Chapter III: Part 3

"Why, yes, honey. Every Sunday mornin' there's a big boy that goes to the same school stops for Willie and Jennie, and totes them with him; and if their father or me can't go to church, he just totes them back after service. And when Willie comes in with his libr'y book and his 'Child's Paper' and Scripture text, he's as rich as a king, and a heap more contented, I guess."

While Mrs. Granby was talking, Mrs. Bradford was looking over a parcel which contained some new books, and now she gave her one for blind Willie's Christmas gift, saying she hoped things would be ordered so that before another Christmas he would be able to see.

There is no need to tell Mrs. Granby's delight, or the thanks which she poured out. If Mrs. Bradford had given her a most magnificent present for herself, it would not have pleased her half so much as did these trifles for the policeman's children.

That evening, after the little ones were all in bed, Mrs. Granby told Mr. Richards and his wife of all that had happened at Mrs. Bradford's.

Mrs. Richards was by no means too proud to accept the lady's kindness; so pleased was she to think that she should see Jennie warm and neat once more that she had no room in her heart for anything but gratitude.

Mrs. Granby was just putting away the treasures she had been showing, when there came a rap from the old-fashioned knocker on the front-door.

"Sit you still, Sergeant Richards," she said. "I'm on my feet, and I'll just open the door." Which she did, and saw a tall gentleman standing there, who asked if Mr. Richards was in. "He is, sir," she answered, and then saying to herself, "I hope he's got special business for him that he'll pay him well for," threw open the door of the sitting-room, and asked the gentleman in.

But the police-sergeant had already done the "special business," for which the gentleman came to make return. Mr. Richards knew him by sight, though he had never spoken to him.

"Mr. Bradford, I believe, sir?" he said, coming forward.

"You know me then?" said the gentleman.

"Yes, sir," answered Richards, placing a chair for his visitor. "You see I know many as don't know me. Can I be of any service to you, sir?"

"I came to have a talk with you, if you are at leisure," said Mr. Bradford. "Perhaps you may think I am taking a liberty, but my wife heard to-day, through your friend, that you were in some trouble with a doctor who has attended your family, and that you have been disappointed in obtaining the services of Mr. Ray, who has gone to Europe. I am a lawyer, you know, and if you do not object to consider me as a friend in his place, perhaps you will let me know what your difficulties are, and I may be able to help you."

The policeman looked gratefully into the frank, noble face before him. "Thank you, sir," he said; "you are very good, and this is not the first time that I have heard of your kindness to those in trouble. It's rather a long story, that of our difficulties, but if it won't tire you, I'll be thankful to tell it."

He began far back, telling how they had done well, and been very comfortable, having even a little laid by, until about a year since, when Mrs. Richards' father and mother, who lived with them, had died within a month of each other.

"And I couldn't bear, sir," he said, "that the old folks shouldn't have a decent burying. So that used up what we had put by for a rainy day. Maybe I was foolish, but you see they were Mary's people, and we had feeling about it. But sure enough, no sooner was the money gone than the rainy day came, and stormy enough it has been ever since."

He went on, telling how sickness had come, one thing following another; how Dr. Schwitz had promised that his charges should be small, but how he never would give in his bill, the policeman and his wife thinking all the while that it was kindness which kept him from doing so; how it had taken every cent of his salary to pay the other expenses of illness, and keep the family barely warmed and fed; of the disappointment of their hopes for Willie for, at least, some time to come; and finally of the terrible bill which Dr. Schwitz had sent through revenge, the police-sergeant thought, and upon the prompt payment of which he was now insisting.

"He's hard on me, sir, after all his fair promises," said Richards, as he handed Mr. Bradford the bill; "and you see he has me, for I made no agreement with him, and I don't know as I can rightly say that the law would not allow it to him; so, for that reason, I don't dare to dispute it. But I thought Mr. Ray might be able to make some arrangement with him, and I _can't_ pay it all at once, nor this long time yet, that's settled. If he would wait, I might clear it off in a year or two though how then we are to get bread to put into the children's mouths I don't see. And there is the rent to pay, you know. We have tucked the children and Mrs. Granby all into one room, and let out the other two up-stairs; so that's a little help. And Mary was talking of selling that mahogany table and bookcase that are as dear to her as if they were gold, for they were her mother's; but they won't fetch nothing worth speaking of. The English colonel that came after your little daughter, when she was up at the station that day, was so good as to hand me a ten dollar bill, and we laid that by for a beginning; but think what a drop in the bucket that is, and it's precious little that we've added to it. I don't see my way out of this; that's just a fact, sir, and my only hope is that the Lord knows all."

"You say Dr. Schwitz tried to bribe you by saying he would send in no bill, if you allowed his nephew to escape?" said Mr. Bradford.

"Yes, sir, and I suppose I might use that for a handle against him; but I don't like to, for I can't say but that the man was real kind to me and mine before that. If he presses me too hard, I may have to; but I can't bear to do it."

"Will you put the matter in my hands, and let me see this Dr. Schwitz?" asked Mr. Bradford.

Richards was only too thankful, and after asking a little more about blind Willie, the gentleman took his leave.

There is no need to tell what he said to Dr. Schwitz, but a few days after he saw the police-sergeant again, and gave him a new bill, which was just half as much as the former one, with the promise that the doctor would wait and allow Richards to pay it by degrees, on condition that it was done within the year. This, by great pinching and saving, the policeman thought he would be able to do. The good gentleman did not tell that it was only by paying part of the sum himself that he had been able to make this arrangement.

"I don't know what claim I have upon you for such kindness, sir," said Richards, "but if you knew what a load you have taken from me, I am sure you would feel repaid."

"I am repaid, more than repaid," said Mr. Bradford, with a smile; "for I feel that I am only paying a debt."

The policeman looked surprised.

"You were very kind to my little girl when she was in trouble," said the gentleman.

"Oh, that, sir? Who could help it? And that was a very tiny seed to bring forth such a harvest as this."

"It was 'bread cast upon the waters,'" said Mr. Bradford, "and to those who give in the Lord's name, he gives again 'good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over.'"

But the policeman had not even yet gathered in the whole of his harvest.

VI.

_UNCLE RUTHVEN._

Christmas brought no Uncle Ruthven, but Christmas week brought Miss Elizabeth Rush, the sweet "Aunt Bessie" whom all the children loved so dearly. And it was no wonder they were fond of her, for she was almost as gentle and patient with them as mamma herself; and, like her brother, the colonel, had a most wonderful gift of story-telling, which she was always ready to put in use for them. Maggie and Bessie were more than ever sure that there were never such delightful people as their own, or two such happy children as themselves.

"I think we're the completest family that ever lived," said Maggie, looking around the room with great satisfaction, one evening when Colonel and Mrs. Rush were present.

"Yes," said Bessie; "I wonder somebody don't write a book about us."

"And call it 'The Happy Family,'" said Fred, mischievously, "after those celebrated bears and dogs and cats and mice who live together in the most peaceable manner so long as they have no teeth and claws, but who immediately fall to and eat one another up as soon as these are allowed to grow."

"If there is a bear among us, it must be yourself, sir," said the colonel, playfully pinching Fred's ear.

"I don't know," said Fred, rubbing the ear; "judging from your claws, I should say you were playing that character, colonel; while I shall have to take that of the unlucky puppy who has fallen into your clutches."

"I am glad you understand yourself so well, any way," returned Colonel Rush, drily.

Fred and the colonel were very fond of joking and sparring in this fashion, but Bessie always looked very sober while it was going on; for she could not bear anything that sounded like disputing, even in play; and perhaps she was about right.

But all this had put a new idea into that busy little brain of Maggie's. "Bessie," she said, the next morning, "I have a secret to tell you, and you must not tell any one else."

"Not mamma?" asked Bessie.

"No, we'll tell mamma we have a secret, and we'll let her know by and by; but I want her to be very much surprised as well as the rest of the people. Bessie, I'm going to write a book, and you may help me, if you like."

"Oh!" said Bessie. "And what will it be about, Maggie?"

"About ourselves. You put it in my head to do it, Bessie. But then I sha'n't put in our real names, 'cause I don't want people to know it is us. I made up a name last night. I shall call my people the Happys."

"And shall you call the book 'The Happy Family'?" asked Bessie.

"No; I think we will call it 'The Complete Family,'" said Maggie. "That sounds nicer and more booky; don't you think so?"

"Yes," said Bessie, looking at her sister with great admiration. "And when are you going to begin it?"

"To-day," said Maggie. "I'll ask mamma for some paper, and I'll write some every day till it's done; and then I'll ask papa to take it to the bookmaker; and when the book is made, we'll sell it, and give the money to the poor. I'll tell you what, Bessie, if Policeman Richards' blind boy is not cured by then, we'll give it to him to pay his doctor."

"You dear Maggie!" said Bessie. "Will you yite a piece that I make up about yourself?"

"I don't know," said Maggie; "I'll see what you say. I wouldn't like people to know it was me."

The book was begun that very day, but it had gone little farther than the title and chapter first, before they found they should be obliged to take mamma into the secret at once. There were so many long words which they wished to use, but which they did not know how to spell, that they saw they would have to be running to her all the time. To their great delight, mamma gave Maggie a new copy-book to write in, and they began again. As this was a stormy day, they could not go out, so they were busy a long while over their book. When, at last, Maggie's fingers were tired, and it was put away, it contained this satisfactory beginning:--

"THE COMPLETE FAMILY.

"A TALE OF HISTORY.

"CHAPTER I.

"Once upon a time, there lived a family named Happy; only that was not their real name, and you wish you had known them, and they are alive yet, because none of them have died. This was the most interesting and happiest family that ever lived. And God was so very good to them that they ought to have been the best family; but they were not except only the father and mother; and sometimes they were naughty, but 'most always afterwards they repented, so God forgave them.

"This family were very much acquainted with some very great friends of theirs, and the colonel was very brave, and his leg was cut off; but now he is going to get a new leg, only it is a make believe."

This was all that was done the first day; and that evening a very wonderful and delightful thing occurred, which Maggie thought would make her book more interesting than ever.

There had been quite a family party at dinner, for it was Aunt Bessie's birthday, and the colonel and Mrs. Rush were always considered as belonging to the family now. Besides these, there were grandmamma and Aunt Annie, Grandpapa Duncan, Uncle John, and Aunt Helen, all assembled to do honor to Aunt Bessie.

Dinner was over, and all, from grandpapa to baby, were gathered in the parlor, when there came a quick, hard pull at the door-bell. Two moments later, the parlor door was thrown open, and there stood a tall, broad figure in a great fur overcoat, which, as well as his long, curly beard, was thickly powdered with snow. At the first glance, he looked, except in size, not unlike the figure which a few weeks since had crowned their Christmas-tree; and in the moment of astonished silence which followed, Franky, throwing back his head and clapping his hands, shouted, "Santy Caus, Santy Caus!"

But it was no Santa Claus, and in spite of the muffling furs and the heavy beard, in spite of all the changes which ten long years of absence had made, the mother's heart, and the mother's eye knew her son, and rising from her seat with a low cry of joy, Mrs. Stanton stretched her hands towards the stranger, exclaiming, "My boy! Ruthven, my boy!" and the next moment she was sobbing in his arms. Then his sisters were clinging about him, and afterwards followed such a kissing and hand-shaking!

It was an evening of great joy and excitement, and although it was long past the usual time when Maggie and Bessie went to bed, they could not go to sleep. At another time nurse would have ordered them to shut their eyes and not speak another word; but to-night she seemed to think it quite right and natural that they should be so very wide awake, and not only gave them an extra amount of petting and kissing, but told them stories of Uncle Ruthven's pranks when he was a boy, and of his wonderful sayings and doings, till mamma, coming up and finding this going on, was half inclined to find fault with the old woman herself. Nurse had quite forgotten that, in those days, she told Uncle Ruthven, as she now told Fred, that he was "the plague of her life," and that he "worried her heart out." Perhaps she did not really mean it with the one more than with the other.

"And to think of him," she said, wiping the tears of joy from her eyes,--"to think of him asking for his old mammy 'most before he had done with his greetings to the gentlefolks! And him putting his arm about me and giving me a kiss as hearty as he used when he was a boy; and him been all over the world seein' all sorts of sights and doin's. The Lord bless him! He's got just the same noble, loving heart, if he has got all that hair about his face."

Uncle Ruthven's tremendous beard was a subject of great astonishment to all the children. Fred saucily asked him if he had come home to set up an upholsterer's shop, knowing he could himself furnish plenty of stuffing for mattresses and sofas. To which his uncle replied that when he did have his beard cut, it should be to furnish a rope to bind Fred's hands and feet with.

Maggie was very eager to write down the account of Uncle Ruthven's home-coming in her history of "The Complete Family," and as mamma's time was more taken up than usual just now, she could not run to her so often for help in her spelling. So the next two days a few mistakes went down, and the story ran after this fashion:--

"The Happys had a very happy thing happen to them witch delited them very much. They had a travelling uncle who came home to them at last; but he staid away ten years and did not come home even to see his mother, and I think he ort to don't you? But now he is come and has brought so many trunks and boxes with such lots and lots of things and kurositys in them that he is 'most like a Norz' Ark only better, and his gret coat and cap are made of the bears' skins he shot and he tells us about the tigers and lions and I don't like it and Fred and Harry do and Bessie don't too. And he is so nice and he brought presents for every boddy and nurse a shawl that she's going to keep in her will till she dies for Harry's wife, and he has not any and says he won't because Uncle Ruthven has no wife. That is all to-day my fingers are krampd."

Strange to say, Maggie was at home with the new uncle much sooner than Bessie. Little Bessie was not quite sure that she altogether approved of Uncle Ruthven, or that it was quite proper for this stranger to come walking into the house and up-stairs at all hours of the day, kissing mamma, teasing nurse, and playing and joking with the children, just as if he had been at home there all his life. Neither would she romp with him as the other children did, looking gravely on from some quiet corner at their merry frolics, as if she half-disapproved of it all. So Uncle Ruthven nicknamed her the "Princess," and always called her "your highness" and "your grace," at which Bessie did not know whether to be pleased or displeased. She even looked half-doubtfully at the wonderful stories he told, though she never lost a chance of hearing one. Uncle Ruthven was very fond of children, though he was not much accustomed to them, and he greatly enjoyed having them with him, telling Mrs. Bradford that he did not know which he liked best,--Bessie with her dainty, quiet, ladylike little ways, or Maggie with her half-shy, half-roguish manner, and love of fun and mischief. Maggie and all the boys were half wild about him, and as for baby, if she could have spoken, she would have said that never was there such an uncle for jumping and tossing. The moment she heard his voice, her hands and feet began to dance, and took no rest till he had her in his arms; while mamma sometimes feared the soft little head and the ceiling might come to too close an acquaintance.

"Princess," said Mr. Stanton, one evening, when he had been home about a fortnight, catching up Bessie, as she ran past him, and seating her upon the table, "what is that name your highness calls me?"

"I don't call you anything but Uncle Yuthven," answered Bessie, gravely.

"That is it," said her uncle. "What becomes of all your r's? Say Ruthven."

"Er--er--er--Yuthven," said Bessie, trying very hard at the r.

Mr. Stanton shook his head and laughed.

"I can talk plainer than I used to," said Bessie. "I used to call Aunt Bessie's name very crooked, but I don't now."

"What did you use to call it?"

"I used to say _Libasus_; but now I can say it plain, _Lisabus_."

"A vast improvement, certainly," said Mr. Stanton, "but you can't manage the R's yet, hey? Well, they will come one of these days, I suppose."

"They'd better," said Fred, who was hanging over his uncle's shoulder, "or it will be a nice thing when she is a young lady for her to go turning all her R's into Y's. People will call her crooked-tongued Miss Bradford."

"You don't make a very pleasant prospect for me to be in," said Bessie, looking from brother to uncle with grave displeasure, "and if a little boy like you, Fred, says that to me when I am a big lady, I shall say, 'My dear, you are very impertinent.'"

"And quite right, too," said Uncle Ruthven. "If all the little boys do not treat you with proper respect, Princess, just bring them to me, and I will teach them good manners."

Bessie made no answer, for she felt rather angry, and, fearing she might say something naughty, she wisely held her tongue; and slipping from her uncle's hold, she slid to his knee, and from that to the floor, running away to Aunt Bessie for refuge.

After the children had gone to bed, Uncle Ruthven went up to Mrs. Bradford's room, that he might have a quiet talk with this his favorite sister. Mrs. Bradford was rocking her baby to sleep, which business was rather a serious one, for not the least talking or moving about could go on in the room but this very young lady must have a share in it. The long lashes were just drooping upon the round, dimpled cheek when Uncle Ruthven's step was heard.

"Ah-oo-oo," said the little wide-awake, starting up with a crow of welcome to the playfellow she liked so well.

Mamma laid the little head down again, and held up a warning finger to Uncle Ruthven, who stole softly to a corner, where he was out of Miss Baby's sight and hearing, to wait till she should be fairly off to dreamland. This brought him near the door of Maggie's and Bessie's room, where, without intending it, he heard them talking. Not hearing his voice, they thought he had gone away again, and presently Maggie said in a low tone, that she might not rouse baby, "Bessie, have you objections to Uncle Ruthven?"

"Yes," answered Bessie, slowly,--"yes, Maggie, I think I have. I try not to, but I'm 'fraid I do have a little objections to him."

"But why?" asked Maggie. "_I_ think he is lovely."

"I don't know," said Bessie. "But, Maggie, don't you think he makes pretty intimate?"

"Why, yes," said Maggie; "but then he's our uncle, you know. I guess he has a right if he has a mind to."

"But he makes more intimate than Uncle John, and we've known him ever so long, and Uncle Yuthven only a little while. Why, Maggie, he kisses mamma!"

"Well, he is her own brother," said Maggie, "and Uncle John is only her step-brother,--no, that's not it--her brother-of-law--that's it."

"What does that mean, Maggie?"

"It means when somebody goes and marries your sister. If somebody married me, he'd be your brother-of-law."

"He sha'n't!" said Bessie, quite excited. "He's a horrid old thing, and he sha'n't do it!"

"Who sha'n't do what?" asked Maggie, rather puzzled.

"That person, that brother-of-law; he sha'n't marry you; you are my own Maggie."

"Well, he needn't if you don't want him to," said Maggie, quite as well contented to settle it one way as the other. "And you needn't feel so bad, and sit up in bed about it, Bessie, 'cause you'll take cold, and mamma forbid it."

"So she did," said Bessie, lying down again with a sigh. "Maggie, I'm 'fraid I'm naughty to-night. I forgot what mamma told me, and I was naughty to Uncle Yuthven."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't _say_ anything, but I felt very passionate, and I thought naughty things,--how I'd like to give him a good slap when he teased me, and, Maggie, for a moment I 'most thought I wished he did not come home. I am going to tell him I'm sorry, the next time he comes."

"I wouldn't," said Maggie, who was never as ready as Bessie to acknowledge that she had been wrong; "not if I didn't do or say anything."

"I would," said Bessie. "It is naughty to feel so; and you know there's no 'scuse for me to be passionate like there was for Aunt Patty, 'cause my people are so very wise, and teach me better. And it grieves Jesus when we feel naughty, and he saw my naughty heart to-night."

"Then ask him to forgive you," said Maggie.

"So I did; but I think he'll know I want to be better if I ask Uncle Yuthven too."

"Well," said Maggie, "maybe he will. But, Bessie, why do you speak about yourself as if you are like Aunt Patty. You're not a bit like her."

"But I might be, if I wasn't teached better," said Bessie, "and if Jesus didn't help me. Poor Aunt Patty! Papa said she was to be pitied."

"I sha'n't pity her, I know," said Maggie.

"But, Maggie, mamma said we ought to try and feel kind to her, and to be patient and good to her when she came here, 'cause she's getting very old, and there's nobody to love her, or take care of her. I am 'fraid of her, but I am sorry for her."

"If she has nobody to take care of her, let her go to the Orphan Asylum," said Maggie. "I just hope papa will send her there, 'cause we don't want to be bothered with her."

"And don't you feel a bit sorry for her, Maggie?"

"No, not a bit; and I'm not going to, either. She is quite a disgrace to herself, and so she'd better stay at her house up in the mountains."

Maggie, in her turn, was growing quite excited, as she always did when she talked or thought of Aunt Patty. It was some time since the children had done either, for Christmas, Aunt Bessie, and Uncle Ruthven had given them so much else to think about, that they had almost forgotten there was such a person.

And now mamma, who had laid baby in her cradle, coming in to stop the talking, was sorry to hear her little girls speaking on the old, disagreeable subject. She told them they must be still, and go to sleep. The first command was obeyed at once, but Maggie did not find the second quite so easy; and she lay awake for some time imagining all kinds of possible and impossible quarrels with Aunt Patty, and inventing a chapter about her for "The Complete Family."

While little Maggie was thinking thus of Aunt Patty, the old lady, in her far-away home, was wondering how she might best contrive to gain the hearts of her young nieces and nephews, for she was not the same woman she had been four years ago. During the last few months a new knowledge and a new life had come to her, making her wish to live in peace and love with every one. But she did not know how to set about this; for the poor lady had grown old in the indulgence of a bad temper, a proud spirit, and a habit of desiring to rule all about her; and now it was not easy to change all this. She had humbled herself at the feet of her Lord and Saviour, but it was hard work to do it before her fellow-men. She could not quite resolve to say to those whom she had grieved and offended by her violence and self-will, "I have done wrong, but now I see my sin, and wish, with God's help, to lead a new life."

Still, she longed for the love and friendship she had once cast from her, and her lonely heart craved for some care and affection. She well knew that Mr. and Mrs. Bradford would be only too ready to forgive and forget all that was disagreeable in the past, and she also felt that they would do nothing to prejudice the minds of their children against her. She thought she would go to them, and try to be gentle and loving, and so perhaps she should win back their hearts, and gain those of their little ones. But old habit and the old pride were still strong within her, and so, when she wrote to Mr. Bradford to say she was coming to make them a visit, she gave no sign that she was sorry for the past, and would like to make amends.

But shortly before the time she had fixed for the visit, something happened which caused her to change her purpose, and she chose to say nothing of her reasons for this, only sending word that she could not come before spring, perhaps not then. Now, again she had altered her plans, and this time she chose to take them all by surprise, and to go to Mr. Bradford's without warning.

"Margaret," said Mr. Stanton softly, as his sister came from the bedside of her little girls, and they went to the other side of the room, "what a sensitive conscience your darling little Bessie has! It seems I vexed her to-night, though I had no thought of doing so. I saw she was displeased, but the feeling seemed to pass in a moment. Now I find that she is so penitent for indulging in even a wrong feeling that she cannot rest satisfied without asking pardon, not only of her heavenly Father, but also of me." And he told Mrs. Bradford of all he had heard the children say, with some amusement, as he repeated the conversation about himself.

"Yes," said Mrs. Bradford, "my dear little Bessie's quick temper gives her some trouble. I am often touched to see her silent struggles with herself when something tries it, how she forces back each angry word and look, and faithfully asks for the help which she knows will never fail her. But with that tender conscience, and her simple trust in Him who has redeemed her, I believe all the strength she needs will be granted. God only knows how thankful I am that he has thus early led my precious child to see the sin and evil of a passionate and unchecked temper, and so spared her and hers the misery which I have seen it cause to others."

Uncle Ruthven came in the next morning, and, as usual, "making intimate," ran up to mamma's room. She was not there; but Maggie and Bessie were, busy over "The Complete Family." But Maggie did not look at all as if she belonged to the Happys just then. She had composed, what she thought, a very interesting chapter about Aunt Patty, and commenced it in this way: "There came to the Happys a very great aflekshun." But when she had written this last word, she had her doubts about the spelling, and carried the book to mamma to see if it were right. Mamma inquired what the affliction was, and finding, as she supposed, that it was Aunt Patty, she told Maggie she did not wish her to write about her. Maggie was very much disappointed, and even pouted a little, and she had not quite recovered when her uncle came in. In his hand he carried a little basket of flowers, which the children supposed was for mamma, and which he stood upon the table. Bessie loved flowers dearly, and in a moment she was hanging over them, and enjoying their sweetness.

Uncle Ruthven asked what they were about, and to Bessie's surprise, Maggie took him at once into the secret, telling him all about "The Complete Family" and her present trouble. Uncle Ruthven quite agreed with mamma that it was not wisest and best to write anything unkind of Aunt Patty, and told Maggie of some very pleasant things she might relate, so that presently she was smiling and good-natured again.

Then Mr. Stanton took Bessie up in his arms. "Bessie," he said, "did I vex you a little last night?"

Bessie colored all over, but looking her uncle steadily in the eyes, answered, "Yes, sir; and I am sorry I felt so naughty."

"Nay," said Uncle Ruthven, smiling, "if I teased you, although I did not intend it, I am the one to beg pardon."

"But I was pretty mad, uncle, and I felt as if I wanted to be naughty. I think I ought to be sorry."

"As you please then, darling; we will forgive one another. And now would you like this little peace-offering from Uncle Ruthven?" and he took up the basket of flowers.

"Is that for me?" asked Bessie, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes. I thought perhaps I had hurt your feelings last night, and so I brought it to you that you might see _I_ was sorry."

"But I could believe you without that."

Bessie felt reproached that she had told Maggie she had "objections to Uncle Ruthven," and now she felt as if they had all flown away.

"Perhaps you could," said Uncle Ruthven, smiling as he kissed her; "but the flowers are your own to do with as you please. And now you must remember that I am not much accustomed to little girls, and do not always know what they like and what they do not like; so you must take pity on the poor traveller, if he makes a mistake now and then, and believe he always wishes to please you and make you love him as far as he knows how."

VII.

_AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR._

Uncle Ruthven had brought home with him two servants, the elder of whom was a Swede, and did not interest the children much, being, as Maggie said, such a "very broken Englishman" that they could scarcely understand him. But the other was a little Persian boy about twelve years old, whom a sad, or rather a happy accident, had thrown into Mr. Stanton's hands. Riding one day through the streets of a Persian town, as he turned a corner, this boy ran beneath his horse's feet, was thrown down and badly hurt. Mr. Stanton took him up and had him kindly cared for, and finding that the boy was an orphan, with no one to love him, he went often to see him, and soon became much interested in the grateful, affectionate little fellow; while Hafed learned to love dearly the only face which looked kindly upon him. When the time came for Mr. Stanton to go away, Hafed's grief was terrible to see, and he clung so to this new friend, that the gentleman could not find it in his heart to leave him. It was not difficult to persuade those who had the care of him to give him up; they were only too glad to be rid of the charge. So, at some trouble to himself, Mr. Stanton had brought him away. But if he needed payment, he found it in Hafed's happy face and tireless devotion to himself. He was less of a servant than a pet; but his master did not mean him to grow up in idleness and ignorance, and as soon as he knew a little English, he was to go to school to learn to read and write; but at present he was allowed time to become accustomed to his new home.

The children thought him a great curiosity, partly because of his foreign dress, and that he had come from such a far-off country; partly because he could speak only half a dozen English words.

Hafed took a great fancy to the little girls, and was never happier than when his master took him to Mr. Bradford's house, and left him to play with them for a while. Maggie and Bessie liked him also, and they immediately set about teaching him English. As yet, he knew only four or five words, one of which was "Missy," by which name he called every one who wore skirts, not excepting Franky, who considered it a great insult. Maggie was very eager to have him learn new words, and was constantly showing him something and repeating the name over and over till he could say it. But though he took great pains, and was an apt scholar, he did not learn fast enough to satisfy Maggie.

"Hafed," she said to him one day, holding up her doll, "say 'doll.'"

"_Dole_," repeated Hafed, in his soft, musical tones.

"Doll," said Maggie, not at all satisfied with his pronunciation, and speaking in a louder voice, as if Hafed could understand the better for that.

"Dole," said Hafed again, with a contented smile.

"D-o-o-ll," shrieked Maggie, in the ear of her patient pupil, with no better success on his part.

Miss Rush was sitting by, and she called Maggie to her. "Maggie, dear," she said, "you must not be impatient with Hafed. I am sure he tries his best; but you must remember it is hard work for that little foreign tongue of his to twist itself to our English words. He will learn to pronounce them in time."

"But, Aunt Bessie," said Maggie, "mamma said it was always best to learn to do a thing well at first, and then one will not have to break one's self of bad habits."

"And so it is, dear; but then we cannot always do that at once. When mamma teaches you French, you cannot always pronounce the words as she does; can you?"

"No; ma'am; but those are hard French words, and we are trying to teach Hafed English, and that is so easy."

"Easy to you, dear, who are accustomed to it, but not to him. It is even harder for him to frame the English words than it is for you to repeat the French; and you should be gentle and patient with him, as mamma is with you."

The little Persian felt the cold very much, and delighted to hang about the fires and registers. He had a way of going down on his knees before the fire, and holding up both hands with the palms towards the blaze. The first time nurse saw him do this, she was quite shocked.

"The poor little heathen," she said. "Well, I've often heard of them fire-worshippers, but I never expected to see one, at least, in this house. I shall just make so bold as to tell Mr. Ruthven he ought to teach him better."

But Hafed was no fire-worshipper, for he had been taught better, and thanks to his kind master, did not bow down to that or any other false god. It was only his delight in the roaring blaze which had brought him down in front of it, not, as nurse thought, the wish to pray to it.

"Let's teach him about Jesus," said Bessie to her sister. "First, we'll teach him to say it, and then he'll want to know who he is."

So kneeling down beside the little stranger, she took his hand in hers, and pointing upwards said, "Jesus."

The boy's face lighted up immediately, and to Bessie's great delight, he repeated Jesus in a tone so clear and distinct as to show it was no new word to him. He had a pretty way when he wished to say he loved a person, of touching his fingers to his lips, laying them on his own heart, and then on that of the one for whom he wished to express his affection. Now, at the sound of the name, which he, as well as Bessie, had learned to love, he tried, by a change in the pretty sign, to express his meaning. Touching first Bessie's lips and then her heart with the tips of his fingers, he softly blew upon them, as if he wished to waft to heaven the love he could not utter in words, saying, "Missy--Jesus?"

Bessie understood him. She knew he wished to ask if she loved Jesus, and with a sunny face, she answered him with a nod, asking, in her turn, "Do you, Hafed,--do you love Jesus?"

The boy went through the same sign with his own heart and lips, saying, "Hafed--Jesus," and Bessie turned joyfully to her sister.

"He knows him, Maggie. We won't have to teach him; he knows our Jesus, and he loves him too. Oh, I'm so glad!"

"Now the Good Shepherd, that has called ye to be his lambs, bless you both," said old nurse, with the tears starting to her eyes. "That's as cheering a sight as I want to see; and there was me a misjudging of my boy. I might have known him better than to think he'd let one as belonged to him go on in darkness and heathendom."

Nurse always called Mr. Stanton her "boy" when she was particularly pleased with him.

From this time Hafed was almost as great a favorite with nurse as he was with the children, and seeing how gentle and thoughtful he was, she would even sometimes leave them for a few moments in his care.

One morning mamma and Aunt Bessie were out, and Jane, who was sick, had gone to bed. Hafed was in the nursery playing with the children, when the chamber-maid came in to ask nurse to go to Jane. Nurse hesitated at first about leaving her charge, but they all said they would be good, and Hafed should take care of them. Nurse knew that this was a safe promise from Maggie and Bessie, but she feared that, with every intention of being good, mischievous Franky would have himself or the others in trouble if she stayed away five minutes.

"See here," she said, "I'll put ye all into the crib, and there ye may play omnibus till I come back. That will keep ye out of harm's way, Franky, my man, for if there's a chance for you to get into mischief, ye'll find it."

This was a great treat, for playing in the cribs and beds was not allowed without special permission, and Franky, being provided with a pair of reins, and a chair turned upside down for a horse, took his post as driver, in great glee; while the three little girls were packed in as passengers, Maggie holding the baby. Hafed was rather too large for the crib, so he remained outside, though he, too, enjoyed the fun, even if he did not quite understand all it meant. Then, having with many pointings and shakings of her head made Hafed understand that he was not to go near the fire or windows, or to let the children fall out of the crib, mammy departed.

They were all playing and singing as happy as birds, when the nursery-door opened, and a stranger stood before them. In a moment every voice was mute, and all five children looked at her in utter astonishment. She was an old lady, with hair as white as snow, tall and handsome; but there was something about her which made every one of the little ones feel rather shy. They gazed at her in silence while she looked from one to another of them, and then about the room, as if those grave, stern eyes were taking notice of the smallest thing there.

"Well!" exclaimed the old lady, after a moment's pause, "this is a pretty thing!"

By this time Bessie's politeness had gained the better of her astonishment, and scrambling to her feet, she stood upright in the crib. As the stranger's eyes were fixed upon Hafed as she spoke, the little girl supposed the "pretty thing" meant the dress of the young Persian, which the children thought very elegant; and she answered, "Yes, ma'am, but he is not to wear it much longer, 'cause the boys yun after him in the street, so Uncle Yuthven is having some English clothes made for him."

"Where is your mother?" asked the old lady, without other notice of Bessie's speech.

"Gone out with Aunt Bessie, ma'am."

"And is there nobody left to take care of you?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," answered Bessie. "Maggie and I are taking care of the children, and Hafed is taking care of us."

"Humph!" said the old lady, as if she did not think this at all a proper arrangement. "I shall give Margaret a piece of my mind about this."

Bessie now opened her eyes very wide. "Papa don't allow it," she said, gravely.

"Don't allow what?" asked the stranger, rather sharply.

"Don't allow mamma to be scolded."

"And who said I was going to scold her?"

"You said you were going to give her a piece of your mind, and pieces of mind mean scoldings, and we never have mamma scolded, 'cause she never deserves it."

"Oh!" said the old lady, with a half-smile, "then she is better than most people."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Bessie, innocently, "she is better than anybody, and so is papa."

"Just as well _you_ should think so," said the lady, now smiling outright. "And you are Maggie--no--Bessie, I suppose."

"Yes, ma'am. I am Bessie, and this is Maggie, and this is baby, and this is Franky, and this is Hafed," said the child, pointing in turn to each of her playmates.

"And is there no one but this little mountebank to look after you?" asked the old lady. "Where is your nurse?"

"She is coming back in a few minutes," answered Bessie. "And Hafed is not a--a--that thing you called him, ma'am. He is only a little Persian whom Uncle Yuthven brought from far away over the sea, and he's a very good boy. He does not know a great many of our words, but he tries to learn them, and he knows about our Jesus, and tries to be a good little boy."

Dear Bessie wished to say all she could in praise of Hafed, whom she thought the old lady looked at with displeasure. Perhaps Hafed thought so, also, for he seemed very much as if he would like to hide away from her gaze. Meanwhile Maggie sat perfectly silent. When the old lady had first spoken, she started violently, and, clasping her arms tightly about the baby, looked more and more frightened each instant; while baby, who was not usually shy, nestled her little head timidly against her sister's shoulder, and stared at the stranger with eyes of grave infant wonder.

"And so you are Maggie," said the lady, coming closer to the crib.

Poor Maggie gave a kind of gasp by way of answer.

"Do you not know me, Maggie?" asked the old lady, in a voice which she intended to be coaxing.

To Bessie's dismay, Maggie burst into one of those sudden and violent fits of crying, to which she would sometimes give way when much frightened or distressed.

"Why, why!" said the stranger, as the baby, startled by Maggie's sobs, and the way in which she clutched her, raised her voice also in a loud cry. "Why, why! what is all this about? Do you not know your Aunt Patty?"

Aunt Patty! Was it possible? At this astounding and alarming news, Bessie plumped down again in the bed beside Maggie, amazed at herself for having dared to speak so boldly to that terrible person. And yet she had not seemed so terrible, nor had she felt much afraid of her till she found out who she was.

But now Mrs. Lawrence was losing patience. Certainly she had not had a very pleasant reception. Coming cold and tired from a long journey, she had found her host and hostess out, and no one but the servants to receive her. This was her own fault, of course, since she had not told Mr. and Mrs. Bradford to expect her; but that did not make it the less annoying to her. It is not always the easier to bear a thing because we ourselves are to blame for it.

However, she had made up her mind not to be vexed about it, and at once went to the nursery to make acquaintance with the children. But the greeting she received was not of a kind to please any one, least of all a person of Aunt Patty's temper. And there was worse still to come.

"What is the meaning of all this?" asked Mrs. Lawrence, in an angry tone. "Here, Maggie, give me that child, and stop crying at once."

As she spoke, she tried to take the baby, but poor Maggie, now in utter despair, shrieked aloud for nurse, and held her little sister closer than before. Aunt Patty was determined, however, and much stronger than Maggie, and in another minute the baby was screaming in her arms.

"Oh, Maggie, why don't somebody come?" cried Bessie. "Oh, do say those words to her?"

Maggie had quite forgotten how she had intended to alarm Aunt Patty if she interfered with them; but when Bessie spoke, it came to her mind, and the sight of her baby sister in the old lady's arms was too much for her. Springing upon her feet, she raised her arm after the manner of the woman in the picture, and gasped out, "Beware, woman!"

For a moment Aunt Patty took no notice of her, being occupied with trying to soothe the baby.

"Beware, woman!" cried Maggie, in a louder tone, and stamping her foot.

Mrs. Lawrence turned and looked at her.

"Beware, woman!" shrieked Maggie, and Bessie, thinking it time for her to come to her sister's aid, joined in the cry, "Beware, woman!" while Franky, always ready to take part in any disturbance, struck at Aunt Patty with his whip, and shouted, "'Ware, woman!" and Hafed, knowing nothing but that this old lady had alarmed and distressed his young charge, and that it was his duty to protect them, raised his voice in a whoop of defiance, and snatching up the hearth-brush, brandished it in a threatening manner as he danced wildly about her. Nor was this all, for Flossy, who had also been taken into the crib as a passenger, commenced a furious barking, adding greatly to the uproar.

It would be difficult to say which was the greatest, Aunt Patty's astonishment or her anger; and there is no knowing what she would have done or said, for at this moment the door opened, and Uncle Ruthven appeared.

For a moment he stood perfectly motionless with surprise. It was indeed a curious scene upon which he looked. In the centre of the room stood an old lady who was a stranger to him, holding in her arms the screaming baby; while around her danced his own little servant-boy, looking as if he might be one of the wild dervishes of his own country; and in the crib stood his young nieces and Franky, all shouting, "Beware, woman!" over and over again.

But Aunt Patty had not the least idea of "running away, never to be seen again," and if her conscience were "guilty," it certainly did not seem to be at all alarmed by anything Maggie or Bessie could do.

Nevertheless, Mr. Stanton's appearance was a great relief to her. Baby ceased her loud cries, and stretched out her dimpled arms to her uncle, with a beseeching whimper; Hafed paused in his antics, and stood like a statue at sight of his master; and the three other children all turned to him with exclamations of "Oh, Uncle Ruthven; we're so glad!" and "Please don't leave us," from Maggie and Bessie; and "Make dat Patty be off wiz herself," from Franky.

Mr. Stanton recovered himself in a moment, and bowing politely to Mrs. Lawrence, said, with a smile sparkling in his eye, "I fear you are in some trouble, madam; can I help you?"

"Help me?" repeated the old lady; "I fear you will want help yourself. Why, it must need half a dozen keepers to hold these little Bedlamites in any kind of order."

"They are usually orderly enough," answered Mr. Stanton as he took baby from Aunt Patty, who was only too glad to give her up; "but I do not understand this. What is the matter, Maggie, and where is nurse?"

But Maggie only answered by a new burst of sobs, and Bessie spoke for her. "She's Aunt Patty, Uncle Yuthven; she says she is."