The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marjorie's Three Gifts, by Louisa May Alcott
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Title: Marjorie's Three Gifts
Author: Louisa May Alcott
Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5352]
Posting Date: April 19, 2009
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARJORIE'S THREE GIFTS ***
Produced by Brandon Ryan
MARJORIE'S THREE GIFTS
By Louisa M. Alcott
Author of "Little Women," "Little Men," "An Old-Fashioned Girl," Etc.
BOSTON
1899
MARJORIE'S THREE GIFTS
Marjorie sat on the door-step, shelling peas, quite unconscious what
a pretty picture she made, with the roses peeping at her through the
lattice work of the porch, the wind playing hide-and-seek in her curly
hair, while the sunshine with its silent magic changed her faded gingham
to a golden gown, and shimmered on the bright tin pan as if it were a
silver shield. Old Rover lay at her feet, the white kitten purred on her
shoulder, and friendly robins hopped about her in the grass, chirping "A
happy birthday, Marjorie!"
But the little maid neither saw nor heard, for her eyes were fixed on
the green pods, and her thoughts were far away. She was recalling the
fairy-tale granny told her last night, and wishing with all her heart
that such things happened nowadays. For in this story, as a poor girl
like herself sat spinning before the door, a Brownie came by, and gave
the child a good-luck penny; then a fairy passed, and left a talisman
which would keep her always happy; and last of all, the prince rolled
up in his chariot, and took her away to reign with him over a lovely
kingdom, as a reward for her many kindnesses to others.
When Marjorie imagined this part of the story, it was impossible to help
giving one little sigh, and for a minute she forgot her work, so busy
was she thinking what beautiful presents she would give to all the poor
children in her realm when THEY had birthdays. Five impatient young peas
took this opportunity to escape from the half-open pod in her hand and
skip down the steps, to be immediately gobbled up by an audacious robin,
who gave thanks in such a shrill chirp that Marjorie woke up, laughed,
and fell to work again. She was just finishing, when a voice called out
from the lane,--
"Hi, there! come here a minute, child!" and looking up, she saw a little
old man in a queer little carriage drawn by a fat little pony.
Running down to the gate, Marjorie dropped a curtsy, saying
pleasantly,--
"What did you wish, sir?"
"Just undo that check-rein for me. I am lame, and Jack wants to drink
at your brook," answered the old man, nodding at her till his spectacles
danced on his nose.
Marjorie was rather afraid of the fat pony, who tossed his head, whisked
his tail, and stamped his feet as if he was of a peppery temper. But she
liked to be useful, and just then felt as if there were few things she
could NOT do if she tried, because it was her birthday. So she proudly
let down the rein, and when Jack went splashing into the brook, she
stood on the bridge, waiting to check him up again after he had drunk
his fill of the clear, cool water.
The old gentleman sat in his place, looking up at the little girl, who
was smiling to herself as she watched the blue dragon-flies dance among
the ferns, a blackbird tilt on the alderboughs, and listened to the
babble of the brook.
"How old are you, child?" asked the old man, as if he rather envied this
rosy creature her youth and health.
"Twelve to-day, sir;" and Marjorie stood up straight and tall, as if
mindful of her years.
"Had any presents?" asked the old man, peering up with an odd smile.
"One, sir,--here it is;" and she pulled out of her pocket a tin
savings-bank in the shape of a desirable family mansion, painted red,
with a green door and black chimney. Proudly displaying it on the rude
railing of the bridge, she added, with a happy face,--
"Granny gave it to me, and all the money in it is going to be mine."
"How much have you got?" asked the old gentleman, who appeared to like
to sit there in the middle of the brook, while Jack bathed his feet and
leisurely gurgled and sneezed.
"Not a penny yet, but I'm going to earn some," answered Marjorie,
patting the little bank with an air of resolution pretty to see.
"How will you do it?" continued the inquisitive old man.
"Oh, I'm going to pick berries and dig dandelions, and weed, and drive
cows, and do chores. It is vacation, and I can work all the time, and
earn ever so much."
"But vacation is play-time,--how about that?"
"Why, that sort of work IS play, and I get bits of fun all along. I
always have a good swing when I go for the cows, and pick flowers with
the dandelions. Weeding isn't so nice, but berrying is very pleasant,
and we have good times all together."
"What shall you do with your money when you get it?"
"Oh, lots of things! Buy books and clothes for school, and, if I get a
great deal, give some to granny. I'd love to do that, for she takes care
of me, and I'd be so proud to help her!"
"Good little lass!" said the old gentleman, as he put his hand in his
pocket. "Would you now?" he added, apparently addressing himself to a
large frog who sat upon a stone, looking so wise and grandfatherly that
it really did seem quite proper to consult him. At all events, he gave
his opinion in the most decided manner, for, with a loud croak, he
turned an undignified somersault into the brook, splashing up the
water at a great rate. "Well, perhaps it wouldn't be best on the whole.
Industry is a good teacher, and money cannot buy happiness, as I know to
my sorrow."
The old gentleman still seemed to be talking to the frog, and as he
spoke he took his hand out of his pocket with less in it than he had at
first intended.
"What a very queer person!" thought Marjorie, for she had not heard a
word, and wondered what he was thinking about down there.
Jack walked out of the brook just then, and she ran to check him up; not
an easy task for little hands, as he preferred to nibble the grass
on the bank. But she did it cleverly, smoothed the ruffled mane, and,
dropping another curtsy, stood aside to let the little carriage pass.
"Thank you, child--thank you. Here is something for your bank, and good
luck to it."
As he spoke, the old man laid a bright gold dollar in her hand, patted
the rosy cheek, and vanished in a cloud of dust, leaving Marjorie so
astonished at the grandeur of the gift, that she stood looking at it
as if it had been a fortune. It was to her; and visions of pink calico
gowns, new grammars, and fresh hat-ribbons danced through her head in
delightful confusion, as her eyes rested on the shining coin in her
palm.
Then, with a solemn air, she invested her first money by popping it down
the chimney of the scarlet mansion, and peeping in with one eye to see
if it landed safely on the ground-floor. This done, she took a long
breath, and looked over the railing, to be sure it was not all a dream.
No; the wheel marks were still there, the brown water was not yet clear,
and, if a witness was needed, there sat the big frog again, looking so
like the old gentleman, with his bottle-green coat, speckled trousers,
and twinkling eyes, that Marjorie burst out laughing, and clapped her
hands, saying aloud,--
"I'll play he was the Brownie, and this is the good-luck penny he gave
me. Oh, what fun!" and away she skipped, rattling the dear new bank like
a castanet.
When she had told granny all about it, she got knife and basket, and
went out to dig dandelions; for the desire to increase her fortune was
so strong, she could not rest a minute. Up and down she went, so busily
peering and digging, that she never lifted up her eyes till something
like a great white bird skimmed by so low she could not help seeing
it. A pleasant laugh sounded behind her as she started up, and, looking
round, she nearly sat down again in sheer surprise, for there close by
was a slender little lady, comfortably established under a big umbrella.
"If there WERE any fairies, I'd be sure that was one," thought Marjorie,
staring with all her might, for her mind was still full of the old
story; and curious things do happen on birthdays, as every one knows.
It really did seem rather elfish to look up suddenly and see a lovely
lady all in white, with shining hair and a wand in her hand, sitting
under what looked very like a large yellow mushroom in the middle of
a meadow, where, till now, nothing but cows and grasshoppers had been
seen. Before Marjorie could decide the question, the pleasant laugh came
again, and the stranger said, pointing to the white thing that was still
fluttering over the grass like a little cloud,--
"Would you kindly catch my hat for me, before it blows quite away?"
Down went basket and knife, and away ran Marjorie, entirely satisfied
now that there was no magic about the new-comer; for if she had been an
elf, couldn't she have got her hat without any help from a mortal child?
Presently, however, it did begin to seem as if that hat was bewitched,
for it led the nimble-footed Marjorie such a chase that the cows stopped
feeding to look on in placid wonder; the grasshoppers vainly tried to
keep up, and every ox-eye daisy did its best to catch the runaway, but
failed entirely, for the wind liked a game of romps, and had it that
day. As she ran, Marjorie heard the lady singing, like the princess in
the story of the Goose-Girl,--
"Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdkin's hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!
Let him after it go!
O'er hills, dales and rocks,
Away be it whirled,
Till the silvery locks
Are all combed and curled."
This made her laugh so that she tumbled into a clover-bed, and lay there
a minute to get her breath. Just then, as if the playful wind
repented of its frolic, the long veil fastened to the hat caught in a
blackberry-vine near by, and held the truant fast till Marjorie secured
it.
"Now come and see what I am doing," said the lady, when she had thanked
the child.
Marjorie drew near confidingly, and looked down at the wide-spread book
before her. She gave a start, and laughed out with surprise and delight;
for there was a lovely picture of her own little home, and her own
little self on the door-step, all so delicate, and beautiful, and true,
it seemed as if done by magic.
"Oh, how pretty! There is Rover, and Kitty and the robins, and me! How
could you ever do it, ma'am?" said Marjorie, with a wondering glance
at the long paint-brush, which had wrought what seemed a miracle to her
childish eyes.
"I'll show you presently; but tell me, first, if it looks quite right
and natural to you. Children sometimes spy out faults that no one else
can see," answered the lady, evidently pleased with the artless praise
her work received.
"It looks just like our house, only more beautiful. Perhaps that is
because I know how shabby it really is. That moss looks lovely on the
shingles, but the roof leaks. The porch is broken, only the roses hide
the place; and my gown is all faded, though it once was as bright as you
have made it. I wish the house and everything would stay pretty forever,
as they will in the picture."
While Marjorie spoke, the lady had been adding more color to the sketch,
and when she looked up, something warmer and brighter than sunshine
shone in her face, as she said, so cheerily, it was like a bird's song
to hear her,--
"It can't be summer always, dear, but we can make fair weather for
ourselves if we try. The moss, the roses, and soft shadows show the
little house and the little girl at their best, and that is what we all
should do; for it is amazing how lovely common things become, if one
only knows how to look at them."
"I wish _I_ did," said Marjorie, half to herself, remembering how often
she was discontented, and how hard it was to get on, sometimes.
"So do I," said the lady, in her happy voice. "Just believe that there
is a sunny side to everything, and try to find it, and you will be
surprised to see how bright the world will seem, and how cheerful you
will be able to keep your little self."
"I guess granny has found that out, for she never frets. I do, but I'm
going to stop it, because I'm twelve to-day, and that is too old for
such things," said Marjorie, recollecting the good resolutions she had
made that morning when she woke.
"I am twice twelve, and not entirely cured yet; but I try, and don't
mean to wear blue spectacles if I can help it," answered the lady,
laughing so blithely that Marjorie was sure she would not have to try
much longer. "Birthdays were made for presents, and I should like to
give you one. Would it please you to have this little picture?" she
added, lifting it out of the book.
"Truly my own? Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Marjorie, coloring with pleasure,
for she had never owned so beautiful a thing before.
"Then you shall have it, dear. Hang it where you can see it often, and
when you look, remember that it is the sunny side of home, and help to
keep it so."
Marjorie had nothing but a kiss to offer by way of thanks, as the lovely
sketch was put into her hand; but the giver seemed quite satisfied, for
it was a very grateful little kiss. Then the child took up her basket
and went away, not dancing and singing now, but slowly and silently; for
this gift made her thoughtful as well as glad. As she climbed the wall,
she looked back to nod good-by to the pretty lady; but the meadow was
empty, and all she saw was the grass blowing in the wind.
"Now, deary, run out and play, for birthdays come but once a year,
and we must make them as merry as we can," said granny, as she settled
herself for her afternoon nap, when the Saturday cleaning was all done,
and the little house as neat as wax.
So Marjorie put on a white apron in honor of the occasion, and, taking
Kitty in her arms, went out to enjoy herself. Three swings on the gate
seemed to be a good way of beginning the festivities; but she only got
two, for when the gate creaked back the second time, it stayed shut, and
Marjorie hung over the pickets, arrested by the sound of music.
"It's soldiers," she said, as the fife and drum drew nearer, and flags
were seen waving over the barberry-bushes at the corner.
"No; it's a picnic," she added in a moment; for she saw hats with
wreaths about them bobbing up and down, as a gayly-trimmed hay-cart full
of children came rumbling down the lane.
"What a nice time they are going to have!" thought Marjorie, sadly
contrasting that merry-making with the quiet party she was having all by
herself.
Suddenly her face shone, and Kitty was waved over her head like a
banner, as she flew out of the gate, crying, rapturously,--
"It's Billy! and I know he's come for me!"
It certainly WAS Billy, proudly driving the old horse, and beaming at
his little friend from the bower of flags and chestnut-boughs, where he
sat in state, with a crown of daisies on his sailor-hat and a spray of
blooming sweetbrier in his hand. Waving his rustic sceptre, he led off
the shout of "Happy birthday, Marjorie!" which was set up as the wagon
stopped at the gate, and the green boughs suddenly blossomed with
familiar faces, all smiling on the little damsel, who stood in the lane
quite overpowered with delight.
"It's a s'prise party!" cried one small lad, tumbling out behind.
"We are going up the mountain to have fun!" added a chorus of voices, as
a dozen hands beckoned wildly.
"We got it up on purpose for you, so tie your hat and come away," said
a pretty girl, leaning down to kiss Marjorie, who had dropped Kitty, and
stood ready for any splendid enterprise.
A word to granny, and away went the happy child, sitting up beside
Billy, under the flags that waved over a happier load than any royal
chariot ever bore.
It would be vain to try and tell all the plays and pleasures of happy
children on a Saturday afternoon, but we may briefly say that Marjorie
found a mossy stone all ready for her throne, and Billy crowned her with
a garland like his own. That a fine banquet was spread, and eaten with
a relish many a Lord Mayor's feast has lacked. Then how the whole court
danced and played together afterward! The lords climbed trees and turned
somersaults, the ladies gathered flowers and told secrets under the
sweetfern-bushes, the queen lost her shoe jumping over the waterfall,
and the king paddled into the pool below and rescued it. A happy little
kingdom, full of summer sunshine, innocent delights, and loyal hearts;
for love ruled, and the only war that disturbed the peaceful land was
waged by the mosquitoes as night came on.
Marjorie stood on her throne watching the sunset while her maids of
honor packed up the remains of the banquet, and her knights prepared
the chariot. All the sky was gold and purple, all the world bathed in a
soft, red light, and the little girl was very happy as she looked down
at the subjects who had served her so faithfully that day.
"Have you had a good time, Marjy?" asked King William; who stood below,
with his royal nose on a level with her majesty's two dusty little
shoes.
"Oh, Billy, it has been just splendid! But I don't see why you should
all be so kind to me," answered Marjorie, with such a look of innocent
wonder, that Billy laughed to see it.
"Because you are so sweet and good, we can't help loving you,--that's
why," he said, as if this simple fact was reason enough.
"I'm going to be the best girl that ever was, and love everybody in the
world," cried the child, stretching out her arms as if ready, in the
fulness of her happy heart, to embrace all creation.
"Don't turn into an angel and fly away just yet, but come home, or
granny will never lend you to us any more."
With that, Billy jumped her down, and away they ran, to ride gayly back
through the twilight, singing like a flock of nightingales.
As she went to bed that night, Marjorie looked at the red bank, the
pretty picture, and the daisy crown, saying to herself,--
"It has been a VERY nice birthday, and I am something like the girl in
the story, after all, for the old man gave me a good-luck penny, the
kind lady told me how to keep happy, and Billy came for me like the
prince. The girl didn't go back to the poor house again, but I'm glad
_I_ did, for MY granny isn't a cross one, and my little home is the
dearest in the world."
Then she tied her night-cap, said her prayers, and fell asleep; but the
moon, looking in to kiss the blooming face upon the pillow, knew that
three good spirits had come to help little Marjorie from that day forth,
and their names were Industry, Cheerfulness, and Love.
ROSES AND FORGET-ME-NOTS
I. ROSES
It was a cold November storm, and everything looked forlorn. Even the
pert sparrows were draggle-tailed and too much out of spirits to fight
for crumbs with the fat pigeons who tripped through the mud with their
little red boots as if in haste to get back to their cosy home in the
dove-cot.
But the most forlorn creature out that day was a small errand girl, with
a bonnet-box on each arm, and both hands struggling to hold a big broken
umbrella. A pair of worn-out boots let in the wet upon her tired feet; a
thin cotton dress and an old shawl poorly protected her from the storm;
and a faded hood covered her head.
The face that looked out from this hood was too pale and anxious for one
so young; and when a sudden gust turned the old umbrella inside out with
a crash, despair fell upon poor Lizzie, and she was so miserable she
could have sat down in the rain and cried.
But there was no time for tears; so, dragging the dilapidated umbrella
along, she spread her shawl over the bonnet-boxes and hurried down the
broad street, eager to hide her misfortunes from a pretty young girl who
stood at a window laughing at her.
She could not find the number of the house where one of the fine hats
was to be left; and after hunting all down one side of the street, she
crossed over, and came at last to the very house where the pretty girl
lived. She was no longer to be seen; and, with a sigh of relief, Lizzie
rang the bell, and was told to wait in the hall while Miss Belle tried
the hat on.
Glad to rest, she warmed her feet, righted her umbrella, and then sat
looking about her with eyes quick to see the beauty and the comfort that
made the place so homelike and delightful. A small waiting-room opened
from the hall, and in it stood many blooming plants, whose fragrance
attracted Lizzie as irresistibly as if she had been a butterfly or bee.
Slipping in, she stood enjoying the lovely colors, sweet odors, and
delicate shapes of these household spirits; for Lizzie loved flowers
passionately; and just then they possessed a peculiar charm for her.
One particularly captivating little rose won her heart, and made her
long for it with a longing that became a temptation too strong to
resist. It was so perfect; so like a rosy face smiling out from the
green leaves, that Lizzie could NOT keep her hands off it, and having
smelt, touched, and kissed it, she suddenly broke the stem and hid it in
her pocket. Then, frightened at what she had done, she crept back to her
place in the hall, and sat there, burdened with remorse.
A servant came just then to lead her upstairs; for Miss Belle wished the
hat altered, and must give directions. With her heart in a flutter, and
pinker roses in her cheeks than the one in her pocket, Lizzie followed
to a handsome room, where a pretty girl stood before a long mirror with
the hat in her hand.
"Tell Madame Tifany that I don't like it at all, for she hasn't put in
the blue plume mamma ordered; and I won't have rose-buds, they are so
common," said the young lady, in a dissatisfied tone, as she twirled the
hat about.
"Yes, miss," was all Lizzie could say; for SHE considered that hat the
loveliest thing a girl could possibly own.
"You had better ask your mamma about it, Miss Belle, before you give any
orders. She will be up in a few moments, and the girl can wait," put in
a maid, who was sewing in the ante-room.
"I suppose I must; but I WON'T have roses," answered Belle, crossly.
Then she glanced at Lizzie, and said more gently, "You look very cold;
come and sit by the fire while you wait."
"I'm afraid I'll wet the pretty rug, miss; my feet are sopping," said
Lizzie, gratefully, but timidly.
"So they are! Why didn't you wear rubber boots?"
"I haven't got any."
"I'll give you mine, then, for I hate them; and as I never go out in
wet weather, they are of no earthly use to me. Marie, bring them here;
I shall be glad to get rid of them, and I'm sure they'll be useful to
you."
"Oh, thank you, miss! I'd like 'em ever so much, for I'm out in the rain
half the time, and get bad colds because my boots are old," said Lizzie,
smiling brightly at the thought of the welcome gift.
"I should think your mother would get you warmer things," began Belle,
who found something rather interesting in the shabby girl, with shy
bright eyes, and curly hair bursting out of the old hood.
"I haven't got any mother," said Lizzie, with a pathetic glance at her
poor clothes.
"I'm so sorry! Have you brothers and sisters?" asked Belle, hoping to
find something pleasant to talk about; for she was a kind little soul.
"No, miss; I've got no folks at all."
"Oh, dear; how sad! Why, who takes care of you?" cried Belle, looking
quite distressed.
"No one; I take care of myself. I work for Madame, and she pays me a
dollar a week. I stay with Mrs. Brown, and chore round to pay for my
keep. My dollar don't get many clothes, so I can't be as neat as I'd
like." And the forlorn look came back to poor Lizzie's face.
Belle said nothing, but sat among the sofa cushions, where she had
thrown herself, looking soberly at this other girl, no older than she
was, who took care of herself and was all alone in the world. It was a
new idea to Belle, who was loved and petted as an only child is apt to
be. She often saw beggars and pitied them, but knew very little about
their wants and lives; so it was like turning a new page in her happy
life to be brought so near to poverty as this chance meeting with the
milliner's girl.
"Aren't you afraid and lonely and unhappy?" she said, slowly, trying to
understand and put herself in Lizzie's place.
"Yes; but it's no use. I can't help it, and may be things will get
better by and by, and I'll have my wish," answered Lizzie, more
hopefully, because Belle's pity warmed her heart and made her troubles
seem lighter.
"What is your wish?" asked Belle, hoping mamma wouldn't come just yet,
for she was getting interested in the stranger.
"To have a nice little room, and make flowers, like a French girl I
know. It's such pretty work, and she gets lots of money, for every one
likes her flowers. She shows me how, sometimes, and I can do leaves
first-rate; but--"
There Lizzie stopped suddenly, and the color rushed up to her forehead;
for she remembered the little rose in her pocket and it weighed upon her
conscience like a stone.
Before Belle could ask what was the matter, Marie came in with a tray of
cake and fruit, saying:
"Here's your lunch, Miss Belle."
"Put it down, please; I'm not ready for it yet."
And Belle shook her head as she glanced at Lizzie, who was staring hard
at the fire with such a troubled face that Belle could not bear to see
it.
Jumping out of her nest of cushions, she heaped a plate with good
things, and going to Lizzie, offered it, saying, with a gentle courtesy
that made the act doubly sweet:
"Please have some; you must be tired of waiting."
But Lizzie could not take it; she could only cover her face and cry;
for this kindness rent her heart and made the stolen flower a burden too
heavy to be borne.
"Oh, don't cry so! Are you sick? Have I been rude? Tell me all about
it; and if I can't do anything, mamma can," said Belle, surprised and
troubled.
"No; I'm not sick; I'm bad, and I can't bear it when you are so good to
me," sobbed Lizzie, quite overcome with penitence; and taking out the
crumpled rose, she confessed her fault with many tears.
"Don't feel so much about such a little thing as that," began Belle,
warmly; then checked herself, and added, more soberly, "It WAS wrong to
take it without leave; but it's all right now, and I'll give you as many
roses as you want, for I know you are a good girl."
"Thank you. I didn't want it only because it was pretty, but I wanted to
copy it. I can't get any for myself, and so I can't do my make-believe
ones well. Madame won't even lend me the old ones in the store, and
Estelle has none to spare for me, because I can't pay her for teaching
me. She gives me bits of muslin and wire and things, and shows me now
and then. But I know if I had a real flower I could copy it; so she'd
see I did know something, for I try real hard. I'm SO tired of slopping
round the streets, I'd do anything to earn my living some other way."
Lizzie had poured out her trouble rapidly; and the little story was
quite affecting when one saw the tears on her cheeks, the poor clothes,
and the thin hands that held the stolen rose. Belle was much touched,
and, in her impetuous way, set about mending matters as fast as
possible.
"Put on those boots and that pair of dry stockings right away. Then tuck
as much cake and fruit into your pocket as it will hold. I'm going to
get you some flowers, and see if mamma is too busy to attend to me."
With a nod and a smile, Belle flew about the room a minute; then
vanished, leaving Lizzie to her comfortable task, feeling as if fairies
still haunted the world as in the good old times.
When Belle came back with a handful of roses, she found Lizzie absorbed
in admiring contemplation of her new boots, as she ate sponge-cake in a
blissful sort of waking-dream.
"Mamma can't come; but I don't care about the hat. It will do very well,
and isn't worth fussing about. There, will those be of any use to you?"
And she offered the nosegay with a much happier face than the one Lizzie
first saw.
"Oh, miss, they're just lovely! I'll copy that pink rose as soon as ever
I can, and when I've learned how to do 'em tip-top, I'd like to bring
you some, if you don't mind," answered Lizzie, smiling all over her face
as she buried her nose luxuriously in the fragrant mass.
"I'd like it very much, for I should think you'd have to be very clever
to make such pretty things. I really quite fancy those rosebuds in my
hat, now I know that you're going to learn how to make them. Put an
orange in your pocket, and the flowers in water as soon as you can, so
they'll be fresh when you want them. Good-by. Bring home our hats every
time and tell me how you get on."
With kind words like these, Belle dismissed Lizzie, who ran downstairs,
feeling as rich as if she had found a fortune. Away to the next place
she hurried, anxious to get her errands done and the precious posy
safely into fresh water. But Mrs. Turretviile was not at home, and the
bonnet could not be left till paid for. So Lizzie turned to go down the
high steps, glad that she need not wait. She stopped one instant to take
a delicious sniff at her flowers, and that was the last happy moment
that poor Lizzie knew for many weary months.
The new boots were large for her, the steps slippery with sleet, and
down went the little errand girl, from top to bottom, till she landed in
the gutter directly upon Mrs. Turretville's costly bonnet.
"I've saved my posies, anyway," sighed Lizzie, as she picked herself
up, bruised, wet, and faint with pain; "but, oh, my heart! won't Madame
scold when she sees that band-box smashed flat," groaned the poor child,
sitting on the curbstone to get her breath and view the disaster.
The rain poured, the wind blew, the sparrows on the park railing chirped
derisively, and no one came along to help Lizzie out of her troubles.
Slowly she gathered up her burdens; painfully she limped away in the big
boots; and the last the naughty sparrows saw of her was a shabby little
figure going round the corner, with a pale, tearful face held lovingly
over the bright bouquet that was her one treasure and her only comfort
in the moment which brought to her the great misfortune of her life.
II. FORGET-ME-NOTS
"Oh, mamma, I am so relieved that the box has come at last! If it had
not, I do believe I should have died of disappointment," cried pretty
Belle, five years later, on the morning before her eighteenth birthday.
"It would have been a serious disappointment, darling; for I had sot
my heart on your wearing my gift to-morrow night, and when the steamers
kept coming in without my trunk from Paris, I was very anxious. I hope
you will like it."
"Dear mamma, I know I shall like it; your taste is so good and you know
what suits me so well. Make haste, Marie; I'm dying to see it," said
Belle, dancing about the great trunk, as the maid carefully unfolded
tissue papers and muslin wrappers.
A young girl's first ball-dress is a grand affair,--in her eyes, at
least; and Belle soon stopped dancing, to stand with clasped hands,
eager eyes and parted lips before the snowy pile of illusion that was
at last daintily lifted out upon the bed. Then, as Marie displayed
its loveliness, little cries of delight were heard, and when the whole
delicate dress was arranged to the best effect she threw herself upon
her mother's neck and actually cried with pleasure.
"Mamma, it is too lovely I and you are very kind to do so much for me.
How shall I ever thank you?"
"By putting it right on to see if it fits; and when you wear it look
your happiest, that I may be proud of my pretty daughter."
Mamma got no further, for Marie uttered a French shriek, wrung her
hands, and then began to burrow wildly in the trunk and among the
papers, crying distractedly:
"Great Heavens, madame! the wreath has been forgotten! What an
affliction! Mademoiselle's enchanting toilette is destroyed without the
wreath, and nowhere do I find it."
In vain they searched; in vain Marie wailed and Belle declared it must
be somewhere; no wreath appeared. It was duly set down in the bill, and
a fine sum charged for a head-dress to match the dainty forget-me-nots
that looped the fleecy skirts and ornamented the bosom of the dress. It
had evidently been forgotten; and mamma despatched Marie at once to try
and match the flowers, for Belle would not hear of any other decoration
for her beautiful blonde hair.
The dress fitted to a charm, and was pronounced by all beholders the
loveliest thing ever seen. Nothing was wanted but the wreath to make
it quite perfect, and when Marie returned, after a long search, with no
forget-me-nots, Belle was in despair.
"Wear natural ones," suggested a sympathizing friend.
But another hunt among greenhouses was as fruitless as that among the
milliners' rooms. No forget-me-nots could be found, and Marie fell
exhausted into a chair, desolated at what she felt to be an awful
calamity.
"Let me have the carriage, and I'll ransack the city till I find some,"
cried Belle, growing more resolute with each failure.
Marnma was deep in preparations for the ball, and could not help her
afflicted daughter, though she was much disappointed at the mishap. So
Belle drove off, resolved to have her flowers whether there were any or
not.
Any one who has ever tried to match a ribbon, find a certain fabric, or
get anything done in a hurry, knows what a wearisome task it
sometimes is, and can imagine Belle's state of mind after repeated
disappointments. She was about to give up in despair, when some one
suggested that perhaps the Frenchwoman, Estelle Valnor, might make the
desired wreath, if there was time.
Away drove Belle, and, on entering the room, gave a sigh of
satisfaction, for a whole boxful of the loveliest forget-me-nots stood
upon the table. As fast as possible, she told her tale and demanded the
flowers, no matter what the price might be. Imagine her feelings when
the Frenchwoman, with a shrug, announced that it was impossible to give
mademoiselle a single spray. All were engaged to trim a bridesmaid's
dress, and must be sent away at once.
It really was too bad! and Belle lost her temper entirely, for no
persuasion or bribes would win a spray from Estelle. The provoking part
of it was that the wedding would not come off for several days, and
there was time enough to make more flowers for that dress, since Belle
only wanted a few for her hair. Neither would Estelle make her any, as
her hands were full, and so small an order was not worth deranging one's
self for; but observing Belle's sorrowful face, she said, affably:
"Mademoiselle may, perhaps, find the flowers she desires at Miss
Berton's. She has been helping me with these garlands, and may have some
left. Here is her address."
Belle took the card with thanks, and hurried away with a last hope
faintly stirring in her girlish heart, for Belle had an unusually ardent
wish to look her best at this party, since Somebody was to be there, and
Somebody considered forget-me-nots the sweetest flowers in the world.
Mamma knew this, and the kiss Belle gave her when the dress came had a
more tender meaning than gratified vanity or daughterly love.
Up many stairs she climbed, and came at last to a little room, very poor
but very neat, where, at the one window, sat a young girl, with crutches
by her side and her lap full of flower-leaves and petals. She rose
slowly as Belle came in, and then stood looking at her, with such a
wistful expression in her shy, bright eyes, that Belle's anxious face
cleared involuntarily, and her voice lost its impatient tone.
As she spoke, she glanced about the room, hoping to see some blue
blossoms awaiting her. But none appeared; and she was about to despond
again, when the girl said, gently:
"I have none by me now, but I may be able to find you some."
"Thank you very much; but I have been everywhere in vain. Still, if
you do get any, please send them to me as soon as possible. Here is my
card."
Miss Berton glanced at it, then cast a quick look at the sweet, anxious
face before her, and smiled so brightly that Belle smiled also, and
asked, wonderingly:
"What is it? What do you see?"
"I see the dear young lady who was so kind to me long ago. You don't
remember me, and never knew my name; but I never have forgotten you all
these years. I always hoped I could do something to show how grateful
I was, and now I can, for you shall have your flowers if I sit up all
night to make them."
But Belle still shook her head and watched the smiling face before
her with wondering eyes, till the girl added, with sudden color in her
cheeks:
"Ah, you've done so many kind things in your life, you don't remember
the little errand girl from Madame Tifany's who stole a rose in your
hall, and how you gave her rubber boots and cake and flowers, and were
so good to her she couldn't forget it if she lived to be a hundred."
"But you are so changed," began Belle, who did faintly recollect that
little incident in her happy life.
"Yes, I had a fall and hurt myself so that I shall always be lame."
And Lizzie went on to tell how Madame had dismissed her in a rage; how
she lay ill till Mrs. Brown sent her to the hospital; and how for a year
she had suffered much alone, in that great house of pain, before one of
the kind visitors had befriended her.
While hearing the story of the five years, that had been so full of
pleasure, ease and love for herself, Belle forgot her errand, and,
sitting beside Lizzie, listened with pitying eyes to all she told of her
endeavors to support herself by the delicate handiwork she loved.
"I'm very happy now," ended Lizzie, looking about the little bare room
with a face full of the sweetest content. "I get nearly work enough to
pay my way, and Estelle sends me some when she has more than she can do.
I've learned to do it nicely, and it is so pleasant to sit here and make
flowers instead of trudging about in the wet with other people's hats.
Though I do sometimes wish I was able to trudge, one gets on so slowly
with crutches."
A little sigh followed the words, and Belle put her own plump hand on
the delicate one that held the crutch, saying, in her cordial young
voice:
"I'll come and take you to drive sometimes, for you are too pale, and
you'll get ill sitting here at work day after day. Please let me; I'd
love to; for I feel so idle and wicked when I see busy people like you
that I reproach myself for neglecting my duty and having more than my
share of happiness."
Lizzie thanked her with a look, and then said, in a tone of interest
that was delightful to hear:
"Tell about the wreath you want; I should so love to do it for you, if I
can."
Belle had forgotten all about it in listening to this sad little story
of a girl's life. Now she felt half ashamed to talk of so frivolous a
matter till she remembered that it would help Lizzie; and, resolving to
pay for it as never garland was paid for before, she entered upon the
subject with renewed interest.
"You shall have the flowers in time for your ball to-morrow night. I
will engage to make a wreath that will please you, only it may take
longer than I think. Don't be troubled if I don't send it till evening;
it will surely come in time. I can work fast, and this will be the
happiest job I ever did," said Lizzie, beginning to lay out mysterious
little tools and bend delicate wires.
"You are altogether too grateful for the little I have done. It makes
me feel ashamed to think I did not find you out before and do something
better worth thanks."
"Ah, it wasn't the boots or the cake or the roses, dear Miss Belle. It
was the kind looks, the gentle words, the way it was done, that went
right to my heart, and did me more good than a million of money. I never
stole a pin after that day, for the little rose wouldn't let me forget
how you forgave me so sweetly. I sometimes think it kept me from greater
temptations, for I was a poor, forlorn child, with no one to keep me
good."
Pretty Belle looked prettier than ever as she listened, and a bright
tear stood in either eye like a drop of dew on a blue flower. It touched
her very much to learn that her little act of childish charity had been
so sweet and helpful to this lonely girl, and now lived so freshly in
her grateful memory. It showed her, suddenly, how precious little deeds
of love and sympathy are; how strong to bless, how easy to perform, how
comfortable to recall. Her heart was very full and tender just then, and
the lesson sunk deep into it never to be forgotten.
She sat a long time watching flowers bud and blossom under Lizzie's
skilful fingers, and then hurried home to tell all her glad news to
mamma.
If the next day had not been full of most delightfully exciting events,
Belle might have felt some anxiety about her wreath, for hour after hour
went by and nothing arrived from Lizzie.
Evening came, and all was ready. Belle was dressed, and looked so lovely
that mamma declared she needed nothing more. But Marie insisted that
the grand effect would be ruined without the garland among the sunshiny
hair. Belle had time now to be anxious, and waited with growing
impatience for the finishing touch to her charming toilette.
"I must be downstairs to receive, and can't wait another moment; so
put in the blue pompon and let me go," she said at last, with a sigh
of disappointment, for the desire to look beautiful that night in
Somebody's eyes had increased four-fold.
With a tragic gesture, Marie was about to adjust the pompon when the
quick tap of a crutch came down the hall, and Lizzie hurried in, flushed
and breathless, but smiling happily as she uncovered the box she carried
with a look of proud satisfaction.
A general "Ah!" of admiration arose as Belle, mamma, and Marie surveyed
the lovely wreath that lay before them; and when it was carefully
arranged on the bright head that was to wear it, Belle blushed with
pleasure. Mamma said: "It is more beautiful than any Paris could have
sent us;" and Marie clasped her hands theatrically, sighing, with her
head on one side:
"Truly, yes; mademoiselle is now adorable!"
"I am so glad you like it. I did my very best and worked all night, but
I had to beg one spray from Estelle, or, with all my haste, I could not
have finished in time," said Lizzie, refreshing her weary eyes with a
long, affectionate gaze at the pretty figure before her.
A fold of the airy skirt was caught on one of the blue clusters, and
Lizzie knelt down to arrange it as she spoke. Belle leaned toward her
and said softly: "Money alone can't pay you for this kindness; so tell
me how I can best serve you. This is the happiest night of my life, and
I want to make every one feel glad also."
"Then don't talk of paying me, but promise that I may make the flowers
you wear on your wedding-day," whispered Lizzie, kissing the kind hand
held out to help her rise, for on it she saw a brilliant ring, and in
the blooming, blushing face bent over her she read the tender little
story that Somebody had told Belle that day.
"So you shall! and I'll keep this wreath all my life for your sake,
dear," answered Belle, as her full heart bubbled over with pitying
affection for the poor girl who would never make a bridal garland for
herself.
Belle kept her word, even when she was in a happy home of her own; for
out of the dead roses bloomed a friendship that brightened Lizzie's
life; and long after the blue garland was faded Belle remembered the
helpful little lesson that taught her to read the faces poverty
touches with a pathetic eloquence, which says to those who look,
"Forget-me-not."
End of Project Gutenberg's Marjorie's Three Gifts, by Louisa May Alcott
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