Chapter XIV: Water-Lilies 330 (4)

Little as she was, baby had learned to obey when mamma spoke; but the sight of that hat was not to be endured by any baby of taste, and even when seated upon mamma’s lap, and treated to a bit of sponge-cake and papa’s watch, she could not forget it, but now and then broke forth in a wailing tone with,--

“Oh dear! Bad hat, off hat!” till at last the gentleman removed the hat, and submitted to ride bareheaded till his little tormentor should be asleep.

This was soon the case when the cause of her trouble was out of sight; for it was, as nurse said, “her sleepy time,”--one reason perhaps why she was so fractious,--and she forgot hat, watch, and cake in a sound mid-day nap.

Her two sisters and Belle thought all this remarkably funny, and had had much ado to stifle their laughter, so that it should not reach the ears of the stranger with whom baby had made so free. But in spite of their amusement, which had been shared by more than one of the grown people around, Bessie was rather troubled lest mamma should be worried by the little thing’s misbehavior and crying, and also lest the gentleman should have been vexed.

To tell the truth, he was rather annoyed at the notice which all this had brought upon him and his unfortunate hat; but his vexation passed away the moment he heard a soft voice at his ear, whispering,--

“Thank you very much, sir, for taking off your hat; and will you please to s’cuse baby, she don’t know any better than to take a liberty. As soon as she can understand, mamma will teach her to be polite.”

The gentleman turned his face towards her. A pleasant, good-natured face it was, with a merry twinkle in the eyes just now.

“Mamma is a first-rate teacher of politeness and some other good things, I see,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, sir; ’deed she is,” answered Bessie; wondering what mamma had said or done since they had been in the cars by which this stranger could know so much; and then, thinking her duty done, she turned away and began her play with the other children again. After this, all went smoothly and quietly enough till they reached a town where they were to change cars, and where two different railroads crossed one another at the depot. Here they had to wait for an hour until their train should be ready to start; and here Mrs. Bradford thought she might have a good rest after her long ride.

But a fair was going on in the small town, and the dirty little hotel was full to overflowing; so that the only place that could be had for Mrs. Bradford and her sleeping baby was an eight feet square room with a hard sofa, and two equally uninviting chairs. However, by means of cloaks and shawls, a tolerably comfortable resting-place was arranged for these two; and the three children who had no mind to be shut up in the tiny room, were taken for a walk by Mr. Bradford and Daphne; Mr. Powers going to call on an old friend who lived near by.

But there was a good deal of noise, dust, and confusion in the street, and the little girls soon tired of it and wanted to go back to the hotel. When they reached it, two trains were standing at the station, and Daphne exclaimed, pointing to the nearest,--

“Dere’s de train, Massa Bradford. S’posin’ I jis takes de little ladies into de cars. Better for dem waitin’ dere dan in de verandy where all dem folks is; an’ we’ll wake Miss Baby for sure all goin’ into dat little room.”

This last was more than likely; and the veranda where all those men were lounging about, smoking and drinking and swearing, was certainly no place for little ladies; and Daphne’s idea seemed a good one to Mr. Bradford.

“You are sure that is our train, Daphne?” he asked.

“Sure, Massa Bradford. Ain’t I been in it a hundred times?”

“Is this the train for ----?” asked Mr. Bradford of a man standing beside the cars.

“All right, sir. Last car, sir,” was the reply.

Mr. Bradford thinking himself quite sure, helped the children and Daphne into the car, found them good places, and looking at his watch, said,--

“We have half an hour still. Keep these seats for the rest of our party, and I will bring them all soon. You are right, Daphne: it is more comfortable here than in the hotel.”

Then he went away; and for a few moments the children were well amused, watching all the bustle around the station, and now and then dipping rosy little fingers into a basket of delicious strawberries just given to Daphne by a friend whom she had met. The old woman’s pleasure in the splendid fruit, was to see her young mistress and her little friends enjoy it, and she encouraged them to eat as long as they would.

But presently a steam whistle sounded, and she looked about her uneasily, saying,--

“’Pears like this train ain’t maybe right, after all. I go see ’bout him, Miss Belle. Jes you sit still one minute.”

If Daphne had not been so engaged in feeding her young charge, she would have known that this was the second time the whistle had sounded; and she was terribly startled when just as she set her foot upon the ground in order to seek Mr. Bradford and make all sure, it was blown again, there was a call of “all aboard,” and before the bewildered old woman had collected her senses, the train steamed out of the station. Had she instantly made known her trouble to those about her, it might not even then have been too late; but instead of that she rushed after the cars, gesticulating and beckoning with an umbrella which was the pride of her heart, and which she always carried, and crying aloud,--

“Hi there! Hi! Hold on dem cars; hold on till I get my chillen. Hi! Hi!”

The people about thought her crazy, and laughed and cheered as she tore after the fast receding train; but to poor old Daphne it was no joke, and as it turned a curve in the road and was lost to sight, she dropped her umbrella and stood still wringing her hands, and crying,--

“Oh, de chillen, de chillen! Oh, my little Miss Belle! what I gone and done, and what dey faders say?”

But we must leave Daphne, and go in the cars with our three little girls.

For the first few moments they did not understand it, and even after the cars were in rapid motion, looked about them expecting to see their parents and nurses come in. The truth came first to Maggie, and her poor little heart almost stood still with terror and dismay.

“Why, we’re going!” exclaimed Belle. “Where’s papa?”

“And papa and mamma, and all our people?” cried Bessie in a terrified voice.

Then Maggie broke forth.

“Oh, we’re gone off with! They’re left behind! What shall we do? Oh! what shall we do? There’s nobody to take care of us: we’re gone off with.”

Belle immediately set up the most violent screams; and Maggie and Bessie were as much distressed, though they did not cry as loudly.

The people around them soon understood the cause of their trouble: indeed Maggie’s exclamations left no room for doubt, that they were really “gone off with;” though it was some time before either of the three could speak coherently enough to say how it had happened. In fact the poor little things hardly knew themselves: all they could tell was that Daphne had thought they were in the wrong train, had gone to see, and before she came back they were speeding away, they knew not where, without their natural protectors, and in the midst of perfect strangers.

Bessie was the first to collect herself enough to make the story understood, though even then, her tears would hardly let her speak to the group of curious and sympathizing people, who gathered around the three as they clung weeping together.

“And now we’re quite, quite lost; and there’s no policeman to help us,” she sobbed; “and what will mamma do?”

“Poor little dears,” said a lady, pressing forward, and laying her hand soothingly on the little, pitiful, upturned face. “Don’t cry so, my children: you’ll be taken back in some way to your parents.”

“I’m all papa has,” gasped Belle: “he can’t do wifout me.”

“Please let us get out,” moaned Maggie: “we could run back to where our papa and mamma are.”

“The train must be put back,” said one of the by-standers, and he went to find the conductor, and see what could be done; while the lady who had spoken to the children sat down beside them and tried to quiet them with assurances that their parents would certainly find them again.

“But dear mamma will be so frightened and worried, and it’s so bad for her,” said Bessie; her first thought always that tender care for her mother.

The story had spread through the train; and people were coming in from the other cars to look at the three little waifs, who, all by themselves, were each instant being taken farther from their friends; and Belle, looking up as the door was opened afresh, spied a familiar object.

“Oh! there’s the ‘bad hat’ man!” she cried, glad to see any thing on which she had ever laid her eyes before, even though it might be that ugly hat with the strange face beneath it.

At the same moment there came in also the conductor, and the gentleman who had gone to find him; and now the children felt a faint hope that there might be some way out of this trouble.

But the conductor was surly, and absolutely refused to put back,--which indeed would have been hardly safe,--or to stop the train and let out the children, as was proposed by some person, and pleaded for by the little ones themselves.

And here the “bad hat” man put in his word.

“That would never do,” he said; “those little things could not possibly walk back to ----, and no conveyance could be found along here. They must come on to the next station, and there we will see what can be done.”

Down went the three heads and up went Belle’s voice again at these unwelcome words; but the “bad hat” had a kind heart beneath it, and the wearer at once set himself to comfort the forlorn children.

“Come, come, take heart,” he said cheerily. “Now let us see how soon we shall get back to papa and mamma. It will not take us more than one hour or so, to reach the next station, and then--well, to be sure, we’ll have to wait awhile there for the up-train,”--he did not think it best to say it would be more than four hours,--“but we’ll telegraph them and let them know you are all safe, and will be with them before long.”

“Do you know the children sir?” asked a lady.

“Well, no, madam, and they don’t know me; but they know my _hat_ pretty well, and I think that is ground for an acquaintance. It’s a broad one, anyhow, is it not?” he said with a nod at Belle, “and we’re going to take advantage of it.”

“It’s a great while for poor mamma to wait for us, and she’ll be very frightened,” said Bessie, wiping the tears from her eyes, though they were immediately filled again. “I s’pose she’ll think we’re never coming back to her.”

“Not a bit of it,” said “Bad Hat:” “she’ll think you’ll find some one to look after you and bring you back; and how delighted she’ll be to see you safe after such an adventure.”

At this last word all the children pricked up their ears, especially Maggie. She, being the most timid of the three, had been the most broken down by terror, and had, until now, remained in the very depths of despair. But it was really almost a consolation to hear this called “an adventure,” and to remember that here was a subject for the most interesting of letters, provided they ever again reached home and friends, and had the opportunity of writing such. She was still rather doubtful how this was to be brought about, in spite of Mr. “Bad Hat’s” assurances.

“Why! so it is an adventure,” said Bessie; “and Maggie said she wished we’d have some great adventure, but she didn’t mean this kind of a one; did you, Maggie?”

“No, _indeed_ I didn’t,” sobbed Maggie.

“But you can write a letter about it,” said Belle, catching her breath between almost every two words; “and it will be so interesting: all the people you know will want to read it.”

Belle, as well as Bessie, had the greatest admiration for Maggie’s letters, and thought them the most marvellous works of genius.

“Of course they will,” said the gentleman, whom our little strays were already beginning to look upon as a friend. “And so, Maggie writes letters, does she? I wish she would write one to me one of these days.”

“But she don’t know your name,” said Bessie.

“Well, perhaps she might find out. I am not ashamed of it. But I think this little lady has found a name for me. When I came in the car I heard her say, ‘There’s the bad hat man.’ Now suppose Maggie writes a letter and directs it to the ‘bad hat man,’ do you think it would reach me?”

“Yes, I fink it would,” said Belle with emphasis, and eyeing the hat with a look which seemed to add, “there’s no possibility of mistaking that hat.”

So, in pleasant, cheerful talk, the friendly stranger tried to beguile the way, and help the little ones to bear their troubles; and he partly succeeded, though now and then a heavy sigh, or a murmured “Are we most at the next station?” or “Oh, mamma!” showed that they were not forgotten. The other people, who had gathered round in pitying sympathy, saw that they had fallen into good hands, and went back to their seats, leaving them to his care.

“But what shall we do now?” asked Maggie, in new alarm, as they at last approached the longed-for station where they were to leave this train, and at least feel that they were to be borne no farther from their friends. “I don’t know about the streets.”

Now it was rather a strange, but a very good thing that, timid as Maggie was, she seldom lost her presence of mind; and, however frightened she might be, could still think what was best to do for herself and others. You will remember how she thought of her own sash and Bessie’s, as a means for saving Aunt Bessie’s life when she fell over the precipice at Chalecoo. So now feeling as if the care of Bessie and Belle rather fell upon her, since she was the oldest of the three, she tried to collect her thoughts and plan how she should act. But it was all useless, this was such a new and untried place, and so many dangers and difficulties seemed to beset her, that she could not see her way out of them. But her fears were speedily set at rest.

“Oh! you are only going to do as I tell you,” said their new friend. “I shall see you safe in your parents’ hands.”

“Will you, sir?” cried Maggie joyfully, and slipped her hand into his, in her great relief.

“Are you going to get out here?” asked Bessie, as the train slackened its speed.

“Yes: you did not think I would leave you to shift for yourselves?”

“Do you live here?” asked Belle.

“No: I live down in Florida,” was the answer.

“And are you going to get out here just to take care of us?” asked Bessie.

He smiled and nodded assent.

“You are very good, sir,” said Bessie. “Is it just as convenient as not for you?”

“Well, no,” he returned. “I cannot say it is; but then I heard a little girl say, this morning, that ‘any thing was to be choosed before mamma should be worried,’ so after that I think I must do all I can to relieve mamma’s anxiety, and get you back to her as soon as possible.”

So Bessie’s thoughtfulness and care for her dear mother was reaping its own reward.

VIII.

_OLD JOE._

R Station was not much of a place. There were only about half a dozen houses, as many barns, and one store, which was part of the little station-house. And there was no telegraph; but when our little girls and their protector left the train, another gentleman promised to send a message to their parents from the next stopping-place.

There was not much to entertain the children, even had they been in a mood to be amused; and the hours dragged very wearily. The kind gentleman would have taken them for a walk in the pleasant pine woods, but they were so fearful lest they should miss the up train, which was to carry them back to their mother and father, that they could not be induced to lose sight of the railroad track. Maggie and Belle could be persuaded to do nothing but sit on the low bank at the side of the road, and look up and down the long line of rail for the train, which was still so far away. Bessie, naturally more trusting and less timid than the others, had more confidence in their new friend and what he told her; but she would not leave her sister and Belle, and, moreover, was too tired to do more than wait with what patience she might. So the “bad hat” let them do as they would, furnishing them with some dinner, for which they had little appetite, and telling them droll stories, which could not draw forth more than faint smiles. But at last Bessie found something to interest her.

There was an old colored man working around the station, cutting wood, drawing water, and so forth, and he cast many a pitying glance toward the sorrowful little strangers. Nor did he content himself with looking; for, having finished his work for the time, he walked away into the woods, and soon came back with a large leaf full of wood-strawberries, and a bunch of scarlet cardinal flowers and yellow jasmine, which he offered to them.

Bessie took them, and, after thanking him prettily, divided them with Maggie and Belle; then, out of her own share, arranged a little bouquet for Mr. Travers; for that, the “bad hat man” had said was his name.

“How pale and tired you look, my little girl!” he said as she fastened it in his button-hole: “suppose you lie down and take a sleep? It would be well if the others would do it too.”

They all thought they could not possibly do such a thing, “the train might go by” while they were asleep; but when Mr. Travers proposed that he should spread his railway rug under the shade of the pine-trees, where they could not miss hearing the train, and said he would sit beside them and wake them the moment it was near, Bessie and Belle felt as if they should be glad to take advantage of his kindness. For it was true that they were all three quite worn out with fatigue and excitement. But Maggie was very decided in her refusal to take a nap, saying that she “never went to sleep except at night, when it was no use to stay awake, there was nothing to do.”

But when the rug was spread beneath the trees, she took her seat upon it with the others, leaning her back against a great pine, with Bessie’s head in her lap. Belle, too, cuddled close up to her; and Mr. Travers seated himself opposite, with his book.

“I wish I had a story-book for you, Maggie,” he said.

“It’s no matter, sir,” said Maggie, dolefully. “I’m not in good enough spirits to read. I’d rather think about going back.”

“Suppose you pass the time by composing that letter you are to send home, telling of this adventure?” said the gentleman. “Here are a pencil, and the back of a letter, if you’ll have them.”

Maggie brightened considerably at this suggestion, and gratefully accepted the kind offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“OH, DEAR, DARLING UNCLE RUTHVEN,--Such a horrible, dreadful
adventure!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it a little newspaper?” asked Bessie.

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

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

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

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

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

Joe shook his head sorrowfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bessie drew her satchel around, and unfastened it.

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

Joe’s eyes brightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Missy mind it now?”

“Yes,” answered Bessie. “You see we had such a dreadful trouble, Joe, and it’s not quite over yet. Somehow the cars took us away without papa and mamma, and we didn’t know where we were going, and there was no one to take care of us. It was worse than once when I was lost in New York; cause that was my own country where I live, and the policemen were there; and it seemed to me that even our Father couldn’t help us in such a trouble as this. But in a minute I knew that was wrong, and I asked Him to send us help: and right away he did; for a kind gentleman came who we saw in the cars before, and he is taking care of us, and will take us back to papa and mamma. That is the gentleman there by the tree.”

Joe nodded, as much as to say he knew, as indeed he did; for the story of the little wayfarers had come to his ears. Little he thought when he first heard it, what a blessing they had brought to him.

“And, Joe,” continued the child, “I think maybe our Father had a purpose in letting us be run away with, and bringing us to this place.”

“Sure, Missy,” replied the old man. “He allers hab a purpose in what He do, an’ a good one too; but sometimes we don’t see it, we ain’t fait’ enough.”

“But I think I do see it now,” said Bessie, her tiny fingers still resting on the blessed words of Jesus’ promise. “I think He sent me here, so I could bring you my little Testament.”

“Yes, Missy. I ’spect He did, dat’s a fac’,” answered Joe, not taking in at once that she meant to give him the book; “an’ dose words done Joe a heap of good. Yes: He send you here for read ’em to Joe.”

“But you don’t understand,” said Bessie. “I mean He sent me here to _give_ you the Testament. I think He meant you to have it, you asked it in His name. It isn’t all the Bible: but it has all about Jesus, and a good deal besides, and the Psalms too; and you will love it very much, won’t you?”

“Missy don’t mean she gwine fur gib Joe her own book?”

“Oh yes, I do,” answered Bessie. “I have another Bible at home, and papa would give me as many as I want, and I can read my sister’s till we go home. I am going to give it to you for your own, Joe.”

The old man sat for a moment speechless with wonder and gratitude, then covered his face with his hands.

“I t’ank de Lord fust, and you next, Missy,” he said, when he removed them. “I t’ank Him, and bress His name, fur sen’ his little white dove to bring His word to ole black Joe. Yes, yes; for sure His promise stan’ in all place an’ all time. Missy fin’ it, an’ Joe fin’ it: de ole an’ de young, de black an’ de white, de rich an’ de poor,--all who lub and trust Him. He hear all, an’ do for all.”

He took the baby hand, and kissed it with a tender reverence that was very touching to see, but which the child in her innocence scarcely understood.

“Shall I read some more?” she asked.

Joe thankfully assented; and she finished the chapter, and read also the fifteenth then, closing the book, placed it in the old black man’s hand.

“De Lord know what’s in my heart, but I can’t speak it out no way,” he said, as he received it, drawing his rough coat-sleeve across his eyes; “but, Missy, I t’ink it a great t’ing to be de Lord’s little messenger to bring His word to his poor ole servant, what been thirstin’ for it so long.”

Belle had wakened while Bessie was reading, and sat up rather surprised at her little friend’s occupation, but did not interrupt it.

“It’s just like my dear Bessie,” she said to herself; “she’s always doing somefin’ for somebody.”

She looked about her as she listened to the reading; for every word came distinctly in the deep stillness around. Maggie was asleep still, and Mr. Travers’ eyes remained closed; but as Belle watched his face she said to herself,--

“I guess he’s just pretending. If he was papa, I’d go and wake him up, and tell him he is. Maybe he finks Bessie would be too bashful to read before him if she fought he was awake.”

Perhaps Belle was right; for Mr. Travers woke or seemed to wake very suddenly when Bessie ceased reading; and, looking at his watch, said that it was time for the train, and they must rouse the sleeping Maggie. This was done; and Maggie woke rather indignant at herself for going to sleep at all, and a little ashamed at finding all the others awake before her.

“Why! Did you put that there, sir?” she asked, as Mr. Travers picked up the hat which had proved such a comfortable pillow, and put it on his head.

“Yes,” he answered, “I thought the tree rather a hard resting-place for that little head in spite of the mass of curls which came between them, so when I saw it going down I popped in the ‘bad hat’ without your knowing it.”

“I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” said Maggie. “I _wish_ I could do something for you.”

All the children were very grateful to this kind stranger who had taken such good care of them, and Belle said,--

“I wish I could too. If I was big I’d ask you when your birfday was; and I’d make you a pair of slippers, and a pin-cushion, and a watch-case, and every fing nice for a birfday present.”

“And I’d help,” said Maggie.

“And I,” said Bessie.

Here was ground for Maggie to build a new plan upon; and, in the few minutes which passed before the train came, she had enough to think about to keep her from feeling very impatient for its arrival.

And there it came, rushing up the long line of rail,--yet hardly fast enough for the little ones who had been so long away from their dear friends,--hailed with clapping of hands, dancing steps, and glad exclamations: never was a train more welcome.

The place was alive in a moment. Women and children came out to the doors and gates of the cottages, dogs barked, and hens cackled. Half a dozen men, white and colored, seemed to spring out of the ground, ready to busy themselves on the arrival of the cars; and old Joe drew up his wheelbarrow to the side of the track, ready for any chance trunk or box which might need to be wheeled away, and bring him a few pennies. Joe was a rich man now, to be sure, rich in the wealth which should pave with shining gold the path he must tread to the heavenly mansion his Saviour had gone to prepare for him: but he must still have a care for his few worldly needs; and now that his one great desire had been granted, he would yet put by something that he might have a little to help along such of his Lord’s work as should be given into his hand.

His hand was shaken, not only by the three children, but also by Mr. Travers; and they were gone: but their coming had brought light and gladness to old Joe; and, in his own simple language, he “will nebber disremember dis day while de Lord remembers me.”

There they were,--mamma, and the two papas, baby, nurse, and Daphne,--still at the station at ----, and watching as eagerly for the train which was to bring back the sorely missed darlings, as those same little darlings were looking for the first glimpse of the dearly loved faces of their “own people.” What joy there was! What huggings and kissings! some happy tears too; and as for Mr. Travers, if he had had six arms to be shaken instead of two, they would all have been in use at once. There was some time to spare before the arrival of the train which was to carry them on the right route, which had been missed that morning; and it would be still longer before kind Mr. Travers would be able to proceed on the journey he had so generously interrupted, at some inconvenience to himself, for the sake of the little fellow-passengers who had so unconsciously attracted his notice that morning.

They gathered in the small room, which seemed large enough to hold them all now, and Mr. Travers was thanked over and over again, his address taken by Mr. Bradford, and a promise drawn from him that he would make his house his home when he should come to New York. More than this, Maggie privately drew from him the date of his “birfday,” which happened to be on the twenty-fifth of December: and you may like to know that this “plan” of Maggie’s was successfully carried out; and, last Christmas, Mr. Travers received a box containing a pair of slippers worked by Maggie, a pin-cushion by Bessie, and a watch-case by Belle. I do not believe that Mr. Travers thought the less of them because there were some crooked stitches in them,--especially in the two last,--and that the pocket of the watch-case was so small that by no possibility could a watch be squeezed therein.

But he did not part from the children that day without some token of remembrance, for when Maggie inquired about his birthday, and repeated,--

“I would so like to do something for you, sir, you was so kind to us,” he answered,--

“You can do something for me, Maggie. Give me your little Testament, if you will; and when I look at it, it will bring back to me some very sweet recollections of this day.”

Dear Maggie, only too happy when she could give or do any thing which brought pleasure to another, readily consented, thinking as Bessie had done, that “grandmamma wouldn’t mind when she knew the reason;” and the second little Testament went forth on its mission of love and life, in the hands of a new owner.

And pray what do you think had been that ungrateful baby’s greeting to her little sisters’ new friend? Nothing less than that oft-repeated “Oh, bad hat!” But being rested and at her ease now, she was not fretful, and was more astonished than displeased at its reappearance. We ought not to call her ungrateful either. She was glad to see her sisters, and offered plenty of “love Maggies’” and “love Bessies’,” which meant a tight squeeze of the little arms about the neck; but she could not understand the distress and anxiety their absence had occasioned on all sides, nor did she know what care had been bestowed upon them by the owner of the hat.

But Mr. Travers having taken off the hat and placed it beneath his chair, Baby made the most of her opportunities, and, seating herself on the carpet behind him, pulled it forth, and turned it over and over on her lap. Finding on a closer acquaintance that it was not so objectionable as she had thought it, she proceeded to try it on; and, nothing daunted by the fact that she was nearly extinguished by it, was, greatly to the amusement of all, presently discovered toddling blindly about the room, with her small head and dimpled shoulders quite hidden; while from beneath the hat came a muffled voice saying, in lisping tones,--

“Nice hat! oh, nice hat! Baby on nice hat.”

Bessie almost fell from her mother’s lap, and Belle from her father’s knee, with laughing at this joke, and Maggie hopped around and squealed in an ecstasy of fun and delight; and even the grown people could not help laughing heartily at the little “turncoat,” as nurse called her pet.

IX.

_KATE._

It would take too long to follow Maggie and Bessie through all their travels, or to visit all the places visited by them, going from one to another by easy stages, as best suited mamma; and staying a day or two, or a week or two, according to the amount of interest and pleasure they found in each. Charleston and Richmond, Virginia Springs, the famous Natural Bridge, and many another spot, were described in Maggie’s letters to her friends at home; but the place of which she most delighted to write, because there she found the most to describe, was Washington. Here is one of her letters from that city:--

“MY BELOVED UNCLE HORACE,--I think Washington is the most
interesting city I ever met with. It has so much to see and
buildings which are quite surprising and such a credit to
themselves and the people who built them that I am proud of
the nation to which I belong. But the most interesting place I
find is the _Pattern_ Office where are to be seen thousands and
thousands of things one can never be tired of looking at. There
are jewels and beautiful birds and butterflies, and very nasty
bugs and spiders and oh! Uncle Horace an awful spider so large
with his legs out he is as big as a dinner plate, I am thankful
I do not live in that country, for he bites too and the people
die, and I don’t see the use of spiders but I suppose some, or
God would not have made them. And there are machines but we
children did not care much for those and Indian things very
interesting and all kinds of curiosities and beautiful toys.
But the most interesting of all General Washington’s furniture
and his clothes. But his furniture was very shabby and I think
his grateful country ought to make him a present of some better
and his coat--why, Uncle Horace it was all ragged and if it
was not the father of his country’s I would say it looked like
an old beggar man’s. But please do not think I am a traitor
because I say this, for I would not be such a thing I hope,
nor a Benedict Arnold either, I shan’t call him Mr. for he
is not good enough, and I think he was the meanest man that
ever lived not to take his own punishment but to let poor Mr.
Andre be killed for him. And Bessie and I do think the father
of his country might have let Mr. Andre off that once if he
would promise never to do so again and we are afraid he forgot
that time that Jesus wanted us to forgive one another as He
forgave us. Papa says he had to make an example of Mr. Andre
but I think he would have been a better example himself if he
had showed mercy. And in the Pattern Office are some stufed
animals some very pretty and some ugly as is in the nature of
animals to be, for we all know they did not make themselves any
more than people who are some ugly and some very handsome and
they can’t help it. And so I don’t see why they have animals
for patterns for no man nor woman either could make an animal
but only God, but they are interesting to see though it must be
disagreeable to stuff them.

“We saw the President and we are very much disappointed for he
looks just like another man, not a bit better, and we did not
expect it of him but thought he would be very grand and somehow
different. I don’t care a bit if I never see another President.
I think it is real mean. But he has a very grand house and he
lets people come in and see it which is very kind of him, for I
would not like people I did not know to come in my house, and
pass remarks about it; but Papa says Presidents and kings and
things of that kind have to do a great many things they do not
like very much, so I hope I will never be a President or his
wife either and if he asks me to marry him I will certainly
say no and Bessie will too.

“There are a great many lovely toys in the Pattern Office but
I will not say I wish they were mine because I cannot have
them so it is of no use and it might be to break the tenth
commandment. Papa says they belong to the government, but I
don’t see what the government which is nothing but a lot of
big men wants of playthings, and I think they would be much
more use if children had them to take pleasure in them. If they
were mine I would give the largest share to my Bessie, and then
divide them with all my children friends and send some to the
little cripples’ hospital.

“To-morrow Papa is going to take us to the Smithsonian
_Institude_ where they say are a great many curious and
wonderful things and lots of animals dead ones I mean from all
parts of the world. Which must be very instructif and if I do
not improve my advantages I ought to be ashamed of myself and
deserve to be a dunce. Mamma says it is time for us to go to
bed, which I wish it was not and I wish there was no such place
as bed but I do not tell dear Mamma so or she might think I
did not honor her and I hope I may never be such an unnatural
child. So good night dear Uncle Horace and Aunt May and May
Bessie the same from your devoted till death do us part friend

“MAGGIE.”

They did not stay long in Washington; for the weather was growing warm and oppressive, and our party were anxious to hurry northward, where it was cooler and pleasanter. We will not stop with them at Baltimore or Philadelphia, where nothing particularly interesting occurred; or even in their own city, where they stopped for a few days to rest and have a sight of all the dear home-faces, as well as to leave all the “curiosities and wonderful memories,” as Maggie called them, which they had collected in their southern rambles: but start off with them once more on their further journeyings.

They had parted from Mr. Powers and Belle: but Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie had joined the party, adding much to the enjoyment of all; and they were now on their way to beautiful Trenton and Niagara Falls.

A young lady and two gentlemen were coming up the brass-covered staircase of the steamboat which was carrying our friends up the river.

“Hallo!” said one of the latter as some small object fell at his feet. “What is this? Who is pelting me with flowers? No: it’s not a flower either. What is it, Mary?” and he stooped and picked it up, turning it round and round very gingerly, as if afraid it would fall to pieces in his fingers. “Looks like a small edition of that thing on your head.”

“Just what it is,” replied his sister. “It is a doll’s hat. Ah! there is the little owner, I suppose,” and she looked up at Bessie who was peeping over the banisters with watchful, earnest eyes, and holding Margaret Colonel Horace in her arms.

“Are you the young lady who has been pelting me with dolls’ hats, and trying to make me think they were flowers?” asked the young man as he came to the top of the stairs.

“It is only one hat, and I didn’t try to make you think it was a flower, and I didn’t pelt you with it, and I’m only a little girl,” answered Bessie, demurely. “It fell off my dolly’s head; but I’m very glad you came up just then, before any one stepped on it.”

The gentleman put the hat on the forefinger of one hand, and twirled it slowly round with the other, while Bessie looked on, rather aggravated.

“Give it to her, George; aren’t you ashamed to tease her?” said the young lady.

“What will you give me for it?” asked he.

“I’ll give you ‘thank you,’ sir,” replied the child.

“Nothing else?”

“No, sir, nothing else,” answered Bessie, with as much dignity as any young lady could have worn.

He felt the silent reproof of the child’s manner; and, ashamed of having teased her, he handed her the little hat, saying, almost without intending it,--

“I beg your pardon.”

“I am very much obliged to you, sir,” she said, now smiling again. “I was ’fraid it would be spoiled ’fore I could call some one to pick it up.”

“Why didn’t you run down, and pick it up yourself?” asked the young lady.

“I thought maybe mamma wouldn’t want me to,” said Bessie, putting on her doll’s hat. “She told me on the Savannah steamer never to go up and down the stairs alone; and I didn’t know if she would like me to here.”

“Here’s a match for Kate’s paragon of obedience and straightforwardness,” said the young lady, laughing as she turned to the other gentleman who had not yet spoken.

“What is your name, little lady?” he asked.

Bessie looked up at him. Where had she seen that face before? Those sparkling black eyes, the roguish curve of the lips, seemed very familiar to her; and yet she was sure the gentleman was a stranger, as the others were.