CHAPTER VIITHE ARRIVAL
Onthe other side of Good Children Street, and almost directly opposite Madelon’s tiny cottage, was a double house of more pretentious appearance than those just around it. It was a little higher, the door was wider, and a good-sized window on each side had a small balcony, more for ornament than use, as it was scarcely wide enough to stand on. The roof projected well over the sidewalk, and there was some attempt at ornamentation in the brackets that supported it. At one side was a narrow yard with a stunted fig-tree, and a ragged rose-bush straggled up the posts of a small side-gallery.
This house had been closed for some time. The former tenant having died, his family, who were respectable, pleasant people, were obliged to leave it, much to Pepsie’s sorrow, for she was always interested in her neighbors, and she had taken a greatdeal of pleasure in observing the ways of this household. Therefore she was very tired of looking at the closed doors and windows, and was constantly wishing that some one would take it. At last, greatly to her gratification, one pleasant morning, late in August, a middle-aged woman, very well dressed in black, who was lame and walked with a stick, a young man, and a lovely little girl, appeared on the scene, stopped before the empty house, and after looking at it with much interest mounted the steps, unlocked the door, and entered.
The child interested Pepsie at once. Although she had seen very few high-bred children in her short life, she noticed that this little one was different from the small inhabitants of Good Children Street. Her white frock, black sash, and wide black hat had a certain grace uncommon in that quarter, and every movement and step had an elegant ease, very unlike the good-natured little creoles who played around Pepsie’s window.
However, it was not only the child’s beauty, her tasteful, pretty dress, and high-bred air that interested Pepsie; it was the pale, mournful little face, and the frail little figure, looking so wan and ill. The woman held her by the hand, and she walkedvery slowly and feebly; the robust, black-eyed young man carried a small basket, which the child watched constantly.
Pepsie could not remove her eyes from the house, so anxious was she to see the child again; but, instead of coming out, as she expected they would after they had looked at the house, much to her joy she saw the young man flinging open the shutters and doors, with quite an air of ownership; then she saw the woman take off her bonnet and veil, and the child’s hat, and hang them on a hook near the window. Presently, the little girl came out on the small side-gallery with something in her arms. Pepsie strained her eyes, and leaned forward as far as her lameness would allow her in order to see what the child had.
“It’s a cat; no, it’s a dog; no, it isn’t. Why, it must be a bird. I can see it flutter its wings. Yes, it’s a bird, a large, strange-looking bird. I wonder what it is!” And Pepsie, in her excitement and undue curiosity, almost tipped out of her chair, while the child looked around her with a listless, uninterested air, and then sat down on the steps, hugging the bird closely and stroking its feathers.
“Certainly, they’ve come to stay,” said Pepsieto herself, “or they wouldn’t open all the windows, and take off their things. Oh, I wonder if they have; I’ll just get my cards, and find out.”
But Pepsie’s oracle was doomed to remain silent, for, before she got them spread on the table, there was a rumbling of wheels in the street, and a furniture-wagon, pretty well loaded, drove up to the door. Pepsie swept her cards into the drawer, and watched it unload with great satisfaction.
At the same moment, the active Tite Souris entered like a whirlwind, her braids of wool sticking up, and her face all eyes and teeth. She had been out on thebanquette, and was bursting with news.
“Oh, Miss Peps’, Miss Peps’, sum un’s done tuk dat house ov’ yon’er, an’ is a-movin’ in dis ver’ minit. It’s a woman an’ a boy, an’ a littl’ yaller gal. I means a littl’ gal wid yaller ha’r all ove’ her, an’ she got a littl’ long-legged goslin’, a-huggin’ it up like she awful fond uv it.”
“Oh, stop, Tite; go away to your work,” cried Pepsie, too busy to listen to her voluble handmaid. “Don’t I see them without your telling me? You’d better finish scouring your kitchen, or mama’ll get after you when she comes home.”
“Shore ’nuff, I’se a-scourin’, Miss Peps’, an’ I’sejes a dyin tu git out on datbanquette;datbanquette’sa-spilin’ might’ bad ter be cleaned. Let me do datbanquetteright now, Miss Peps’, an’ I’s gwine scour lak fury bymeby.”
“Very well, Tite; go and do thebanquette,” returned Pepsie, smiling indulgently. “But mind what I say about the kitchen, when mama comes.”
Such an event as some one moving in Good Children Street was very uncommon. Pepsie thought every one had lived there since the flood, and she didn’t blame Tite Souris to want to be out with the other idle loungers to see what was going on, although she understood thebanquetteruse perfectly.
At last all the furniture was carried in, and with it two trunks, so large for that quarter as to cause no little comment.
“Par exemple!” said Monsieur Fernandez, “what a size for a trunk! That madame yonder must have traveled much in the North. I’ve heard they use them there for ladies’ toilets.”
And, straightway, madame acquired greater importance from the conclusion that she had traveled extensively.
Then the wagon went away, the door was discreetly “bowed,” and the loungers dispersed; butPepsie, from her coign of vantage, still watched every movement of the new-comers. She saw Raste come out with a basket, and she was sure that he had gone to market. She saw madame putting up a pretty lace curtain at one window, and she was curious to know if she intended to have a parlor. Only one blind was thrown open; the other was “bowed” all day, yet she was positive that some one was working behind it. “That must be madame’s room,” she thought; “that big boy will have the back room next to the kitchen, and the little girl will sleep with madame, so the room on this side, with the pretty curtain, will be the parlor. I wonder if she will have a carpet, and a console, with vases of wax-flowers on it, and a cabinet full of shells, and a sofa.” This was Pepsie’s idea of a parlor; she had seen a parlor once long ago, and it was like this.
So she wondered and speculated all day; and all day the pale, sorrowful child sat alone on the side-gallery, holding her bird in her arms; and when night came, Pepsie had not sugared her pecans, neither had she read her prayers, nor even played one game of solitaire; but Madelon did not complain of her idleness. It was seldom the child had such atreat, and even Tite Souris escaped a scolding, in consideration of the great event.
The next morning Pepsie was awake very early, and so anxious was she to get to the window that she could hardly wait to be dressed. When she first looked across the street, the doors and shutters were closed, but some one had been stirring; and Tite Souris informed her, when she brought her coffee, that madame had been out at “sun up,” and had cleaned and “bricked” thebanquetteher own self.
“Then I’m afraid she isn’t rich,” said Pepsie, “because if she was rich, she’d keep a servant, and perhaps after all she won’t have a parlor.”
Presently there was a little flutter behind the bowed blind, and lo! it was suddenly flung open, and there, right in the middle of the window, hung a very tasty gilt frame, surrounding a white center, on which was printed, in red and gilt letters, “Blanchisseuse de fin, et confections de toute sorte,” and underneath, written in Raste’s boldest hand and best English, “Fin Washun dun hear, an notuns of al sort,” and behind the sign Pepsie could plainly see a flutter of laces and muslins, children’s dainty little frocks and aprons, ladies’ collars, cuffs, and neckties, handkerchiefs and sacks, and various other articlesfor feminine use and adornment; and on a table, close to the window, were boxes of spools, bunches of tape, cards of buttons, skeins of wool, rolls of ribbons; in short, an assortment of small wares, which presented quite an attractive appearance; and, hovering about them, madame could be discerned, in her black skirt and fresh white sack, while, as smiling and self-satisfied as ever, she arranged her stock to the best advantage, and waited complacently for the customers who she was sure would come.
For the first time since the death of the young widow in Gretna, she breathed freely, for she began to feel some security in her new possessions. At last, everything had turned out as Raste predicted, and she had worked her plans well. The young mother, sleeping in the Bergeron tomb, could never testify against her, and the child was too young to give any but the most sketchy information about herself. She did not even know the name of her parents, and since her recovery from the fever she seemed to have forgotten a great deal that she knew before. Her illness had left her in a pitiable condition; she was weak and dull, and did not appear to care for anything but the blue heron, which was her constant companion. Whether she was consciousof her great loss, and was mourning for her mother, madame could not decide. At first, she had asked constantly for her, and madame had told her kindly, and with caresses, which were not returned, that her mother had gone away for a while, and had left her with her Tante Pauline; and that she must be a good little girl, and love her Tante Pauline, while her mother was away.
Lady Jane looked at madame’s bland face with such solemnly scrutinizing eyes, that she almost made her blush for the falsehood she was telling, but said nothing; her little thoughts and memories were very busy, and very far away; she had not forgotten as much as madame fancied she had, neither did she believe as much as madame thought she did. Whatever of doubt or regret passed through her little brain, she made no sign, but remained quiet and docile; she never laughed, and seldom cried; she was very little trouble, and scarcely noticed anything that was going on around her. In fact, she was stupefied and subdued, by the sudden misfortunes that had come upon her, until she seemed a very different being from the bright, spirited child of a few weeks before.