is she lost?”
“It looks as if she were lost. We can’t find her.”
“Well, she’ll be back.
‘Let ’em alone,
And they’ll come home,
Wagging their tails behind them.’”
They heard his great voice echo down the river, as they drove on.
Nobody had seen Clematis. Nobody knew anything about her.
Mrs. Alder looked everywhere at home.
Her bag and box were neatly packed and ready, but there was no sign of the little girl who owned them.
Many people were looking for Clematis that afternoon.
Ned Atkinson ran everywhere, telling people about the lost girl.
They looked in the woods and in the fields. They looked all along the river banks.
When night came, they were still hunting, but had found no trace of Clematis.
“I can’t sleep a wink tonight,” said Mrs. Alder. “I think the child must be crazy, to run off like that.”
“I don’t feel much like sleep myself,” Mr. Alder replied.
“I wonder where she can be hiding.”
The next morning many people came to ask if Clematis had been found.
“No, no, no. There isn’t a sign of her anywhere. I don’t know what we shall do.”
Mrs. Alder made the same answer to every one.
During the day people still looked about in new places.
Afternoon came again, but no Clematis came with it.
Towards evening, Mr. Brooks was sitting in his chair by his little cottage, reading a book.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains in the west.
The birds were singing theirevening songs, in the trees by the brook.
All was quiet and peaceful.
As he sat there, Mr. Brooks heard steps on the path.
He looked down and saw a little girl. In her arms was a cat, with a black spot over one eye.
The child stumbled as she walked. She seemed ready to drop, she was so tired.
“Why, little girl, where did you come from?” cried Mr. Brooks.
He got up and went down to meet her.
Then she raised her pale face, and he saw that it was Clematis. Her face and hands were soiled; her hair was tangled; her dress was dusty and torn.
“Oh, little maid,” he said. “Did you walk way over here to see me?”
“Yes,” said Clematis, faintly. “I said I would, and I did.”
“Dear child, you are worn out. Come in and rest.”
He took her into the little house, and got a basin and water.
“There, dear, wash your face and hands. You will feel better.
“Now sit down, Clematis,” said Mr. Brooks, when she had finished washing her face and hands, “and we will have a bite to eat.”
He cut a slice of bread. On this he spread some butter, and sprinkled a little sugar.
Clematis watched him with hungry eyes.
“Dear child, you must be starved,” he said, as she took a great bite.
“Wouldn’t you be hungry if you hadn’t had any breakfast or dinner?”
Clematis took another big bite.
“No breakfast? No dinner? Where have you been all day?”
“I stayed in the little house where they boil the sap.”
The bread was nearly gone now.
“Did you run away this morning?”
Mr. Brooks was cutting another slice.
“No, I stayed there last night.”
“You stayed there all last night? Child! I should think you would have frozen. There was frost last night.”
“I did freeze,” said Clematis, beginning on the second slice.
Mr. Brooks looked at her a moment in silence, while she ate.
“I never heard anything to beat that,” he said at last, as he reached once more for the bread.
“Mrs. Alder will be very anxious.”
Clematis shook her head.
“No she won’t. She’ll be glad I’m gone.”
Mr. Brooks smiled.
“Well, Mr. Alder will, anyway. As soon as you have eaten a few loaves of bread, I’ll get Mr. Giles’shorse. They will be glad enough to see you again.”
Clematis put down her bread. Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t you want me?” she said.
“My dear child, what do you mean?”
“You said you wished you had a little girl.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you said you wished you had a little girl, and you can have me. Nobody wants me, except you.
“I can make my bed, and wash dishes, and I don’t say slang words any more, and I can weed everything in your garden.”
In Grandfather’s house
In Grandfather’s house
Poor Clematis, she had never said so much at one time in her life.
Then she burst into tears. She was tired, and worn, and faint.
Mr. Brooks took her into his lap. He hardly knew what to say to comfort her.
“Have you no father or mother?” he asked.
“No,” she sobbed, “I haven’t anybody at all.”
“You see I am all alone here. I haven’t any good place to keep a little girl.”
“I don’t care, I can sleep on the floor.”
Her eyes were drooping, and she was growing quiet. Her head rested on his shoulder.
Mr. Brooks was thinking what to say, when he looked down at her face.
Her brown eyes were closed, and she was fast asleep.
He held her there a while. Then he took her into the next room, and laid her on the bed.
Covered with a warm blanket, she sighed softly, and sank into a deep slumber.
“I can’t take her home tonight. She ought to have a long, quiet sleep,” said Mr. Brooks to himself.
He watched her a while. Then he went out, up the mountain to Mr. Giles’s house.
There he telephoned to Atkinson’s store.
In another minute a little boywas racing up the street. He called to every one on his way:
“Clematis is found! Clematis is found! She’s up on Bean Hill.”
Ned shouted at the top of his voice.
Clematis would have been surprised, if she had seen how glad Mrs. Alder was to know that she was safe.
They sent a message to Miss Rose, and told her that Clematis was found.
Every one was glad. Every one asked how she ever got way up there on Bean Hill, but no one knew.
All this time Clematis was sleeping quietly.
When Mr. Brooks returned, she had not stirred.
He stood and looked at her a long, long time.
When he turned away there were tears in his eyes.
“Poor little elf,” he whispered. “She thought I meant just what I said.”
He spread some blankets on the floor, and lay down, but he did not go to sleep.
His thoughts went back to a book he had been reading.
It was about Silas Marner, a man who was sad and lonely.
Silas Marner took a little girl into his tiny house to care for, and she made his life happy again.
“Silas Marner did not have so large a home as this,” he thought. “But he took good care of the little girl. How happy they were together.”
The little face, all wet with tears, came before him again and again.
“I might keep her for a little while, at least,” he said to himself. “I will see what Mr. Alder thinks in the morning.”
CHAPTER XIXNEW PLANS
When Mr. Brooks woke in the morning, Clematis was already up. She had washed her face and hands at the spring, near the door, and was sitting on the step.
“Oho, so the little bird woke first, did she?” said Mr. Brooks.
Clematis nodded, and looked up shyly.
“I was thinking about you last night before I went to sleep. Suppose I should keep you with me for a little while. Do you think you would like that?”
“Oh, I would help like anything,”she cried. “You just try me, and see.”
“Well, I will talk to Mr. Alder, and perhaps you can stay for a while, at least.”
So Mr. Brooks talked with Mr. Alder. Then he wrote to Mrs. Snow.
Yes, Clematis might stay a week.
How hard she tried!
“I’ll wash and wipe all the dishes,” she said.
The very first day she broke a cup. Then she cried.
“Dear me, don’t feel bad about that. You are doing the best you can, I know.”
Mr. Brooks laughed, and Clematis smiled again.
“Men don’t care so much about dishes,” she said to herself.
To be sure, Clematis had not learned to do much, but she had learned to do her best.
Mr. Brooks found that she could help in many ways, and she was so anxious to do her best, that he gladly forgave her mistakes.
He made her a little bed in the room upstairs.
At evening, she could hear the wind whispering in the trees, and the little brook that ran down from the spring.
In the morning, she could see the lakes and mountains across the valley, as she sat by her open window, while the birds hopped about on the twigs, and sang their sweetest songs.
A little girl was coming up the path
A little girl was coming up the path
Deborah slept each night in a little box close by her bed, and followed her about all day long.
The week passed very quickly. On Friday, Mr. Brooks saw that she was silent and thoughtful.
“I don’t think I can spare you yet,” he said at breakfast. “I must ask Mrs. Snow to let you stay another week, at least.”
Clematis was never so happy. She smiled and hummed a little song all the morning. Now and then she would stop to pat Deborah, who slept by the stove.
“He is going to let me stayanother week, Debby!” she would whisper. “Another week, another whole week.”
This week was passing also, when Clematis had a great surprise.
It was a letter from Miss Rose.
“Oh, read it to me, read it to me!” she exclaimed, as she climbed up into Mr. Brooks’s lap.
So he opened the envelope and read:
“Dear Clematis:Mr. Brooks has asked us if he might keep you for a year. Do you think you would like to stay?I shall go to see you in Tilton next week, so you must be thinkingit over, and decide if you really want to stay?Your true friend,Rose Thornton.”
“Dear Clematis:
Mr. Brooks has asked us if he might keep you for a year. Do you think you would like to stay?
I shall go to see you in Tilton next week, so you must be thinkingit over, and decide if you really want to stay?
Your true friend,Rose Thornton.”
Your true friend,
Rose Thornton.”
After he had finished, Clematis was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at him with a happy smile.
“Please read it again,” she said.
So he read it again, while she sat still in his lap.
“Do you think you would really like to stay?” he asked, when he had finished.
Clematis patted his hand, and snuggled her face against his shoulder.
“Can Debby stay, too?” she asked.
“Of course she can. We couldn’t get along without Debby.”
That night Clematis looked out at the golden light, just fading from the mountains.
A star was twinkling in the sky. The brook was bubbling down among the trees, and the wind hummed a little tune in their soft branches.
She was very happy.
“I am going to be happy always now,” she said.
CHAPTER XXTHE TRUE FAIRY STORY
The next week they got Mr. Giles’s horse, and drove down to meet Miss Rose at the station.
How glad Clematis was to see her!
She sat in her lap all the way back to Bean Hill, and told her about the mountains, the lakes, the trees, and the birds.
“So you think you would like to stay a whole year, do you?” asked Miss Rose.
Clematis smiled and nodded.
“Deborah can stay too,” she said.
When they got to the little cottage, Miss Rose went in with Mr. Brooks, and had a long talk.
She told him all she knew about Clematis.
He listened while she told him how Clematis ran away, how the policeman found her, and how she came to the Home.
“Have you any trace of her father and mother?”
“No, they said the father’s name was Jones, but I am not sure that was her father’s true name. Both her father and mother died when she was a baby, they say.”
Mr. Brooks looked puzzled.
“Did the mother leave nothingwhen she died, that people might know her by?”
Miss Rose reached into her little black bag and brought out the picture. Mr. Brooks did not take it at first.
“They said the father’s name was Jones; did they tell you his first name?” he asked.
“No, just Jones. I could learn no other name.”
Miss Rose held out the picture, and Mr. Brooks’s hand trembled as he took it.
After one look, he carried it to the window.
There he held it to the light, and gazed at it a long time.
“Do you see some one there you know?” asked Miss Rose.
“Wouldn’t you know your own daughter, if you saw her?”
Miss Rose smiled. Then she saw tears in his eyes.
“Please forgive me for smiling,” she said. “You reminded me so much of Clematis. She asks questions just like that.”
“Well, wouldn’t you expect her to be like her own grandfather?”
Then Mr. Brooks smiled too.
“Is she really your grandchild?” exclaimed Miss Rose.
“Yes, she is, she must be. This is her mother here.”
He pointed to one of the girls in the picture.
“This was taken in front of the Seminary, a year before she ran away to be married.”
“Oh, it seems just like a fairy story. I can hardly believe it.”
Miss Rose looked again at the picture.
“Yes, it is like a fairy story,” Mr. Brooks replied. “Dear, wayward girl. She needn’t have run away. I would have gladly forgiven her.”
“Then you will take Clematis to live with you, I suppose.”
“Yes indeed. I have wondered about that name, Clematis. Her mother loved flowers. She loved the clematis vine about the door most of all.”
“I suppose she named Clematis in memory of her dear old home,” said Miss Rose.
Then Mr. Brooks told MissRose about the white house on the hill.
“I suppose we ought to move back there, now,” he said. “Then Clematis can go to the Union School, and grow up like other children.”
“It is wonderful. It is a fairy story, I am sure,” she replied, “for the fairies must have led Clematis to your door. She will be the happiest child alive, when we tell her.”
And Clematis was the happiest girl alive, when they called her in and told her the whole story.
She climbed into her grandfather’s lap, and held his hand, while Miss Rose told it just like a fairy tale.
“Are we going to live in the house where all the vines are?” she asked, when Miss Rose was done.
“Yes, dear, you are.”
“And I can stay there always?”
“Yes, Clematis.”
“And will you be my grandpa always?”
She looked up at Mr. Brooks. He smiled and kissed her hot cheek.
“Yes, little maiden. You shall be my housekeeper, and we shall be as happy as robins in an apple tree.”
So Miss Rose went back to Boston, and told them all the story.
The children made her tell it over and over again. They said it was better than any fairy tale they had ever read.
“And did she really sleep out in the woods alone?” asked Sally.
“And does her grandfather really and truly have a big white house on a hill?” asked Jane.
“Yes, yes, yes. It is all true, every word of it,” answered Miss Rose.
Even Clematis could hardly believe it all, at first.
She followed her grandfather all about, wherever he went, for fear he might fly away, and never come back.
In the golden October, they moved up to the white house onthe hill, grandfather, Clematis, and Deborah.
There Clematis had the room over the porch, where the vines climbed around her window. She could look out each morning, and see the river, and the lakes, with the mountains beyond.
She felt a little strange among all the new people she saw each day, and she had very much to learn. But Clematis learned the best thing of all, to do the best she could, and she soon grew into a sweet, useful girl.
Her little friends loved her, and her teachers helped her, for she tried to please them, and never complained because things were not easy to do.
When she heard that Sally and the other girls could hardly believe her story, she went and whispered to her grandfather.
“May I?” she asked.
“Of course you may,” he said, “as many as you want.”
Then she wrote a letter all her own self. She invited all the girls her own age, at the Home, to visit her the next summer, and see for themselves.
So if you ever go to Tilton, you must look about for a strong, happy girl, with big brown eyes, who studies her lessons, and works in the garden, and has the happiest time any girl ever had, with her grandfather, in the big white house on the hill.